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JACK
Demonic dukes, ghosts and sea dragons? For goodness’ sake! Jack snorted out loud as he strode past the ice-cream parlour, swiftly turning his snort into a cough when people turned to stare.
He’d been keen to escape Heaven’s Cove for a while, to see some countryside and forget the troubles that had pursued him to this familiar village. Dartmoor had seemed the perfect place, but he hadn’t realised how ridiculous that woman’s stories would be. Though the other people on the tour had lapped them up.
Jack sighed. He should never have listened to his father. ‘Join the tour,’ he’d said. ‘People speak highly of it, and it’ll do you good,’ he’d promised.
Well, it hadn’t done him any good at all.
His dad’s car was off the road with a dodgy exhaust pipe, but he should have gone to the moor by public transport rather than rely on that silly tour. Then he could have stomped about, feeling miserable on his own.
Jack’s brisk walking pace faltered. Perhaps he’d been a bit over-the-top grumpy with the tour guide? He was upset and worried, and had taken it out on her when she was only doing her job.
A hot wash of shame flooded through him. When had he become so…? He turned into the lane that led past the village green, unable to settle on the right word for his behaviour. Arrogant, maybe? Ignorant? Boorish?
Perhaps all three, he decided, wondering if he’d become harder since the break-up. He’d certainly become more bad-tempered – and more likely to resort to rudeness with a stranger. Though her perky bonhomie had been irritating, he told himself, trying to quash down the guilt that only made things worse. He had too much on his mind to worry about upsetting some bizarre woman for whom the rules of scientific evidence obviously didn’t apply.
How she could live without the rules that got him through the day was beyond him. He couldn’t cope with the chaos of life without definites – cold, hard, undisputable facts – to hold on to.
Even as a child he’d needed to know what was happening around him and why. Being in the know had provided a level of detachment as the health of John, his brother, had slowly declined. But it was also the reason why the recent break-up with Miri had hit him so badly. He hadn’t realised what was happening – and he still didn’t really know why it had happened.
‘Three point one four one five nine…’ he began to mutter under his breath. Reciting the mathematical constant pi from memory, as far as he could go, always calmed him down. The number was beautiful. It was fixed and unchanging – unlike his life right now.
He could remember reciting pi many years ago, soon after he’d heard about it in maths class at school, in his brother’s hospital ward. Over and over again, until it did the trick and blocked out harsh reality.
‘Two six five three…’ he continued, trying to banish the thought of the tour guide in her baggy trousers and bright pink top that matched thestreaks in her hair. Trying to block out her disappointed expression that had swiftly turned to irritation.
Jack ducked when a screeching seagull flew too close. It wasn’t that he was a bad person. At least, that’s what Miri had told him as he’d sat there, drowning in incomprehension. She just didn’t feel the same way about him any more.
How long had her feelings been ebbing away? Jack wondered, spotting Magda on the other side of the village green. A few months? A year? From the moment they’d married six years ago?
Jack plastered on a smile and waved at Magda, who was walking towards him, a bunch of vibrant daffodils cradled in the crook of her arm.
‘Hello, Jack! It’s good to see you. Your dad said you were coming down for a visit.’
‘Yeah, I arrived a couple of days ago. How are you?’
‘I’m keeping well, thank you.’
He closed his eyes briefly when she leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. Magda always smelled of vanilla and caramelised sugar, and comfort. She was a family friend rather than a blood relative, but he knew her as Aunt Magda and she’d been a part of his life forever. Safe, stable, secure.
‘And how are you doing?’ she asked, stepping back.
‘I’m OK, mostly. Yeah, I’m all right.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Magda knew exactly what was going on in his life and she gave him a sympathetic smile. But she knew better than to press him on the matter, which was one reason why Jack liked her so much.
‘I’m sure your father is enjoying having you around. How is he?’ Magda picked a piece of fluff from the sleeve of his jacket and let it fly into the wind.
‘Still busy, and keeping the shop open all hours.’
‘Too many hours.’ Magda frowned. ‘He’s not as young as he once was, you know, and he’s not in the best of health. He never says he’s under the weather, of course, but you know what he’s like.’
Jack nodded – he knew exactly what his father was like. Stan Gathergill was built of stern stuff. As a younger man he’d lost one of his sons, and, eighteen months ago, he’d lost his wife to cancer. But searing, crushing sadness was no reason, in Stan’s mind, to cut down on the hours he spent running his business – the mini supermarket he’d opened in the village three decades earlier.
‘So how long are you staying?’ asked Magda, pushing grey hair behind her ears.
