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24

Jacob

There were lows, and then there were real lows. Jacob sat on the floor in front of his ragged old sofa, not even feeling enough power to lift himself up onto the seat. The damage wasn’t too bad; the fish ’n’ chips had been in a plastic bag and had escaped the slush shower, while the muck would wash out of his coat. He’d left it by the sink to deal with later, when he had the power to do anything.

Right now, he couldn’t even eat. Getting home late after the long walk from his mother’s, he’d been on a total high after speaking to Charlotte. He’d come home, cleaned up his flat with a fury that he had rarely mustered for anything, fearful that she might one day visit and be disappointed. The floor beneath the sofa was now polished, the narrow gaps around the fridge were cobweb free, and all three of the windows gleamed with polish.

Buzzing, he had sat down and watched an old romantic comedy, one where he had imagined himself and Charlotte in the lead roles. He had squirmed when they kissed at the end, closing his eyes, imagining that it was he and not some generic Hallmark actor standing beneath the towering town square Christmas tree, holding Charlotte instead of Vanessa Hudgens. It was the perfect end to a perfect Christmas.

He had got up, ready to go to bed, felt a grumble in his stomach, and realised he had completely forgotten to eat. Having run out of breakfast cereal and with an early start tomorrow due to Monday morning deliveries, it was best to get some food in his stomach, so he duly headed out to the fish ’n’ chips shop across town, making it just before it shut at ten p.m.

Nearly home, he had been surprised to hear a car coming up behind him, as the snow had turned most of Brentwell’s residents into pedestrians, and the JCBs helping to clear the roads generally didn’t operate so late. It had been quite a shock to see not just a regular car, but a magnificent Rolls Royce pulling up alongside him.

Seeing the window rolling down, he had wondered if he had stepped out of his flat and into some bizarre modern take on the Danish Snow Queen fable, where some ghostly woman of the night might try to tempt him away from his growing affection for Charlotte. Seeing his stepbrother’s grinning face had been one virtual slap back into reality; seeing Charlotte sitting in there with him had been like a full-on mallet hammering him into the ground. As his brother had laughed, the car had sped off, showering Jacob with slush, and it had been all he could do not to slump forward into the snow in defeat.

Now, back at his flat, cold and shivering after wandering the streets in despair for far longer than was necessary, he had no desire to eat, and had let the fish ’n’ chips go cold. To compound everything, his building had been struck by a sudden power cut, that, by looking at the glittering lights outside, had been pretty much confined to this tiny corner of Brentwell.

His head spun. She had sounded so happy to speak to him. He had thought she was genuinely looking forward to seeing him, but he now knew what she had to do after needing to end the call.

Go on a date with James.

Jacob wanted to feel angry, but all he felt was a cold, bitter hopelessness. Just comparing them man to man, his stepbrother was older, taller, better looking, more charming, more interesting, and that was before he even considered the differences in lifestyle. His stepbrother was rich, famous, powerful. Jacob was a nobody who worked in his aunt’s tearoom and lived in a cold flat above an estate agent.

He couldn’t blame her, really. But why Charlotte? Of all the people in all the world that his brother could have chosen, why her?

He wanted to thump his head against the wall, but he felt too deflated even to get up and do that.

He woke up cold, and with a cold, but at least the power was back on. Against his better judgement, he ate reheated chips for breakfast, then wished he hadn’t. Outside, the world looked bleak. There had been no overnight snow, so instead of pretty and Christmassy, the town looked icy and crusty. Wanting to stay in bed but feeling like he had let his aunt down a little recently, he dragged himself across town.

He wasn’t in the mood for Pete Markham’s cheery greeting, but Pete was in the mood to give it, and called out to Jacob as he stumbled, head down, across Sycamore Park’s south plaza.

‘I have a bacon bap with your name on it, lad,’ came the cheery cry, and like an icebreaker attempting an Arctic turn, Jacob slowly redirected himself over to the burger van.

‘Top of the morning to you,’ Pete said with a cheerful grin. ‘Or, should I say … bottom?’

‘My life is a disaster,’ Jacob said. ‘And I have a cold.’

‘And I have a warm … coffee!’ Pete said, holding up a jug. ‘Do you want me to lace it with a little Christmas spice, clear out those sinuses?’

‘No, it’s all right.’

‘So, tell Uncle Pete what’s happened.’

‘The girl I like is dating my evil stepbrother,’ Jacob said. ‘At least I saw her in the back of his Rolls Royce.’

‘Are you plotting a book? My Lily knows a lady who might be interested in a collaboration. Have you ever read The Trainspotter’s Guide to Romance?’

Jacob shrugged. ‘My mum’s read it. She said it was amazing. It’s on my to-read list.’

‘Bestseller. You could follow in those footsteps with an idea like that. Now, how to “blandify” it? How to get the girl without having to be too dramatic … you know what I suggest?’

‘What?’

‘Go and talk to her.’

‘What would be the point?’

Pete held up a paper cup. ‘You see this? Do you know what it says on the back?’