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Jacob

Jacob woke up in the little single bed with a heavy weight pressing down on his legs. For a moment he had no idea where he was, then remembered. A little digital alarm clock on the bedside table said eight-thirty, and he had a sudden moment of panic before remembering that today was Saturday.

Neither of them had realised they had no work in the morning until late; then to celebrate this sudden revelation they had decided to watch a Christmas film in the living room, a wholesome and relaxing romantic comedy for which neither of them had managed to stay awake long enough to see the end, although the assumption was that Vanessa Hudgens would end up with the guy who had travelled through time from a future where there was no Christmas, probably sharing a first kiss beneath the Christmas tree. The thought of this happening and what he ought to do if and when it did, kept Jacob on edge for the first part of the film, but after Charlotte fell asleep first, he was able to relax. After waking during the credits, Charlotte showed Jacob the spare bedroom downstairs, then groggily said goodnight and headed up to bed.

He tried to roll over. Whatever was pressing down on him shifted with him, then suddenly clambered up over his body. Conjuring images of the beast from the deep, Jacob opened his mouth to scream, only to find it met with a flapping, slobbering tongue. Trying to minimise the sliming, Jacob put his arms around Harry and tried to ease the dog away from his face.

He had just managed to get the dog under control when a light knock came on the door. It opened and Charlotte’s face appeared. Her hair was sticking up in clumps but she still looked as lovely as the morning sun. Jacob let his guard down just a little too long as he stared at her, and Harry moved in for a savage tongue slime right across the middle of his face.

‘Oh, was he looking after you?’ Charlotte said.

‘Something like that.’

She gave a little laugh, light and airy. ‘I made bacon and eggs,’ she said. Then, as Harry’s foot slipped into Jacob’s groin, making him wince, her smile dropped. ‘Oh, goodness. You’re not vegan are you?’

He shook his head. ‘Full fat, full meat.’

‘Great.’ She patted her leg. ‘Come on, Harry. Let Jacob get dressed.’

Charlotte had laid out a breakfast spread that would have made any grandmother proud. Triangular slices of toast stood in a wire rack, next to a knob of butter on a plate. Orange juice filled a glass jug, coffee two mugs. She had set out a line of miniature cereal boxes and there were two plates laden with bacon and fried eggs. Beans in a tub, ketchup on a little flowery plate.

Jacob couldn’t help but smile. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘It’s like being in a B&B.’

Charlotte put a hand over her mouth as she snorted with laughter. ‘Just for you,’ she said. ‘I usually only have a bowl of muesli and a banana. Grandma always put out a spread on a weekend, though.’

‘I usually just get a bacon roll from Pete in Sycamore Park,’ Jacob said. ‘I can’t eat too much, as Aunt Marjorie usually has something she needs taste tested before it goes on the specials board.’

‘It must be lovely working in a café,’ Charlotte said. ‘All I get is school dinner, like the kids. I mean, it’s not bad, but the portions are pretty small. Please sit down.’

Jacob, who had dressed in yesterday’s clothes and really needed to go home and change, took a seat at one end of the table. Harry came and stood beside him, back on his haunches, ears lifted expectantly.

‘Don’t let him break you,’ Charlotte said. ‘A small piece of lean bacon only. If he thinks you’re weak, he’ll never leave you alone.’

‘I am weak,’ Jacob said.

The way that Charlotte looked at him, head slightly tilted to the right, a soft smile on her face, made him feel like the most important person in the world.

‘You’re not weak,’ she said. ‘You’re kind.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, a lump in his throat.

Her smile widened. ‘Coffee or orange juice? Or both?’

‘Both,’ he said.

Despite Harry’s constant hustle for attention, Jacob found it so easy to talk to Charlotte. By the time breakfast was over he had learned all sorts of random things about her. She only took sugar in coffee when she went out because that made it seem special. She liked strawberries, but only British-grown ones. She couldn’t stand rhubarb, even though her grandmother had a massive plant at the bottom of the garden, so she gave most of it to the neighbours. As a student she had backpacked across France, once having to sleep in a barn somewhere in the middle of Provence after missing the last bus and getting scared by a howling dog she had thought was a wolf.

In return, he told her a few things about himself he hadn’t realised anyone would actually care about until now. He had read every book Stephen King had ever written, usually in hardback, borrowed from the library because he couldn’t afford to buy them. He really liked garlic in food. He didn’t like snakes, unless they were in cages. And the only thing he had ever knowingly killed was a fish on a school camping and fishing trip, and he still felt guilty about it.

They were still sitting at the breakfast table at eleven o’clock, long after Harry had retired to his basket in the corner for a morning snooze. Charlotte, sitting beside him, showed no sign of wanting him to leave, but he really didn’t want to overstay his welcome. During a pause in their discussion about little things, he plucked up the courage to say what he really wanted to say.

‘So … what happens now?’

Charlotte’s eyelids flickered. ‘Ah … what do you want to happen?’

Jacob hadn’t been in any kind of relationship since school, and those had been brief, butterfly things, there for a few days, soon gone without rhyme or reason. If there was a rulebook for starting a relationship, he hadn’t read it. If indeed, relationship was what they had. Was he assuming too much from a little hug? Should he make his excuses and run, without looking back?