Owning Jacob - SA (12 page)

'Now, hang on a second,' Colin began. Kale ignored him.

The Jacob-stare was fixed on Ben.

'That true?' His face was stil expressionless, only now there was a terrible intensity about it. "You've got my boy?'

'It isn't how it seems-' Ben stammered.

'Okay, that's it. We're leaving now,' Colin said, taking hold of his arm.

But Kale had already started towards them. One leg was stiff and unbending, and Ben remembered Quil ey saying how he had been wounded in Northern Ireland.

Colin stepped forward. 'Okay, let's al calm down a little-' Kale didn't so much as glance at him as he rammed the heel of his hand into his face. There was a solid meat-and-bone impact.

Colin rebounded from the out-thrust hand and staggered backwards. Ben moved to help him and

suddenly found himself lying on the rough concrete floor.

He had no memory of getting there. He became aware of a commotion near by and turned his head to look. The movement caused a shaft of pain that served as a vanguard to a much bigger one throughout his entire body. A few yards from his head he saw two pairs of boots scuffling, and fol owed them upwards to see the scrap dealer struggling to restrain Kale.

Kale was staring fixedly at Ben, and although the dealer was straining with his ful weight he was being pushed inexorably backwards.

'Go on, fuck off out of it!' he snapped. Ben felt a hand under his arm as Colin helped him up. His mouth and chin were shiny with blood.

'Come on, let's go.' Colin's voice was clogged and nasal.

Ben tried to get his feet under him and the world tilted to one side. He nearly vomited.

'Where's my boy?' Kale didn't shout, but the demand was no less imperative for that Ben was stil searching for some way of taking them back to a better start as Colin began pul ing him away. Behind them Quil ey watched, no longer smiling but making no attempt to intervene.

'Let 'em go, John!' the dealer gasped, feet scrabbling for purchase in his effort to hold Kale.

'Get out of the way. Now,' Kale told him.

There was a final warning in his voice. The dealer said,

'Leave it, John, for Christ's sake!' but dropped his arms. Kale thrust him aside. Ben knew the man was beyond reasoning and hobbled into a shambling run as Colin urged him to go faster. He couldn't remember what Kale had done to him but he felt he had been transposed into an unfamiliar, pain-racked body. As they stumbled past the stacks of flattened cars he glanced back and saw the ex-soldier limping after them with grim determination. But he was fal ing steadily behind, slowed by his unbending left leg. They reached the crane, ignoring the bewildered looks from its operator as they ran by. The

office building was just ahead of them, the car around the other side of it.

'Get the keys ready,' Colin panted. Ben was pul ing them from his pocket when there was a piercing whistle.

He looked round. Kale had two fingers hooked into his mouth, and without breaking stride he gave another short, sharp blast. A low brown shape streaked out from amongst the wrecked cars. Kale didn't speak, simply snapped his fingers in their direction. The dog tore towards them Ben said, 'Oh fuck,' and they began to run in earnest.

The Golf was in sight now. He sprinted for it, Colin beside him. The sound of the dog's claws on concrete grew swiftly louder. It was closing fast. 'Get on the bonnet' They leapt on to the car at the same time. The dog overshot, its claws scrabbling as it braked in a tight circle.

It was a Staffordshire bul terrier, al wedged-shaped head and p slabbed muscle. Ben slid off the bonnet and thrust the key into the lock. He threw himself inside and slammed the door as the dog came tearing back. There was a bang and the car rocked as f the animal hit it. He reached across and unlocked the passenger k door. Colin had climbed on to the car roof.

He scrambled inside while Ben fumbled with the ignition and the dog jumped up at the window on the driver's side. Ben heard him say 'Shit!' and looked up to see Kale heading for them from around the building. The dog snarled and slavered at the glass inches from his head as he crashed the gears into reverse and accelerated for the gates. The car shot through them backwards into the road.

He stamped on the brake, crunched into first, and put his foot down hard. The scrapyard disappeared behind them.

He took turnings at random until he felt sure that Kale had no chance of fol owing, then pul ed into an overgrown lay-by and switched off the ignition. The car subsided into silence. Ben kept his hands on the steering wheel. Beside him Colin held a carmine-splashed handkerchief to his nose. His shirt was dappled with blood.

Tou al right?' Ben asked

'I don't think it's broken.' His voice stil sounded honky and strange. 'How about you?' Ben looked down at himself. He didn't even seem to be bleeding. But it wasn't the physical hurt that stopped him answering. What had happened was too calamitous for him to take in. It was as though he'd been gored, knowing it was serious but too numbed by shock to gauge how bad the damage was. He couldn't begin to think what the consequences would be.

He turned on the ignition. 'I think now's the time to find a good solicitor.'

The sun had almost disappeared behind the rooftops. The smal garden was dappled by shade. Jet contrails criss-crossed the orange-to-indigo vignette of evening sky, slowly dispersing into petrochemical imitations of cirrus clouds. Ben blew his own contribution up at them and stubbed out the joint on the heel of his sandal. He dropped it in his empty beer bottle and leaned back against the garden walL The bricks stil retained some of the sun's heat, but that was the only comfort to be had from their ungiving roughness. There were perfectly good wooden sun chairs a matter of feet away, and Ben had no reason not to sit in them instead of on the hard-baked ground. But he wasn't uncomfortable enough for it to merit the effort of moving.

The creak of the swing provided a metronomic counterpoint to the sweeter but unstructured birdsong from the trees.

Whenever it began to slow, Ben reached out with his foot and set it going again. The empty seat arced lazily backwards and forwards. Jacob could sit on it for hours without growing bored, just watching the grass zip by under his feet. Ben had taken photographs of him, using a high-speed film to capture the movement without blurring. A camera lay beside him now.

He'd focused it once on the untenanted swing, but had put it down again without pressing the shutter release. It would have made too bald a statement.

Another plane crossed the sky, invisible except for the white chalk mark that trailed behind it. Ben raised the camera and took a couple of shots of the geometric tracery above him. He knew it was the wrong sort of camera, wrong sort of film, and that he was in the wrong sort of mood to get anything decent, but, just as there was no reason to go and sit in a chair, neither was there a reason why he shouldn't waste some film if he wanted to. Nothing seemed any more or less worthwhile than anything else.

It was amazing how quickly things could turn to shit.

Objectively, it was only three months since the disastrous visit to the scrapyard, but so much had happened that to his subjective timescale it seemed much longer. When he had gone to see the solicitor the day after the encounter with Kale he stil hadn't any real idea what was in store for him. Ann Usherwood was in her late forties, tal and sparely built with greying hair and a severe business suit. Her office was smart but unpretentious, functional almost to the point of being spartan. She had been professional y blunt as she told him he was in a legal y vulnerable position. 'A step-parent doesn't have any automatic rights to their spouse's children. You ought to have made an application to the court for something cal ed a

"residence order" as soon as your wife died, so Jacob could continue living with you.'

'Won't Kale be able to just take Jacob back anyway?' he'd asked.

'It doesn't work like that. Although, from what you say, there's no doubt that John Kale is the natural father, the child's welfare is always the first consideration. No one's going to simply tear Jacob from his home and hand him over to a total stranger, natural father or not. Mr Kale wil stil have to apply for a residence order himself, unless you voluntarily agree to return Jacob to him. The fact that Jacob was, er

'Stolen,' supplied Ben, brutal y.

'I was going to say unlawful y taken by your wife, but however you put it a child isn't a piece of property to be returned to the original owner, regardless. Taking him was a criminal act, however, and I imagine the midwife wil be investigated and quite possibly charged.' She paused. 'You'l have to satisfy the police that you didn't know anything about what your wife had done until you found the cuttings. Taking steps to find Jacob's father wil weigh in your favour, although it might be argued that you should have gone to the police straightaway instead of going to the scrapyard.'

'I only wanted to see Kale for myself.'

'Hopeful y the police wil accept that. In any event, you've got to make a decision on how you want to proceed. Given that John Kale wil probably make an application for residence, are you going to contest it?' Ben rubbed his temples. 'What'l happen if I do?'

'A court welfare officer - or in this case perhaps a social worker - wil be appointed to consider Mr Kale's application and make recommendations. Then the court wil decide where Jacob's going to live. They'l take into account his own wishes and feelings, which is obviously more difficult when there are communication difficulties. But under normal circumstances you'd probably have a reasonable prospect of keeping him.' He felt too tired to think. 'And if I don't contest it?'

'Then, after a period of assessment, Jacob wil probably go to live with his natural father.'

'Wil I stil be able to see him?'

'You might be al owed some contact, but I can't say how much. That'l depend on what's felt to be in his best interests.' Best interests? Ben thought about the shabby little town, the house with its junk piled in the garden. He hated the idea of Jacob living somewhere like that. He didn't want to give him up, couldn't imagine how he'd feel if he did. The thought of what Sarah would say, what she would think, was a dry anguish in his gut. The rights and wrongs of how she came by him apart, Jacob was her son. She had loved him, looked after him. And so had he. How could he just let him go now? But against that was the memory of Kale limping forward with six years' pent-up grief. Where's my boy? He realised the solicitor was waiting.

He gave her his answer.

John Kale saw his son for the first time in a dirty concreteand-glass social services building. Ben held Jacob's hand as they went with Ann Usherwood to the room where the meeting was to take place. The social worker appointed to carry out the assessment was a man cal ed Carlisle. He was a few years older than Ben, with a stubble cut, chinos and a habit of looking down his nose. John Kale and his wife were there already, Kale in a dark green suit that was too heavy for the weather, his wife in a short, sleeveless pink dress. Ben braced himself as Kale stood up, but the other man didn't so much as glance at him. He was staring at Jacob.

Everyone in the room seemed to hang on the moment.

Kale limped over and stood in front of his son, never taking his eyes from him. His face was as unrevealing as it had been in the scrapyard, but now Ben fancied there was a tentativeness about him. He squatted down, looking intently into the boy's face without speaking. Ben expected Jacob to make his pushing-away gesture, but he didn't.

'Hel o, Steven,' Kale said. 'I'm your dad.' Jacob kept his gaze averted, then cautiously shifted it to the man crouching in front of him. They looked at each other, and Ben felt a little slip of unreality at the resemblance between them. Then Kale turned and fixed him with an unblinking stare.

"What have you done to him?' ioz The social worker stepped forward. 'I think perhaps we should al just take a seat. This is going to be very difficult for everyone, and it's important to keep calm and remember that we're here to discuss what's best for Jacob.'

'Steven,' Kale said. His head swivel ed from Ben to the social worker. 'His name's Steven.' Carlisle faltered, then ral ied. 'I'm sorry, Mr Kale, but unless you want to confuse and upset him, you'l have to start thinking of your son as Jacob now. That's the name he knows and has been brought up with, and trying to change it now could prove very difficult for him.' Ben saw Kale's jaw muscles bunch as he looked down again at Jacob. The social worker turned in silent appeal to the overweight man with a thick moustache and glasses sitting with Sandra Kale. By his dandruff-flecked suit and briefcase, Ben guessed he was their solicitor. The man reluctantly rose to his feet "Why don't you sit down, Mr Kale?' Kale ignored him. He fished in his pocket and brought out a smal parcel. 'Here.' He offered it to Jacob. Jacob just looked at it. Kale unwrapped it for him. Ben saw that his hands were square and broad, the fingers stubbed and cal used. The object was a puzzle, a clear plastic case in which two or three tiny silver bal s rol ed freely. It was similar to the ones Jacob had at home. Kale gave it a little shake, rattling the bal s, and offered it to him again. This time the boy accepted it. He shook it himself, copying Kale, then began trying to manoeuvre the bal s into holes in the puzzle's base.

Kale passed his hand softly over the boy's head before going back to his seat. As if that were their cue, the rest of them also went to the col ection of low chairs set around a squat rectangular table. The informal setting did nothing to relieve the atmosphere in the room.

'Before we go any further, I think one thing I have to stress is the need for us al to co-operate,' the social worker said. He was careful to address al of them, not just Kale.

'This is a very emotional time for everyone concerned, but we mustn't lose sight that our priority is Jacob's welfare, not, ah, not venting personal differences."

'I want my boy,' Kale said. He was hunched forward on the edge of his seat, stil watching Jacob. In the next seat his wife was chewing on one corner of her red-painted mouth as her eyes darted from her husband to her stepson. Her eyebrows were plucked into thin dark lines. Her face was sharp-featured and the roots of her straw-coloured hair were dark brown, but there was a vulpine, shopworn attractiveness to her. An edge of white bra strap was showing on one shoulder. She looked up and caught Ben watching her. He turned away.