Owning Jacob - SA (3 page)

'Do you want to dean yourself up?' the young woman asked. She was wearing a matching dark jacket and skirt, the businesswoman's equivalent of Colin's suit. Ben shook his head.

He stil hadn't spoken to her yet. The adrenalin was draining out of him now, and mortification was flooding in to fil the gap. It was only just beginning to dawn on him what a fool he had made of himself.

They went outside and waited by the dub's entrance. The night air tasted like oxygen after die smoky atmosphere of the dub. It was September, stil warm but with enough of a cool edge to feel like a sobering flannel on his face. Ben pushed his hands into his pockets and tried to keep from shivering. He avoided looking at the woman, but he could feel her watching him.

'So what happened back there? I take it they didn't want their photos taken?' Ben was uncomfortably aware that his teeth were starting to chatter from reaction. No, it, uh … it was because I wouldn't take any.' He could feel himself starting to blush.

'Wel , that's a new one. A photographer beaten up in a nightdub for not taking photographs.'

He couldn't help but respond to her amusement Teah, wel , you've got to be selective about these things.' Colin emerged from the club. Not even the neon light could disguise the flush on his cheeks as he strode over.

'Wel , this is rucking great! Jesus, Ben, what the fuck were you thinking of?'

"What was I thinking of? They smashed my camera!'

'I don't give a shit about your camera! I've been working on this deal for the past six months and the day it's signed I get a singer who's going to need stitches and a bass player with a broken hand! And it's my fucking guest who does it! I mean, thanks Ben, this makes a real y good impression, doesn't it?' He had never seen Colin so angry, but a sense of injustice brought a spurt of his own anger. What do you expect me to do, smile and say thank you?'

'Would it have kil ed you to take a few fucking pictures just to keep things quiet, if only for my sake? But no, that's too much to ask, isn't it? You have to get into a fight with the singer and chuck the bloody camera in his face! Their manager's talking about suing you, for Christ's sake!' Belatedly, it began to occur to Ben what an embarrassing position he'd put Colin in.

'I thought he'd catch it,' he said, lamely.

"Yeah, wel , he didn't.' Colin ran a hand through his thinning hair. 'Look, I'd better get back in there. And you'd better make yourself scarce. They'l be coming out to go to the hospital soon. I don't want any more trouble if they see you.' Ben nodded, chagrined. 'Sorry.' Colin looked at him for a moment, as though considering whether to accept the apology or not, then sighed, 'Don't worry, I'l sort it out' He gave a tired smile. 'It could be worse. At least it's only the bass player's hand that's broken.

We're probably going to get rid of him anyway.' Ben was about to laugh when he saw that he wasn't joking.

Colin turned to the young woman, who had been standing in the background during the exchange. 'Sarah, can you make sure he gets a taxi? And you might as wel go home yourself then.

There's no point you hanging about any longer.' Without waiting for an answer he hurried back inside.

There was a silence afterwards. Ben wanted to crawl under something. 'Come on,' Sarah said. We can get a taxi down here.' They walked away from the club. 'I don't need a taxi,' he told her when they reached a side road. 'My car's parked down here.' She stopped and looked at him. 'I don't think you should drive.'

'I'm okay. My eye isn't that bad.' He tentatively felt the swel ing.

'I didn't mean your eye. How many drinks have you had?'

'I'm not drunk,' he retorted.

'Perhaps not, but don't you think tonight's been eventful enough already?' The amused expression was stil on her face. She had light brown, jaw-length hair tucked back behind her ears and a smattering of pale freckles running across her nose and cheeks. It was difficult to tel what colour her eyes were in the light from the streetlamps, but Ben thought they were probably hazel. She was quite attractive, he realised. He felt his scowl slipping away. 'Yeah, perhaps you're right.' They flagged down a taxi. Ben offered it to her first, but she declined.

'Colin'l only quiz me about it tomorrow. I want to be able to tel him I saw you safely on your way.' There was something vulnerable and yet aloof about her slim figure as she waited for him to get in. He felt strangely nervous. "Where are you going?' he asked. "We might as wel share.' She lived in Clapham. You've done me a favour, actual y” she said, as the taxi pul ed away. Td have had to stay for another hour or so, and I don't like being late for the baby-sitter.'

"You've got children?' He was surprised at how disappointed he suddenly was.

'A little boy. Jacob. He's nearly two now.'

'Is your husband out tonight as wel ?'

'I'm not married.' It was said without emotion, a flat statement. Ben realised he was pleased. She's got a kid. Don't get carried away.

'So are you a lawyer too?' he asked.

'No, just a lowly clerk. But I'm studying in my spare time. With a bit of luck I should take my articles in a few years. It's a roundabout way of doing things, but at least you get paid while you're doing it' She shrugged, dismissing the problems of being a working single mother. 'How about you? Do you actual y take photographs, or do you only use cameras as offensive weapons?' He grinned, sheepishly. 'Only when provoked. When I'm not throwing cameras in people's faces, I do fashion shoots for magazines, bits and pieces for advertising agencies.

Stuff like that.'

'Sounds glamorous.'

'About as glamorous as the music business.' He fingered his swol en eye and they both laughed. When the taxi stopped outside her flat he couldn't believe the journey had passed so quickly. As she climbed out of the cab he felt an urgency come over him he hadn't felt since he was a teenager.

'Look,' he said, hurriedly, 'if you aren't doing anything later this week, perhaps we could go for a drink some time?' She smiled, bending to the open door. 'I can't real y. It was difficult enough finding someone to baby-sit tonight. But thanks for asking.' Leave it at that. Don't get involved, she's got a kid. She was straightening, beginning to close the door. 'How about lunch?' he asked.

She looked at him. Her smile had become quizzical, as though this wasn't what she'd expected either.

'Cal me at work,' she said.

Two years later they were married. And two years after that a vein burst in her head and kil ed her.

Jacob sat on the settee in the crook of Ben's arm, watching The Don King on video. It was one of his favourites, which for Jacob meant that he could watch it through to the end, then go back and watch the whole thing again straightaway. He'd learned how to work the video machine when he was four, but never bothered rewinding if a tape was halfway through. He just watched it from whatever point it started. The narrative never interested him, only the visuals.

He yawned now as he watched the cartoon. Ben knew that he should real y put him to bed. They had a strict routine

- Jacob would wash his hands when he arrived home from school, watch children's TV for half an hour, eat his tea, spend some time playing or watching more TV with them, then have a bath and go to bed. Routines for Jacob meant safety and security, and any departure could upset him. Ben had already helped him assemble a rudimentary car from Lego bricks, and now they were running into his bath-time. But he hadn't seemed to notice, and Ben was loath to put him to bed just yet. He needed the contact as much as Jacob did. More, perhaps, right then.

The phone had been ringing al night, various people wanting to see how he was. He was touched by their concern, but was glad when the cal s had final y stopped. Most of 'their'

friends were real y Sarah's, parents of children who either went to Jacob's school or that she had met through autistic contact groups. Ben didn't feel he had much in common widi them, and the conversations only made him more aware then ever that Sarah wasn't there. Only Jacob.

zo And he couldn't look at Jacob any more without thinking about the newspaper cuttings.

He'd been tempted to tel Colin about them when- he'd phoned, but in the end he hadn't. He wanted to think it through first, satisfy himself that he wasn't being paranoid.

One moment he would be convinced of the worst, the next certain that there was a mundane explanation. Sometimes a conviction that the entire thing was ludicrous would blow away his suspicions like a spring wind. He had seen photographs of Sarah when she was pregnant, for one thing, talked with her parents about the birth of their grandson. He knew that she had been seeing a bastard cal ed Miles, who dropped her when she became pregnant (there was the usual surge of jealousy-tipped anger at the thought), and that she had moved in with her friend Jessica afterwards. Ben had dubbed her The Awful Jessica because in his opinion she was, although Sarah didn't like him poking fun. But, awful or not, she had been a trainee midwife, and when Jacob had been born prematurely and suddenly it had been Jessica who had delivered him in the middle of the night.

That was the truth as he had known it. He would remember it and feel relieved, but then, imperceptibly, his certainty would slip through his fingers and the whole process of argument and counter-argument would begin again.

Jacob gave another yawn and rubbed his eyes. Ben smiled despite himself as he watched him struggling to stay awake.

'Come on. Time for bed.' He gave him the expected piggyback upstairs and ran the bath. The boy was so tired he was yawning continuously, but he stil fol owed the routine detailed in the little pictograms on the bathroom door. Sarah had drawn diem herself, basing them on the Rebus symbols used at the school. They were simple drawings showing matchstick figures flushing the toilet, washing their hands and brushing their teeth. Some had a sun added to them to show they were for the daytime, others a crescent moon, and Jacob stuck to the sequences religiously. Ben had once made the mistake of trying to remove them, thinking they were no longer needed, but Jacob had made such a fuss he'd quickly put them back.

Needed or not, the pictograms themselves had become part of the comforting order.

Ben kissed him goodnight and stood back as he pul ed the quilt up to his chin, turned over and fel asleep instantly. He felt guilty for keeping him up so long. The boy had given no outward indication of being aware of his mother's death but it must have affected him. Ben was sure that, on some level, at least, he knew something was wrong. He didn't expect Jacob to understand what a funeral was - an ordinary day was ful of confusion enough for him - but during the service he had stared at the coffin and rocked, which he only did when he was disturbed. Maggie, with her usual subtlety, had tried to persuade Ben not to take him, arguing that nothing would be gained by it and that he'd only cause a fuss. But Sarah would have wanted him there. She had always believed in treating Jacob as much like a normal child as possible, giving no more concessions to his autism than she had to.

'He's a bright boy/ she had said. 'I'm not going to patronise him because he's autistic. He isn't retarded.' For a time they'd thought he might be. At least Ben had.

He had never said as much to Sarah, even though he was sure it must have occurred to her. As a baby, Jacob had been slow first to crawl, then to walk. When he was three he stil hadn't spoken so much as a word, and the excuse that he was a 'slow starter' no longer held any conviction. But it was his lack of response that convinced Ben there was something wrong. It seemed to make no difference to Jacob if he was being cuddled or left in a room by himself. He rarely smiled, and when he looked at anyone, even Sarah, it was with no more recognition than he would give a piece of furniture. For a long time Ben found his indifferent stare eerie, though that was something else he never mentioned.

Eventual y, even Sarah couldn't deny that there was a problem. She had taken Jacob to have his hearing tested, and Ben got the impression that she hoped he actual y was deaf, that the problem was a straightforward physical one. He didn't believe it himself. Jacob didn't seem to understand anything that was said to him or recognise his name, but there were some sounds he unmistakably reacted to. He would look towards the door of whatever room he was in when the doorbel sounded, and once when Sarah was out Ben had experimented by standing behind him and opening a packet of sweets. The little boy had twisted around immediately, a look of anticipation replacing his usual remote expression.

He had been nearly four when he had been diagnosed as autistic. Not long after that Ben went to Antigua on a shoot.

The second night one of the models had come on to him after a. group of them went to a bar together. She had a fabulous body, a golden tan, and he knew no word of it would ever get back to Sarah. He had seen the promise of suntanned and easy sex smiling in front of him and thought back over the strain of the previous few months. Taking Jacob to see specialists.

Waiting for test results. Vainly trying to comfort Sarah as she cried, for the first time since he'd known her, when they were told. Did he real y want to tie himself down to a woman with an autistic child that wasn't even his? The answer hadn't real y surprised him.

He made his excuses to the girl and spent the night alone in his hotel room. The day he arrived back in London he asked Sarah to marry him.

Now he stood by Jacob's bed and looked down at her son, searching for some resemblance that would put the question of parentage beyond doubt. There was nothing. The boy's hair was a ruddy brown, not Sarah's paler colour. His eyes were a pale, tawny brown, and his features had none of the fineness of her bone structure. Ben had always taken for granted that the boy took after his father.

Perhaps he does.

He left the bedroom and went downstairs. The house was quiet. He took an old tobacco tin from the bag that held his camera equipment, col ected a beer from the fridge and went into the lounge to rol himself a joint. Sarah never liked him smoking them at home, but Jacob was in bed, and if ever there was a time when he needed one this was it. He lit up and drew on it, holding his breath. When he final y let it go it was explosively, as if he could expel everything else along with the used smoke.