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Jack laughs out of the corner of his mouth, eyes still on me. ‘No, what?’ He smells like hot showers and clean laundry, and that lopsided what-did-you-just-say-to-me smile does something to me. Sends a shiver through me. And it makes me want to fuck around; be silly. Giggle. It sort of makes me want to lean in, kiss his warm, rough, stubbly cheek .?.?. Oh, shut up, Millie, you’re atwork.
‘I .?.?. I don’t believe in being present,’ I say, almost like a defiant child. ‘Well, I mightbelievein it, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it. I’m just not one of those people. It’s like – how can I be present with what’s happening now, when so much has already happened and, therefore, more things aregoingto happen, and I can’t change what’s happened, but I can change whatmight.’
‘And is that what this is?’ asks Jack. ‘The working here today, all the cake—’
‘Oh, why are you so obsessed with the cake?’ I ask, and Jack smiles, a glimpse of straight teeth. ‘But yes. Exactly. It gives me .?.?. purpose? Like, I might’ve messed up, but I can fix things.’
Jack looks at me and says nothing.
‘What?’
‘I didn’t say anything, Millie,’ and his eyes travel down my face, for just a second, and something stirs in my stomach. Hot and tingly.
‘But you want to,’ I carry on. ‘Is it the purpose thing?’
Jack gives a deep chuckle.
‘So, itwasthe purpose thing!’ I say.
‘Well, I don’t reallybelievein purpose, so.’ He grimaces, tilts his head to one side. ‘I believe we’re just a weird meat suit, here for ninety years if we’re very, very lucky, and everything else is just a game. A construct.’
‘Ah, yes.’ I nod. ‘Made up.That’s very depressing by the way. Like, hugely.’
‘Is it?’ Jack rubs a thumb and forefinger along his jaw. ‘’Cause life is absurd though, isn’t it? Mad. And we all waste so much time on things that are not going to meanshitto us when we’re old. Nobody’s ever going to be sitting in a rocking chair at 89, saying, Jesus, do you know what, I’m so glad I worried about opening the best ISA with the best interest rate.’
I gaze at him. ‘Were you raised by Eckhart Tolle?’
‘Who?’
‘Or like .?.?. Buddha?’
‘No,’ Jack says, then his face changes a little. Seriousness; just a tiny shadow of it, like the passing of a cloud across his features. ‘I’m a military kid. My mum was in the forces? We never stayed in one place for very long.’
And it feels like a nugget. A piece of Jack, offered up. And I want to pick it up and hold it with both hands. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Wow. I sort of expected like – rockstar parents or something.’
‘Rockstar parents. I’m just that cool, am I?’ smirks Jack, but then that look reappears. A subduedness. A reluctance. A carefulness. ‘I guess it sort of rubs off? When you move around a lot. Every street, every town, every school, is the same. You sort of see through it all in the end. The mask of it? My sister, Brogan, though, she’s the opposite. She’s got the house, the husband, kids, dogs.ISAs.’ He meets my eyes then, the corner of his mouth dimpling with a smile. ‘Yeah, Brogan wants it all .?.?. locked in. And maybe I should have gone that way. Wondered for a bit, if I was doing it wrong by not.’ He looks up to the sky for a moment, flicks his sunglasses back down over his eyes. ‘But, I dunno. I never did.’
‘That’s because you live in the vortex. The Jack Shurlock vortex.’ I sigh. ‘I wish I could do that. I wishIcould live in the vortex.’
‘Yeah?’
I nod. ‘Yup. Just – be that person. Just go off. Do something new.’
‘You can,’ Jack says.
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. Just – step inside.’ And when he turns and looks at me, then, his face close, I automatically look away. The way you do when you’ve looked at something too bright. To shield yourself.
I look back down to the pitch. I can just see Marshal sipping from a can of something, behind his camera.
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘At least .?.?. not right this minute, anyway. I’ve got to go and get everyone’s lunch. I promised Marshal a jacket potato, don’t you know.’
‘Just go home, do what you want,’ says Jack, shrugging. ‘I’ll cover for you.’
