“So where did you find Clarabelle?” Jason asked, his conversation flitting from one thing to another. “Round the back, I’m guessing.”
I nodded, much preferring to forget the whole affair.
“She’s too clever for her own good is that one. I’ve told her she’ll end up in bother for it, but will she listen?” He laughed. “She probably takes after me. Back in the day I didn’t listen either.” He shook his head as if amused by his past. “Always out partying, dabbling in this and that, doing what people do at that age because, just like Clarabelle, I thought I knew better. That’s how I ended up like this.” He tapped the side of his head. “Good for nothing.”
My heart suddenly went out to Jason. I couldn’t believe he’d think that about himself, let alone say it out loud. Standing there stunned, I didn’t know how to respond.
“There is such a thing as having too much fun, if you know what I mean?” he carried on, oblivious to my discomfort. “It’s why my brain’s addled.”
Jules had said Jason was a bit of a bad boy back in the day, but I hadn’t imagined anything as serious as substance abuse. Listening to Jason, I found his honesty shocking yet admirable. Whereas many would seek to distance or excuse taking drugs, the man before me seemed to own his past. However, that didn’t stop me from feeling sad for him.
“That’s why Barrowboy didn’t want me talking to you the other day. He gets protective. People judge, you see. A lot think I’m either plain stupid or about to rob them. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been clean for years.” He smiled again. “I bet you thought she was a burglar, didn’t you?” he said, suddenly back to talking about his cow.
I felt myself blush.
“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to make that mistake and, if Clarabelle has her way, you won’t be the last.”
“You mean she really does have form?” When Oliver had said that same thing, I’d struggled to believe him.
“Oh, yes. Not only is Clarabelle the world’s greatest escape artist she’s a fantastic mimic.” Jason’s pride in the animal shone through. “I bet she coughed, didn’t she?”
“She did,” I replied, surprised to hear him ask that. “It was the cough that convinced me there was someone out there. It was so human-like.”
Jason puffed out his chest, clearly delighted to hear my response. “It’s Clarabelle’s party piece. She does it on purpose.”
I narrowed my eyes. The man was obviously teasing.
“Honestly. Ask anyone.”
I giggled at the thought. “It’s okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Well, I suppose I better be off,” Jason said, “and let you get on with your day.” He moved to leave. “Enjoy your chocolates.”
“I will. And thank you again.”
Jason suddenly paused to say something. “Did you know that every Christmas in Gävle – that’s in Sweden, by the way – they build a thirteen-metre-high goat in the centre of the castle square. They call it a Yule goat and have been building them since 1966.”
“I didn’t know that, no.”
“Part of the tradition is for people to try to burn it down. Thirty-seven times it’s gone up in flames, can you believe? Since 1966.” He laughed. “Imagine that.”
Watching him set off down the street, I shook my head. As refreshingly honest as Jason had proved himself, there was no denying his drug use had left its mark. I still liked the man though. Not only did I find him one strange cookie, I’d never experienced such a mind of useless festive information.
