Owning Jacob - SA by Simon Beckett Page B

someone posting a letter in the box not long after he started at the school, and since then insisted on performing the ceremony every morning before he went in. Not when he came out, though; when school had finished he had to walk down the length of the car, top to bottom, brushing his left hand against it. Ben had learned from experience that, no matter how much of a rush he was in, it was better to let Jacob complete his rituals than try to interrupt them.
    The formalities completed, Jacob took Ben's hand again and they went through the gates.
    The Renishaw School was set in the grounds of an old vicarage. The vicarage itself had been demolished long since, but most of its garden remained, except a smal area that had been asphalted to serve as a carpark. Tucked behind the chest-high stone wal , it formed a smal oasis of shrubs, trees and lawn in the surrounding desert of brick and concrete.
    Someone had cut the grass, and the rich scent of it masked the petrol fumes from the road and hit Ben like an essence of childhood. The nostalgia eased past his defences and deepened without warning into the poignancy of loss. Angrily refuting it, he took Jacob over to the prefabricated units that stood on the site of the old house and went into the second one.
    At first glance it seemed like any classroom; childish paintings on the wal competing with colourful posters ful of bold lettering. But it was a much smal er group than a normal class, only eight other children in it besides Jacob, and only two of them girls. The other thing that set it apart was that there was less chatter than usual. Unless they were encouraged, the children tended to play by themselves instead of with each other, and when Ben had first taken Jacob there the classroom's relative quiet had struck him as eerie.
    Now he barely noticed. The teacher, Mrs Wilkinson, smiled at him over the head of a little boy who was standing in front of her. He was talking almost without pausing for breath, al the time looking down at the wheel of a toy car he was spinning instead of at her.
    'Excuse me, Terence, Jacob's here with his daddy,' she said, easing past. The narrative continued without a break as the boy turned and fol owed her, stil concentrating on the car wheel.
    'Morning,' she said to Ben over the top of the monologue.
    She was a plump woman in her forties, with a saint-like patience that made Ben feel both envious and mildly guilty. 'Terence, why don't you and Jacob go and see what Melissa's doing?' The teacher gently ushered the boys towards the other children, and Ben tensed as he saw what was coming next.
    'I was so sorry to hear about your wife,' she said, and the sympathy in her voice almost choked him.
    He nodded, retreating from it. 'Thanks. I, uh, I've arranged 5 for someone to pick Jacob up this afternoon. Anyway. Got to dash.' He gave her the best smile he could manage and headed for the door before she could say anything else. He couldn't bear to see the understanding look he knew she would be giving him. It was a look he was beginning to know wel .
    He hated it.
    Outside the sun was stil shining, and the air was stil thick with the smel of cut grass. Ben took deep breaths as he walked through the peaceful scene. He felt he had no right to be in it. He kept his head down as he went back to his car. When he reached the gates he looked up and saw Sarah coming towards him.
    It wasn't her, of course. The impression lasted only an instant, the woman's hair and clothes giving a fleeting il usion, but Ben felt as though he had been kicked in the heart. The woman gave him an odd glance as she came through the gates, and he realised he had stopped and was staring at her. He went quickly to his car and got in. He gripped the steering wheel and banged his head softly up and down.
    'Oh, fuck, Sarah, why did you do it?' He sat with his head resting on the wheel for a while longer, then started the engine and drove away.
    The studio was on the top floor of an old