Wasted by Nicola Morgan

stand there alone. He sees everything as though he has never seen it before, although he has lived here for about ten years. It is shiny and beautiful and the house breathes a bright yellow air.
    Suddenly, he smells the sea, the salty chill fishiness of it. It waves through him, catching him unawares, and it leaves with a cold ripple across his skin.
    A thought comes to Jack then: how would all this be different if his mother – either of them – had not died? And this is what he has lost, not his mothers, who are in some ways still there as part of him. What he has lost is everything that hasn’t happened to him, everything that he is not, but might have been.
    He feels so small now, a fractional part of something vast and unknowable. Because everyone, everyone in the world, has an equal loss.
Everyone
has a billion things that haven’t happened. He is nothing special.
    He shivers. Then walks into the kitchen to get what he came for. When he goes to open the fridge he discovers that his fingers are crossed. He looks at them.
    Lucky Jack. How long will his luck hold?

CHAPTER 10
MEETING KELLY JONES
    NOW it is evening and the forces of night are gathering. Of course, many bad things happen in daylight too and many nights pass peacefully. But not this time.
    Jess has been home after the day spent practising. It had been perhaps half past seven when she’d got home and her mum had been nippy with her.
    â€œI’ve already eaten. I couldn’t wait any longer,” Sylvia had said. And indeed the kitchen had shown signs of this, with a single plate and single knife and fork sitting there by the sink. Not the wine glass, for that was not finished with.
    â€œI did text, Mum.”
    â€œWell, you know what I’m like with my phone.”
    â€œYes, well, if you want me to text you it might be sensible
not
to be like that with your phone.”
    â€œYes, well, if only everyone was as sensible as you, Jess, darling,” her mother had said.
    Ah, so there’s still a headache going on
, Jess had thought, but hadn’t said it.
    Anyway, she’d made something to eat for herself, had a shower, thrown clothes all over her room as she tried to find the right items. What are the right items for the first night of a new life? All the usual problems come into play when deciding how to dress for this ordinary unordinary night – mustn’t try too hard, mustn’t not try hard enough, mustn’t wear something which will show sweat, must wear something that goes with favourite bag/shoes/necklace, must show enough but not too much.
    But let’s not dwell on this, for none of it will make much difference to what happens. Jack and Jess will do what they do, say what they say, whether Jess wears the blue or the brown, the floaty or the tight, this or that. She looks great anyway.
    At about ten o’clock, she is ready to go. She leaves her mother in front of the television. Sylvia has tried to engage Jess in conversation at the last minute, not because she really wants to know the answers to her questions but because she faces the rest of the night alone.
    â€œSo, tell me about this boy,” she says, remarkably brightly for someone who only a few hours earlier would have described herself as definitely within spitting distance of death’s door. She takes another large glug of wine and the glass twangs against her teeth.
    â€œHe’s nice. You’d like him.” Jess is trying to leave. “Say hello to Julia for me.”
    â€œWhat’s his name again?”
    â€œJack. You know it’s Jack. I must’ve told you four times.”
    â€œWhat does he look like?”
    â€œJust nice, Mum. I expect you’ll meet him soon. Look, I’ve really got to go.”
    â€œWhat time will you be back?”
    â€œWe agreed already – two o’clock, max.”
    â€œThat’s awfully late, Jess. I don’t know.”
    â€œMu–um –