The Key to Finding Jack

by Ewa Jozefkowicz

  ‘What? No. I mean he did, but not in that way. When I told him I was broke, he wanted to give me some money, but I refused. So he said that I should treat it as a loan, and I told him I had no job. Then he asked what sort of stuff I could do, and said that his uncle was looking for a receptionist. I thanked him, but I thought it was just chat. So when he messaged me a couple of days later to say that I had an interview the following week, I couldn’t believe it. I ended up spending most of the money he’d lent me on a dress because I didn’t have anything professional to wear. I’ve been here almost a year now. I’m in a nice flat-share too, because I could afford to move out of the hostel when I got my first payslip from Michael.’

  ‘Do you like it here?’ I asked. Now that she had changed back into her own clothes, I couldn’t imagine Manfy working in an office.

  ‘Yes. I used to be on reception, but last month I got promoted to a sales role. I get to drive around and show people properties. Some of them are huge, with swimming pools and everything. It’s fun to imagine living in a house like that. Michael’s a great boss and the money’s not bad. I never imagined that I’d be working in an estate agent’s. I always thought I’d be a musician or a photographer. I still might be one day – I love taking pictures. You never know, do you?’

  ‘What sort of photos do you take?’

  ‘I have an old camera that belonged to my dad. It still uses film. I don’t put my photos on Instagram or anything. I only have hard copies that are mine to keep. It makes them more special. I like taking photos of people, capturing what makes them unique. With Jack, it was the way he laughed – he almost completely closed his eyes. Did you ever notice that?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and I knew that my voice had an angry edge to it. I think Manfy heard it, because she put her hand on top of mine as if to show her support.

  ‘I’ve taken a couple of good shots of him. I’ll give them to you when I develop the film,’ she promised.

  ‘Did you and Jack end up going out?’ I asked, swallowing hard. I dreaded the answer, because if she said ‘Yes’, it would be another part of my brother’s life that I knew nothing about.

  ‘No,’ she said and I could feel my shoulders relaxing. ‘But we hung out together a lot. I offered to teach him guitar in return for everything he’d done for me. He was getting good by the end – I mean, before he left.’

  I recalled the battered guitar that Jack had bought second-hand from a music shop near Tottenham Court Road. He used to strum it sometimes when we sat in his room and chatted.

  ‘He was talking about doing grades, because his music teacher at sixth form had encouraged him. He sounded like a pretty awesome guy from what Jack said. Nothing like the teachers I had – they really didn’t seem to care at all.’

  ‘What was his name?’ Keira asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘This teacher?’

  ‘Oh, Finny. I’m pretty sure it’s a nickname – it’s what Jack used to call him. Finny taught him how to read music. I only taught myself the different strings. I don’t actually know any notes.’

  ‘So you would hang out and play the guitar?’ It was only when I said it aloud that I realised that I was jealous. I knew how stupid that was, but I couldn’t help it. He was totally allowed to have this other part of his life. We’d still done loads together.

  ‘Yeah, and sometimes at the shop. He was such good fun,’ Manfy continued. I hated that she kept using the past tense. ‘Did he ever tell you about the trick we played on Sutty?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Sutty is petrified of ghosts. He kept telling us about how his parents’ house is haunted. Unexplained things went on there, like stuff going missing and glasses getting smashed in the middle of the night. His mum dismissed all these things as random accidents but Sutty was sure there were supernatural forces at play.

  ‘Anyway, he used to do stocktakes at the shop once a month, usually on a Friday evening, and he would pay me and Jack to help. On one of those evenings, Jack thought it would be hilarious to pretend to go to the loo, fiddle with the fuse and turn all the lights off. Then he put an old white sheet over one of the kids’ toy drones that Sutty sold – the ones operated by a remote control – and sent it flying round the shop, banging into walls and shelves, causing loads of stuff to fall down. He played some shrieking sounds that he’d found on a YouTube horror film clip to make it even scarier.

  ‘I couldn’t stop laughing – it looked so ridiculous, but Sutty was scared out of his mind.’

  The thought of Jack’s ‘ghost’ whizzing round the shop was enough to make even me smile. I noticed that the horrible drumming in my head had eased as Manfy was talking and, as I drank my sugary tea, I began to feel a bit better.

  ‘He loves a practical joke,’ I said.

  ‘Did he tell you the one that he played on your grandma?’

  ‘On Grandma Sylvie?’ I couldn’t believe that anyone would dare play a joke on her. She had always been super-strict, even with her appearance: she had flawless make-up, poker straight hair, and her immaculately plucked eyebrows disappeared into her fringe when she was cross. Then you knew you were in Deep Trouble.

  ‘Yeah, it was a great one,’ Manfy continued. ‘She was mad for a while, but she forgave him in the end. How could you not forgive Jack?’

  Manfy’s story was interrupted by an urgent beeping from her phone.

  ‘I totally forgot I was supposed to be collecting the keys from my new landlord,’ she said, wincing. ‘But here, take my number,’ she added, scrawling it on a piece of paper and handing it to me hastily. ‘Please, please could you let me know if you hear anything about Jack?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,’ I promised.

  ‘Well, that was useless,’ I said, as Keira and I walked home. She’d taken the piece of paper from me and was punching Manfy’s number into her phone. ‘All we managed to find out was that she used to hang out with Jack, apparently much more than I ever did. Plus we didn’t even ask her if she knew anything about the key.’

  I realised how sulky I sounded, but I didn’t care. If Jack had kept so much of himself hidden from me, what was the point of carrying on with his riddle? I might never find the answer.

  ‘I’m guessing you missed the two potential S.F.s that were given as clues?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Come on, I thought that Jack had trained you well? She gave away some very important information, Flick. The first was Finny, the music teacher. That’s Mr Finnegan from school, isn’t it? My cousin had him last year for her A-levels. We can easily look up his first name on the school website. I have a suspicion it begins with an “S”. The second is your grandma, isn’t it?’

  I was so surprised that I stopped dead in my tracks. ‘She’s also an S.F, isn’t she? Sylvie Florenz.’ It sounds silly but I’d completely forgotten her full name. To me, she was always Grandma.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘So…’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Who shall we visit first?’

  Seven

  I spent most of Sunday morning sitting in Jack’s room sketching the house that I saw on the wall at Gilmore’s and thinking of both Margot and Jack. I couldn’t feel mad at Jack for long. I loved to sit on his windowsill and watch the world from above. Our road was on a hill, and if I put my face against the glass and looked east, I could see the river and the majestic bridge that had been around for centuries. It was strangely calming to look at something that had remained the same when everything around it had changed. In the summer, the bridge was barely visible because the leaves on the trees obscured it so that I couldn’t see the road below. This was Jack’s favourite view.

  ‘I can imagine that I’m anywhere in the world,’ he said, ‘on the French Riviera, or in the middle of the Amazon jungle. I wake up, see the light streaming in through the leaves and choose my location.’

  Now the bare branches swayed in the breeze like skinny dancers. It had grown steadily colder
over the past week and the weather forecast predicted snow. I wasn’t getting my hopes up. Sleet and rain were much more likely. As if in answer to my thoughts, a smattering of raindrops hit Jack’s windowpane. I was about to go downstairs when I spotted a girl wearing a red beret walking energetically down the street. She looked so much like Margot I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She paused at the zebra crossing, tilting her head as if to feel the chill breeze on her face. I noticed that she was carrying a first aid kit – a little box with a cross on it. Perhaps she was a nurse? She looked up and caught me watching and waved. Embarrassed, I stepped back from the window, but realised I was being silly. When I put my hand up to wave back it was too late – she’d gone.

  That evening Mum, Dad and I sat down together for dinner for the first time since the earthquake. We were eating our way through the provisions that friends and neighbours had made for us, and today Keira’s mum’s cottage pie was on the menu.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t manage to cook anything,’ said Mum. ‘I can’t seem to focus on anything. Even chopping an onion seems like a difficult task.’

  ‘It’s all right, darling,’ said Dad, and I was surprised to see him get out of his seat to give her a hug. ‘I think we all know that the normal routine has fallen apart since we found out about Jack,’ and he motioned with his left hand that I should join them.

  This three-way hug made me feel safe, but there was also something not quite right about it – like we should be forming a square, not a triangle. There was a vital person missing.

  ‘We need to support each other through this,’ said Mum.

  I desperately wished I knew what to say to make us all feel better. Then the phone rang and our hug broke apart. It was Pickles.

  Mum and Dad quickly took the phone into the study and shut the door behind them. Maybe they thought that they were protecting me from hearing any bad news but I needed to know too and decided to listen in through the wall.

  ‘Nothing at all?’ Dad asked. There was silence and his voice got louder. ‘Of course we can’t be certain that he was in the area, but the last time that we spoke to him he was heading there. We’ve told you this already. Yes, I know that you are – I’m not raising my voice, I understand that you’re doing everything…’

  Then I heard Mum burst into tears and I couldn’t listen any longer. I sneaked upstairs, threw my pyjamas and toothbrush into my rucksack and ran outside.

  When I knocked on Keira’s front door, nobody answered. The living-room light was on, but the rest of the house was in darkness and I couldn’t hear the classical music that her mum, Charlie, always played in the kitchen.

  I fished my phone out of the bottom of my bag and saw a message from Keira that said: Gone to visit Grandpa Miles. See you at school tomorrow! Xx

  I sat on her porch steps twisting my rucksack straps round and round my finger as I debated what to do.

  In the left-hand hedge I felt for the small fish-shaped piece of slate that Charlie had put there when she and Keira had first moved in. Their spare front door key was kept underneath. I considered letting myself in and waiting for Keira in her room, surrounded by her old unicorn wallpaper and fairy lights. I could have sent Mum a message; she was so preoccupied she wouldn’t have known there was nobody in next door. I was about to pick up the key when something brushed against my leg. A black and white smudge crossed my path and bolted in through the cat flap. I breathed out. It was only Gilbert, Keira’s cat, who was surprisingly fast for his old age, and horribly grumpy. He’d known me for years, yet he would still hiss and claw at me if I dared to sit next to him on the sofa.

  Spending any amount of time alone with Gilbert didn’t seem so appealing. I thought of Keira with her mum and grandpa and I felt terribly lonely. Suddenly I knew what I needed to do – I would go for a very overdue visit to Grandma Sylvie’s. And as she was one of the S.F.s that we’d identified, I would ask her about the key.

  Her house was only a ten-minute cycle ride away. Realising this made me feel guilty for not seeing her in so long. Over the past year, she’d become quite ill. It began with pains in her knees, and then her arthritis got so bad that she couldn’t leave the house. Eventually she couldn’t get out of bed without help. Now, Mum visits Grandma every other day, often with some new medication to help ease the pain in her poor legs. I think she wishes she could spend more time with her, and she’s already cut down her days at work. For the days she’s not around, she’s found Grandma a nice French carer, who she’s really pleased with. I used to see Grandma once a week with Jack, but recently, we’d gone less and less.

  I went to collect my bike from the shed and messaged Mum to tell her my plans.

  As I turned into Grandma’s street, a memory resurfaced. I was about five years old and running down this same road with Jack. We were racing to our grandparents’ door. He was pelting down the street, his trainers thudding on the pavement and I was giggling, desperately trying to catch up. When I thought he was miles ahead and that I’d never be able to shorten the distance, Jack slowed down, panting heavily. I saw my opportunity to overtake, using my last reserves of energy to run as fast as I could, and slammed the gate triumphantly. Jack had obviously let me win but I didn’t think this at the time. He slapped me on the back to congratulate me. I tried to recall his exact words, but the memory was gone as quickly as it had come, and I found myself standing alone outside Grandma’s glossy black door.

  I rapped on the brass knocker before I could change my mind. I heard chatter in the hallway, someone laughing, and a tall lady with blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail appeared at the door.

  ‘Erm, hi,’ I stuttered, ‘I’m here to see my grandmother.’

  The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘Ah, you must be Felicity, no?’ she asked, ushering me in. ‘I am Gertrude.’ She had a strong French accent and perfect make-up. I noticed the dark cat-eye flicks of eyeliner in the corners of her eyes. I wasn’t sure what I’d imagined when Mum told me about getting Grandma a carer, but it wasn’t this glamorous woman.

  Grandma was born and raised in Quebec, the French part of Canada, although she’d lived in England for more than fifty years. Mum must have thought she’d like someone French to look after her, maybe to remind her of when she was young. I’m sure that Grandma approved of Gertrude’s stylish appearance. She enjoyed looking good herself, even in her late seventies.

  I followed Gertrude down the corridor. Nothing had changed in the months that I’d been away. Old black and white photographs of Grandma’s French family lined the walls, the lights were dimmed and the place smelled of perfume and cigarettes, which she had never managed to give up, despite a recent incident with one of her rugs catching fire.

  ‘Qui est là?’

  ‘It’s your granddaughter,’ Gertrude replied, beckoning me into the living room, where Grandma sat on the sofa in her silk dressing gown, her legs propped on a footstool. She coughed with confusion at seeing me.

  ‘Felicity? What are you doing here? Is there any update on Jack?’ I’d never seen her look so worried. Grandma could be disapproving, stern, sometimes angry, but never worried.

  ‘No, nothing new,’ I told her quickly. ‘I’ve just come to visit.’

  ‘Visit?’ Grandma echoed.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ Gertrude said, motioning towards the wicker rocking-chair that Jack always sat in when we’d come here together. I avoided it, perching instead on the edge of the sofa, opposite Grandma.

  ‘Have you had dinner?’ asked Gertrude, looking at me, concerned. ‘We have some tomato soup left, or perhaps you may like some gougères?’

  I was about to protest that I’d already eaten, but in reality I’d barely touched my food before running out of the house. Also, hearing the word ‘gougères’ made me change my mind. I hadn’t had them in a long time, but if I shut my eyes, I could still taste the glorious, melt-in-the-mouth French pastry. I once tried to describe to Keira what they were, eventually settling on ‘litt
le clouds from cheese heaven’. The strange thing was that Grandma was normally a terrible cook. These were the only things that she made which were not only edible, but delicious. When Jack was my age now, he could easily eat five of them at once, even if it meant that he felt sick on the way home.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I found myself saying.

  ‘And if you could bring us some tea, please,’ Grandma said. ‘In the nice navy blue tea set.’

  She was bringing out her finest china for me. I felt doubly guilty that she saw my visit as such a rare and special occasion.

  ‘Her gougères are even better than mine,’ she whispered when Gertrude had gone into the kitchen. ‘Your mother did very well finding her. How is she doing?’

  ‘Mum? Not terrible,’ I lied, ‘but obviously worried. How are you? How are your legs?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking down at them as if she’d completely forgotten about the pain. ‘Doesn’t matter about that…’

  Grandma loved talking about her aches and pains. Jack and I could hardly get a word in edgeways whenever we’d come round. We loved counting the number of times she used her favourite phrases, which were ‘ghastly’ (to describe places which she disapproved of), ‘tolerable’ (about people she vaguely admired) and ‘magnificent’ (anything French, from food to music). Today she sat in silence and looked at me. Her grey eyes were sad and for the first time I felt as though we understood each other.

  ‘Funnily enough, I was thinking about Jack as you came in,’ she whispered. ‘He never seems to leave my thoughts.’

  ‘Same.’

  ‘I close my eyes and imagine he’s here,’ she said, motioning to the wicker chair, ‘playing that tune on the guitar – you know, the happy one? I forget who it’s by. It’s quite famous… He always played it to me when I felt particularly sad.’

  ‘He played to you?’

  I couldn’t remember why I’d stopped visiting Grandma with Jack. When I’d started secondary school I began to make excuses, saying I needed to finish my homework or that I was doing something with Keira. Jack would offer to reschedule for a different time, but I told him there was no need. I didn’t understand why he wanted to keep seeing her. She never seemed interested in what we were doing and she was so prim and proper. I was scared of putting a foot wrong when I was at her house. Mum always ignored Grandma’s tutting and laughed if she made comments about her cooking or clothes, but I couldn’t. It annoyed me too much.