Irony In The Soul

Chapter 3

THREE

Jack’s old Jaguar was a well-used, midnight blue, XJ8, that had taken more than its fair share of knocks around town, the most prominent being, someone had pinched half of the radiator grille, and Jack was completely disinterested in replacing it. Mandy suggested some psychological transference of his eye, “He couldn’t see that”, he'd answered, thinking it was funny, and if Mandy was honest, it was the first time. The interior ivory leather had become irretrievably grimy from the paws of Martin, formerly Jack’s, and now Meesh’s, scruffy, ginger, wire haired, Border terrier, who had never learned to wipe his feet; so like Jack.

Martin sat with Meesh, his nose out of the rear window, face animated and his wagging tail batting the little girl’s face, exciting great mirth. Michael sat in the passenger seat and Winders, Jack’s name for Michael’s girlfriend, Colleen, sat at the back with Meesh; Mandy was following in Jackie’s car. Jackie was concerned at the prospect of a country walk lead by Jack, they could be lost forever in the wilderness; he was not noted as a practical man. She visibly relaxed when Mandy reassured her Martin would be leading. People had a lot of respect for Martin, a sensible dog, and a devout catholic.

The glorious morning sunshine swelled for the afternoon and the temperature had soared by the time they reached the woodland car park. Following Martin, Meesh ran off on the well-trodden path that opened onto a clear sward of grassland that had been carved out of the dense woodland for several miles to create a vista to the Stately Stansted House. “Try getting planning permission for that now”, Jack would say, but he loved this walk and never tired of the vesta (he meant vista), even if it was created by arseycrats (he meant aristocrats). The long prairie grass encroached as the path narrowed and Martin was sucked in, bouncing into view, and then disappearing, Meesh correspondingly shouting and pointing with glee, diving into the tall grass herself, popping up, then down, giggling and calling out.

Michael and Winders paired, Jackie was dominating the conversation with Mandy, and Jack wandered, lonely as a cloud, Meesh and Martin’s rural vanishing and reappearing act a peripheral visual tableau. The warmth, the smell of the grass and the sense of being alive, nudged Jack into a hayseed daydream; one of his favourite pastimes, dreaming, he could take or leave the hayseeds, preferred the London Smog if he was honest with himself. In his reveries, he would shuffle haunting topics, currently, shall I go back to work? Am I scared? What would I do otherwise? What about Martin, can I go back to work without him?

Jack kept these thoughts to himself, fearing if he expressed these feelings, people would argue he should retire, and that was not what he needed to hear. He needed to resolve these issues in his mind, but did feel guilty not sharing them with Amanda; a Roman Catholic moment; Martin would approve. Jack was an inept man, his dilemma, and his fear. In his history he had been with MI5, a fact known only to a very few people, his children, Colleen, and now Amanda. When he was recruited to MI5, they quickly saw that in the field he was a liability, but he had risen up the ranks as a cerebral contributor, influencing major operations and decisions, eventually retiring, collecting his obligatory gong, a CBE, Commander of the British Empire. Using his not insubstantial contacts, he made the move into the Hampshire Constabulary, entering at Inspector level, posted in Portsmouth; he wanted to be by the sea, he said.

Amazingly, only Amanda had been curious how he got there. She now knew about his past, the real story about his eye, and how he got the Queens Gallantry Medal. She was with him when he earned the recommendation for the George Medal. “Of course, you never leave the Intelligence Agencies”, he'd said, and Jack did not want to. The network of contacts helped him in creative problem solving, namely assisting when his eccentricities got him into hot water, the most prominent being his inherent nature as a berserker. The police psychiatrist had said that in Viking times, Berserkers were used to go in at the front of a battle, and the terror of a demonic man, blind to anything that might cause himself harm, dressed only in a bearskin, would break the resolve of opposing forces. In those days, Berserkers were revered, not for their dress sense, of course, but today, as Jack could testify, berserking is generally frowned upon. So, despite the appearance of his extravert and extravagant nature, Jack was a private man, but it was true that if he was not berserking, he was driving someone else berserk; not Jack’s thoughts, but Mandy’s, and shared by the Chief Constable.

Jack’s psychiatrist had recommended Martin; “The calming influence of a hound”, and Martin had become more than just man’s best friend, until Meesh popped onto the scene. Up until then, Jack and Martin were inseparable, work, home, and church, not that Jack was religious, but he had to think of Martin’s spiritual well-being.

It was Martin and Meesh who claimed his current daydream. Meesh had undergone the most horrific experience, serially abused by a paedophile ring, and witness to the murder of her mother; Martin had fallen in love with her, and vice-versa. Martin had gone from Jack’s comforter, to Meesh’s lifeline, and Jack’s feelings were confused; could he go back to work without Martin? What would that be like? Meesh was adjusting well into her foster family, Gail and Mickey Splif, a large, stable, and loving, Pompey family. Jackie maintained that an emotional crisis was imminent, but in the meantime the steady support was Martin. Jack could see that a child and a dog was a mutual thing, whereas with Jack and Martin, if he was honest, it was mainly Martin to Jack; so why get upset? Was it not good to see his dog happy? Meesh happy?

When Jack daydreamed, he was often unaware of what was going on around him; another concern of the psychiatrist. He hadn’t noticed Meesh come back, pass him, and grab Mandy by the hand, ‘Jack’s crying,’ she whispered.

Yes, to top it off, as if an eccentric, fat and ugly, half blind, berserking, spook copper, was not enough, Jack Austin was also an emotional man, and cried at the drop of a hat, especially if he dropped his hat. He should just go away and crawl under a cheese; the self-esteem lessons about on a par with his anger management.

‘Jack, you okay?’ Mandy asked, looking into his watery eye.

Jack didn’t want to think of himself as needy, he had specific views on this, but right now, he needed Amanda, just him and her, to feel her arms around him. This thought made him cry more, the selfishness, and anguish at what explanations would be needed, especially as he expected Jackie, the resident bleedin’ trick cyclist, to insist he declare his innermost thoughts so she could analyse them in front of everybody, and announce a cure, but she didn’t.

‘Jack, we’ve been expecting this. Go home; you need Mandy now and nobody else.’

Martin seemed to be agreeing, nudging Jack’s varicose veins in the way he does; ‘Go home numpty,’ he woofed. Nice dog, but a bit short on the sensitive genes. Jack knew Martin wanted to get on with his walk and didn’t need to be dragging a grizzling, pansy-arsed berserker around with him, who was likely to get lost anyway.

Distracted by Jack, nobody noticed Meesh clinging to his leg, dry sobbing, her petite frail body convulsing with short panicky breaths. Jack dropped to the ground with Mandy following and together they encircled the mousey haired girl, deep green eyes in a heart shaped face, emerald eyes beginning to brim, a previously skeletal frame filling, thanks to Gail’s nurturing. It was okay to cry, Jack had shown her, and they cried together, Meesh’s tears licked by Martin, walk forgotten; Martin was nurturing.

They stayed like this for some time, people and other dog walkers passed by, curious, not stopping; a middle class walking area and Mackeroon’s Big Society did not extend to empathy, to embracing someone else’s hurt, sharing pain; it’s about money, getting something for nothing and wielding power over victims of the recession. They heard Jack speak his usual generalised thoughts and said nothing. Meesh managed a halting “tut, tut” and Jack tightened his hug; the milky smell of Meesh, suffused with the scent of grass, and the woman he loved. It was at times like this Jack endured the immensity of the world, simultaneously appreciating the micro-sensations that were in it.

After a while they trudged back to the cars. Jack carried Meesh; she had assumed the life-saving grip she previously had when he took her from the house that had been her prison, her t*****e chamber; leaving behind a dead police officer, and a dead woman; her mother. On that fateful day, Jack had embraced the girl as if his own life had depended upon it, hers did, and an unbreakable bond was forged.