Jacob Jones: and The Order of Seven

Isaak

CHAPTER ONE

Schools out

'It's an unmistakable fact of science,' thought Jacob Jones, 'that the more you look at a clock the longer time lingers.' He had been staring at the classroom clock since the first minute of the final lesson of the last day of the school week and as far as he could make out the minute and hour hands were stuck in some kind of glue. The same suspension of time must occur for people in prison, he thought, or for those patients in hospital who have their arms and legs in plaster and hoisted in the air like some kind of sick puppet.

As if time dragging on wasn't bad enough, he had also been lumbered with his least favourite lesson. 'I absolutely hate Personal Development', he thought as Mr Barnes' drone-like voice invaded his already wandering mind.

It's very important, blah blah, said Mr Barnes, for your own personal safety, blah blah, in this day and age... Mr Barnes, an otherwise eager and quite able teacher had unfortunately been lumbered with the kind of sleep-inducing voice that made it almost impossible for him to teach effectively. Some pupils in his classes fell asleep even before he began speaking. The mere prospect of one of his dull classes would send regular straight A students into a coma. Jacob tried, really tried, to foster some interest in the lesson but his eyes had already clouded over and his mind had gone numb. He drifted off into that hinterland between the reality of school and the fantasy of daydream. He felt himself rising above the class and looking directly down on it. He could see the bald patch on the top of Mr Barnes' head and the dark Mohican streak on Sophie Raines' head where her roots meet with her bleached blonde hair. He could also see speech bubbles coming from Mr Barnes' mouth where the words should be. The speech bubbles had been filled with cotton wool or clouds or both. The speech bubbles floated away from Mr Barnes and burst open on the pupils in the front row, covering them with wool or cloud as if they had been tarred and feathered. The next set of bubbles had burst open upon the second row and the next on the third. Now Jacob could see a bubble coming towards him in the fourth row. He saw himself sit back trying to avoid it but as it neared him with its bomb-load of wool or cloud he saw something written on the side of the bubble. When it got really close he realised that it had his name written on it. He stretched back further but the bubble carried on.

Jacob! said a raised voice. Jacob Jones!

What? said Jacob, blinking the haze off his eyes.

What are you waiting for? urged the voice. The bell has gone!

Jacob looked up at his good friend Ethan who, as usual, had a wide, smile creased across his freckled face. Ethan flicked his red hair out of his eyes with one toss of his head and nodded towards the door. Behind him Jacob could see the last of his class already leaving the classroom. Even Mr Barnes had made himself scarce. Unless, that is, you want to spend the weekend with the caretaker, said Ethan, also heading towards the exit.

No way, said Jacob, throwing his books abruptly into his schoolbag. The two boys shoulder-charged each other to be first through the door. Jacob, of average build, lost out to Ethan, the taller and larger of the two. He spilled, laughing, through the door and into the corridor.

Where's the fire? boomed the deep, echoing voice of Mr Brown, the Deputy Head. You know the rules, No running in the corridor.

Sorry, sir, said Ethan, the smile suddenly removed from his face.

See me in my office first thing Monday morning, said the Deputy Head as he turned on his heel and headed for the staff room.

Now it was Jacob's turn to smile. Bad luck, he giggled at Ethan.

And you can join him, Jones, called Mr Brown over his shoulder.

Jacob and Ethan looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into laughter, but only when Mr Brown was out of earshot. The two of them then continued down the rapidly emptying corridor towards the exit into the car park.

You must be counting the hours to your birthday, said Ethan.

No, not really, it's not like it's a big one, said Jacob, shaking his head.

What? I would, said Ethan, bouncing open the heavy door with his rear end.

Outside the bright sunshine and warm, still air contrasted favourably to the ever dim, slightly chilly feel of the main school corridor.

I'll be needing suntan lotion at this rate, said Ethan, shielding his eyes.

You need protection under a bright lamp, laughed Jacob.

Hordes of schoolkids with loosened ties and shirt tails hanging out swarmed through the car park to board buses or exit through the main gate. They formed groups here and there, laughing and making plans for out-of-school. Teachers in their cars weaved their way through the crowds, no doubt just as keen to escape the confines of the school as their pupils were. Jacob heard snatches of conversation as he and Ethan made their way through the crowd.

He can take his detention and shove it! said one.

And that's when the whole science block went into meltdown, said another.

Of course she likes you. Biting is just her way of showing affection.

Jacob and Ethan paused slightly at that one to see if the identity of 'her' might be revealed. No such luck.

A few steps further on, looming large in front of Jacob and Ethan the sun glinted off an enormous red coach. All chrome and smoked glass, the vehicle looked so shiny new it could have rolled off the production line that very morning. Wow! said Ethan. That's a tank and a half.

Jacob and Ethan walked past the shiny red coach and on the other side they came across a brown-coloured, rusty old bus that looked as though it might have been an exhibit at one of those dreary seaside museums that families only ever visit if the weather turns really bad. Come on, said Jacob. We don't want to miss it.

Even if we did, laughed Ethan, I reckon we could catch it up on foot.

On board the bus the boys were ignored by the scruffy, unshaven driver who had his nose stuck in a newspaper draped across the steering wheel. Ethan nudged Jacob and stopped beside the driver's seat. Excuse me, Driver, he said. Is smoke supposed to be coming from that panel?

What! Where? said the driver, leaping up and scrunching the paper violently out of the way. Keep clear in case the whole thing goes up! He checked the panel in a panic before turning to Ethan's smiling face. Very funny, he snapped. One of these days I'll swing for you. As the driver mumbled pesky kids under his breath and tried to smooth out his crumpled paper, the boys ran towards the rear seat where a girl with long fair hair was waiting for them.

You're cutting it fine, she said. You don't want to be late, not for a weekend as important as this.

Jacob flashed his dark eyes at her. Don't you start, Erica. Ethan's already going on about my birthday.

Erica shot him one of her thin-lipped smiles and made room for him to sit beside her. Ethan may have been one of Jacob's friends but Erica was his very best. She was the kind of friend he could spend long silences with and not feel awkward. She had clear, almost alabaster skin and she always smelled of scented soap. She was, in a word, Erica.

I swear that Mr Brown has got eyes in the back of his head, said Jacob.

It's a well known fact, said Erica. He doesn't miss anything. Apparently he used to work for the Secret Service, spying and stuff. He had to retire because he got stabbed with the tip of a poisoned umbrella. The poison made him turn grumpy and suspicious with no sense of humour, which is why he became a teacher instead. What did he get you for?

Running in the corridor, said Ethan. Even though we didn't.

His office Monday morning? Erica asked. The boys nodded. Two hours community contribution, minimum, she declared. The boys nodded their agreement at her prediction.

Sweeping up leaves or emptying rubbish, I reckon, said Ethan.

Or picking stones from the rugby pitches, said Jacob.

I had swimming, said Erica, rolling her eyes. With Mrs lovegrove.

I suppose she had the Sellotape ready? said Jacob.

Of course, said Erica showing them her red neck. I mean how exactly can a necklace be a safety risk?

Why don't you just take it off? said Ethan.

She never takes it off, said Jacob.

Never, ever, said Erica.

Jacob felt the seats rattle and the windows shake as the driver fired up the bus. The vibrations from the knackered old engine started loosening screws in the sub-frame and any kids who had spare cash could hear the coins jingle in their pockets. As they pulled out of the car park Jacob knelt on the seat and watched the granite grey buildings of the school disappear through the back window. The car park had emptied now and the frenetic activity of the end of the school day had dissipated. 'Like rats off a sinking ship', thought Jacob, recalling one of his father's favourite sayings. Without kids to authenticate it the front of the school looked like a stately home. Although he'd never admitted it to anyone, Jacob had always loved the sight of the school. Inside it was different of course but from the outside it looked inviting and warm. By the time he turned around Ethan had taken a pack of playing cards from his bag and was showing Erica his latest trick. I don't understand it, he said. That should have been the queen. Both Jacob and Erica laughed as Ethan made a hash of it time after time. He counted the pack three times to make sure he hadn't lost any important cards. It worked this morning, he assured them. My mum loved it.

Your mum goes way beyond the call of duty to make you happy, said Erica.

Ethan smiled. Yeah, I know. Gradually, person by person, the bus emptied until only the three passengers on the rear seat remained, and they were still waiting for the queen of spades.

We're nearly there, said Jacob, twisting his finger through his black curly hair.

You must be joking, said Erica. It's utter rubbish.

I meant home, not the card trick.

Ethan laughed as they gathered their bags and moved forward.

Just here will do, thanks, said Jacob from the seat directly behind the driver.

Are you sure? said the driver, looking in his mirror.

Yes, we can walk from here.

To where? said the driver, looking slightly baffled.

The bus shuddered to a standstill as the air brakes locked on. The doors rattled, as they swung slowly open. Jacob looked at the row of houses less than a hundred yards away. To where we live, he said, as Erica and Ethan left the bus.

And where would that be? said the confused driver, looking from left to right and from forward to back.

Thanks for the lift, said Jacob, as he too left the bus. The driver had one more look around him, shook his head and closed the doors.

Worries me, said Jacob as he caught up with his friends. How all the drivers seem so short-sighted.

As the bus rattled and rolled into the distance they walked one hundred yards down the road before they came to number 1 Campion Hills. The flint-studded house stood a little way back from the road and had a straight path from its small wooden gate to the inky black front door. Either side of the path had been laid to lawn and it looked as though it needed cutting. The front of the house had long been covered in vine and was dissected by black iron guttering and drain pipes.

There she is, said Erica, trying her best not to look straight at the house.

Just keep walking if it bothers you that much, said Jacob, as he glanced discreetly towards the house. Sure enough, there was the old lady at the top left bedroom window looking out onto the street, just as she did on every school day. She had grey hair swept back and bunched on top of her head. She always dressed in black and the creases in her clothes matched the creases in her skin.

If she asks us in for tea, just say no, said Erica through clenched teeth like a bad ventriloquist.

Jacob sniffed the air. Violets, he said. There, can you smell it? He sniffed again but this time the scent had gone. He looked up at the house again and was surprised to see the old lady now standing in the top right bedroom. 'How did she do that?' he thought.

The tension between the three of them remained as they walked on, only fading away when they had past the house. Erica shivered. That woman gives me the creeps, she said.

Aw, she's alright, said Ethan feebly. I'll see you later, he shouted as he made his way to his house three doors from Erica's.

Okay, said Jacob, as he and Erica watched Ethan walk up his garden path. Sure enough before he got to it the front door opened and his mother, wearing the large smile that Ethan had inherited, waited to greet him with a plate in her hand.

What do you think? said Erica. A muffin or a scone?

Hard to tell from here, said Jacob.

I have to stay in tonight, said Erica, making a bad job of looking disappointed. I have some awful errands and stuff and it will probably take ages.

Jacob smiled at her poor excuse. Yes, okay, he said. But don't spend all night wrapping them.

Erica tilted her head to one side and smiled at him as she closed the front door behind her. Jacob walked next door to his house but before he went in he stopped and looked around him. He had noticed a slight change in the weather. A chill had attached itself to the small breeze that had begun rustling the leaves on the trees. In the distance dark clouds had gathered and seemed to be joining forces and rolling their way closer. 'So much for suntan lotion,' he thought.

Inside the house Jacob dumped his schoolbag by the door, threw his shoes in the corner of the hallway and made for the stairs. The house carried its usual smell, a mixture between polish, garlic and fruit-scented candles. I'm back! he shouted to anyone who might hear. I'll be in my room! Wouldn't mind a sandwich! In a well practised routine Jacob discarded his school blazer on the hand-rail at the bottom of the stairs, his tie on the window sill half way up and then threw his shirt right outside his sister Lilly's room. He did the last act because he knew it annoyed her greatly and Jacob felt that one of his duties in life was to annoy Lilly as much as he could.

Take that shirt away from my door! came a muffled voice from inside Lilly's room. Jacob smiled. 'Job done', he thought.

Inside his own room he pulled on a dark blue hoodie, zipped it up and lay down on the single bed. I don't know where you get it from, his father had once said, but you're far too tidy for a young boy. The root of that remark was evident in the fact that Jacob's room had a place for everything and everything was in its place. Unlike his sister's bedroom, which looked like an explosion in a pink cushion factory, Jacob's was all clean lines and uncluttered surfaces.

Jacob heard his bedroom door open slowly. 'Aha,' he thought. 'The sandwich arrives.' The door began to creak like in an old horror movie and Jacob knew that the only person with the strange ability to achieve this sound effect was his older sister. When the door fully opened he heard a rustle in the air and his school shirt hit him full in the face, one of the buttons leaving a small indent on his forehead. Yeah, thanks, said Jacob. I wondered where that had got to.

Why is it every time you open your mouth rubbish comes out of it? said Lilly in that strained, everything's too much trouble tone of voice that she had developed.

Jacob pulled the shirt away from his face and had to double-take when he looked at Lilly. Oh my god! he said loudly. Have you seen what someone's done to your face?

Lilly narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and returned an evil stare. I'm trying out some new make-up techniques, she said, so shut your cake-hole.

It looks hideous, said Jacob, pretending to recoil in horror. Don't approach any small children – you'll frighten them half to death.

Yes, well, at least I can take the make-up off, said Lilly. You're stuck with your face forever.

I wouldn't let Adam Matthews see you like that, either, said Jacob.

What do you know about Adam Matthews? said Lilly, furrowing her eyebrows.

Oh, please, said Jacob. You make it so obvious.

Just keep your nose out of my business.

Much as I'd like to spend time idly chatting with you, said Jacob, what exactly do you want?

You borrowed five pounds from me last month, said Lilly.

You're not still going on about that, said Jacob. I paid it back, didn't I?

Only after I had to practically stalk you, said Lilly.

So what's your point?

From now on when you borrow from me I will be charging interest, said Lilly, a curled smile appearing from under layers of lip-gloss.

Don't be silly, said Jacob, lying back down on the bed. You're not a bank.

No, I'm not, said Lilly. So please don't try and borrow from me again.

Close the door on your way out, said Jacob.

Lilly smirked, turned and left, annoyingly leaving the door wide open. Jacob frowned and then smiled. That's exactly what he would have done.

The following morning Jacob's father Mr Jones had his face pressed up to the kitchen window. A strong northerly, he said as he watched the wind chase leaves across the garden. And building up to a right humdinger, if I'm not mistaken. The wind swept the leaves out of the garden and pursued them around the small plot of houses that made up Campion Hills. Just our luck that the weather chooses to change this weekend of all weekends, he said.

Mr Jones stepped back and caught his reflection in the window. His face had begun to move south since he'd reached his forties and his jowls drooped slightly like the St Bernard dog that his Uncle Ronny had once owned. Turning to the side he noticed that his tummy had expanded more than he liked and that his shoulders, once square and proud, were now slightly hunched. Although he still retained a good head of hair it had begun to turn silver at the sides. Nevertheless, he smiled at what he saw. Still looking good, he said out loud.

What was that? said Mrs Jones on the other side of the kitchen, wiping flour from her apron.

Nothing, said Mr Jones. It's just that some men age better than others.

Mrs Jones smiled. I've never met a man as vain as you, she said.

Or as good looking, Mr Jones added quickly. A framed picture on the sideboard caught his eye and his face lit up. I treasure this photo, he said. It's the perfect family scene.

Perfect? said Mrs Jones as she stacked plates in the welsh dresser with military precision. Is that because the kids can't argue with each other in a photo?

Mr Jones flashed an admiring smile at her. I love the way you can read my mind, he said with a chuckle. "And before you say it, I know, there