‘All love stories are tales of beginnings. When we talk about falling in love, we go to the beginning, to pinpoint the moment of freefall.’

  - Meghan O'Rourke

  Jet stared at the body of his Pop as Rob laid him gently on the floor of the bathroom, making sure the wound on his head left by the pavers of House of Figs courtyard were in line with the tiles. Rob was careful not to leave marks of any kind and stepped back, studying the scene with his usual emotionless state.

  In a strange way, Jet knew how he felt…or more accurately, how he didn’t feel.

  Rob turned to Jet. “All that is left is to call an ambulance.” Rob stared at Jet. “Query, do you need to go over the story one more time?”

  “No,” Jet said flatly, “I know what to say.”

  “Then I will leave it to you.” Rob paused. “I am…uncomfortable about leaving you here on your own. Query, would you like me to stay until the ambulance arrives?”

  “It’s better that you’re not.” Jet shook his head. “I’m okay. Really.”

  Rob nodded and left the house by the back door, taking a circuitous route back to House of Figs.

  Jet pulled his phone out and dialled triple zero.

  “Emergency response.”

  “I need help. My grandfather is unconscious…not breathing…”

  “We will send help immediately. What is your address?”

  Within ten minutes an ambulance and a police car arrived outside the house, their blue and red lights flashing across the houses in the cul de sac, waking the light sleepers who came to their windows and peered out.

  For ten minutes Jet sat and stared at the body of the man his grandmother knew as Gary Dunn.

  Jet had known him as Pops.

  After the tumultuous events of the evening, Jet now knew him by his real name.

  Gar’Dian.

  The only apprentice to the legendary incantation writer, Ah’Man on a world known as En’Daren.

  He had fled his world when a mistake he’d made had destroyed it, finding sanctuary and hope in what was called the ‘real’ world. For years he tried to undo the mistake, writing stories that would fuel the incantation of creation, providing essential elements that would rebuild his world.

  Because the work took many years, Gar’Dian had ensured that, should his mortal body perish, his soul would continue to live, housed in a new body…Jet’s.

  Jet put his hand to his head as the medics surrounded the body, checking for a pulse or heartbeat.

  They wouldn’t find one.

  Gary needed to be strong and so, before the ceremony had begun, he had poured himself into Jet’s head, his frail, elderly body collapsing.

  “Hey,” one of the medics came close, “are you alright?”

  Jet looked up at him, the enormity of the question he’d asked so big it rendered him mute.

  Alright?

  If not for Bethany, for her intervention and compassion, the five worlds Gar’Dian had built through stories rich with culture and meaning would have been drained dry and Jet, though physically alive, would have remained pushed to the side in his own mind. But Bethany had not forced Gar’Dian out. She had helped show him how to heal his world and how to return to it on the condition that he let Jet go.

  For the sake of his beloved En’Daren, Gar’Dian had done so.

  And Jet was both relieved and lost in the aftermath.

  He blinked, the medic asking him again.

  “I’m fine…” He said, his voice like a ghost’s, rasping and weak.

  “Jet Robertson?” A police officer approached. “I’m Sergeant Watters. I need to ask just a few questions, if you’re up for it?”

  Jet nodded, tearing his eyes away from the body.

  “You were the one who discovered your grandfather,” Jet nodded again even though it was a statement, not a question, “you live here?”

  “For the last three months,” Jet swallowed, “close enough to…”

  “You weren’t here tonight?”

  Jet shook his head. “No. I was at House of Figs…the café?” Watters nodded. Everyone in Glenwilde knew about House of Figs. “I…Bethany…she’s the niece of the owner…” The officer’s eyes conveyed understanding even though it wasn’t the truth. “I came back…and Pops…”

  Jet’s mind was still reeling from all that had happened to him in the past hour.

  “I’m sorry,” Watters glanced over his shoulder, “was he in bad health?”

  “He was old,” Jet’s soul trembled, “so very old…”

  “Because the death was at home, there will need to be an autopsy just to eliminate any concerns,” Watters explained, “and I’ll need an official statement from you about where you were, allowing us to make sure all loose ends are tucked away. We don’t have to do that tonight…”

  Jet licked his lips. “I…I can come tonight.” The body of his Pops was moved onto a stretcher and covered. The ambulance medics lifted and carried it out of the bathroom, through the house towards the front door, past where Jet was sitting. He felt tears sting his eyes.

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Yes.” Jet stood and followed Sergeant Watters out of the house, locking the door behind him. As he reached the street, he heard his name called and before he even registered who it was, arms wrapped around him. “Bethany, you should be in bed. You…”

  “Jet, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…” Sergeant Watters waited patiently nearby. Jet pushed Bethany back so he could see her face. Her eyes were puffy and she looked exhausted, her dressing gown hastily tied around her. “Where are you going?”

  After what had been done to her, Bethany had slumped into a deep sleep. She didn’t know the plan Jet and the guys had made to relocate Gary’s body to his home. Could she even tell the difference between fantasy and reality, what did happen and what almost happened?

  “I need to make a statement about Pops.”

  She raked her black ringlets away from her face and sniffed. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Bethany,” he eyed her dryly, “you are in your PJs…and you’re not even wearing shoes.” He looked past her and saw Rob nearby, keeping watch. “Go home. I’ll be back soon.”

  He disentangled himself from her grasp and went to the police car. Sergeant Watters opened the door for him and he slid inside, clipping the seatbelt around himself. He caught sight of Bethany still standing on the footpath, clutching at her dressing gown. Then they pulled away and drove to the hospital where Sergeant Watters and Jet spoke about Gary’s health and about finding him. Jet stuck to the story.

  He didn’t feel any particular pang of guilt about the fudged details of Gary’s death. In fact, there was a possibility he was still alive, existing as energy or spirit, at peace in his restored world. The body had been little more than a frail vessel and Gary had abandoned it for Jet’s. Sergeant Watters had him go over the details of where he had been and how he’d found the body. Jet used his laptop to type the statement.

  “At this point, it’s just a formality,” Sergeant Watters assured him, “your statement will attach to the coroner’s report and filed.” He looked up as the mortuary attendant appeared. “Jennings?”

  “Preliminary finding points to a stroke,” Jennings said, still donned in an ugly green cape with yellow gloves and a white cap covering his head, “he’s in the morgue if the young man would like to view him?”

  Jet nodded and followed Jennings into the morgue. It was a room lined with silver and smelt of chemicals. There were metal drawers along the walls and it was possible some contained bodies but Gary’s was laid out on the table in the middle of the room, mostly covered in a sheet, his aged face with blood and bruise on his forehead facing the ceiling, his eyes closed.

  The room was cold as Jet walked to the table. He looked at the body, numb.

  “I know this looks painful,” Jennings said gently, pointing to the split skin on his forehead, “but I think he was gone before he struck the ground. His drop in body temperature indicates that he died over two hours ago.”

  Jet swallowed, still staring but unsure who he was looking at.

  Gary, his Pops, the man whose house had been Jet’s sanctuary…

  …or Gar’Dian, the man who had inflicted Jet’s mind with an obsession with the number five and who’d been prepared to possess him, possibly forever.

  “I…I have to go…” Jet turned and walked out of the room.

  “Is there somewhere else you can stay.” Watters offered. “Perhaps with your girlfriend?”

  “I…when can I go home?” Jet’s voice trembled.

  “The rest of the house is fine but I need to formalise everything before you can use the bathroom.” Sergeant Watters said apologetically.

  “I can stay at House of Figs…” Jet opened a box in his mind and crammed everything inside it, including his emotions.

  “I’ll drive you.” Watters took Jet back to the cul de sac, past the house with the blue tiled roof on the corner to the grand old Victorian house. Rob appeared on the veranda. “Looks like someone is waiting for you.” He twisted and studied Jet. “I’m going to pass your number on to our counselling specialists who can walk you through the process of what to do next. They’ll give you a call tomorrow. They’re there to support you and if you need anything, call, okay?”

  Jet nodded. “Thank you.” He said almost robotically, exiting the car and going up the path to the house.

  “Query, are you alright, Jet?” Rob asked.

  “Sure.” Jet followed him inside. “I’m fine.”

  He slept fitfully on the couch only to slump into a deep sleep in the hour before dawn. He didn’t wake up until after eleven when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and answered.

  “Jet? It’s Sergeant Watters. I’m sorry about this but I’ve got to take pictures of the bathroom. I have your key but I would prefer if you were there.”

  “That’s fine,” Jet’s voice sounded like he’d been gargling gravel, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  House of Figs was only closed one day of the week but today was thankfully that day. Jet left the lounge room, glancing at the door through which Bethany was probably still sleeping. He headed downstairs and made for the front door.

  “Query, are you going home Jet?”

  He turned to Rob who had a basket of washing in his hands, either coming or going from the laundry.

  “The police want to take pictures of the bathroom for their report.” Jet explained.

  “Query, will you return afterwards?”

  “I…it depends if I’m allowed to stay at home.” Jet half expected Rob to argue but the emotionless robot simply took Jet at his word and returned to his chores. Jet left the café and headed down to the house where, only a minute after he arrived, Sargeant Watters pulled up in his car, a woman in the passenger seat.

  “Jet Robertson,” Watters gestured to the woman who was somewhat corpulent and with brassy red colour in her hair, “this is Madeline Koffer. She’s a counselling specialist who has a lot of experience helping families through the death of a loved one.”

  “Hi Jet,” she held out her small hand that was very soft, “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m here to help you in any way that I can.”

  Jet nodded and led them to the door, Sargeant Watters unlocking it and allowing them inside. It only took a minute for him to take a dozen pictures of the bathroom then he removed the tape and turned to Jet.

  “The house is all yours. The coroner said he should have a definitive conclusion by the end of today.” Jet nodded, still not entirely sure what they wanted from him. “I’ll leave you in Maddie’s capable hands.”

  “Shall we sit down?” Maddie asked and Jet gestured to the lounge. “I understand you’ve been living here for a few months?”

  “Yeah…and on and off over the years after Pops married my Nan.” Jet swallowed. “I…it wasn’t always easy to have me at home. I have,” he waggled his hand around the side of his head, “I think I’m on the spectrum, whatever that means…I didn’t realise it until recently.”

  “I can only imagine how disconcerting this must be for you.” Maddie put her hands together and looked at him firmly but kindly. “Do you have family you can contact?”

  Jet closed his eyes, the thought never occurring to him. “I should call my mum…I never…”

  “It’s okay, we’ll take it one step at a time.” She paused. “Do you know if your Pops had a will?”

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  Jet shrugged. “I…no I don’t…but I know my mum was annoyed that he got the house after my Nan died…”

  “Anything official would be lodged locally.” Maddie looked around. “Did he keep important papers anywhere special?”

  Jet frowned. “He…I never saw him with anything…but I never went into his bedroom.”

  “Shall we try there? If it’s not too awkward.”

  It was interesting how Maddie was dodging around triggering emotional reactions from Jet. The thing was, he wasn’t feeling emotion. He didn’t know if it was because of the way his brain was wired or if he was in shock over what had happened to him yesterday and for the past twenty two years of his life…it was like he was a void inside.

  They headed into Gary’s bedroom which smelt of mothballs. The bedside drawers contained some random pill bottles, some of which had expired dates on them. There was an old cardigan on the end of the bed. Jet opened the wardrobe and spied a box on the top shelf. He drew it down and set it on the bed, opening the lid.

  “That looks promising.” Maddie said, spotting an official looking embossed seal on a manilla folder. “I recognise the logo.”

  Inside was a will signed by both Jet’s Nan and Gary.

  “What do I do with this?”

  “This is a copy of the original.” Maddie tapped a JP’s signature. “You keep this and I’ll unearth the original so that a judge can make a definitive determination.” Jet fingered through the rest of the documents. “Hmmm…it doesn’t look like he had a funeral plan.” Jet didn’t imagine Gary cared much for his original body even if he hadn’t possessed Jet’s. All was rendered inconsequential to Gar’Dian’s dream of saving En’Daren. “I can check with the parlours in town in case they have his name down anywhere.”

  Jet looked at her. “I’ll have to organise a funeral?”

  “One step at a time.” She said, curbing his panic. “Let’s just see if there is anything we’ve missed and I’ll do some checking on your behalf.” She escorted him out of the bedroom and sat him at the dining table. “Let’s make a list of things that need to be done which, I must stress, don’t all need to be done today.”

  With Maddie’s help, Jet had an action plan and he had her number if he had any questions.

  The first thing he did was call his mum.

  “I’m not surprised,” was her response, “he was as old as the hills with nine toes in the grave. Goodness knows what mum saw in him.”

  Jet couldn’t work out if he should defend Gary or denounce him.

  “I’ll come up to Glenwilde and we can get the house in order to sell.”

  “Sell?”

  “Yeah. I know it’s old but it’s in a prime location. A developer will snap it up. I’d be out of debt, able to put a deposit on a house, go on holiday…”

  Jet cringed. He didn’t know what was on the will. Telling her he’d found it might just make her angry and demand answers. He kept his mouth shut.

  “And don’t you worry, the house I buy will have more than enough rooms for you to stay.”

  Jet closed his eyes. Space had never been the problem in the past.

  “I’ll be up tomorrow, maybe the day after…”

  He hung up and glanced at his phone. There were several messages from Bethany as well as a missed call while he’d been speaking with his mum. He text back ‘I’m fine’ and shut himself in his room and played games until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  In the two days that followed, he dealt with all the messages and calls from the coroner’s office, the police station and Maddie Koffer. Gary didn’t have a funeral plan so Jet would have to pay for it. Maddie talked him through his options, cremation the cheapest choice.

  “Unless you are uncomfortable with that?” She asked tenderly.

  Jet shook his head. Gary had been prepared to abandon his body and inhabit Jet’s. Jet knew it wasn’t important to him.

  “Cremation.” He nodded.

  “And a service?” She eyed him. “Cremation means you can hold a memorial service later if you don’t want to do it right away.” She glanced at his notes. “How are you doing financially?”

  “I get government benefits,” he swallowed, “I…I need to get a job…”

  “A job is important but not urgent. You will receive some government assistance to help with the costs around the cremation…” They both looked up at the knock on the door. Jet’s spine trembled. He wasn’t sure who it was. “Jet?”

  “Jet?” The door opened and his mum peered in. “This place smells so musty…there you are!” She hadn’t changed much, wearing jeans that were too tight for her waist. Her bra was always showing, her preference for skimpy singlets contrasting with her cup size. Jet thought it funny that he wouldn’t have noticed how she looked if it wasn’t for his Nan commenting on it, lamenting her daughter’s fashion sense. To Jet, his mum was his mum.

  His mum gave him a big hug which he stood awkwardly for.

  “It only occurred to me on the train that you must have found Gary’s body! How horrible!”

  “It wasn’t bad. He was just lying there…it was a stroke…” His mum glanced at Maddie. “Sorry, this is Maddie Koffer. This my mum, Megan Vinney.”

  “Vinney-Barlow.” His mum corrected.

  Jet swallowed. “You remarried?”

  “Just a quick registry office do.” She insisted. “I knew you’d hate it.”

  Jet nodded. She was right. He would have hated it…but he would have liked to know about it too…

  “Maddie is helping me with the arrangements for Pops.” He explained, sitting down.

  “I hope it’s not going to be expensive.” His mum insisted. “He was a bankrupt man who wormed his way into my mum’s sympathies.” She looked at Maddie with a defensive air. “I know it sounds harsh but I always knew he was after her home and financial situation.”

  Jet could remember the moment Gary had met his Nan, experiencing the memory after Gary had submerged Jet’s mind beneath his own. Gary had just lost his home and the Observatory due to bankruptcy and Debbie had given him a cut rose from her garden which he’d thrown aside. But he returned the next day with a potted plant to apologise, his heart aching from the loss of his work…and the guilt that he was responsible for the loss of his world.

  For all his faults, Jet knew his Nan had loved Gary and in his way, despite all the secrets of his past, Jet believed Gary had loved Debbie.

  “Cremation.” Jet said softly. “He’ll be cremated.”

  “Still, that’s not going to be cheap.” His mum shook her head. “I suppose we’ll get some money if we sell the furniture and appliances…not that it’ll be worth much but I’m certainly not paying for it to be shipped home and I doubt whoever buys the house will want it to come furnished. They’ll probably just push it over.”

  Jet stared at the pile of five oranges in the fruit bowl, his mind turning his mother’s words into a hum. He’d learned to zone out her incessant chatter and found, even after months away, it was an easy habit to fall back into.

  “Jet, do you have anything to say about this?” Maddie urged gently.

  Jet swallowed.

  “Jet can’t possibly handle all the responsibility,” his mum explained, “he’s never been very good at practical life skills.”

  “He’s done extremely well so far,” Maddie insisted, “we’ve been working together, putting Gary’s affairs in order, signing off on the cremation, organising a payment plan and we’ve sorted a bereavement payout that is helping with the costs.”

  “Maddie also had a local charity service sign on to help clean the house and put some food on the shelves.” Jet said quietly.

  “It takes away some of the strain, not needing to think about these things.”

  “Well, I’m very grateful.” His mum nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about getting his affairs in order though. Just tell them he’s dead and that you’re not responsible for his debts. Besides, the bills will just go to an empty house.”

  Jet felt Maddie’s eyes on him. “Uh…mum…I’m going to stay in the house.”

  “Until we sell it…but you’ll want to get out before we have people traipsing through the place…”

  “Mrs Vinney-Barlow,” Maddie interrupted as tactfully as she could, “were you aware of your late mother’s will?”

  “Signing the house over to that gold digger?” Megan snorted. “I was furious with her for that. How she could choose him over her own daughter…”

  Gary had lost everything twice. Jet wasn’t good at understanding compassion but he knew his Nan wouldn’t have wanted Gary to be homeless again.

  “The will stipulated that the house was to be signed over into Gary Dunn’s name,” Maddie glanced briefly at Jet who suspected an eruption was coming, “and in his will, as the official owner of the house, he signed everything over to your son.”

  Megan’s jaw dropped. “He…what?!”

  “Your son is the sole beneficiary of the estate.”

  Megan stood up, her face going red. “You mean he didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge me, the flesh and blood family descendant of my mum?”

  “Jet is your mum’s grandson,” Maddie explained, “he’s her flesh and blood.”

  “But what about me? What about any consideration that I deserve?”

  Jet closed his eyes, wishing he could run away. He hated excessive emotional displays. He couldn’t handle meltdowns. He didn’t like it when he erupted and so those were kept to an absolute minimum but his mother was notorious for having emotional breakdowns, even up to once a week.

  He kept counting down from five, trying to calm his mind and when he reached one, he’d go back to five and start again. He was concentrating so much that he missed half the conversation.

  “…going to do? Jet? Jethro!”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not even listening to me!” Megan snapped. “You’re going to sell this place and give me a proper share of the inheritance, right?”

  “I…” He glanced at Maddie who smiled and nodded calmly at him. “I…am going to keep the house…for now.”

  Megan’s ire turned from him to Maddie. “You! You had a hand in this! You convinced him to keep it. What’s your end in all this?”

  “I’m here as a facilitator…”

  Maddie and Jet both cringed as Megan let out a rant of expletives that would have shocked a sailor.

  “This is inexcusable! I am going to fight this! You see if I don’t!” She grabbed her suitcase and stormed to the front door. “Now I have to pay for accommodation but hell, seeing as you won’t give me a cent, why should I expect you to care?!”

  Jet closed his eyes, wincing as the door slammed, the pictures rattling on the walls.

  “Jet,” Maddie put her hand on his arm, “I…”

  “Sorry,” he stood, going to the wall and making the pictures straight, “she just gets very angry very quickly…”

  “Jet…”

  “Maybe I should sell the house and go back to living…”

  “Jet!” She called, inserting herself between him and the wall. “You are not responsible for her reaction…and even if you were thinking of selling, I always maintain that you wait a month or two until you gain some perspective.” She led him to the lounge and sat him down. “Making decisions in the heat of emotion is never a good idea. You’ve not made any choices rashly. You’ve looked at the options and made realistic, sensible decisions.” Jet could feel himself shaking. “I don’t believe for a moment that you don’t have the life skills required to do this.”

  He tried to swallow but it wouldn’t go down. “I’m…sorry…she…”

  “It’s an ugly truth, one that I have seen far too many times in this role, that inheritances, wills and money divide families.” Maddie sighed. “They turn on each other and things can get ugly. I’m there as a mediator and, if I feel that it needs to go higher, I liaise with the courts to keep things from descending into disfunction.” He floundered, uncertain and alone. “Jet, do you have any friends to talk to? Sargeant Watters mentioned a girlfriend…”

  “She’s…” What was she?

  “I’m concerned about your being here on your own.”

  “I’m fine.” Jet looked up. “I’ll not answer the door.”

  Maddie’s eyes showed concern. “Alright…we’ll catch up tomorrow at the normal time, yeah?”

  He nodded and saw her out, closing the door and latching it. He glanced at his phone. Another message from Bethany.

  “Jet, if there’s anything I can do…please, I’m here.”

  He made sure both front and back doors were locked then went to his room and, as was his habit since Gary died, played games until he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

  “Just sign here Mr Robertson.” Jet scrawled on the paper and the funeral parlour manager turned the page and pointed to the next line. “Here as well.” Jet did so, feeling a deep sense of relief. “Thank you. Here are your grandfather’s ashes.”

  Jet eyed the white box, feeling awkward about holding a dead person’s remains, even if they were ashes.

  “Why don’t I carry it for you?” Maddie offered.

  “Sure.” He nodded then followed her out to her car. She drove him back to the cul de sac, curling around the streets of Glenwilde. At the house she came in and put the heavy white box on the mantle. “What do I do with them?”

  “Leave them there, put them somewhere safe or scatter them wherever you like.” She smiled. “It’s entirely up to you.” Jet nodded. “Well…that sort of concludes any official help on my part,” he knew this moment was coming, “however, I had some thoughts about your getting a job and I made a few inquiries.” She opened her tablet and showed a listing of three positions. “Jobs that don’t require too much interaction outside of limited work colleagues. I think this is the sort of thing you could do.”

  “Council record archivist?” Jet asked.

  “That one requires some training which they offer. There’s also an apprenticeship at the Glenwilde Gazette, a pre-press graphic position which would also involve training but it’s all on the job. The other one is in a government public works building and it’s purely about checking contracts and picking up on errors. It’s only part time but the pay is excellent.” She tilted her head. “I think you could do any of them or you could do something entirely different. And while resumes are not my forte, I do know of a couple of brilliant resume writers who can also prep you for any interviews you might get.”

  Jet studied the words on the page, feeling overwhelmed and intimidated. “Uh…thanks.”

  “Again, no rush but it’s nice to earn some income and be able to look after yourself. Government benefits barely cover expenses these days, even without a mortgage. Household maintenance will eventually be required.”

  Jet shuddered, fear crawling over him. “Sure.” He said with a fa?ade of calm. “I can handle it.”

  Maddie typed in his email. “I’ve sent you the details in case you want to look at them.” She held the tablet against her chest. “You’ve got my number. Call if you need help. I might not be able to help directly but I’m in the business of problem solving and I’ve got contacts all over Glenwilde.”

  Jet nodded and walked her to the front door. “Thanks.” He saw her drive away, feeling hopelessly alone. As he stood by the gate, he heard voices approaching. One of them was very familiar and the other was not. Bethany and a preteen girl with blonde ringlets was walking up the cul de sac, heading for House of Figs. Jet shifted behind the hedge, wary and waiting.

  “…Jet not returned to ‘House of Figs’ at all?”

  “Nope, not once…”

  “Perhaps you should knock on his door.”

  “He knows where I live.”

  Jet cringed as they walked past his house. It was his house. Officially and to his mother’s disgust, irrevocably. When she spoke rather firmly to the judge about it, he said she’d had ample time to contest the original will when her mother died, giving Gary the house. As it was, she’d taken all of Debbie’s jewellery and anything of half decent value six years ago when Jet’s Nan had died.

  He went back into the house, past the lounge room and the mantle where Gary’s ashes rested, past the kitchen to the dining room. He sat on a chair and stared at the bowl of oranges. They were starting to go mouldy, patches of green appearing on their rich, almost red, skin.

  He put his elbows on the table and pushed his fingers through his hair.

  He took his phone out and swiped across, unlocking it and going to his messages. Bethany had tried many times to call and had messaged every day but he’d either ignored the calls or responded to the messages with ‘I’m fine’.

  Maybe she’d finally given up on him.

  Maybe that’s what he wanted.

  Quiet and peace.

  Nothing and no one around him.

  And not just so he wouldn’t be annoyed by others but that he wouldn’t annoy them.

  In a strange way, while the rest of the world was too messy for him to handle, Jet’s mind was too organised and rigid. He felt incompatible with the world.

  His phone pinged, the email from Maddie coming to him once she reached decent wifi.

  He opened it and looked at the positions that were vacant.

  His mouth turned down. “Don’t be stupid.” He snapped at it, stood and went into his bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him.

  Several days later, Jet was down to long life milk and two minute noodles. The noodles he didn’t mind but the long life milk reminded him of Gary who preferred it over fresh milk.

  “The power of life in the written word and you drank long life milk…” He shook his head, eyeing the cartons in the cupboard. He’d have to go shopping soon.

  Someone knocked on the front door. He glanced at the clock. It was quarter past three. He peered out of the curtains and saw some yellow ringlets. Reassured that it wasn’t his mum or Bethany, he opened the door to see Rafael’s little sister, Adela, standing on the step.

  “Hello Jet,” she said in a prim voice, “my name is Adela Grayson.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “Then you know I am associated with House of Figs and Bethany.” Her blue eyes were intimidating. “Will you ask me to come in?”

  “I guess…” He let her pass over the threshold. “What do you want?”

  “It is not what I want, but what Bethany wants.” Adela looked around the house, her eyes taking in everything. “You have been avoiding her.”

  Jet put his hands in his pockets. “No…”

  “You have not responded to any messages or answered any calls. You have not even visited.” Her tone was commanding. As the daughter of a queen, Adela had been trained in haughty princess behaviour, and her experience was over five hundred years old. “She is worried about you.”

  Jet rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. “I keep telling her, I’m fine.” He protested as she followed him.

  “It is my understanding that you were a frequent visitor of House of Figs before the cataclysmic event that nearly drained the life out of the five books connected to the Observatory.” Adela’s voice was without room for argument, as blunt as a hammer. “If you were truly fine, you would visit Bethany.” She paused and sniffed, her gaze dropping to the bowl of oranges that were quickly turning green all over. “Your fruit has become rancid.”

  Jet shook his head, inexplicably frightened by the fruit bowl of oranges. “What’s any of this got to do with you?”

  “Bethany was instrumental in my choosing to endure the breaking and become human,” Adela explained, “she is showing me the ways of life according to the real world and given me a place to stay in safety where I may grow.” She stepped towards him and though she was a great deal shorter than he, Jet stepped backwards from her intimidating presence. “I do not like to see her suffer.”

  “Suffer?” He asked in a slightly mocking…but a drop hopeful, voice.

  “Yes,” Adela blinked, “your absence concerns her. She wishes to respect your boundaries and is hoping you will come around eventually. But I grow weary of your reticence and annoyed at your lack of consideration.” Jet’s jaw dropped. “Bethany deserves the kindness of a message or a visit, even if it is to cut your ties. Your cowardice does no one any good.” She didn’t wait for a response, turning and walking to the door. “Bethany’s aunt is returning home on Monday. There is a celebration planned.” She looked over her shoulder. “I expect you to be there.”

  And with that, she left.

  And Jet was left reeling.

  He stood like a stranger in his own home, looking around awkwardly, not sure what to do or think. His eye fell on the rotten oranges, a symbol of his bondage to the mind of Gar’Dian. In a rare act of vehemence he picked up the bowl and hurled it, the ceramic shattering and the oranges sagging into revolting piles. Jet was shaking, the emotion overwhelming. He hid in his room, ignoring the mess until one in the morning when he realised he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he cleaned it up. He collected the larger shards, swept up the smaller pieces then vacuumed the tiny fragments until he could remove the terror that he might be stabbed in the foot. The oranges made a fearful stink and there was a degree of pleasure about putting them in the outside bin.

  He paused in the night air and breathed in and out deeply.

  House of Figs was dark and quiet at the apex of the cul de sac. He stared at it, Adela’s words like a slap against his conscience. He went back to bed and picked up his phone. Before he could second guess himself he quickly text a message.

  “I heard you’re having a welcome home party for your Aunt Jo. I’ll be there.”

  He put it down and lay on his bed but a moment later, his phone lit up with a response.

  “It’ll be so good to see you! Thanks Jet ??”