The Last Days of Jack Sparks (33 page)

JACK: Sherilyn, you’re here, thank fuck!

CHASTAIN:
Talk
, Jack, before Mimi shuts you down again. What was the first thing that scared you shitless?

JACK: The black hole.

LAWSON: Huh?

JACK: The cloakroom in the middle of our house. My brother shut me, me, me, me in there. There, I, I, I, I told you. Now let me, me, me, me go.

CHASTAIN: I told you to let the real Jack
speak
, if you want to be
free
. So stay in that cloakroom for me. Let the real Jack picture himself there now. Why are you afraid?

JACK: You irrelevant specks of dirt. I’ll make you beg for death.

LAWSON: Bit dumb, isn’t it, being scared of an empty cloakroom? What do you have to cry about in there?

JACK: It’s dark, you idiot, so dark. Can’t see a single thing. Remind me, me, me, me: why aren’t you dead? You should be dead.

CHASTAIN: So what do you do in this room, besides crap your nappy? Do you bang on the door? Ask your bro to let you out?

JACK: Both. Then I, I, I, I realise he won’t open up any time soon and I, I, I, I start crying. As I’m banging on the cloakroom doors, begging Alistair, he shouts that he hates me, me, me, me because I, I, I, I made our dad leave. He says I, I, I, I can cry until I’m sick and die in the cloakroom for all he cares.
²

CHASTAIN: Why does he think you made your dad leave?

JACK: I, I, I, I don’t like this. Get the ropes off.

CHASTAIN: If you don’t answer my questions, you can die on that
chair
, for all I care. (Pause.)

JACK: Him and Mum always thought Dad left home because of me, me, me, me. They didn’t
say
I, I, I, I was to blame all that often, but it was obvious from the way they treated me, me, me, me. And I, I, I, I . . . started thinking they were right. Dad left because I, I, I, I was this horrible, ugly, screaming little nightmare kid.

CHASTAIN: I can see how he’d regret not aborting you. (Pause.) Now close your eyes and put yourself right back in that darkness. What happens after you realise you’ll be in there a while?

JACK: I, I, I freeze. Just so scared. Chills all over me, me, me. The worst part is when I, I, I feel something else in the room.

LAWSON:
Feel
something?

JACK: I, I, I hear it, moving about. Smell it too, maybe. There’s all these pictures in my head: about a million different versions of how this thing might look. I, I, I stop calling to Alistair, because it won’t do any good, but I, I, I also can’t speak. There are coats hanging up and I, I, I feel around for my mum’s.

LAWSON: Why?

JACK: She smokes and she always has lighters everywhere. So I, I, I feel in the pockets and find a Zippo. I, I, I remember how she worked it, so I, I, I copy her and flip the wheel. I, I, I want to see this thing and face it. Make it more . . . knowable.

CHASTAIN: Makes sense.

JACK: But when the lighter comes on, turns out I’ve set a coat sleeve on fire.

CHASTAIN: Do you get to see the thing in the dark?

JACK: No, it was never there. It was just something I, I, I imagined in the dark and in the corner of my eye.

CHASTAIN: You quite sure about that, Toto?

LAWSON:
Toto?

JACK: So then I, I, I panic, because the coat burns fast. The smoke makes me, me, me cough. Can’t breathe, nowhere to go.

CHASTAIN: So what happens? Because sadly, you didn’t die that day.

JACK: Alistair sees smoke coming out from under the door. He pulls me, me, me out of there, yelling for Mum. She comes in from the garden all groggy and Alistair tells her I, I, I barricaded myself in the cloakroom and set it on fire.
³
She swears her head off, fills a bucket in the kitchen and chucks it in the cloakroom. Me, me, me and her precious Alistair get checked out for smoke inhalation in A and E, then she brings us home and slaps me, me, me hard around the face.
⁴
I’m grounded for two weeks after that.
(Pause.)

LAWSON: Best way to treat a needledick like you. CHASTAIN: How do you think this affected your thoughts on the supernatural?

JACK: I, I, I . . . don’t care.

LAWSON: Is this Real Jack or Evil Jack?

CHASTAIN: Hard to tell. Mimi keeps clawing him back. (Pause.) How did you feel about the unknown, growing up?

JACK: That everything could be explained away. Literally explained away: kind of . . . banished. You just had to shine a light on it. Science helped me, me, me deny so much fear. Mum was this big hardline Catholic, so I, I, I reacted against that too. I’d get back at her by talking about the big bang and stuff. And if science didn’t help, I, I, I had the Zippo. Still take it everywhere.
(Pause.)

CHASTAIN: Did you by any chance misplace that Zippo when you—

JACK: Came to your place, yeah.

CHASTAIN: You cried in the bathroom like a stupid little baby, didn’t you, until you found it in your pocket. (Pause.) For the benefit of the recording, Jack is nodding.

JACK: It panicked me, me, me. Can I, I, I get out now? I, I, I feel better.

CHASTAIN: No, Mimi still has a good grip. But nice try.

JACK: I’ll rip your guts out, you know that?

CHASTAIN: Proves my point.
(Pause.)

LAWSON: Why don’t you tell us the real reason you’ve been writing this stupid book?

CHASTAIN: Oh, I worked that one out. He’s been looking for the supernatural – it’s the only explanation that makes sense. But what I don’t know is
why
.

JACK: I, I, I don’t want to talk any more. And I, I, I don’t want to hurt you now, so you should let me, me, me go.

LAWSON: Very convincing, Sir Ian McKellen.

CHASTAIN: How do you get on with your brother now, and your mum?

(Long pause.)

JACK: Won’t talk any more.

LAWSON: Do you have any idea how much I’d enjoy pulling your bandages off and rubbing this stuff in?

JACK: Don’t you dare.

CHASTAIN: What’s that – Tabasco?

LAWSON: Oh, I dare. You were going to slit my throat, Jack. I wet my pants. I almost died in soaking wet pants.

CHASTAIN: One last try before he gets the sauce. Jack, how do you get on with your brother now, and with your mum? (Pause.)

JACK: I, I, I don’t. Well, I, I, I don’t get on with Alistair because the two of us clashed even more as we got older. He hates me, me, me now. And my mum always loved him a thousand times more than she loved me, me, me. Was it my fault I, I, I looked like my dad?
(Pause.)

CHASTAIN: You’re using the past tense – did your mum die? (Pause.) Jack is nodding. How long ago?

JACK: I, I, I don’t even know exactly when. That’s how fucked I, I, I was.

CHASTAIN: Explain? (Fifteen-second pause.) Jack, explain.

JACK: I, I, I think I’ve lost too much blood. Feel faint.

CHASTAIN: No you don’t.

LAWSON: Did she die last summer? Is that why you started the drugs?
(Pause.)

CHASTAIN: Jack is shaking his head.

LAWSON: Right. Which bandage comes off first? Eeny meeny—

JACK: Two Junes back . . . Mum asked me, me, me and Alistair to visit her, together. I, I, I was this big-shot writer and I’d won an award. Thought I, I, I was brilliant, but . . . Going back to Suffolk was this big inconvenience. I, I, I hadn’t seen Mum in a couple of years and Alistair in even longer. So I, I, I turned up at this house where Alistair and I, I, I grew up – the house with that bloody room. Alistair and I, I, I kept it all very civil for Mum’s sake, but there was this weird moment between us when she was off in the kitchen.

CHASTAIN: And what was that?

JACK: Oh, he found some excuse to lead the way through the cloakroom. He made a point of holding the door open for me, me, me to follow. He peered over his specs at me, me, me, with this kind of butter-wouldn’t-melt, questioning look. Like: ‘Can you handle this now?’ I, I, I really wanted to be all nonchalant, but I, I, I couldn’t face going back in there, so walked the long way around instead. And when I, I, I saw him on the other side, he was wearing this cruel little smile.
⁵

LAWSON: He got the better of you again, even as an adult. Because you’re weak.

JACK: Me, me, me, Alistair and Mum went into the back garden and sat down at the table. I, I, I remember the slats on the tabletop. Even, like, the grain in the wood. Birds were calling to each other and you could smell all this freshly cut grass. But then there were dark clouds and that kind of . . . heavy feeling in the air before a storm. Mum lit up a cigarette and she told us . . . (Pause.) She told us she had motor neurone disease and wasn’t going to live all that much longer. (Pause.) Maybe Alistair already knew, or suspected. Him and his wife and kids still lived locally. From the moment she opened the front door that day, something was wrong. Her speech was off and it looked like she had to make an effort to swallow. She’d asked Alistair to make cups of tea for us, which was unheard of. She always did that. When I, I, I bothered to visit, anyway.

CHASTAIN: How did you feel when she broke the news?

JACK: All I, I, I remember is . . . I, I, I remember all these splashes in my tea, from raindrops. Then . . . er . . . er . . . I, I, I . . .

LAWSON: What did you do, Jack?

CHASTAIN: Quick! Mimi weakens with every word of confession, so spit it out.

JACK: I, I . . . got up and walked out. Ran out, actually. Then I, I got in my car and drove back to London.

LAWSON: You did what?

JACK: Alistair shouted at the back of the car, telling me, me to come back, shouting ‘Coward!’ There was this flash flood pissing down, but I, I could still hear him for what seemed like miles. I, I told myself I’d left so Mum didn’t see me upset.

CHASTAIN: But you were just a coward, weren’t you? Jack’s nodding.

JACK: I, I ran when she needed me. Just like Dad did. I, I was terrified. The thing about believing in science, about being an atheist . . .

CHASTAIN: It means death isn’t a door. It’s a brick wall.

JACK: Yeah, yeah. And . . . oh God . . . I, I didn’t want my life to change. I, I wanted to keep my lifestyle and my precious fucking career. I, I didn’t want to be looking after . . . (Voice falters) and all that stuff . . . So I, I drove back to London so fast. And on the way I, I decided my next book would be
Jack Sparks on Drugs
.

LAWSON: Oh. Right.

JACK: Yeah.

CHASTAIN: Your mum’s dying, so you fuck off into oblivion.

JACK: Not consciously. I, I just threw myself into the book, calling it research.

LAWSON: And what dedicated research it was.

JACK: I, I ignored Alistair’s voicemails and emails. I, I even ignored a call from Mum. Sherilyn? I, I feel weird. Has Mimi gone now?

CHASTAIN: Did you see your mother again before the end?

JACK: By June this year, I, I was at my worst, totally fucked up.

LAWSON: You were unbearable.

CHASTAIN: Did you see your mother before she—

JACK: I, I remember you bringing me the post one day, when I, I was in bed.

LAWSON: Yeah?

JACK: The windows were wide open, but reading this letter, the room still felt too hot. Alistair knew voicemail and email hadn’t worked, so he sent me, me this piece of paper with his big, angry handwriting. It said something like ‘Mum died last week. Funeral next Monday. Call me if you even care.’

CHASTAIN: Did you go? (Pause.) Jack’s shaking his head.

LAWSON: You didn’t go to your own mother’s funeral.

JACK: I, I went into shock, like I’d re-entered the Earth’s atmosphere. The guilt and shame got so bad, drugs couldn’t paint over them. I, I didn’t care so much about Alistair, but Mum . . . I mean, she hadn’t been perfect by a long shot. Most of the time she made me, me feel so shit that I, I had to invent reasons why I, I was okay. You know when you’re a young kid and you just say the opposite of whatever anyone says to you? Well, that’s how the confidence, or the arrogance, whatever . . . that’s how it started. Mum or Alistair would tell me, me, that I, I was stupid and I’d just say I, I wasn’t, as an automatic reaction. Whatever they said I, I was, I, I told them they were wrong. And as I, I got older, I, I started to believe it. That confidence became my kind of default position: I, I was right and everyone else was wrong.