Junk (3 page)

Done. Jasper breathed a huge sigh of relief, his shoulders shaking. He locked the door, ran his hands through his hair and set off down the pathway under the trees.

Had he locked the door? Yes, he was almost certain he had. Better check anyway.

Jasper jiggled the door handle, pleased to see he had in fact locked it as usual, and sauntered down the garden path feeling strangely optimistic. It had been a long time since he’d actually looked forward to seeing someone.

The oddly buoyant feeling was still lingering when Jasper reached the Copper Kettle, and the sight of those two blond heads bent together in his favourite window table made him smile. They reminded him of Easter chicks, all fresh with sun-kissed cheeks like they both spent lots of time outside. Their hair was bright and fluffy too. He wondered if Lewis used dyes or bleach to get that colour. He hoped not. Lewis might look all dapper in his blue shirt and tailored trousers, but he was way too good-looking to need any artificial help.

But if his sister had the same hair, that meant it was natural, right? Well, the pink-and-green streaks in hers clearly weren’t, but Lewis was a different matter. Lewis had…class.

Jasper didn’t realise he’d been staring through the glass like a kid outside a cake shop until Lewis turned to him and gave a brilliant smile. Carroll beckoned impatiently, the bits of jewellery in her face glinting in the sunshine. It would be hot at that table, but it would make a pleasant change from the perpetual cool of his house.

Jasper was still pondering Lewis’s hair when he got inside, which was probably why the first thing he said was, “Your parents should have called you Alice instead. Your hair is just the right colour.” Unfortunately, he was still staring at Lewis.

Lewis gave him a bemused smile. “Alice? Are you sure?”

“Oh, I, uh, I saw the van. With the White Rabbit painted on it? I hadn’t twigged about your names until then. But no, I meant Carroll, not you.”

Carroll rolled her eyes. “Actually, the van’s called Alice, and it’s my middle name. Mum’s got a PhD in Victorian Children’s literature. She knows pretty much everything there is to know about Lewis Carroll and his freaky stories.”

“I reckon we do too,” Lewis chipped in. “They were the only bedtime stories we ever got read to us.”

“Not true. I remember
Peter Pan
too.”

“Yeah, but that was really weird.”

“And
The Water-Babies
.” Carroll smirked.

“Must have blocked out that memory.”

“You used to love it. I remember, sunshine. I also remember you stealing my Ken dolls whenever you got a chance.”

Lewis gave Jasper a crooked smile, which made one of his cheeks dimple. “He had much better clothes than my Action Man did.”

“Yeah, but what about that time I caught you making the two of them—”

“Anyway, we really should be talking about Jasper, shouldn’t we?” Lewis interrupted, with a hint of colour to his cheeks.

“I’d prefer to listen to you two,” Jasper said, surprised at his honesty. “I mean, I never had a brother or sister.”

“Do you have any remaining family?” Lewis asked.

“Not that I’m in contact with.” Why did they have to start with that one? Would they change the subject if he didn’t volunteer anything else, or would he have to give them something more?

Fortunately Yusef chose that moment to deliver his usual mochaccino with caramel syrup and plate of baklava. “Thanks, Yusef. How’re the kids doing?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Yusef replied, tucking his apron over his large belly. “You know teenagers. Don’t want to tell their poor old dad anything. Still, at least they’re keeping their grades up. Yasmina still has her heart set on dentistry.”

Jasper had known the Othmans since the kids were still in nappies, when the recently widowed Yusef had first taken over the café. Jasper had even babysat occasionally when Yusef needed a night out and the usual girl couldn’t make it. “What about Derin? Is he still going to be an animator in Hollywood?” You certainly couldn’t fault those two kids for ambition. Unlike Jasper himself, who was probably never going to make it past senior librarian and didn’t particularly care.

“Oh yes. And apparently I have to buy him some software that costs eight hundred quid just so he can practice. Eight hundred! He’s going to be working extra shifts after to pay me back.”

When Yusef had returned to his favourite stool at the end of the counter and picked up his latest knitting project, Jasper realised he was being stared at by two pairs of bright blue eyes. He stirred his coffee to have an excuse to drop his gaze. And you had to stir, anyway, or the thick syrup all sank to the bottom and made the last couple of mouthfuls unbearably sweet.

“So, this is a favourite hangout of yours?” Carroll asked.

“I’ve been coming here ever since it opened. I think that was in… What year did this place open, Yusef?” he called.

“Nineteen ninety-five,” Yusef replied, not looking up from his knitting.

“Wow. A genuine twentieth-century establishment,” Lewis said.

“I always think of it as more
fin de siècle
,” Jasper mused. “There’s something about it that comes across as Parisian decadent. I can imagine Toulouse Lautrec and Debussy downing absinthe at the bar.”

Yusef snorted. “Wouldn’t stock the stuff. It’s revolting.”

Lewis was staring at Jasper, a quizzical tilt to his eyebrows. “What is it you do for a living, Jasper?”

“Me? Oh, nothing interesting. I’m just a librarian at Bristol University.”

“You’re a bibliophile, then? I’d say that was pretty interesting. More respectable than clearing people’s houses.”

“Oi, no one forced you to do this,” Carroll said.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying that being a librarian is a pretty smart job. Especially at the university. Hey, you might even know Mum and Dad. They both lecture at the other place, but I bet they use your library sometimes. It’s the best in town, isn’t it?”

“We do have a particularly well-stocked literature section,” Jasper agreed, “but it concentrates on early literature. Chaucer, Beowulf, that kind of thing.” Jasper stirred his drink meditatively and scooped up a spoonful of sweet froth to eat. “Mmm, this is really good. You two should try some.” They both had black coffees, he’d noticed, which really wasn’t the same thing. Not even with five packets of sugar stirred in, and he didn’t see any empty paper packets on the table.

Lewis smiled and raised his espresso. “I’m fine with the pokey stuff, thanks. Now since we’ve all got to know each other a bit better, how about we talk about why you called us out?”

“Oh, that. Yes, I suppose… Where to begin?”

The siblings exchanged a look. “How about the point when you started noticing your possessions were causing you difficulties?” Lewis asked.

Jasper thought long and hard. “I’m not sure, exactly, but I remember the first winter the radiators stopped working properly. I couldn’t get to them to find out if there was a problem with the pipes or if they needed bleeding, so I ended up turning the whole system off.”

“And how long ago was that?” Lewis asked.

“Umm, well, it was about…” No, there was no
about
. He knew exactly. It was the third winter after… “It was four years ago,” he mumbled to his coffee, and stuffed a baklava in his mouth so he didn’t have to say anything else for a moment.

“You’ve been without central heating for four years?”

Jasper nodded miserably, barely tasting the pistachio-laden pastry as he swallowed it down. “But I have heaters for the rooms I use. Electric ones.” When he hadn’t been able to reach the plug sockets, he’d ended up using extension cables from the hall sockets. Even those were now blocked off, but at least he had access to a four-socket extension lead in his bedroom, and the kitchen wall sockets above the counter.

“And how many rooms do you still use?”

“Does the hallway count?”

“If you want it to.”

“Four. The kitchen, the bathroom, the hallway and my bedroom.”

“I see,” Lewis said, his tone amazingly patient. “And why did you stop using the other rooms? Those houses must have four bedrooms, surely?”

“Yes, but one of the bedrooms is only a box room. Couldn’t fit an actual bed in there, even when it was empty.”

“But they’re full now?”

Jasper stuffed another baklava in his mouth and nodded.

“Just how full are we talking about?” Carroll asked. The two of them made a great interrogation team. “Is there any floor space left at all?”

“I don’t know,” Jasper muttered through a mouth full of pastry, before swallowing it down. “I…I can’t open the doors. Sometimes piles of books fall over and block the way. Newspapers are even worse. And magazines. I think it’s the slippy covers.”

“So is most of your hoard paper goods? Or do you collect all kinds of things?”

“Paper, mostly, but I don’t exactly collect anything. Not like a proper collector would. It’s just stuff that could be handy one day. Books and papers people are throwing out, sometimes. I hate seeing them going to waste.”

“So which do you think you’re most in need of help with at the moment?” Lewis began. “Learning how to resist bringing more stuff home, or help in getting rid of what you already have?”

Jasper stared down at the crumbs on his plate and ran his finger through a blob of sticky syrup before sucking on it. “Both,” he mumbled around his finger, still not daring to look up at their faces in case he saw condescending sympathy. It made him feel so useless, being pitied. This was why he didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t invite anyone back to the house. “I want a life again,” he said, before he lost his nerve. “I want to be able to invite everyone at work around for dinner. And Yusef’s family.”

Yusef grunted, clearly listening in on every word. “You’ll definitely have to tidy up, then, lad. That place of yours is a disgrace. Why d’you have to carry home so much rubbish every day?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like things being wasted, that’s all.”

“I’ve seen you, poking around in people’s recycling bins for newspapers. That stuff’s old news. No good to anyone now.”

“It might be. You never know what’s going to be useful. You don’t— You just—” Oh God. Jasper could actually feel his eye twitching. He must look like he was having some kind of fit.

“Hey, it’s okay.” A hand landed on his. A strong, male hand. Jasper stared at Lewis’s fingers lying pale across his own. He froze and let his hand be clasped. “We can help you with this,” Lewis continued. “It’s what we’re good at. We can help you to clear your house, and in the meantime work on some strategies to help you resist bringing new things home.”

“I’d like that,” Jasper whispered. And before Lewis could pull his hand away, Jasper squeezed tightly.

Lewis returned the pressure, only then letting go of Jasper’s hand and picking up his espresso again. Jasper wanted to grab the hand back again, along with all the calm reassurance Lewis offered. The man understood. He was going to help. He risked a quick glance up at Lewis’s eyes. So warm and kind. Yes, he could trust a man with eyes like those, couldn’t he?

“I have some pictures I’d like you to take a look at,” Lewis said in that soothing tone. “Pictures of people’s homes, and I’d like you to estimate which is closest to the situation in your house.” As he spoke, Lewis laid down a set of eight laminated photographs on the table top between them.

Jasper stared. The pictures were all of cluttered homes, and if you followed them from left to right they read like a history of his own situation, beginning with a room that had too many ornaments, stuff piled on a table and numerous bulging plastic bags tucked into gaps between the furniture, all the way up to a wall of stuff that almost reached the ceiling and carpeted the floor.

He swallowed hard and willed his finger not to tremble as he pointed to the card on the far right. He glanced up briefly, but rather than the disgust he half expected to see on the Millers’ faces, they were both nodding as if it was fine.

“It hasn’t always been like that,” Jasper babbled. Couldn’t have them thinking he was entirely hopeless. Especially not Lewis. “A couple of years ago it was only here.” He pointed to the situation two cards back, where the walls were only half covered and there was still some floor space. “And about, erm… Well, when Mama was still alive, we were here.” He pointed at the first card. The house had always been somewhat cluttered, he realised, but then again, Mama had had so many projects on the go all the time. She’d taken up new hobbies with alarming regularity, and all of them seemed to involve buying, begging or borrowing a significant amount of equipment.

“How long ago did your mother pass away?” Lewis asked, and again, there was a brush of his fingers over Jasper’s, as if the man couldn’t help reaching out and touching other people. He probably did it with everyone, but even that thought couldn’t diminish the comfort Jasper gained from the warmth of his skin.

“Seven years ago. I was twenty-six.”

He braced himself for more questions about her, his stomach knotting tightly, but instead Lewis’s fingers tapped the photos again. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but these are actually in the wrong order. You see, these are all of the same room. A client of ours. When we first visited it looked like this.” He pointed at the most extreme picture. “But over the time we worked with her, she managed to clear it all.”