Jake sat. From the bottom step he could see through the lowest pane. A crack in the top corner, where someone knocked right hard on it. A blue Jaguar parks. It’s Westminster Blue. That’s the proper colour. But it’s in the shade so it looks black, Jet Black. Ink at best, but that’s still no good. Except for their paper.
Jake doesn’t know what car it is, but it smells of lilies. They’re the best of all the flowers, because they’re so very pretty: “We’ll take you to a very pretty place. Jake” doesn’t know what lilies smell of. But they don’t smell of hops. Or barley. He doesn’t know what they smell of either. They smell of his father.
Jake swigs Buckfast from the bottle, looks at his son. Jack sits, on the bottom step.
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