The Jane Loop by Graham Jackson

Author:Graham Jackson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2016-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

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THE NIGHT STILL hugged the day’s heat close to itself as Neil descended Avery Street. The elation he had felt at Eaton’s was long gone. Now he was hot, tired, and anxious, with the optometrist’s disappearance weighing on him again like a bad omen. He told himself that it was the start of a wider crackdown, a witch-hunt maybe. The previous evening he’d declined Mr. Gordon’s offer to meet him at the bus stop, certain that ’mo-baiting Archie was a problem of the past, that Edsel-man had taken care of him, but that night he expected Archie would be waiting for him at every turn.

The shrubs and hedges bristled with danger. If he’d had the energy, he wouldn’t have taken any chances. He would have run down the centre of the road.

Neil passed Stanton without incident and was halfway to Dominion before he was stopped by a voice, a quiet voice, saying, “Hey.”

He jumped, then turned to face Davy Doyle sitting on the bottom step of his dark porch.

Davy said, “You don’t need to be scared. It’s only me. What’s in the Sam’s bag?”

Neil hesitated long enough to make Davy shift restlessly. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“You’re kidding! I’d love to hear that!”

“You can come over this weekend, if you want.”

“Nah, not this weekend, we’re in Wasaga. Day after tomorrow, for ten days. I hate Wasaga. Stupid beaches, crowds of people. What else you get?”

“Tchaikovsky waltzes.”

“Which ones?”

Neil ventured up the walk to Davy and passed him the Tchaikovsky. “I love the cover.” It showed an image of dancers in ball gowns and tuxedos waltzing under glittering chandeliers.

“‘Sleeping Beauty’ waltz — that’s my fave. I’ll play it for you sometime.” He hummed a bit of it in a low, melodious voice. A figure appeared at the screen door behind him. She hovered for a minute, gave Neil a shy little wave and vanished. “You got something else?”

Neil pulled Juno, another musical, from the bag, fully expecting Davy to give it a cursory once-over, but he peered at it in the near-darkness for a couple of minutes.

Looking down at his old chum, Neil realized for the first time that Davy was barefoot and barelegged. This struck Neil as somehow peculiar. That Davy’s legs were very hairy and his hands and feet very large only added to that impression. So different from the white-faced, sad-eyed boy he had known since elementary school.

Corinne Doyle was at the screen door again. “You boys want anything to drink?”

“Sure,” Davy said without turning around, “a Coke. What about you?”

“Yes please, a Coke.”

Mrs. Doyle disappeared.

“This looks interesting,” Davy said.

“It failed on Broadway. Only sixteen performances.”

“Yeah, but some of the best musicals fail.”

Neil glanced at him, surprised.

“There’s The Nervous Set. Score’s fabulous. Twenty-three performances. You know the song ‘Night People’?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“I’ll play it for you.”

“Juno’s based on a famous play by Sean O’Casey.”

“I know O’Casey.” There was an “of course” attached to this information, and a roll of the eyes. “Doyle’s an Irish name, you know.” He glanced again at the album sleeve.

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