Page 116 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

didn’t try to pull the wool over his eyes: Even the whitest of lies made him act

out, and then he was discovered not to be “the right fit.” But along came Greg
and Petra Wallace, and it was heartwarmingly weird that a pair of super-white
Conservative politicians had fallen for Jacob as hard as they had. It took a long
time for their foster son to stop anticipating some hidden motive on their part.
Jacob had been wary of being dragged out in public with the parental bodies,
wary of a fatherly hand settling on his shoulder while reporters took down
remarks like, “Take this hardworking young man . . . a far better role model for

our disadvantaged youth than some benefits scrounger . . .” Nothing of the kind
ever came to pass, and the Wallaces had shown such steadfast and enthusiastic
support of all things Jacob that he (and Jill) had had to give in.

—

BEFORE GREG AND PETRA none of the people who’d invited Jacob to “make
himself at home” had really meant it . . . wanting to mean it didn’t count. The
Wallaces gave Jacob a front door key and one day Jill had temporarily
confiscated it, just to see how disconsolate Jacob would be at the prospect of a
delay in getting home. She’d found that Jacob Nunes, a boy who was usually up
for one more three-legged race, one more game of knock down ginger, one more
WWF SmackDown!, was now very disconsolate indeed at having to endure one

more anything before hometime. And the Wallaces were so jolly it seemed bad
manners not to like them back. Jacob’s Labor Party membership probably
saddened his parents more than they could say, but you can’t have
everything . . .

—

AT TWELVE-THIRTY Jill went into the bathroom, found some shampoo, and
washed the sweat out of her fringe. She used the hot tap and saw the water
steaming but it splashed her skin blue instead of pink. Never mind; she couldn’t
feel any of it anyway. She was a bit peckish, though. Gherkins. She’d seen a jar
of them in the cupboard when she was putting the shopping away. She fetched
them, walking carefully so as not to slip on the water she was dripping. “Yaaaay,
gherkins!” But she couldn’t get the jar open. She heard a voice in the next room

(Jacob’s again, after she’d told him to leave?) and went to have a look. It was
only the TV. She surfed channels, since it was on. “Remember when almost
everybody on TV was older than us, Jacob?”