“That’s how the bats like them.” Rufus shrugged. “They settle in colonies and roost behind the bark to breed. I’ll contact the MES Field Office to see if we need a survey before we apply for the permit. Probably why no one else wanted to push forward on this site right now.”
Jackson let out a slow, measured breath. Disturbing the summer habitat of the Indiana bat was not an issue Hale Evolution had faced before. Their projects were mainly rebuilds or redevelopments in built-up areas. The Kingswater site was close to a lake, flanked on two sides by woodland. Now it would be six months before they could start work.
“The Addlestone-Blacks had this plot in their sights. We had to move fast.” His father’s tone was sharp.
And there it was in a nutshell. His dad’s rivalry with the Addlestone-Blacks—founders of another family-run development firm—had created this mess of escalating proportions. Max Addlestone-Black was a forceful man; his father, Richard, more driven still. In so many ways, they both reminded Jackson of his own father, but Alistair Hale would not be drawn on why his feud with this particular family and their company was so vitriolic. He shut down tighter than a cable clamp any time Jackson pressed for more details.
“I heard they had their engineers out here.” Florian sounded defensive.
“Why didn’t the bat issue show up during our site assessment?” Jackson asked.
“We weren’t looking for it.” His dad’s PA had a spiky build and a spikier temperament. Jackson butted heads with him almost as often as he did with his father. “The Environmental SA checked for ground conditions and contaminants. It was all clear.”
There was nothing more to be said.
“We’ll leave it with you, Rufus. Keep us up to date with any progress.” Jackson dug into his pocket for his keys.
They separated by the cars, the site manager heading to one of the local merchants, Florian to pick up his dad’s lunch order. Half of their own journey back to the office passed in silence before Jackson cleared his throat.
“It would make sense to cut our losses on this site, Dad. If we resell the plot straightaway, we can pay back the loan and focus on our current projects. We can’t afford to sit on this until October.”
“We’re not reselling.”
“We might have to.”
His dad stared out of the window, his back as rigid as a steel pole.
Traffic was gridlocked. Knowing he’d get nowhere by pushing, Jackson tried a softer approach to keep the conversation flowing. “D’you remember how obsessed Dom was with bats? He’d have been making plans to camp out on site if he was here.” His brother’s name on his tongue felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
His dad huffed. For once, it was an indulgent sound rather than a harsh one. “There wasn’t an animal he didn’t find fascinating.”
“I thought he might decide to be a vet.”
“No—he was always going to work for the company. But every time we went to the library, he’d come back with armfuls of books. Different animals every time. Your brother was always reading. He was smart like that.”
Jackson stiffened. He couldn’t help himself. And the moment of easy reminiscing fractured and fell away.
“How did you get on with the realtors at your grandmother’s place?” His father changed the subject this time.
“The valuation came in around $1.3 to $1.5 million after updates. Under $1 million in its present condition.” Jackson forced his hands to relax on the wheel.
“She should have moved out if she couldn’t cope,” his father said bitterly.
Jackson had no answer to that; instead he focused on the latest fuck-up to hit one of the other sites. Thank God Rufus had held back from spilling the details on that, or his father would never have let him hear the end of it. An order for one hundred sheets of drywall had gone awry; only ten were delivered. The team of men onsite, scheduled specifically to start the fit-out, had been left kicking their heels. A costly error in time and money. As always, he’d double-checked the order before it went through, but now—facedwith an irrefutable one-tenth of the expected delivery—he was doubting himself.
The next two weeks were hectic as he continued to play catch-up after his obligatory month at Amity Court. He barely found time to squeeze in a quick mid-week dinner with Niamh, and they met at a restaurant near the office—a regular haunt. Jackson ordered steak frites as always, without looking at the menu; he was starving. Niamh chatted about the upcoming wedding of a work colleague and he had to force himself to concentrate on her words, pushing the jumble of figures and spiraling concerns to the back of his mind. They were in and out of the restaurant in ninety minutes. He pecked her on the cheek and headed back to the office for another couple of hours, their conversation already forgotten by the time he reached his desk.
It was late on Friday night when Jackson pulled up outside Amity Court, forced to make the return visit by his grandmother’s letter. The requirement to stay overnight at least every two weeks was already pissing him off. Closing the car door with a muted snick, he couldn’t tell if Leah was still awake or had left the one solitary side lamp shining in the bay window for him—doubtful, since he hadn’t let her know he was coming.
The three-hour drive had tightened his shoulders. He rolled them to loosen the knots and took a moment to enjoy the silence. His back ached and his eyes were gritty, his head full of undone tasks on an extensive to-do list. Amity Court stood shrouded in darkness against the inky sky, its silhouette even grander for the forgiving shadows of night. A hushed serenity, so different to city living, settled around him.
Feel the peace.
Those words again from his grandmother’s letter. They echoed in his head as he took a long, steadying breath.
Turning his key in the lock, Jackson eased the front door open with his shoulder—note to self, plane the fuck out of this asap—and an indistinct and slinky shadow weaved between his feet and through the gap, padding noiselessly into the house. The sleek black cat sat on its haunches in the middle of the tiled floor, blinking regally.
Jackson sank into a crouch. “Who are you, then?” He stretched out his hand. “You look more at home than I think you should, since this is my house and we haven’t been introduced.”
