Jackdaw, page 14
‘What the fuck is this?’ he asked.
I saw his eyes dilate and I knew where this was going.
What I didn’t realise was how big children’s books could be. I’m drawing the third book now and Trap’s drafting the words.
Trap and I have made a tidy sum from the books, more than any of my other efforts until now. I’m not rich, but I’ve paid off my gambling debts with lots left over.
Trap’s saving up for college, which is good for me because I would have had to explain to him why I spent all my money on sex workers and gambling.
Of course, he’s going to read this someday, so… hmm.
Seen in a bookshop window in Oxford Street: Jackdaw: Being the memoir of a most interesting assignment by [redacted].
I didn’t know what to think or feel, so I walked on by.
The whole episode struck me as messy, like 7 Reece Mews. Nanny Lightfoot, sentinel, watching with quiet menace, doing what she did in life, looking out for Francis Bacon, making sure I didn’t fuck up the commission, which I did. Me lusting after Henrietta, her disappearing when Destroyer appeared because fantasy dies when reality arrives. Whoever I distorted Elise into and her psychic pain. I don’t even know if I really met Bacon’s people. At least Tarquin’s real; oleaginous, but real.
My story’s almost told. I did finally see Francis Bacon, after a fashion.
When I had healed and my physio was done and I no longer needed neurology follow-up clinic, I went back to Dotun, the Ifa priest in Brixton.
‘You look different,’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘Call up my father. I want to speak to him.’
‘He isn’t there,’ said Dotun.
‘What? Check again.’
He did. Same result.
‘There’s someone else there, though.’
‘Who?’
‘He won’t say.’
‘What the hell does he want? Tell him to get the fuck out of the way.’
‘He says “you did well” and “good bye”. No, not that. He says “cheerio”.’
I went hot and cold at once, then I got up and left. On the train home I closed my eyes for long periods just to reassure myself that Henrietta Moraes wasn’t back.
From time to time, I’d get panic attacks, thinking Jessie Lightfoot was in the corner, but she wasn’t.
There was nothing left of Francis Bacon in my house except the New York Times review of my book that mentioned Screaming Popes.
I threw it out.
And I knew peace.
Acknowledgements
Though I’ve been writing books for a while, Jackdaw is unlike anything I’ve ever attempted, and I refuse to take the fall alone. I may not have an alibi, but I do have accomplices.
Tarquin Wimmins-Tuffet got me into this mess in the first place. Stay oleaginous, brother.
Thanks to Alexander Cochran, Harriet Vyner, Clare Conville, Darren Biabowe Barnes, Rachel Goldblatt, Anna Weguelin and the entire Cheerio and C & W team.
Thanks to my family in advance for putting up with whatever discomfort this book generates. Try to remember that this is a novel, and that I flayed my fictional namesake more than any of you.
ALSO BY TADE THOMPSON
Rosewater
The Rosewater Insurrection
The Rosewater Redemption
Far from the Light of Heaven
Making Wolf
The Murders of Molly Southbourne
The Survival of Molly Southbourne
The Legacy of Molly Southbourne
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2022 by
Cheerio Publishing
www.cheeriopublishing.com
info@cheeriopublishing.com
Copyright © Tade Thompson, 2022
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 80081 165 2
eISBN: 978 1 80081 171 3
Audio ISBN: 978 1 80081 255 0
Tade Thompson, Jackdaw
