Jumpers

Outside, the morning sun’s welcoming sting briefly distracted me from the dull ache of my testicles.

‘That really hurt,’ I said as we headed for the alien motorhome.

‘Serves you right. The way you fell for the sales patter.’

Jennifer slapped the new plastic bag into my chest. She said to quit complaining and get the sweatshirt on. She’d bought a purple one, thinking the colour would suit me. (I don’t think she was being serious.)

‘There’s chips and soda too. I didn’t want to be eating nutrition pills or whatever space crap UFO bros have. Don’t let the Advil fall out.’

As I pulled my head through the purple fabric, I said that I’d never really been a jumper person.

‘I’m sorry? A what?’

‘A jumper person.’

She stared like I’d stopped talking and had started making honking noises.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? Like kangaroos?’

‘No. Jumper. Like sweatshirts. Jumpers.’

‘Honestly, Jacob, sometimes it’s like you’re speaking a different language.’

This was probably an opportunity to say something funny but I was too busy staring slack-jawed and pointing an electric finger at a pick-up truck parked at the far end of the lot. It hadn’t been there when we’d arrived, I was sure.

‘The Cowboy,’ I said.

‘It’s a pick-up.’

‘Yeah. It’s his pick-up. I saw it in Catoosa.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘The country’s full of pick-ups like that. Seriously.’

She didn’t sound convincing.

John and his two friends were already at the RV and motioning for us to hurry like we were late, which we weren’t. But wanting to leave as quickly as possible, I broke into a little jog. I was all strapped up and ready to go by the time Jennifer clambered in.

There was a different smell now. John, Richard and Mary turned to us, chewing open-mouthed. Their lips and tongues and teeth made a disgusting smacking sound. Mary offered a package: DRIED BUFFALO MEAT. Jennifer was busy straightening out her sling, so I turned down the offer on her behalf.

And then John said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and not because he’d realised what he was eating. There was a problem starting the engine. Richard and Mary each leant across to try the ignition themselves. It didn’t work. They pushed buttons. The hazard lights flashed. The horn sounded. They moved the gear selector. But nothing made any difference. The motorhome wouldn’t stir.

‘Houston, we have a problem,’ said John to us, his eyebrows a metre above his head, way past the baseball cap.

‘Engines don’t just stop working,’ said Richard.

Mary was pointing at the roof to suggest, I guess, that aliens had a hand (flipper? claw?) in the trouble.

John stumbled out. His two friends followed. The front windscreen was full of bonnet as they tried to work a solution.

‘Of all the people. Of all the cars. We had to get these clowns,’ hissed Jennifer. We both looked at the wigs on the floor. ‘Okay, okay, I know, I know.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s get changed. In case we need to make a quick getaway.’

‘I thought you said—’

She cut me off. ‘Give me a hand.’

Next on the menu was massive awkwardness. I helped pull off her clown top. She was wearing a white T-shirt underneath.

‘So your wrist’s no better?’ I said because I was bursting to speak.

‘Not when you’re knocking it. Focus, Jay.’

I helped the jumper over her head. I looked everywhere but her.

‘We so need to find a shower in Vegas,’ she said. ‘Like, dive in for five seconds. Boom. Surgical strike.’

(Could she smell me? Did I smell bad? I mean, it wasn’t as if I could ask.)

I guided her ‘bad’ hand through the sleeve, as quickly as I could. She winced for my benefit, I’m sure. If she didn’t catch up with her dad in LA, she could always try acting.

I didn’t try speaking again because I knew my voice would be helium high. I’d learnt never to trust my body. It was always waiting for an opportunity to make me look like an idiot.

‘You need to tie this round my neck,’ she said, meaning the sling. She moved her hair aside with her good hand. I found myself staring at the nape of her neck and I’m not sure why. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked.

My fingers jumped to fumbling with the fabric, twisting it this way and that.

What started as innocently helping out a criminal on the run was now turning weird and heavy. But all things pass, even Maths lessons, and it was done soon enough. She turned round, her arm safely in the bandana.

She smiled, our mouths not more than fifteen centimetres away. Her nose was scrunched up. I remember noticing that as the RV’s engine coughed into life, making me jump, sending shivers through the air.

She looked over my shoulder as I disappeared into a sinkhole of disappointment. The ufologists were getting back in.

‘What was wrong?’ she asked. ‘How’d you get it started?’

The UFO people didn’t reply but took their seats in silence. It was weird. Something was definitely up. And I had this stone-in-the-stomach feeling that it wasn’t extra-terrestrial. I think Jennifer sighed at me, but the noise might have come from the door opening and …

There, bowing slightly to inspect the space like a vulture dropping its head at a dead coyote, was the Cowboy.

‘It was his pick-up!’ I said, and hated myself.

‘Howdy,’ said the Cowboy, because, of course, he would say that. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting anything.’

He had an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His caterpillar moustache looked whiter than ever, as colourless as an empty canvas.

‘Hi,’ I said, my voice wobbling only slightly.

Jennifer was glaring. Both at me and the Cowboy. Back and forth with the glare, like a furious tennis match.

‘I helped our friends here with their little engine trouble. They’ll be on their way shortly. Without you two, suffice to say.’

‘We’re not coming,’ said Jennifer. ‘You can’t force us.’

As the Cowboy smiled, his perfect teeth twinkled.

‘I’d be happy to contact local law enforcement again, if that’s what it takes.’ Jennifer shrugged. ‘Or your grandmother. Would you like to speak to her?’

I felt like I should be asking ‘What about me?’ but instead I stood there like a melt.

It would be great to be as tall as this cowboy but nowhere near as great as being on a plane to LA, I thought. With Jennifer. Drinking a Coke. Sharing Haribo. The lot.

‘Y’know, in the past, back when I was in the marshal service, I’ve told you about that, right?’ asked the Cowboy. I nodded. ‘When I caught up with them, the people I hunted, because I always did catch them, and that’s no idle boast, that’s a statement of fact, when I caught up with them, I’d always say, “It’s nothing personal; it’s my job.” Here’s the thing, see: I lied. Didn’t know it back then, but I’ve had time to think recently. It was personal. It was me against them, that’s why. And when I was a young man, I liked to win. I got satisfaction from it. Childish, really. Now, you two, you’ve caused more trouble than I like to remember. But … it’s nothing personal. And I mean that with all my heart. So come along and we’ll straighten things out. You hungry? I bet you are. How about pancakes?’

My stomach rumbled, the selfish turncoat organ.

‘No,’ said Jennifer. I glanced over. Because, I mean, it wasn’t 100 per cent clear what she was saying no to. ‘We’re not coming.’

‘Right,’ I said, but quietly.

‘Young woman, you and me both know who I’m working for. And you and me both know that she don’t take disappointment lightly.’ He studied us like a fox does a pet rabbit. ‘I’ve not smoked in five years. Now look what you’ve done. Coughing every twenty minutes. How’s the wrist?’

Jennifer shook her head. ‘What do you care?’

I felt like I should say something in her defence.

‘She has it in a sling,’ I said. ‘So …’

I wanted to appear helpful, like a hostage negotiator. I ended up sounding sarcastic. Which Jennifer loved, laughing.

The Cowboy was less of a fan. He pushed his hat back from his forehead and had this expression like he’d swallowed a stick of dynamite.

‘Where’s the package?’ he asked, voice gun-barrel hard. ‘The jig is up.’

It wasn’t necessarily me that gave it away. Jennifer, she might have really obviously looked at the urn bag on the floor as well. When she said, ‘We lost it,’ she was fooling nobody and she knew it. So much so that as the Cowboy went to step up into the cabin, she dived fully into the front seats. From standing to a full-on Superman leap. A gymnastic wonder.

The Cowboy paused, ruefully shaking his head as he watched her land on the laps up top. ‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Ain’t we had plenty enough fun already?’

Whatever he’d said to John/Richard/Mary had them frozen. Even with a teenager banging about on their bodies.

‘Hey,’ dared Richard.

The other two kept silent.

‘Sorry,’ I said, scooping the urn bag from the floor.

And, as I did so, the RV started to roll backwards.