The Black Book

Jacob woke to his dark room again. The sun was yet to emerge over the neighbouring high rise, so the only lights that slipped through the curtain were the blue and red projections that emanated from the chicken shop across the street.

He’d been dreaming again. His dreams were always the same, Julia was there, sat in front of him, and he faced her motionless, unable to speak, unable to communicate anything at all. This time though, unlike on previous nights, a small book sat between them, it was black and leather-bound.

Jacob rolled out of bed, stepping over the boxes from yesterday’s take away and stumbled into the kitchen. At 6:30am he already felt drained. He flicked on the television to news of the unrelenting spread of the pandemic, switched it off again and decided he needed some fresh air.

He slipped on his boots and headed out to the local park. Last night’s dream was still percolating in his mind. It seemed so vivid. He passed children in buggies, dogs with their owners and runners going round the circumference of the same park, showing no signs of becoming bored by the monotony of their route.

The wind was bracing and he raised his hood to guard himself from the prevailing wind. The streets were beginning to bustle with commuters and the last thing Jacob wanted was social interaction. He ducked down a side street that led to the river and headed for the bridge which ran over the water near his home. This is where Jacob came when the city began to feel like it was pressing in on him.

He followed the small gravel track until the bridge lay up ahead. Where it passed over the river it created a surprisingly quiet alcove where Jacob could feel truly alone with his thoughts.

Today though as he approached he could see an object lying on the floor. The closer he got he realised it was a book. A small, black notebook not dissimilar from the one in his dream. Along with his curiosity, a small, tight ball of anxiety rose in the depths of his stomach, it seemed like a pretty strange coincidence that he should stumble across such a book after last night’s dream, but Jacob wasn’t a believer in synchronicity or any other spiritual mumbo-jumbo so he pushed any reluctance back into the depths and picked up the book.

It’s similarity to the notebook in the dream was uncanny, he turned it over in his hands, half wondering whether he was still dreaming. He opened the cover and there on the first page he found the name Jacob Maddock embossed in gold lettering. He looked over his shoulder, wondering how this could be. He had never told anyone about his secret spot, furthermore he’d not shared his dream with a soul. Where could this book have come from?

He put the book under his arm and walked home anxiously. Jacob hated uncertainity of any sort and this discovery had unnerved him. He put the book on the coffee table, sat down and studied it. He couldn’t work it out. Apart from his name there was nothing but blank, lined pages. Jacob left it on the table and went to prepare a breakfast of sugary wheat and milk before the daily last minute dash to his workplace.

He couldn’t get the book out of his mind and for the next few days he was distracted and irritable with whoever he came into contact with. The book remained on his coffee table and several times a day Jacob would flick through it hoping that some new found clarity would emerge. It didn’t.

Three nights later Jacob had the same dream again, Julia sat before him looking upset and tired, waiting for Jacob to say something. He was full of emotion: love, remorse and a desperate compulsion to tell her how he felt, but as he went to open his mouth he found himself stuck, as if paralysed from head to toe. Today though Julia seemed to sense his paralysis, it was as if she understood that he was trying to communicate. At this moment she pushed a black, leather-bound notebook towards him with a pen and motioned for him to write.

Jacob awoke to the crashing of the bins outside the chicken shop. He was late. He threw his belongings into his rucksack washed his face and ran out the door, grabbing a cereal bar from the kitchen cabinet on his way.

As he walked it become blindingly obvious what he had to do, he didn’t know why but he needed to start writing in that book. Jacob was a traditional English man, he didn’t share his feelings and he certainly didn’t allow himself the time to sit and write about them, but deep down he knew what his dreams were communicating.

When he got home that evening he went to the fridge, pulled out a can of lager and some leftover pizza, he found a pen in his desk drawer and opened the notebook. For twenty minutes he sat, beer in hand and stared at the empty page. He once loved writing but he didn’t know how to do this. He’d never kept a diary, he’d barely even written anything by hand since he had graduated, what would he write?

After a further ten minutes he put his pen to paper and began etching words into the page. He had no idea what the next sentence would hold, but he thought about his dream and he thought about the feelings he couldn’t shape into words. He wrote and wrote and wrote. When he finally stopped he had written five pages. Some of it complaints and regrets but the majority of it communicated his deep sense of loss at losing Julia. His remorse at not realising his faults until it was too late, his promises to do things differently and the love that he was never able to express during their relationship. As he finished, picked up his beer again and looked down at his words, he realised that he was crying, a deep weight had lifted from him. The last sentence he wrote was ‘most of all I just wish to see your face again’.

Jacob closed the book and put it away in his draw, he had shared more with that notebook than he had with his friends over the last thirty years, that was enough for tonight.

Two weeks went by and the book remained in the draw, life continued very much as normal for Jacob, the monotony of his job, the consistency of his nutritionally deficient diet. He was five minutes late to work everyday and continued to convince himself that no one had noticed. Strangely though he hadn’t dreamt of Julia, he woke every morning with no memory of his dreams, their absence raised an unexpected sadness in him, it was his last remaining connection to her.

One morning he sat down at his coffee table to eat his cereal, flicked on the TV and to his astonishment there she was on the screen.

When they had broken up she was working on a scientific research project as part of her PHD, Jacob never really understood what it was she did apart from that she worked in a laboratory. Now on the morning news-show they were covering a lab in London who were attempting to understand the nature of the virus, Julia was their spokesperson.

This was insane. It wasn’t how he had hoped to see Julia again but the very literal granting of his wish wasn’t lost on Jacob.

That night when he got home he decided that he would make another entry in his journal. He had spent much of his early twenties trying to be a writer. Spending his evenings poring over his words, writing long into the night accompanied by a bottle wine, attempting to replicate the lifestyle of many of his favourite writers, hoping that the words would follow. By his late twenties the pressure of rent, failed relationships and growing parental disappointment pushed him away from his dreams of writing edgy novels and into writing advertising copy for a local PR company.

This particular night he wrote about his failings as a creative. He admitted to himself for the first time, the great loss he had felt in letting go of his dreams and the humiliation of proving those who were always sceptical right. He wrote about his longing to try again, if only he had the money to allow him the time to really concentrate on his craft. He closed the book after writing 8 pages of honest outpourings and hopes for the future.

Three days later whilst in work his friend David sent him a text asking Jacob to call him. It was kind of a strange request. They were friends and would occasionally catch up in a group over pints but David and Jacob had never had a great deal to say to each other one on one and neither of them ever felt too compelled to try. When it came time for his lunch break Jacob nipped out of the office and gave David a call.

‘You’re not gonna believe this mate?’ David waited in bleak anticipation, expecting some bad news regarding the health of one of their mutual friends or maybe some positive news about David: marriage, children, promotions. He didn’t want to hear that either.

‘We won!’

‘Won what?’ Asked Jacob, genuinely bemused as to what he was banging on about.

‘The pools!’

Jacob had completely forgotten about the group lottery they did, they had been doing it for years, David had always organised it and Jacob would just chuck some money his way whenever he asked for it, it had been going on so long he’d completely stopped entertaining the idea they might actually ever win anything.

‘How much?’ He asked, expecting that he might have enough to be able to buy a few extra take aways this month.

‘100 grand mate.’

‘What? Shut up Dave, how much?’

‘I’m not joking mate, 100 grand, split five ways that means you have £20,000 coming to you.’

Jacob was silent watching London’s workforce wandering between the sandwich shops and Thai food trucks. He couldn’t take it in, he didn’t want to believe it but he knew deep down what was happening, it was the book.

He exchanged some pleasantries and wandered back to his desk in a daze. He had enough money to last him at least a year. A year of freedom, of re-discovering his passions and hopefully himself. He felt light for the rest of the day, his work deadlines seemed suddenly inconsequential and the future looked almost bright.

Two weeks later Jacob had just handed in his notice at work, he was beginning to write regularly again, practicing his craft so he was ready to really try and make a go of it this time. He had almost forgotten about the notebook that laid in his drawer. Tonight though he was feeling nostalgic, renewed by seeing Julia on the television he now felt an even greater sadness for what he lost. He sat down with his book and began writing. He begged for another chance, he wrote of all the changes he would make, all the ways he would love better and promised to not take it for granted this time. He closed the book putting it back in the drawer, despite all that had come his way in the last few weeks, his rational brain still explained it all away as coincidence. He turned off the lights and began walking to the bathroom to brush his teeth, just then, faintly calling out from the living room, Jacob heard the phone ring.