Jam by Jake Wallis Simons Read Free Book Online Page A

jacket across Natalie’s shoulders. Dwarfed, she wrapped it around her body like a dressing gown; he saw her, then, as a child, trying on the clothes of a parent. She hasn’t got a father, he thought.
    She sniffed. ‘Think I might be getting a cold or something.’
    â€˜Oh, I’ve got the munchies sooo bad,’ said Stevie.
    â€˜Me too,’ said Dave, tossing his hair. ‘I could munch my way through a whole supermarket.’
    Jim finished his cigar and scuffed it into the motorway. The boys were watching his every move.
    â€˜Look,’ said Max decisively. ‘This man can’t open the van. He can’t get anything out of it.’
    â€˜Why not?’ said Dave.
    â€˜He just can’t,’ said Max.
    â€˜That’s right,’ said Jim.
    â€˜But it is full of stuff and shit?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Jim.
    â€˜What do you mean, you don’t know?’ said Stevie. ‘It’s your van, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Look,’ said Max, ‘just drop it, OK? You’re not getting anything out of this van, and that’s final.’
    â€˜Don’t see what it’s got to do with you,’ muttered Dave.
    â€˜What’s that?’ said Max.
    â€˜Nothing,’ said Dave, adjusting his fringe. ‘It was nothing, OK?’
    Natalie sneezed. ‘I’m going back to the car,’ she said. ‘I’m, like, frozen solid.’ She took off the jacket and handed it back to Max.
    â€˜Come on,’ said Stevie. ‘Let’s get back for another toke and shit.’
    He walked off along the line of cars, prancing and laughing. Without a word, Dave went after him. Natalie gave Max a halfwave and followed them into the darkness.
    Max shook his head. ‘I never thought I’d say this,’ he said, ‘but young people today. Makes you worry for your own kids.’
    â€˜There was something . . . going on with them,’ said Jim. ‘Something wasn’t right, like.’
    â€˜They were off their heads, that’s what. One of them was, anyway.’
    â€˜I know,’ said Jim. ‘But there was something else.’
    â€˜Do you have kids, mate?’
    â€˜Not me. Would have liked to. That’s life.’
    Max put his hands on his hips and stretched his back. ‘What a night. What . . . a . . . night. This traffic really is the absolute limit.’
    The wail of another siren stood up tall on the horizon, then a police car shot past on the hard shoulder, followed by two more. Silence returned, and Max noticed that the helicopter had gone.
    Jim shook his head. ‘It’s like,’ he said, ‘I can’t describe it. It’s like . . . it’s like . . .’
    â€˜What’s like what, mate?’
    â€˜I don’t know. It’s like living in a computer. That somebody else is controlling. Know what I mean?’
    â€˜What is?’
    â€˜Life, mate. Modern life.’ He reached into the van and brought out the pack of cigars. ‘I’m chain-smoking now,’ he said.
    Max hesitated, then accepted and placed one between his lips. ‘If this isn’t the right night for a smoke,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what is.’

Shahid, Kabir and Mo
    It was not long afterwards – their cigars were still alight – that the feeling arose in both men that they were being watched. Neither of them said anything, but their skulls were prickling, and they started scanning their surroundings. Max caught the eye of a tired-looking man, seat reclined, curled up against the window of his silver Golf, trying to sleep; the man, protecting his privacy, turned his back. Many people were trying to sleep now. One or two were reading, and lots were playing with their phones. Some, even now, were standing next to their cars, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the obstruction. Everything was as one might