Everyone thought jigsaw puzzles had saved Jane’s sanity after the death of her daughter, Lara. Neighbours had talked about her standing at the window for hours, surveying the road as if she was still expecting Lara to come home. She’d looked like a statue draped in her nightgown with her rich red hair -once her pride – now dull and matted as it flopped over her face and bent shoulders. People would wave as they walked their dogs past her house, but Jane looked through them as her eyes scanned the distant horizon.
Lara had just celebrated her seventeenth birthday when she didn’t return home from college at her usual time. Two hours after Lara’s stepfather, Ken, phoned the police, a body was found 250 feet below the White Gorge suspension bridge. Lara had been upset after the break-up with her boyfriend. It was clear she’d committed suicide, but Jane blamed the boyfriend. She’d screamed that he’d as good as murdered her. One terrible night, Ken had to hold her back when she leapt out of bed, threatening to go round to his house to confront him with a carving knife.
Sometimes, Ken would find Jane talking to Lara’s photograph on the lounge wall, promising revenge. The picture showed a pretty woman with her mother’s auburn hair in a blue dress. But the smile seemed bashful and reluctant. You could imagine the photographer saying: ‘Come on! Give us a smile. You look like you’re carrying all the world’s troubles on your shoulders.’
Ken confessed to a colleague that he was desperate to find a way to help Jane cope with her grief. The colleague suggested jigsaw puzzles might distract her. Ken was skeptical at first but thought it was worth a try. He spent an age in the local stationers before choosing one he thought she’d like. It was in a box close-wrapped in shiny plastic, and the picture on the front showed a room in a cottage with cats stretched in front of a roaring fire and plants, books and ornaments on dark brown shelves. A crescent moon could be seen through a small window, and a painting above the mantlepiece showed a shepherd watching his flock next to a stream from where hills and valleys rolled far away. Amidst it all, a sleeping man lay in an armchair with a newspaper falling over his lap.
When Jane first saw the picture on the box, the word ‘peace’ flashed through her mind. It seemed to come from another world. But she put the jigsaw away unopened. A few days later, Ken asked her if she didn’t like the puzzle. I’ve too much on my mind, she’d replied. Come on, he’d said. It’ll take your mind off things, and he opened the box, spreading the pieces across the dining table. Jane had resisted at first but found herself searching out the edge and corner pieces, and soon she’d formed a frame. Then she sorted the pieces into similar colours, and the picture began to grow.
A few days later one of the neighbours stopped Ken and said they were worried because they hadn’t seen Jane at the window. ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ he said. ‘She’s totally absorbed in a new hobby.’ Now, Jane seldom left the table. The hours went by without her noticing. It took her a while to get used to the different shapes of the pieces, but she got a little better each day. Sometimes, Ken would look over her shoulder and admire her achievement. She would look back at him as he stroked his beard. Then she’d take his arm, squeeze his hand, and whisper: Thank you. You’re a good man.
Ken had always got on well with Lara, sharing jokes Jane never understood and joining in when she teased her mother about her love of soap operas, suggesting she thought they were real life. He’d wept at Lara’s funeral while her mother had struggled through the day frozen in grief. Lara’s real father hadn’t even shown up. People said he was probably drunk in a sports bar, throwing his benefit money away on some lacklustre horse and cursing as it fell at the first fence. Ken said he couldn’t believe someone could behave so badly. He’d been a tremendous support to Jane after the tragedy. Despite having a high-pressure job, he’d taken over the cooking, shopping and cleaning and comforted her when waves of sorrow swept over her. Jane’s anger with the boyfriend would still resurface, though less often now. Ken was alarmed when she once said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get him one day. Why should he enjoy life after what he’s done?’
Jane’s obsession with jigsaw puzzles didn’t diminish as the months passed. She took on more complex challenges with thousands of pieces. Then she heard that you could enter competitions to complete puzzles in the fastest time. At first, she was reluctant, but Ken persuaded her to participate. He would drive her to the venues and stroll around the hall, hands in pockets as she amazed the judges with her speed. She was winning trophies at bigger and bigger events. People said she’d soon be the national champion. ‘Why stop at that: World Champion,’ insisted Ken.
But Jane had noticed a change in Ken. His outward optimism and cheerfulness remained, but she sensed he was tired and sad deeper down. The job and domestic chores were getting him down, she thought. She’d been selfish and neglected him, only thinking about herself. But Ken would have none of it and insisted he was happy with things the way they were.
Jane’s birthday was coming up, and Ken was full of apologies. He had to go on a business trip to Japan the day before. It was unavoidable, but he’d phone her twice a day. Before he left, he arranged a pile of presents on the coffee table with instructions that they must not be opened before he left. His parting words were: ‘Now don’t do anything stupid while I’m away’.
Jane rose early on her birthday and admired how well the presents had been wrapped. Ken was a perfectionist, and it was a shame to open them. She untied the ribbon on the first present with the greatest care and tried to avoid tearing the wrapping paper. Inside was a bottle of her favourite perfume from Milan. The next present was a large box. She guessed it was a jigsaw puzzle -she could hear the pieces rattling inside. But when she’d stripped away the paper, she was surprised. The picture on the box was similar to the first one she’d completed. It appeared to come from a series. There was no roaring fire, and this time, the sun shone through the small window, dazzling the shelves. The cats were rubbing against the man’s legs with their tails up as he sat upright, reading his newspaper. Oddly, the box had been resealed with Cellotape, but Ken had put a note inside: ‘Found this in a charity shop. Couldn’t resist it. Thought it would remind you of your first puzzle, xxx’.
Jane didn’t think the puzzle would pose much of a challenge but decided to complete it to please Ken. She would have it ready to show him when he returned at the weekend. Soon, the picture began to take shape. As she became absorbed in selecting the pieces, she occasionally thought about Ken in Japan. How would he cope with the customs there? How was his flight? Would he like sushi and miso soup? She looked forward to him phoning when he had time.
The puzzle was almost done, but something was odd. The pieces representing the man’s newspaper didn’t quite match the picture on the box. Perhaps they’d been marked by the previous owner. Anyway, she proceeded to slot them into place. On the box, the writing on the newspaper was small, so you couldn’t read what it said, but the letters on the pieces were legible and looked like they’d been written with a black Biro on a background whitened with correction fluid. She put the last pieces of the newspaper in place, sighed, rubbed her hands and sat back to read what the newspaper said.
Then she screamed. The front page read: ‘So sorry Jane. I pushed Lara off the bridge. I love you and wanted you for myself.’//
About the Author
Paul Goodwin lives in Somerset, England, where he writes fiction and non-fiction. His stories have been published by Literally Stories, CommuterLit, CafeLit, and Marrow and LitBreak magazines. His books include Forewarned (Biteback Publications) and Something Doesn’t Add Up (Profile).
NOTE: The February issue of B&P Magazine will be released February 15.
About the Author
