Started Early, Took My Dog – Kate Atkinson

Here, Jackson Brodie, itinerant and now semi-retired private investigator, washes up in Yorkshire. He has just the two cases on the go and one is into his own missing ‘fake’ second wife, Tessa, who has gone off with most of his money. On the plus side he has gained a son, now confirmed as his, though resident with mother Julia, who filled much of the gap between Jackson’s first wife (Josie) and Tessa.

Jackson, a bit of a loner, often finds himself having imaginary conversations with Josie and Julia, although he soon widens this circle to include ‘Jane’ his satnav voice and a small dog that he unexpectedly acquires.

But his professional case is the current focus - an antipodean request to trace a woman’s origins. Adopted in Leeds 35 years ago, she cannot find any record of her birth or adoption, so has asked Jackson to investigate.

As to be expected in the Jackson Brodie novels (and it is a great strength) he does not hog the spotlight; there is an ensemble of interesting, wonderfully filled out characters who criss-cross the stage taking the reader off in seemingly diverse directions albeit with a common theme emerging of losing and finding.

A big presence, in all ways, is Tracy Waterhouse. She has lost her sense of purpose having retired from the police force and taken up a job as head of security at a shopping mall in Leeds; and not lost, but missing, is someone or something to love, which leads her into a risky and impulsive action.

What aging actress Tilly Squires is losing is her mind, as creeping dementia causes her to drift between the past and the present, and between her TV role and reality.

And then there is Barry Crawford, ex-colleague of Tracy’s, nearing retirement himself and in a different way to Tilly, nearing the end of his tether. He’s effectively lost his family with his grandchild killed, his daughter in a two year coma, his son-in-law serving a two year sentence for the drunk driving that caused both, and a wife with whom he has no relationship other than sharing an address.

When Jackson Brodie comes asking questions about a baby who materialised from nowhere in 1975, Crawford realises that a secret he helped to bury 35 years ago could be found and blow up in some important faces.

Kate Atkinson weaves these threads (and more) together with great dexterity, mischievous wit, sly social comment and comic observation. I also love, in a self-torturing way, how the characters bump into each other, blissfully unaware of each other’s identity and how intertwined their lives have, or will, become. It is difficult to avoid shouting helpful comments at the page.

How it all turns out remains a hook right to the end; and though with Atkinson the dénouement is never simple, it is always satisfying.