Jack Roscoe finally emerged as a songwriter during Lockdown after years of stalled attempts at music. He released his debut album, the folky Out of the Woods, in November 2023. He followed this up with his second opus, the rockier Wanderers, in May 2025. He has also published poetry and short stories in a number of magazines and anthologies. He is now recording his third album, another folky-americana work, The Roads Less Travelled, alongside writing a novel of short stories, Westenders, about masculinities set in Morecambe.
Out of the Woods
by Jack Roscoe
I always thought I’d hang myself, that one morning I’d wake up and decide that was it. I’d get up, probably have a coffee, maybe a slice of toast and marmalade, even check emails for the final time because I can’t stand unread messages in my inbox before heading straight to the bathroom in case I changed my mind. I’d loop a noose from a gown robe and throw it over the door, then close it. I’d step onto the stool and flick it away with my foot. I told this would be my way I’d choose to kill myself to the girl who later broke my heart and always spoke with an honesty and directness that would scare the Pope.
“You know your guts give up when you hang”, she said.
“What d’you mean?”
“Your bowels loosen, and everything comes out, so whoever finds you smells poo first and sees this massive shit beneath your feet. It’s not a pleasant way to go“, she said.
It made me think about who would find me. Maybe Tom, the irritating letting agent? But he’d only come around after the rent wasn’t paid, and depending when I did myself in, that could be over a month, and by then it would be much more than shit stinking the place out. I realised Fran, my co-worker, knew I had a spare flat key in my drawer in the office for the days I was forgetful. We joked about it when I told Fran. So, he’d get worried if I didn’t turn up, and after a day or two he’d probably go round and find me. Fran was a nice guy, and he didn’t deserve that. So maybe hanging wasn’t the best method. I was still contemplating the ‘how’ when Stu, our boss, called me into his office.
“I want you to go and see a new customer. It’s that special school the other side of the borough. They’re wanting some more noticeboards and display cases. Okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll call and see if I can get there this week.”
On the Thursday morning I caught a bus and walked the last bit. It was good to get out of the office. It was chilly, but you could smell spring inching out of hibernation. I arrived just after nine and waited in reception. There was a staff photo board on the wall. I went to see if there was anyone I knew. There wasn’t. Apparently I was meeting the headteacher. I looked up to the top of the board and this smiling face, maybe a bit younger than me, stared back. She looked nice.
The door opened behind and I turned and faced the owner of the nice face.
“Hi, I’m Sarah. You must be Jack?”
I held out my hand, and she took and shook it. Her skin was warm and soft.
“Come and let me show you around, and you can tell me what you think“, she said.
As we walked the corridors, she chatted about the school and what they wanted. There were a few kids out of classrooms, and they smiled when Sarah went past, and they all said good morning to her, and she knew their names and gave each of them a hug. My old headteacher never did that to us. If he had, we’d have probably called him a paedo, but then our old head didn’t have this Sarah’s looks. When we got back to her office, she asked her PA for two coffees.
“Make sure you use the decent stuff, Ayesha.”
“That good, eh?”
She smiled back at her boss, and I saw a wink pass between them.
We went into the office, and she sniffed the air and rushed over to open the window. My nose isn’t the greatest, but I thought I could pick up the aroma of something not very nice.
“I’m so sorry if you can smell shit. It was Cocoa.”
“Cocoa?”
“My dog. The school dog. She comes here every day and helps me when the children have their moments. She’s like a therapy dog, and I call her my head of behaviour. Do you have a dog?”
“Me? No.”
I didn’t want to explain that I’d had a cat when I was in the house I shared with the girl who broke my heart, but she said that the thing would be coming with her and she claimed that it hated my guts so I let it go even though it used to come and sit on my lap and I liked stroking it. Since then, there’s been no one and nothing. It’s probably best to keep that out of an introductory conversation.
“Aw, you don’t know what you’re missing“, said Sarah.
We talked about what she wanted, and I said I’d get the best deal I could for her. She smiled and said thank you. She gave me her number so I could send her the details. I looked at her contact picture when it appeared on WhatsApp. She was standing in a white wedding dress with her arm on a much older guy who looked nothing like her. Each to their own, I guess.
I messaged her the following Monday after I’d been able to haggle a decent discount from Stu. When I told her the sum, she sent a smiley and a heart. I figured that would have been it. A shame cos she had a lovely smile, and I found myself taking a few looks at her in her wedding dress. She looked so gorgeous. The old guy was one lucky dude. I was therefore a bit surprised on the Wednesday when I got a WhatsApp message from her.
“I listened to your album. Wow.”
I was gonna ask how she knew about my album, but I remembered my WhatsApp profile was still the picture of me on those steps under the name ‘Jack Roscoe: Heartbreak Hotel‘. It was a zoomed-in photo in black-and-white that had been the cover for the album I’d recorded and released last year. I’d forgotten to remove the photo when I realised the world was better off without having to listen to my sad songs. The album made Willy Vlautin, my favourite singer, seem like a cheery chick.
“Sorry about that. You can sue me for the damage.”
“Dont b daft. Uve got a real talent. I dont normally listen to that sort of music, but yr songs r amazin. I assume it’s based on a relationship you had?”
I thought about making it a fiction, but I was sick of putting a false smile on and pretending everything is okay.”
“Yeah. Shit rel = decent album 😊”
“Lol. I could release a double in that case.”
Was she referring to the marriage? Strange if so. I wanted to find out, so I texted her a couple of question marks. Her reply came bouncing back.
“Marriage. Divorce. Financial ruin. L”
I read the message a second time. I was gonna ask her about the photo when it indicated she was typing, so I waited to read that message. It was like she had peered into my mind.
“I only keep the photo of me in my wedding dress as my profile because my dad looks so handsome 😊 … & it seems to keep dodgy men at bay cos they think I’m still married. Unless I tell them otherwise 😉”
“That’s a great idea. Me looking miserable is why no-one has come near me since I checked into Heartbreak Hotel 😉”
“Maybe it’s time to check out? What u doing Friday?”
“Friday? I’m playing a gig.”
“Oh wow. Where?”
“Gazebo. Kingston.”
“Amazing. I’ll come.”
“Really? I promise not to play any of my songs 😊
I play two sets. One at 8, one at 9.”
“Awesome. CU then.”
On Friday night, she was nowhere to be seen. I just assumed this would happen. I went into autopilot and got my acoustic plugged into the PA. At eight, I started. There was an okay crowd, probably induced out by nicer weather. Thankfully, it was still a bit chilly so people weren’t rushing to sit outside like they did when it was warmer. I finished my first set with Free Fallin’, one of the greatest songs ever written. Who cares that most people couldn’t find Reseda on a map? There’s plenty of Brits who’d think Strawberry Field was more than likely somewhere down in Kent. I went to the bar for a Guinness 0% when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and it was Sarah.
“I’m so sorry. I was here an hour ago, but they wouldn’t let me in because I was with Cocoa. Did you know they don’t allow dogs in? I mean, most dogs are cleaner and nicer than most humans. It’s not fair. So I had to take her to one of my teachers who lives nearby, and she’s looking after her so I could come here.”
“That’s no problem. I’m really grateful you came down. I’m sorry you had so much hassle. I’ve never noticed they don’t allow dogs in. I’d better boycott them from now on. And I’ll have to play even better for the second set to make it up for you.”
She smiled and put her hand on mine. I asked what drink she fancied, and I got her a G&T with plenty of ice, at her request. By the time it arrived, I needed to go and play my second set. She took her drink and sat on a table at the front. Most people tended to avoid these tables and would just watch from afar and spend my set talking to each other. You just had to get used to chatter. As I played the songs, I couldn’t help glancing down at Sarah. She seemed to be watching me the whole set. I smiled at her a couple of times and concentrated even more than usual, so I didn’t make any mistakes. I got to my last song and decided to change it to Lovely Day. I don’t have the greatest voice on the planet, but I can hold a note for a year, which always seems to surprise people. When I finished, I put my guitar on its stand and went over to Sarah’s table.
“That was brilliant. I loved it.”
I felt myself blush. I was thinking that maybe she was just being polite. I asked her if she wanted another drink, but she said she ought to go and get Cocoa, and she still had to drive home.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“Kent“, she said and rolled her face with a grimace that I understood.
“Christ. That is a long way.”
I collected my guitar and walked out with her and offered to take her to her car. She said thank you, and we walked along the river a bit before getting up a side street.
“Here I am,” she said and bleeped the key to open a smart BMW.
“Nice wheels,” I said, although I preferred to cycle around the city and had sold my car the previous year when I switched to the apartment.
Sarah opened the door and turned to me. She put her hand on my forearm and leant in for a kiss on my cheek. I was surprised and pleased at the same time.
“Let me know when you get home safely,” I said.
“Of course.”
We messaged quite a bit over the weekend, and on Monday she asked me if I wanted to go out for something to eat on the Saturday.
“In Kent?”
“Would that be okay?”
“Sure. I can get a train down on Sat afty”
“Trains don’t run from our local station after ©10, which is far too early. Why don’t you stay and go back Sunday? I have a spare bedroom so no worries there.”
She seemed to be putting the ‘spare room’ detail as code, but I wasn’t worried about that. It would be nice going out for dinner again, and Sarah was lovely company.
“Great. CU then.”
Sarah picked me up from the station. Cocoa was clipped into the back seat. She was a fluffy brown dog with cute eyes. I said hello to her too and asked Sarah if she could have the treat I’d brought for her.
“Wow, Sarah said. He knows how to win a heart, Cocoa.”
We dropped Cocoa off at Sarah’s home, which was a coach house up a long gravel drive. It sat next door to a seriously big country house.
“That’s not mine, by the way, she laughed as she pointed to the mansion. I rent from them. We love it here, don’t we, Cocoa?”
“It’s nicer than my place, that’s for sure“, I said.
Sarah had booked a table at Luigi’s, an Italian in the next village from hers. It looked quite fancy and was crowded. She ordered chicken pasta, and I went for pizza. We had an antipasto selection for starter, sharing each item. As she was driving, she had a sparkling water. I had the same.
“You don’t want a beer? Or wine?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I’m not drinking at the moment.”
“Well,” she said as she raised her glass, “here’s to happier times.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
She loved talking. That was fine cos I could listen to her voice all day long. She told me about her childhood, about the fact she was adopted (which explained the discrepancy in appearance between her and her dad), about leaving home at eighteen to go to Uni and becoming a teacher and about how her daddy was everything to her. I gave her the briefest of resumé about me and, apart from a sojourn in Nashville fifteen years ago, my life had felt like a demure dead end in comparison.
“Hey. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve released an album. How many people can say that about themselves?”
“You said you have actually listened to it, so you’ll know that just because it’s an album doesn’t mean it’s any good. And according to my latest report from Spotify for Artists, it’s been listened to by precisely 137 people.”
“Right, Jack Roscoe. You need to stop this shit now. I can get quite feisty, I’ll have you know. That album of yours is good, like really good. And 137 is better than 37 or none.”
I looked back at her with a face that tried to say ‘Whatever’ but she had such a lovely smile and her eyes twinkled that it was impossible to pull off.
We finished our mains and shared a dessert and had a decaf each, but it was still only a little after nine. We left and went to the BMW. Sarah drove us back to hers and asked if I fancied watching a film. She let me choose something from Sky Cinema while she went upstairs to change into something she called comfy. I fiddled with the control and managed to find my way to the home screen and then to Sky Cinema. There was the usual clutch of RomComs plus kids’ films and horrors. I spotted the link to Must Sees and tried there. Baby Driver was available. I’d wanted to go see it when it was released, but there was nothing sadder than a bloke in a cinema on his own. I pressed download.
When Sarah came down, she looked at my choice and said she was cool with that. It wasn’t her typical sort of film, but I was the guest. She joined me on the sofa and sat to my left. I put my hand on her leg, and she swivelled them so they rested on mine.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Hell yeah,” I thought.
“Of course,” I said.
We started watching, and she put a cushion behind my back and moved it down so I followed it and was laying parallel to her. If I wasn’t so pumped, I could have fallen asleep right there. We got about thirty minutes into the film when Cocoa rose up from the carpet and sat down by the end of the sofa where my legs were, putting a paw on my knee.
“Aw. She wants hup-up,” said Sarah.
“Hup-up?”
“Yes. Onto the sofa.”
“Shall I move?”
“No need. She’ll find a space. Hup-up, Cocoa, hup-up.”
I watched as she jumped into the space I’d made between my legs and moved herself around until she lay with her head at the top of my left thigh. I just started stroking her head, playing with her ears that were long and fluffy.
“I think I have a rival for my affections,” said Sarah.
The film finished, and Sarah asked if I was tired. I could have stayed right where we were. I said sure, and she said that she’d show me things upstairs. I followed her up, and she showed me the bathroom and then the spare bedroom where I put my bag on the bed. She was stood behind me, and I felt her arms either side on mine, and she turned me around. She kissed me tenderly, and we stood there, my hands stroking the base of her back. Then she moved apart from me and looked into my eyes.
“Do you want to be my Harry?”
“Harry?”
“Here,” she said and took my hand and led me into her bedroom. “Harry is my teddy,” she said.
She picked up the bear from the bed. It wore a red T-shirt with the Harrods logo. She chucked Harry onto the floor.
I played the Gazebo the following Friday but told Lucie, the manager, it was the last gig as they didn’t allow dogs in. She shrugged her shoulders and said it wasn’t up to her, and that dogs were fine by her, but the boss of the pub chain wouldn’t let them in. Thankfully, O’Neill’s round the corner said they were interested and booked me in for two weeks’ time.
It was just one set supporting their regular Friday night singer, but they said if they liked me, they would put me on some more.
I met Sarah and Cocoa after she’d finished work on the Friday of the O’Neill’s gig. We had hooked up a few times in the weeks when she was staying over this way rather than driving home to Kent. Then I had come out to hers for both weekends, and it had been lovely spending Saturday in bed and Sunday exploring the countryside around her place, taking Cocoa for a long walk. We went straight to O’Neill’s to get a good space for the two of them and to have some food. I was even more nervous than the first time she’d heard me. At least I was in a familiar spot on that occasion. Now we were together, and I was playing a new joint.
At seven-thirty, I put two album-size plastic replicas of the cover of Heartbreak Hotel on the front of the stage, my one scant acknowledgement to self-promotion, and picked up my guitar, already set up and in tune. I played a set of upbeat covers. Some people stopped talking and nodded along. A couple of them were even singing. I kept looking across to Sarah, and she was tapping her head and smiling. I got to the penultimate song. This was it. I paused and spoke to the crowd.
Thanks for coming along this evening. I’m Jack Roscoe, and I also release my own music. You can scan my music from the cover, I said and pointed to the signs on stage. I took the capo from my jeans and fixed it onto the second fret.
“This is a new song. It’s called Out of the Woods.”
I hit the opening riff and started singing.
“I always thought I’d hang myself / Loop a noose for gravity’s pull”
Some people suddenly gave me strange looks, and I didn’t dare turn towards Sarah. I continued singing and let the song tell the story and build to its bridge.
“The kindest heart showed a map / To fill the gaps I lacked”
I made sure I looked across at her then. She was smiling and joined her index fingers and thumbs to form a heart that she framed towards me. I felt a grin etch across my face. The song rose into the final chorus, and I strummed and sang as though I was on a festival main stage on the brightest summer’s day.
“Out of the woods / Free from the dark
Out of the woods / For now…”
