Page 26 of The Perfect Son
“It’s not your fault.” Shelley pulls a face and moves to the oven. She lifts a lid, and steam billows out of a saucepan on the hob. The scent of chicken and tomatoes is stronger now and my stomach growls a long, hollow rumble, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since last night’s pasta. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but he seemed a bit put out that I was here. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“I think he’s put out that I’m here to be honest. This used to be his mum’s house, and he grew up here. Mark and I bought it when his mum passed away. Ian didn’t say anything at the time, but I don’t think he was happy about it. He still treats the place like it’s his.”
“Ah, yes, I got that impression.”
“I’m sorry if he was pushy with you. He’s like that with me too,” I say.
“Don’t worry. I’m used to bullheaded control freaks. I married one.” She laughs as if she might be joking, but I’m not sure she is.
Shelley replaces the lid on the saucepan and reaches out her arms, pulling me into a hug. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Empty,” I say, hugging her back for a moment before we both let go.
“Have you been taking your antidepressants?”
“They don’t work. I thought I was feeling better but I’m not. If anything I’m worse.”
“Well, when did you start taking them? They take at least seven days to kick in. It can be up to six weeks before they’re fully effective. You have to keep taking them, Tess. It’s the only way they’ll help you. Didn’t your doctor explain that to you?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe. I wasn’t really listening.” All of a sudden I feel like a naughty child. A silly, stupid, naughty child.
“Take one after dinner then, OK?”
“OK.” I nod.
The kitchen is warm from the heat of the oven, and cozy in the candlelight. The window, black from night, acts as a mirror, making the gloomy place seem large and welcoming, as if it isn’t our kitchen at all.
My eyes are drawn to the fridge door and the bare space where the photo magnet of Jamie should be. I can’t remember when I last saw it. I clamber to the floor and rest on my hands and knees.
“What are you doing?” Shelley asks as I push my fingers into the small gap between the bottom of the fridge and floor. I feel the tickle of dust balls and crumbs and bits of who knows what, but I can’t feel the magnet.
“I think I knocked the photo of Jamie off the other day. It must’ve got kicked under the fridge,” I say, leaving out the part about the spilled milk and screaming at Jamie. I stretch my fingers further until the top of my knuckles press painfully against the bottom of the fridge.
“Leave it for now,” Shelley says, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get a spatula and flashlight and look later. Ian brought you chili,” Shelley adds. I look up and she nods to a Pyrex dish on the worktop nearest to the nook.
“Oh... did he want anything else?” I ask, giving up my hunt for the magnet and dusting myself off.
“He wanted me to give you this.” Shelley steps around me and picks up an envelope from beside the dish and hands it to me.
It’s white, A4-sized, and there’s no name written on it, no markings at all. I guess Ian was planning to give it directly to me.
“Dinner isn’t for ten minutes,” Shelley says. “Why don’t you open it now and get it out of the way?”
“OK,” I mumble.
Shelley ushers me toward a chair.
The old oak table has been cleaned and shines in the dim light. Cutlery and plates have been set at one end and so I sit at the other, not wanting to destroy Shelley and Jamie’s work.
As Shelley busies herself with stirring saucepans I open the lip of the envelope and peek inside. There is one sheet of paper.Renunciation of Probateis printed in bold across the top of the document. Your name is on it, and mine too, and there’s an orange tab at the bottom where I think I’m supposed to sign.
“Everything all right?” Shelley asks as she sits down beside me.
“I have no idea.” I slide the paper toward her. “It’s something to do with Mark’s will.”
There’s a short pause as Shelley scans the document. “I’m guessing you’re the executor?”
I nod. “We made them together. A joint thing. I was his and he was mine.”
