Page 32 of The Perfect Son
Today I poked under the fridge with a spatula and scooped out all the dust and dirt. There was no sign of the magnet with Jamie’s photo on it, but maybe it got knocked under the oven instead. Then I scrubbed the inside of the kitchen cupboards, something I’m quite sure your mother never did in the decades since she had them installed. I turned the radio on while I worked and listened to Ken Bruce on Radio 2. I even got a question right on “PopMaster.” I made sure to turn it off on the hour and miss the news, just in case the crash was mentioned.
But cleaning the cupboards is not my baby-step task for today. I just did it to keep busy, keep focused. Today my baby step is Jamie. I’m going to do something fun for him just as soon as I’ve collected him from school.
I hurry down the lane to the village, clomping in my old winter boots with my coat zipped up to my neck and shielding all but my head from the bracing gusts of icy wind.
There’s a tractor up ahead. A dark green monster of a machine pulling a flatbed with a huge hosepipe on the back. I keep going another few steps and watch the giant rubber wheels roll nearer before pushing myself right up against the edge of the lane and into the thorny bush. Even so, it’s close when it passes. I could reach a hand out to touch it if I wanted. The noise of the engine is a roar in my ears and my legs wobble for a second.
A minivan is crawling along at ten miles an hour behind thetractor and in the back seat are two bored-looking children in their navy school jumpers, the same school jumper as Jamie’s—and that’s when I realize I’m late.
I jump from the hedge and feel the thorns tugging and scratching at the fabric of my coat. Around the bend, the redbrick walls of the school are visible now and I see Jamie’s face searching for me. I reach out and wave my hand until he sees me.
“Sorry,” I puff. “A tractor blocked the lane and I had to wait for it to pass. How was your day?”
“Fine,” Jamie says and we start walking again.
“What did you do today?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?” I ask with a playful nudge. “You must’ve done something.”
“Can’t remember.”
“That’s OK. I was thinking—how about we hop in the car when we get back and go to that indoor playground in Colchester? You loved it there when we went for the Halloween thing. You know, the one with those drop slides.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“I don’t want to,” he says with the same tone as if I’ve asked him to tidy his bedroom. He’s cross because I was late, I know, but still I wish he was a little more excited.
“Oh... it’s just I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Is Shelley coming with us?” he asks.
“Er... no.”
“Those places are for babies. I don’t want to go.”
“You liked it last time.”
Remember that, Mark? He raced around the climbing frames forhours in that werewolf costume and we drank cups of weak tea from sticky tables and wished it was wine.
“I’m NOT A BABY,” Jamie screams so loud I flinch.
“But—” I stare at our sweet amazing boy who has never ever shouted at me before and flounder for a reply. I stop and reach out for Jamie’s hand, but he moves, throwing himself into a sprint and running down the lane toward the house.
“Jamie,” I gasp.
The giant wheels of the tractor turn over in my thoughts until it’s all I can see—those monstrous wheels rolling along the road and Jamie falling in front of them.
I break into a run as fast as my legs and my boots will let me on the stony tarmac. I can’t let anything happen to him, Mark.
He’s waiting for me in the driveway, red-faced and scowling.
“Jamie.” His name comes out a shrill shriek as I gasp for breath and feel the tidal wave of panic hit me with a hot fury. “Don’t ever run off like that. Do you hear me?” I stride closer, almost skidding on the gravel. “You don’t ever run off, especially, especially on the lane. A tractor could’ve been coming round the corner. You know that.”
“Go away,” he screams at me.
