Page 79 of The Perfect Son
My throat starts to throb and I sink to the carpet and find Shelley’s number on my mobile. I keep hoping I’ve made a mistake. I haven’t. There is nowhere else your boots or jumper would be.
It rings twice before she answers.
“Have you taken things from the house?” I fire out the question before she has a chance to distract me, before I can start second-guessing myself.
“Hi, Tess, how are you?” Her voice is bright but there’s a falsity to it. It’s too high. “I was just thinking about you. You didn’t reply to my text last night.”
“Have you taken anything from the house?” I ask again, remembering her text and the lights of the 4x4 blinding my eyes.
“What?”
“You’ve been in the house so much, and I wondered if you’d taken anything?” My tone softens despite the hurt in my throat. My nerve is slipping.
“What’s going on, Tess?”
I sob and try to swallow but I can’t. “Things are missing from the house.”
There’s a silence before Shelley speaks. “What things?” she asks, her voice hesitant.
“Stupid stuff.” My fingers brush the smooth cotton of one of your shirts before I peel myself from the floor and move to your study to check on Jamie out of the window. He is shuffling around the tree house, talking in the animated way he used to talk to you when he was regaling you with tales of his lunchtime football matches.
A flicker of worry worms its way through me, dislodging themissing clothes from the forefront of my mind, as if I only have the capacity to worry about one thing at a time. I probably do.
“Tess?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head and move through the upstairs to Jamie’s room. “I’m still here.”
“What things do you think are missing?”
She doesn’t believe me. It’s not just the words she uses, it’s the tone as well. Still bright, still kind, but there’s something else there too—pity.
“I’m trying to figure it out.” I give a shaky sigh, and suddenly I’m not accusing a woman I barely know whose motives I wonder about late at night. Instead I’m talking to my friend Shelley who has listened to and understood me since the moment she turned up on my doorstep.
Jamie’s wardrobe is still open. I stare at the hook on the inside of the door where his rucksack should be, the one we bought him for the camping trip we never got to go on.
I pull at his clothes drawers with my spare hand, yanking them all the way until they reach the end of their cheap plastic runners and drop to the carpet. My eyes gaze over the drawers. They are all full. Faded T-shirts from the summer below long-sleeved tops. Jumpers, jeans, stray socks not in their pairs, and underwear of every color.
“Jamie’s Liverpool football shirt is missing. It’s his favorite.” I try to remember when I last saw it. He was wearing it when we went to the playground last week. I’m sure of it. “And his rucksack and his Spider-Man pjs are gone.”
“Tess—”
“There’s more.” I cut her off before she can tell me it’s in the wash or under the bed, or that I’m just a crazy widow who’s losing things, losing it. “There is some of Mark’s stuff missing too. His walking bootsare gone, and the jumper I bought him for his birthday. He wouldn’t have taken them with him on a business trip,” I add before she can ask.
“And you think I’ve taken them?” Shelley asks with an even tone as if she’s asking me if I want milk in my coffee.
“I... You’ve been here.” My spine tingles, my body reacting to the surfacing memory. Two weeks ago, after the trip to Tesco with Shelley, the house felt strange. The boxes in the study had been moved around. How could I have forgotten? Why hadn’t I checked the rest of the house more carefully?
“Tess, I’m worried about you,” Shelley says.
“I’m so sorry,” I splutter. “Ignore me. I’m being jittery and stupid. It’s the house.” I’m babbling now and my cheeks are flaming with heat. “I need to get out more.” I attempt a laugh but it sounds hollow.
“It’s fine,” she says, and I can feel her worry vibrating down the phone as if it’s a physical thing. “Look, why don’t we go shopping in Ipswich next Saturday? My friend Mel invited me. Her daughter will be coming too. Indra. She’s seven.”
“Er—” I wonder what Jamie will think of a shopping trip the day before his birthday. His worst nightmare normally, being dragged from shop to shop, but maybe if he’s on the lookout for a few extra birthday presents and he knows Shelley will be there, he won’t mind so much. And he’ll have someone his age to talk to.
“Come on, it will be fun,” she says. “And let’s face it, you could do with a few new clothes.” She’s teasing me now and I can’t help but smile looking down at the fleece I’ve had since forever. It used to be the deepest navy but has faded to a gray-blue. It’s covered in tiny bobbles.
“Um... I guess.”
