Page 89 of The Perfect Son
Jamie has to be somewhere.
When the escalator nears the top, I strain to see through the glass barriers, praying I’ll catch a flash of Jamie’s blond curls or hear him shout. “Jamie,” I call again, pushing past a couple ahead of me to reach the second floor.
CHAPTER 55
The upstairs is quieter. Piano music is playing softly and in complete contrast to the urgency gripping my body. I have to find Jamie.
“Have you seen a boy up here?” I ask a man wearing a red T-shirt. He’s carrying a box, which he drops to the floor when I stop him.
He shakes his head and starts to say something, but I don’t have time to listen.
I turn a corner from bedding into household and there he is, right at the back of the shop, running a hand over a long black telescope. Our beautiful boy with his head of blond curls that need a trim.
I burst into tears, and when Jamie turns I see the tears on his cheeks too.
“I thought I’d lost you.”
Jamie smiles and gives an apologetic shrug. He wandered off and got distracted by the telescope that looks up at the stars. He doesn’t need to tell me why. I understand. He’s thinking of heaven or wherever you are.
We stand in silence for a few seconds, staring at the telescope together. It costs almost five hundred pounds, but for a moment I’m so relieved I almost scoop it up to buy. But my hands, my whole body infact, are shaking, and one thought overwhelms the rest—I have to get us out of here.
“It’s OK.” I give a weak smile and hold Jamie’s hand as the escalator descends and Ian, Shelley, and Mel come into view. With a stab of guilt I see Indra crying too, but none of them are looking my way.
Ian has his back to me, gesticulating wildly at Shelley, but I can see Shelley’s face clearly. It’s stony and cold and she’s snapping at Ian. “Don’t tell me what I need to do. I’m handling it. I told you.”
“Are you though? How exactly?” I hear Ian growl as we step from the escalator.
“These things take time. You can’t just rush in,” Shelley hisses.
“Either you do something or I will,” he says as we reach them.
Mel elbows Shelley and the three turn toward us.
“Hey,” I say, biting my lip as fresh tears swim before my eyes. My face flushes thinking of my outburst. “I found him.”
They stare—Mel, Shelley, Ian—openmouthed, their faces almost sheepish, as if I’ve caught them out.
Then it hits me, punching the air from my lungs. They know each other. Shelley and Ian. I stagger back, stepping on the foot of a passing shopper.
What other reason can there be for a heated argument? Strangers don’t argue like that—venomous and angry. It was not a “you stole my parking space” kind of bickering between strangers.
What exactly is Shelley handling? The question sends a queasiness turning in my stomach.
“Tess,” Shelley says. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
I shake my head and step away. “No. Leave us alone. All of you.” I wave a finger between them.
I throw my arm around Jamie and guide him from the shop.
—
We catch the bus home. The number 93. A rickety double-decker with its heater on too high and the stink of petrol fumes wafting in through the open windows. We sit upstairs right at the front and watch the world go by together, Jamie lost in his thoughts, and me in mine. Later I pull out my notebook and flick through the pages, reading every word, touching my fingers against the bobbled pen marks like it’s braille, like I can feel the answer I cannot see.
Ian and Shelley know each other. What does that mean?
I try to remember the conversation between them that I overheard on the doorstep when I thought Shelley was protecting me. And the argument I overheard after our trip to Tesco together. Could Shelley have been talking to Ian?
It’s funny how someone came into the house then. As if they were waiting for me to be out of the way for long enough. Other than the ten minutes to school and back twice a day, I hardly leave the house. It was Shelley’s idea to go shopping. She picked me up too, when I could easily have driven myself. We were out for hours, dawdling around Tesco.
