Page 15 of The Perfect Son
Not too far from the station for my commute to London, and close to the park and the shops for you.
Exactly. Lots of families, lots of friends. We gave Jamie the second bedroom, saving the box room for a second nursery, for the brother or sister I wanted so badly for Jamie to have.
And I asked you to marry me, Tessie. That was the best part of the story. Don’t leave that bit out.
Ah, yes. Sweeping me off my feet and all the way to the registry office in the basement of the council buildings in Chelmsford. What a hero! I wore that white maxi dress from H&M and jiggled Jamie on my hip the whole time we were saying our vows.
Jamie had just started weaning, remember? He threw up orange gloop down your back just as we had our first kiss.
I loved how we started our marriage laughing. It wasn’t grand or romantic, but it was us, our start, and we were happy. You always made me laugh. Even though we were complete opposites. Even if I was angry at you for being late home, or not picking up your clothes from the floor, or hiding yourself away with your computer and working on your secret project instead of spending time with Jamie, you always made me laugh.
Another voice fills my head:“Can you tell me the whereabouts of your husband, please, Mrs. Clarke?”The policewoman with the brown hair in a neat ponytail. PC Gemma Greenwood, as if I’ll ever forget that name. Oh God, I don’t want to remember, but it’s too late.
I was at the kitchen table. PC Gemma Greenwood was sitting opposite me, but the other officer, the one whose name I can’t remember, stayed by the sink. Her skin was the same gray as the bonfire smoke and her eyes were glassy with tears, as if it was she who loved you. As if it was her life that had been destroyed.
“Mark?”I asked as if I had more than one husband. “He’s inFrankfurt today. The computer software company he works for has an office out there. He’ll be back tomorrow if you want to speak to him. Why?”
“I’m afraid we have some bad news.”
My eyes shoot open. Suddenly I need to hear the tap dripping and see what is real. I stare at my body. A month of grief has slimmed me down, but it’s not pleasant. My breasts are flaccid and sink toward my armpits. The skin around my belly button floats in the water. A half-empty sack, as if your death has removed a physical part of me.
I twist the tap with my toe and add more hot.
My thoughts pull to Ian’s visit. The grapes and chocolate, a subterfuge I mistook for kindness. He only wanted to ask about the money you borrowed from him.
One hundred thousand pounds. The amount feels lodged somewhere in my mind as if I can’t quite process it, imagine it. It’s so much money, isn’t it?
We never spoke about money. It’s the way you wanted it, Tessie. I would’ve told you if you’d asked, but you never did.
Didn’t I?
A memory surfaces. It was from early on, when I was pregnant. We’d just moved into the Chelmsford house and everything was new still, including us.
“Good news,”you called as you walked through the front door.
“What?”I shouted back from the kitchen. I was stirring a pot of chili on the hob and trying not to splash sauce on the bright white tiles of our new kitchen.
“I’m moving into the sales team.”You came up beside me and kissed my cheek. I remember the mix of aftershave and London grit that clung to your clothes.
“Sales?”I stopped stirring and leaned against the work surface, watching the excitement on your face and trying not to wince from Jamie’s foot wedging under my ribs.“But you’re a programmer. You program stuff.”
I remember your laugh, deep and just a little strained, now that I come to think of it.“Your technical knowledge of my job is astounding,”you said, pulling open one of the doors of our American-style fridge-freezer and retrieving a bottle of beer.
“Ha-ha. You know what I mean.”
“This is a great move. There’s a commission structure, which means more money—”
“If you sell,”I said. I remember wondering how long you’d been planning the change of job, how long you’d been keeping it to yourself. I told myself we were still new at this; we hadn’t learned to share ourselves yet. It was later that I realized it was just your way. Keeping things bottled up, waiting until it was a done deal before telling me. I was the opposite, worrying about every little thing before it had happened.
“Who better to sell the software than the person who created it?”you said, gulping back a long mouthful of beer straight from the bottle.
“Oh God, is money an issue? I thought we’d be OK. I... I suppose I could put the baby into a nursery and go back full-time. If I have to—”
“Relax,”you said, stepping close and running a hand over my belly.
“Sorry. It’s just I hate talking about money and worrying about it all on top of everything else. I’m so nervous about the birth and...”And us, I wanted to say but didn’t because we didn’t ever talk about us and how we hadn’t known each other that long.
“I don’t want you to worry about it again, OK? All you need to focuson is cooking that little monkey inside you and putting your feet up for the next four weeks. We’ve talked about your job before, and I meant what I said—you’re not going back to that sweatshop of a school ever, OK?”
