Page 19 of The Perfect Son
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought to do that. I am barely capable of answering my own phone. But still I feel put out. Mark was mine, not yours, I want to say, but of course I don’t. Even in my head the thought is childish and silly. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I spoke to you about it when we were arranging the funeral. Your mother was there too, and the vicar.”
“Oh,” I say again. I remember the meeting in our living room. The tray with the teapot, the cups and saucers, unearthed from a forgotten box at my mother’s insistence. Apparently a visit from the vicar requires a saucer. I remember the biscuits on the plate that nobody touched, but I don’t remember the conversation. Jamie had been in the garden playing in his tree house. I’d spent the entire time standing by the window watching the trees, terrified he’d slip on the wood and fall.
“Tess, are you all right? Why have you called Mark’s mobile?” Ian asks.
“I... I thought I saw him. I’m in Tesco. It wasn’t him, obviously, but I needed to hear his voice—” I stop talking and glance around me. A group of shoppers have huddled with their trolleys and are staring right at me. A member of the staff is with them. I’ve caused a scene.
“Where are you?” Ian asks. “I can come and get you and drive you home. You sound very upset.”
My husband died and I’ve seen him shopping in Tesco. Of course I’m upset. For a moment I’m tempted to tell Ian where I am so he can come and take me home, but then he sighs and there’s an impatience to it that makes my cheeks grow hot.
“No... no, thank you. I’m OK. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to answer Mark’s phone.”
“I’m sorry, Tess.”
“I’d better go.” I hang up before Ian can reply and drop my mobile back into the depths of my bag.
The staff member breaks free from the group of shoppers watching me. She walks over purposefully and rests a hand on my trolley. She is in her late forties, I guess, with dark blond hair tied in a loose ponytail and foundation that sits between the lines around her eyes.
“Are you all right, madam?”
I nod but the tears are falling, streaming down my cheeks and I can’t speak anymore.
“Do you want to sit down for a minute? I can get you a glass of water.”
I shake my head. “No, I just want to get my shopping and go.”
“Let me help you. What else is on your list?” She prizes free the paper scrunched in my hand and guides me down the aisles, finishing my shopping for me and only leaving my side to open my car door and usher me inside.
“Thank you so much,” I say.
“Of course. Anytime.” She nods and I think I see an unspoken understanding in her eyes. I wonder if she can see the grief written across my face, just as Shelley had. I wonder if she has lost someone too.
When I’m alone in the car I pull my phone from my bag again and scroll through my contacts until I find Shelley’s number. My mum is waiting for me to call, my friends and Sam too, but right now I want to speak to someone who understands.
Shelley answers on the second ring. “Hi, Tess, how are you?” Her voice is breezy and bouncing, and I picture her smiling the same smile she had on my doorstep on Monday.
“I... I thought I saw Mark.” My voice is almost a wail and finally I let the sobs take over.
“Oh, Tess,” she says after a pause.
“I was in Tesco, and... and I swear it was him. He disappeared around the corner and by the time I made it to the next aisle he was gone.”
“The same thing happened to me for a while too,” Shelley says. “Any little boy with blond hair and I would be frozen to the spot. It still happens sometimes. When I’m least expecting it.”
“Did you ever chase after anyone and cause a scene?”
“No. But I was holding Dylan in my arms when he passed away, and however hard that was, it gave me a closure that you haven’t had. You never got to say good-bye. What you’re going through is completely natural. It’s normal to see the loved ones we’ve lost in the faces of others. After what you’ve been through I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”
I nod and wipe a hand across my cheeks. “Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you up and dump this on you.”
“I’m glad you did. I’m glad you thought of me.”
“I’d better go.”
“Why don’t you call me later when you’ve had a bit of time to process what happened and we’ll talk properly?”
