Page 59 of The Perfect Son
I flick back through the pages and try to add meaning to my notes, but all I find are more questions. The hang-up calls have stopped, Ithink. The man hasn’t phoned back. I wish I knew what it meant, Mark. I feel like the answer is here, in the pages, but I just can’t see it.
Stop, Tessie. Go to sleep now, baby.
Remember last summer when we camped in the garden with Jamie? The tent was too big for our garden in Chelmsford. Jamie was so excited he didn’t fall asleep until after midnight. But we stayed awake even longer, whispering quietly to each other. Making plans. I miss making plans with you, Mark.
CHAPTER 35
IAN
It was impossible to get through to Tess when Shelley was there all the time, whispering in her ear. I even wondered at one point if she’d moved in with Tess. It was frustrating. Anyone in my situation would’ve felt the same. There was no way Mark would’ve wanted things to drag on like they did. The probate needed to be started and instead Tess was walking around the village in the pouring rain.
Clearly things were not right, but I didn’t know who to talk to about it. Her mother is an old bat and lives miles away. She has a brother somewhere, I seem to remember, but I didn’t have any contact details for him and I couldn’t exactly see Tess giving me his number. The only friend I knew of was Shelley, and considering she was the problem, I wasn’t going to speak to her about it. I thought things would sort themselves out. Obviously with hindsight I would do things differently, but the fact that it was Jamie’s birthday was irrelevant.
SHELLEY
After that Tess started doing better. She was getting dressed and taking care of herself more. She was far from OK but there were definite steps in the right direction. She was opening up to me and seemed so much more with-it than when I first met her.
We spoke all the time. It meant something to both of us. There was one awkward moment when I went in to Jamie’s room again while Tess was sorting out dinner. I didn’t think she’d mind. I was only in there for a moment, but she did mind—understandably, she’s protective of him. I should’ve asked first. I thought I heard a noise, that’s why I went in there. But we got over it. The next time I saw her we were fine. I was the person she called when she was in trouble, so obviously she trusted me.
CHAPTER 36
Thursday, March 22
17 DAYS TO JAMIE’S BIRTHDAY
The locksmith couldn’t fit new locks.“They come as standard, you see,” he said yesterday morning, turning up half an hour late for the appointment, not that it mattered to me. I wasn’t going anywhere.
He was a squat man with more beard than hair on his head and skin a touch too red to be healthy. “Give me any door and I can offer you ten different lock types, but not for the listed buildings like this. Grade two listed, isn’t it? Sixteenth century? It’s a different lock size, ergo I don’t keep them in the van, ergo I’ll need to order and come back. Should be a couple of days. When is a good time?”
I told him anytime and resisted using the wordergoin my reply.
So when the front door knocker clanged against the oak and echoed through the empty house, jolting me from my doze on the sofa, I thought it was the locksmith back with the right-sized locks, or the postman with the new PlayStation games I ordered for Jamie’s birthday.
It was neither.
“Hey, sis.” Sam grins from the doorstep as I heave open the door.
“Sam,” I yelp and smile all at once, before throwing myself into his arms. A dam breaks inside me and before I can hold it back I’m sobbing great gulping sobs in his arms.
When I pull away I see Sam is crying too and it makes me love him all the more.
“I’m so sorry this has happened to you, sis,” he says. “I should’ve come sooner. I should never have left after the funeral. I’m sorry.”
I wipe my fingers under my eyes. “It’s OK. I’m doing OK, honestly I am.”
“How?” His eyes are wide and watery and remind me of Jamie’s.
I close my eyes and hot tears trickle onto my cheeks. “There are highs and lows,” I whisper, thinking of Jamie’s silence and his shrugged responses to my questions. I push the thoughts away and think of splashing in the puddle instead.
“Still weight lifting, I see,” I add a moment later when it’s clear that neither of us knows quite what to say next. I pinch one of his biceps, tight against his T-shirt. His jeans are fitted and his shoes smart. I guess Finn’s style sense has finally rubbed off on Sam.
As I usher Sam into the hall I find myself glancing toward the empty lane and the fields beyond it and closing the door a little too quickly.
I turn my focus to Sam. He has changed so much since moving to Nottingham. He’s not the beanpole with blond Einstein hair that he was when you first met him. Now his hair is shaved close to his head and he is broad-shouldered and muscular. But to me, Sam will always be the big brother who told me ghost stories at bedtime and showed me how to rub dock leaves on my skin when I fell off my bike into a ditch of stinging nettles.
“Still forgetting to brush your hair, I see,” Sam retorts, flicking at my wayward curls.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
