Page 69 of The Perfect Son
“It’s just my friend Shelley.”
“Was she the person outside?” There’s a note of doubt in the operator’s voice now. An “are you wasting police time?” tone.
“No, no. I phoned her when I saw someone and she offered to come over.”
“Right. Lock the door behind her and a unit will be on its way soon.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and dash through the house, desperate to make sure Shelley gets in before the man can get to her.
When I yank open the door Shelley’s eyes are wide as if she’s as spooked as I am. Her nose is running and she looks frozen.
“Are you OK?” she asks without moving from the doorstep. “You took so long to get to the door I started to think something had happened, and I forgot to bring the spare key you gave me.”
“Sorry. I had the police operator giving me twenty questions.” I motion her in but she doesn’t move.
“Good. You called them.” She draws in a breath and shoves the sleeves of her black jacket up to her elbows as I try to pull her in and shut the door and bolt it tight. But Shelley isn’t budging from the doorway. “Have you got a torch?” she asks.
“What for?” I dig behind the rack of boots for the clunky orange one I know is lurking there from trick-or-treating in the dark last Halloween.
“I’m going to look.”
“What? No. The police said we should stay inside and lock the doors.”
“There’s some Peeping Tom leering away in your garden, Tess. Scaring you half to death. I’m not just going to sit here and let him get away with it.”
Then before I can protest, before I can make her see sense, she’s snatching the torch out of my hands and flying into the darkness. A shudder races through my body, and I slam the side door shut and lock it again.
I dash through the house, back to the dark living room. The circular torch beam is bouncing along the ground and swinging up, scanning the tree line ahead as Shelley approaches. I follow the beam of light to the trees. My heart is pounding in my ears and I hold my breath waiting to see the figure emerge, but there’s nothing there now.
A minute passes before Shelley turns to the window and shrugs. I’m at the side door by the time she’s trudged across the lawn. “I didn’t see anything,” she calls out, flicking off the torch as she nears the door.
My heart is still hammering away and I bite my lip to stop myself calling for her to hurry up and get inside.
“The wind is really blowing out there now though. Maybe it was a branch swaying in the wind,” she says, stepping inside and pulling off her ankle boots, which are covered in a rim of mud. She must have really poked around in the trees to get them so muddy, and now I feel bad, bad and grateful.
“Maybe. Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to drive all the way here. I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”
“I was glad to get out. Tim and I had another row. I went for a swim to clear my head and got your call as I was leaving the pool.” Her voice cracks.
I flick the switch on the kettle and motion for Shelley to take a seat.
“It’s nothing new,” she says, dabbing a finger under her eyes. “After our chat the other night, it got me thinking about adoption again.I want a child so badly, Tess. I don’t mean a baby, but a child. I want to be a mother again. So I asked Tim to consider fostering a little boy or girl. That way, if it doesn’t feel right then we can back out, but Tim wouldn’t even talk about it. He basically said I was being selfish for not wanting to have another baby of our own.” Shelley touches the locket around her neck, running it back and forth on its chain.
I can see Dylan’s photo clearly in my mind. That blond hair sticking up. Those bright blue eyes.
“That’s horrible,” I mutter. I forget the kettle and slide into the seat beside her. Thoughts of the man by the tree have been swept aside, along with my fears.
I can’t shake the image of Dylan from my mind. He would be nearly eight now, just like Jamie.
“Ha! It gets worse.” Shelley pulls a face—an upside-down smile. “Then he said, if I wasn’t going to give him another child, then he’d go out and find someone who will. And... and I know he means it, because I found out last week that he’s had an affair with the receptionist at the golf club.”
“Oh my God, why didn’t you say anything? What a bastard,” I say. “Sorry, I know he’s your husband and everything—”
Shelley waves her hand at me. “Don’t be sorry. He is a bastard, which is what I called him as he slammed the front door.”
“What are you going to do? Will you... will you try adopting on your own?”
