Page 8 of The Perfect Son
He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a beat. You used to do that.
“I explained all this at the funeral,” Ian says. “Mark told me you knew about it. He needed my inheritance from Mum, just for a few months while you sold the house in Chelmsford.”
I swallow, and for a moment my teeth chatter together again. I don’t remember much about the funeral. I remember the rainspattering on the stained-glass windows. The cold of the stone walls seeping through my coat and my dress, all the way to the block of ice already inside me. The rest is blank—a black hole, a deleted scene in my head.
“Tess?” Ian’s impatience jolts me. His eyes seem darker in the gloom of the kitchen and I can’t help wishing we’d stayed outside to talk—not that I had a choice in the matter.
“The Chelmsford house sold straightaway,” I say. I turn my back on him and focus on clearing the bowls. Ian sidesteps away from the sink but doesn’t offer to help. “We sold the house in Chelmsford and used it along with Mark’s inheritance from your mum to buy out your half of this house and got a mortgage for the rest. It was all handled through your solicitors. I was with you and Mark in your partner’s office when we signed all the paperwork. The money was transferred straight to you. You were there. So was Jacob Barlow.”
“Yes.” Ian nods and I have that sense of being treated like a child, of not understanding the simplest of things. “And then you borrowed some of it back.”
“No, we didn’t.” The start of a headache throbs behind my eyes.
“I need that money, Tess.” Ian takes a step toward me. He’s so close that I can smell the citrus spice of his cologne, and I stop moving, bowls in hand. Something flashes in his eyes. Desperation, I think, or maybe frustration.
“Jacob wants to retire and sell his half of the solicitor’s,” Ian continues. “I have some of the money I need from a bank loan and savings, but not all of it. If I don’t buy him out we’ll be forced to sell into one of the umbrella companies. We’ll keep the name and the office but we’ll have to do everything by a tick box. All my hard work and my reputation down the drain. I know there’s a death benefit from Mark’s job, and a life insurance policy. He declared it all when you made your wills. You can use some of that to pay me back.”
I grit my teeth, clamping my mouth shut before I can say something I’ll regret. I hate how your brother knows so much about us. Things I don’t even know.“He’s my brother, Tess. We need a solicitor and he’ll give us a good rate,”you said.“Ian won’t represent us. His partner can do that.”
But Ian still poked through our files, though, didn’t he? He still read your will.
A flash of memory surfaces in my thoughts. Ian, sharp and composed in a black suit and tie, standing behind the pulpit and reading the eulogy he wrote. His words washed over me but I remember Ian spoke about a boyhood of climbing trees and swimming in the river. A life in this very house, a life before us that I knew so little about. Ian tagged Jamie and me on at the end as if we were an afterthought in your life.
“I... I haven’t thought about the finances or any of that yet,” I say. “It’s still so soon.”
“It’s been over a month, Tess.” Ian’s voice softens. “I know you’re grieving but you really need to get in touch with Jacob. He’s been calling you too. You’re the executor of Mark’s will. Until you begin the process you won’t have any access to his finances.”
“And neither will you.”
He has the decency to look embarrassed. “True. But I’m trying to help you. These things can take months to sort out.”
I shake my head. “Hang on. How much are we talking about? How much did you lend Mark?”
“A hundred grand.”
“What?” I splutter, dumping the bowls in the sink. A spoon clatters against the porcelain. It’s so much money. An unimaginable amount to loan someone, isn’t it?
Ian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Mark said it wasfor improvements to the house and a new kitchen. It was only supposed to be until the extension on the mortgage came through. He said you knew.”
“Does this look like the face of someone who knew?” I say, turning to Ian.
My question seems to throw him, but only for a moment. “Maybe Mark was sorting it out as a surprise then, I don’t know. But I’m really sorry, I do need that money back,” he says. “I can’t wait much longer.”
“Yeah, well, I need my husband back, and short of that I’m going to need the death benefit to tide us over for as long as it can.”
Then what? I’ve been so focused on your death that I’ve not thought about money. How are we going to survive on the money from my tutoring? And that’s if I even have any students to go back to. Ian’s phone calls aren’t the only ones I’ve been ignoring. The GCSE mock exams are coming up. Parents won’t wait for me.
Is Ian right? Is there a life insurance policy? I try to remember the details of the wills we made. We were sitting side by side in the conference room, moaning about the bitterness of the coffee and planning where we’d go for lunch afterward. I didn’t care about the rest. I didn’t think it mattered.
I should’ve paid more attention. You should’ve made me pay more attention, Mark, instead of letting me live with my head in the sand and keeping all the little things to yourself. Like when your mother was dying of pneumonia in hospital and you told me it was a chest infection, nothing to worry about. A version of the truth but not all of it.
I was trying to protect you, Tessie.
Was I really that in need of protecting?
I didn’t want you to worry so much. It wasn’t good for you to be worrying all the time.
“Look, Tess,” Ian says, dragging my thoughts back to the kitchen. “Like it or not, you are the only one right now who can begin the distribution of Mark’s estate. I knew my brother. He wouldn’t want this to drag on. If he was alive right now, he’d have paid me back already.”
