Page 97 of The Perfect Son
Then I woke up and I wasn’t on the ward anymore. I was in a private room and the nurses were wearing green instead of blue. Was that this morning or yesterday?
The police interview has dragged on for what feels like months. I’ve been evasive, but then so has he. Why can’t he tell me what they are doing to find Jamie?
A panic is trying to escape from inside me—a caged beast rattling the lock. A memory flashes before my eyes: the scramble of bodies for the knife. Jamie reaching it, then Ian and me. The feel of the blade slicing into my stomach.
The door swings open and I catch sight of a bright lime-green wall before Sadler’s bulk fills the doorway. His beard is scraggly, with more gray than black. He is tall with graying hair, and thick-rimmed glasses are in front of his brown eyes. He is wearing black suit trousers and a pale blue shirt, creased from a long day.
I notice the stoop the moment he walks forward. It seems to start halfway down his back as if his spine is angled like a boomerang. An injury on the police force, I guess, or the remnants of a childhood illness.
Sadler holds his arm out and my mum shuffles in, her walkingstick jabbing at the thin carpet tiles beneath her feet. I can tell straightaway that it’s a bad day for her, a day when the arthritis is winning, and I feel a sting of annoyance at Sadler and the hospital staff for making her come here.
“Mum,” I croak, surprised by the ache in my throat and the tears building behind my eyes. I’ve missed her, I realize, and yet I wish she wasn’t here.
Mum tilts her head up to Sadler, and he nods before she moves closer.
“I’m going to get us some tea and biscuits,” Sadler says, before stepping out of the room and closing the door.
Mum shuffles forward around the coffee table to the sofa. The armchair is nearer and I wonder why she doesn’t just sit there, but I don’t ask because I’m too busy staring at the coffee table. My mum’s leg is leaning up against it as she moves by, but the table doesn’t budge. I sit forward, ignoring the pain that makes me bite down on the insides of my cheeks, and spy the bolts hidden on the inside of the table legs, pinning it to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Mum says, busying herself with a handkerchief she has balled in her hand.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” I sigh, suddenly tired. I wish for the fog to take me away, but for once it doesn’t come. “You shouldn’t have been dragged into this. Was your journey all right? Did the police bring you?”
Her forehead furrows. “The police? No, love, Shelley brought me.”
“Shelley? What did she tell you, Mum?” I sit upright, my wound searing with a sharp pain worse than when the knife first went in.
“She told me... she told me...” My mum’s voice is shaking, like her hands, and I desperately want to move to the sofa and tell her it will be all right, but I can’t, because I don’t think it will be.
“Look, there isn’t much time.” I glance at the door and lower my voice. “You have to get me out of here. I think Sadler—that police officer—is working with Shelley. They know each other somehow. I think he knows where Jamie is and they won’t tell me.”
A noise rattles in my mum’s throat, like a hushed whimper.
“Don’t get upset, please.” My exhaustion morphs to frustration. “Please, Mum, focus on what I’m saying. I know you’re upset, but we don’t have much time. We have to get out of here and find Jamie.”
“I should’ve done more when you stopped answering the phone. I told Sam something was wrong....”
“It’s not your fault.” I shake my head, wishing she would shut up and listen.
“Tess, I’m here for you, but you have to listen to what Dr. Sadler is saying.”
“Doctor? He’s not a doctor, Mum, he’s a detective. See, he’s lying to us both.”
The door opens and I jump, stretching the muscles in my stomach and causing another wave of pain to radiate from the wound in my belly. There’s a craving in my mouth; it’s buzzing around my head too. I’m desperate for the morphine to take me away from the pain and from this room.
Sadler appears with a male nurse I’ve not seen before. The nurse is short with a shaved head and is carrying a tray of cups and a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits. There’s an A4 brown envelope tucked under Sadler’s arm.
He’s moving to the armchair where he’s sat for all the hours we’ve been talking. The nurse is sliding the tray onto the table. The door is swinging shut behind them, but just before it closes, for a split second, I see Jamie.
It is just a flash of blond curls and his galloping walk as he keepsup with the nurse walking beside him, but it’s Jamie. Our baby boy is here.
My heart is racing, pounding in my chest. It’s making my wound throb so hard I think the stitches will burst at any moment, but I saw him, Mark. I saw Jamie. He’s OK.
The door clicks shut and I turn my gaze to Sadler. He is staring right at me, studying my face.
“You should’ve told me.” I close my eyes for a moment and sigh. How long has Jamie been here? “You should’ve told me,” I say. “You should’ve told me you’d found Jamie.”
Sadler nods but doesn’t reply. Instead he turns to my mother. “Mrs. Garfield, I’ve been recording these sessions and I’d like to continue doing so now, with your permission, please.”
