The Perfect Son

by Lauren North

  I don’t remember going to bed or tucking Jamie in—another chewed-up hole of a memory—but I must’ve done, because then the next thing I remember is breakfast and finding Shelley still in the house.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I slept on the sofa. I didn’t want to leave you feeling so low,” she said, handing me a cup of tea and seeming more at home in my kitchen than I have ever been. “Why don’t you come swimming with me today? A bit of exercise might be just what you need.”

  My gaze moved from Shelley’s face—bright and pretty even after a night sleeping on the sofa—to Jamie, his expression bursting with excitement, his hands clasped together and waving prayer-like at me.

  “I . . . I can’t.” I sighed, hating myself. “I feel so weak.” The thought of a cold swimming pool and the physical effort needed to stop myself sinking to the bottom is too much.

  Jamie’s smile dropped. His bottom lip stuck out. “Can I go with Shelley? Please, Mum, please?”

  “Of course.” Shelley smiled at me. “How about I stop at the supermarket on the way back? I can get a few bits for the week. See you about three? Have you got a spare key? I can let myself in that way if you’re sleeping.”

  “OK. Thank you. If you’re sure?” I said as Jamie raced upstairs to grab his trunks and goggles and I riffled in the drawer by the microwave and found the spare key to the side door.

  “If you’re sure?”—that’s all I asked. Three words. I didn’t ask Shelley if she could handle a seven-year-old in the pool. I didn’t warn her how quickly Jamie tires in the water, or check that she knew to watch him constantly. I didn’t tell her not to let Jamie go into the men’s changing rooms because he’s too young to handle himself around strangers, and will probably drop his clothes in a puddle.

  I didn’t even ask Shelley which swimming pool she was going to. And now they’re late and I’m all alone and worrying, always worrying. What if something has happened, Mark?

  * * *

  —

  I check the time on the phone display. It’s almost five thirty. Time to call the police. It’s dark in the room, pitch-black, but if I switch on the lamp then I’ll lose sight of the driveway and the lane, now barely visible in the last of the dusky light.

  I’m just about to press the first nine when I hear the purr of a car engine pulling into the drive. I lean closer to the window and see Shelley behind the wheel of a white Mini with a black soft-top roof. Jamie’s smiling face is visible in the back.

  Suddenly I’m shivering all over with relief, and maybe anger too. What was Shelley thinking?

  The anger is gone the moment the side door crashes open and Jamie’s footsteps tap in the kitchen. “Mum,” he shouts. “We’re back. Can I play on the PlayStation?”

  A gust of wind blows from the open side door as I race along the corridor, almost knocking straight into Jamie as I reach the kitchen.

  “Hey, baby, did you have a good time?” My voice is shaky but I manage a smile.

  He nods. His mouth is open a little and I can see his tongue touching his top tooth, wiggling it back and forth.

  “Did you say thank you to Shelley?”

  Before he can answer, Shelley bustles in with two bulging carrier bags in each hand. I step forward to help her and when I turn around Jamie is gone. A moment later I hear the familiar beep of the PlayStation powering into life.

  “Was everything all right?” I ask, dumping a bag onto the worktop. A jar clonks from inside, and there’s a frozen pizza sticking out the top. Pepperoni—Jamie’s favorite.

  “It was great. Just what I needed.” Shelley’s hair is scooped into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and a few strands curl around her ears. Her skin is a shade paler without makeup, but her eyes are still large and vibrant and dancing with fun. “Once I got over how cold the pool was anyway.” She laughs, giving a little shiver as she slides the rest of the shopping onto the mottled beige worktop.

  I swallow back my frustration before I dare to speak. “It’s just, I was expecting you back a while ago. I was starting to worry. You didn’t answer your phone,” I add, failing to keep a whine from my voice.

  “Oh. I’m sure I said five-ish. I didn’t think it mattered too much.”

  “Of course it matters,” I snap, my voice rising loud enough for Shelley to stop riffling through the bags and look at me. “You said three. I was starting to panic. All these thoughts were racing around my head. I thought something had happened. I was about to call the police.”

  “Oh, crikey, Tess. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t think you’d mind. You looked so washed-out this morning, I thought you’d be resting. But look, I’m here now.” She takes my hand. Her skin is smooth and her hand seems half the size of my own, but it’s warm and I instantly feel better.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to panic you,” Shelley says, staring straight into my eyes. “I did try the home phone a few hours ago, just to see if there was anything in particular you wanted from the shops. When you didn’t answer I thought you might still be sleeping. I couldn’t leave a message because your answerphone is full, and then my phone battery died. I meant to tell you about your answerphone yesterday.”

  “Oh.” I swallow back the tears threatening to fall. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m overreacting. After all you’ve done this weekend, it’s me who should be sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been exactly where you are, remember? The number of times I lashed out at Tim and my sister in those early days, well, it was a lot. I should’ve texted you or tried your mobile earlier before my battery died. I honestly thought you were sleeping, but let’s put it behind us.” She smiles. “I’ve got lots of food to keep you going. Why don’t you get started packing these away and I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Shelley’s confidence, her breezy way, eases the knots strangling my insides. Jamie is safe. Nothing bad happened. It isn’t Shelley’s fault that I worry so much. I should’ve heard the home phone. I should’ve gone with them for a swim like Shelley suggested. Why didn’t I? I could’ve just sat on the side and watched. I didn’t even have to swim. Instead I spent the day shuffling around the house, my world in slow motion, lost in memories of us.

  And now I’m not so sure Shelley did say three. Maybe she did say five. It’s not as though my recollection of this morning is rock-solid. Maybe it was just a mix-up.

  “Oh, talking of last night, I forgot to tell you,” Shelley says, putting the kettle on to boil and grabbing two mugs from the draining board. “Your mum called your landline yesterday while you were asleep. I answered it so it wouldn’t wake you. She’s worried about you.”

  I sigh, sliding a tin of baked beans into the cupboard. “It’s hard to speak to her right now. She wants me to say things are getting better, and I can’t do that.”

  “I know. I explained that to her. We had a long chat actually. She spoke about how hard it was for her when your dad died, and how she wants you to know that she understands what you’re going through.”

  “She doesn’t.” The words slip out. My fingers close around the handle of the cupboard door. I squeeze it tight before slamming it shut. “Sorry, I know that’s an unfair thing to say, but she doesn’t. My dad died at sixty-seven. It isn’t the same.”

  “She’s trying, Tess. There is no way to measure someone’s level of grief.”

  I nod through a pang of guilt, feeling bad for not calling Mum, but resentful too. I know she doesn’t mean to make me feel guilty for not calling her, but I do and it isn’t fair. “I’ll call her.”

  “It’s OK,” Shelley says. “I explained how you’ve been feeling and gave her my number. From now on she can call me when she wants to know how you’re doing, and you can call her whenever you’re ready.”

  My throat tightens. Relief and sadness mingled into one claylike lump. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing. I’m glad I can help. If t
here’s anyone else you don’t want to speak to I can talk to them for you. Here, have a cup of tea.”

  Shelley slides two mugs onto the table and we sit down across from each other just like on her first visit to the house. So much has changed between us since then.

  I don’t know what I’d have done this weekend without Shelley.

  “So how was the pool?” I ask. “Did you have fun?”

  “Yes.” Shelley smiles. “I don’t normally swim in the afternoons on a weekend. There were so many kids there, splashing each other when they jumped in. It made me think of Dylan. He would’ve loved it. I miss him so much.” She sighs, touching her locket. “Kids have so much energy, don’t they? Dylan gave Tim and me so much love, but he also gave me a purpose. I loved being a mum. Sometimes I miss that as much as I miss Dylan.”

  I try to picture Dylan in my mind. I bet Shelley was an amazing mum. Full of fun and mischief. The kind of mum I used to be. I hope having Jamie in the pool with her wasn’t too painful. Before I can ask, Shelley is out of her seat and washing up her mug. “I’d better head off before Tim sends out a search party for me,” she says.

  “Oh . . . OK.” I don’t want her to go. I don’t want to feel alone, just me and Jamie in this big old house. “Sorry again for snapping at you . . . I—”

  She waves her hands at me. “Don’t even think about it. I’m glad to see you looking better. Text me later?”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll just grab my scarf,” she says. “I think I left it in the living room.”

  Jamie’s laughter bounces through the open door and he shouts a “Bye.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Shelley says a few moments later. She leans over and gives me a tight hug and I feel her warmth against my body. “Small steps. Do one thing each day. OK?”

  “OK.”

  “Promise?”

  I smile. “Yes.”

  “And take your antidepressants. They’ll help.”

  And with that Shelley is gone.

  I wander through to the living room and curl up on the sofa, watching Jamie play his game. I catch the scent of Shelley’s perfume lingering on the cushions. The house feels so much emptier now. Empty and cold, like me.

  CHAPTER 17

  IAN

  It’s not like I went round there all the time. I popped in about a month after the crash to see if Tess needed anything. She wasn’t returning my calls and I was worried. After that, the next time I spoke to Tess was when she called me in a right state about thinking she’d seen Mark in the supermarket. In fact she didn’t call me, that’s right, she called Mark’s mobile. She gave me some line about wanting to hear his voicemail message but I didn’t believe her. She acted like she forgot that we agreed I’d redirect his calls to me. We spoke about it during the funeral arrangements and Tess thought it was a good idea.

  SHELLEY

  We grew close quickly. The second time I saw Tess was on a Saturday. I called her to check in. She’d had a tough week. The minute I heard her voice I knew straightaway she was in a bad way so I went to help her.

  I probably crossed a line that weekend, but I understood Tess’s grief and she needed someone there desperately. Tess was in a dark place at that point. She was zoning out a lot and had this faraway look in her eye. She didn’t want to talk to her family so I offered to do it. It helped Tess a lot.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wednesday, February 28

  39 DAYS TO JAMIE’S BIRTHDAY

  I’ve picked myself up, Mark. “Propped myself up” might be closer to the truth. It feels like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff in that middle place where my balance has gone but I’m not actually falling yet. Any minute I’ll fall, I’m sure of it, and I’ll be right back in the darkest hole, cold to my core and hurting too much to care, but for now I’m still on top of the ledge, and that’s as OK as it’s going to get.

  I’m not sure how I crawled out of the hole, to be honest. Shelley helped of course. And Sunday became Monday and Jamie went back to school and I focused on taking my tablets and my one thing each day just like Shelley told me to.

  On Monday I used the eggs Shelley bought and made pancakes. I poured the gloopy yellow liquid into the frying pan when I heard Jamie’s footsteps on the stairs, ready to do the first flip when he appeared in the doorway. I was a bit out of practice and gave the saucepan too much force, sending the pancake across the room and landing on the back of a chair, drooping for a moment before slipping to the floor. Still, I made Jamie laugh, so it was worth it.

  On Tuesday I cleaned the bathroom and ordered the Lego Star Wars Millennium Falcon Jamie wants for his birthday. I know he won’t be eight for a while yet but I worried it would be out of stock or get lost during delivery.

  Today I poked under the fridge with a spatula and scooped out all the dust and dirt. There was no sign of the magnet with Jamie’s photo on it, but maybe it got knocked under the oven instead. Then I scrubbed the inside of the kitchen cupboards, something I’m quite sure your mother never did in the decades since she had them installed. I turned the radio on while I worked and listened to Ken Bruce on Radio 2. I even got a question right on “PopMaster.” I made sure to turn it off on the hour and miss the news, just in case the crash was mentioned.

  But cleaning the cupboards is not my baby-step task for today. I just did it to keep busy, keep focused. Today my baby step is Jamie. I’m going to do something fun for him just as soon as I’ve collected him from school.

  I hurry down the lane to the village, clomping in my old winter boots with my coat zipped up to my neck and shielding all but my head from the bracing gusts of icy wind.

  There’s a tractor up ahead. A dark green monster of a machine pulling a flatbed with a huge hosepipe on the back. I keep going another few steps and watch the giant rubber wheels roll nearer before pushing myself right up against the edge of the lane and into the thorny bush. Even so, it’s close when it passes. I could reach a hand out to touch it if I wanted. The noise of the engine is a roar in my ears and my legs wobble for a second.

  A minivan is crawling along at ten miles an hour behind the tractor and in the back seat are two bored-looking children in their navy school jumpers, the same school jumper as Jamie’s—and that’s when I realize I’m late.

  I jump from the hedge and feel the thorns tugging and scratching at the fabric of my coat. Around the bend, the redbrick walls of the school are visible now and I see Jamie’s face searching for me. I reach out and wave my hand until he sees me.

  “Sorry,” I puff. “A tractor blocked the lane and I had to wait for it to pass. How was your day?”

  “Fine,” Jamie says and we start walking again.

  “What did you do today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?” I ask with a playful nudge. “You must’ve done something.”

  “Can’t remember.”

  “That’s OK. I was thinking—how about we hop in the car when we get back and go to that indoor playground in Colchester? You loved it there when we went for the Halloween thing. You know, the one with those drop slides.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “I don’t want to,” he says with the same tone as if I’ve asked him to tidy his bedroom. He’s cross because I was late, I know, but still I wish he was a little more excited.

  “Oh . . . it’s just I thought you might enjoy it.”

  “Is Shelley coming with us?” he asks.

  “Er . . . no.”

  “Those places are for babies. I don’t want to go.”

  “You liked it last time.”

  Remember that, Mark? He raced around the climbing frames for hours in that werewolf costume and we drank cups of weak tea from sticky tables and wished it was wine.

  “I’m NOT A BABY,” Jamie screams so loud I flinch.

  “Bu
t—” I stare at our sweet amazing boy who has never ever shouted at me before and flounder for a reply. I stop and reach out for Jamie’s hand, but he moves, throwing himself into a sprint and running down the lane toward the house.

  “Jamie,” I gasp.

  The giant wheels of the tractor turn over in my thoughts until it’s all I can see—those monstrous wheels rolling along the road and Jamie falling in front of them.

  I break into a run as fast as my legs and my boots will let me on the stony tarmac. I can’t let anything happen to him, Mark.

  He’s waiting for me in the driveway, red-faced and scowling.

  “Jamie.” His name comes out a shrill shriek as I gasp for breath and feel the tidal wave of panic hit me with a hot fury. “Don’t ever run off like that. Do you hear me?” I stride closer, almost skidding on the gravel. “You don’t ever run off, especially, especially on the lane. A tractor could’ve been coming round the corner. You know that.”

  “Go away,” he screams at me.

  I’m close to him now and before I know what I’m doing—before I can think—my right hand is flying through the air toward him.

  I catch myself in time, thank God. My fingers swipe the air inches from his shoulder and I yank my hand back and cradle it in my arm as if I’ve burned it.

  Jamie glares at me for a moment before spinning and running around the side of the house toward the garden and the tree house. He looks back just before he disappears as if he’s expecting me to be chasing him, but I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. My legs are threatening to give way from under me and hot tears are forming in my eyes.

  “Jamie, I’m sorry,” I sob, my voice too weak to be heard by anyone but me.

  What have I done, Mark?

  It’s OK, Tessie.

  Never, never, never have I lashed out in anger before. Not at anyone. Not at you, and especially not at Jamie. I’m not even the type to honk my horn when a car cuts me off.