Page 14 of The Perfect Son
I take the letters, tucking them into the pocket of my cardigan. “I renewed it just before Mark died. We were going to take Jamie to Spain in the summer holidays,” I mumble.
Shelley reaches out and gives my hand another squeeze. “Well, the rest,” she says, standing up and scooping up a pile of paper and torn envelopes, “can go straight in the bin. See, I told you it wouldn’t take long.”
“Oh” is all I can say as the lid of the silver bin in the corner shuts with a clang.
Shelley turns back toward me, reaching into her bag. For a moment I think she’s going to leave, and I feel a trickle of disappointment. I don’t want her to go.
But Shelley doesn’t make a move for the door; instead she pulls out a spiral bound notebook from her bag. It’s bigger than pocket-sized but not by much and the cover is thick cardboard and plain brown.
“This is for you,” Shelley says, sliding the notebook across the table and returning to her seat. “It’s to write things down in.”
“Is it? Thank you.” I brush my fingertips over the smooth cover. “What kinds of things?”
She gives a swish of her hair and sits back in her chair. “Whatever you want. Some people find it’s useful to keep a diary. I knew one man who found writing a letter to his wife each night helped him grieve after she passed away, but it’s really for you to decide. Even little things become hard when you’re grieving. Use it to write a shopping list or a to-do list, if that helps.”
“Thank you,” I say again.
“You’re welcome. I give one to everyone I meet through my work with the charity.” Shelley pushes the cup of tea toward me and I wrap the warmth of it in my hands.
“Do you want to talk about Jamie?” she asks.
A fog creeps over my thoughts. It’s hard to concentrate, hard to put the words together, but I try. I tell Shelley about how shy he is. Painfully shy. Running off to his room or the tree house in the garden whenever someone knocks on the door. Even when it was just my mum in the house with us, Jamie spent most of his time in his bedroom. But how once he’s let you in, once he’s accepted you, he blooms and is bright and loving and cheeky.
I tell her how much Jamie looks like you. The same nose, the same body, the same crooked smile. I tell her how he’s a typical boy. Football and PlayStation and reading Horrid Henry books. I tell her how well he has settled in to the village school, how even though I wasn’t sure I liked the house that much, or the village, and I missed my friends, seeing Jamie come out of his shell made it all worth it. I tell her how much we miss you.
Picturing Jamie helps. The fog drifts away and I have the strangefeeling of having just woken up. I blink quickly, aware of the silence in the kitchen and Shelley sitting opposite me.
“Small steps, Tess,” Shelley says later as she walks out the side door. “Remember, try one thing each day, however small, OK?”
I nod but don’t speak. The hand is gripping my throat again and I can’t find my voice. This woman knows how I feel, just like you always did, and there’s a relief to that. No one will ever know me the way you did, but Shelley understands more than most, I think.
CHAPTER 7
IAN CLARKE
I really don’t know why I’m here. Shelley is the one you should be speaking to, not me. I was trying to help Tess. What you need to understand is that Tess was in a right state after the plane crash. She wasn’t coping, not at first anyway. I arranged all the funeral proceedings. I even spoke to the coroner in Essex and arranged the death certificate. I did everything she should’ve done. I’m not saying I minded, because I didn’t. Mark was my kid brother, of course I didn’t mind. I’m just saying, Tess wasn’t capable of doing much of anything. Someone had to step in.
SHELLEY LANGE
When I met Tess for the first time I could see she really needed help. I should’ve given Tess the number of the charity at the end of our first meeting, but I gave her mymobile number instead. I think it was the photo of Jamie on the fridge that drew me to Tess on that first visit. He looked so much like my Dylan in that photo. I knew I had to help right then and there. I felt a connection to Jamie and to Tess. All I wanted to do was help.
CHAPTER 8
It’s only when I wave off Shelley and her “Call me anytime” good-bye and lean against the huge front door that I think of the bath still waiting for me.
I twist the gold taps and refill the tub until the water is burning hot to the point that for a second or two it feels icy. The skin on my legs prickles, turning a bright red, but I sink into the water anyway and close my eyes.
Are you there, Mark?
Remember the day we found out you were pregnant?
I knew you’d bring that up. You always loved telling Jamie that story. I swear each time you told it I became a bit more crazy and you oh so heroic.
I will admit I was worried. I knew I wanted a family with you, children of our own, but we’d only been dating for three months. I hadn’t even met your mother at that point. We weren’t living together. Plus the hormones.
You said it would never work.
And it wouldn’t have done. Us living apart. But you found us a family home. A perfect three-bed semidetached on a new estate in Chelmsford.
