Page 25 of The Perfect Son
The lights are on and it’s dark outside. I’ve lost all sense of time but I can tell by the puffy skin around his eyes that it’s close to bedtime. I should tell him to get ready for bed, but it doesn’t seem fair, considering the day he’s had.
My heart aches staring at our son. Love—pure and raw—floods my body. The plane crashed and took you with it. It took a sledgehammer to my world, but I still have a world because of Jamie. I am nothing without him.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway.
Jamie’s legs stop midair and he looks up at me, wobbling that front tooth back and forth, back and forth.
“Are you OK? Sorry about today,” I say.
“I’m fine. Shelley looked after me.” Jamie’s tone is matter-of-fact. His attention is back on the beach scene in the book and finding Wally’s dog.
“What have you done today?”
“Er... played on the PlayStation—Shelley’s really good. She beat me three times. We dusted, played football in the garden, cooked dinner,” he says, rattling off the answer like a list.
“You cooked?” I gaze around the room and notice the clean floors and the smell of jasmine furniture polish. There’s another scent: herbs and chicken wafting from the kitchen.
A proud smile spreads across his face. “Yep. I chopped the onion. Shelley is amazing. She let me use a proper knife. It was much easier than the baby knife you make me use.”
“Oh... that’s good.” At least I think it’s good. Good that Jamie has had fun and opened up to Shelley. Maybe not so good that he used one of the sharp knives I don’t let him touch for fear he’ll cut himself.
I’m about to ask another question, but voices in the kitchen stop me. Shelley’s voice, and a man’s voice too. Why is there a man in my house? What if it’s the police? What if they have more bad news to give me?
Stop worrying, Tessie.
I can’t, Mark. My heart is pounding in my chest and my mouth is dry.
“Stay here,” I manage to whisper to Jamie.
Six long strides and I’m at the door to the kitchen. It’s ajar but not closed. With a trembling hand I push it open an inch and peer through the gap.
In the kitchen I see three large church candles sitting on the worktop near the oven—the ones I bought after the power cut last winter. Shelley must’ve unearthed them from the larder cupboard, but it’s not the flames slow dancing their light across the room that my attention is drawn to, but the nook and the open side door.
“You have to understand that these things take time. I’m not making any promises,” Shelley says, her voice harder than I’ve heard it before. Her body is blocking the space in the open doorway like a gatekeeper, or a nightclub bouncer, going by her tone. So I can’t see the person she’s talking to.
“I’m not asking you to,” the man says.
The recognition is instant. It’s Ian.
Ian sighs and I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m only asking you to give this to Tess. Look, why don’t I come in for a minute—”
“Are you crazy? Have you not listened to a single word I’ve said? You need to leave now.”
“OK, I’m going. Just give it to her, please.”
“Fine.”
Shelley slams the door shut. It’s only when she turns the key and the bolt locks with a clonk that I breathe again, drawing in a long, shaky breath and push open the kitchen door.
Gratitude swells inside me, a warm bubble welling to the surface, and all I want to do is hug Shelley. She has saved me today in more ways than I can think about; saved Jamie too. She didn’t give in to Ian’s persistence. She knew there was no way I could cope with him this evening and she protected me like a lioness protecting her cub.
Shelley turns, stepping out of the nook, and jumps when she sees me in the doorway. “Tess,” she gasps, throwing a hand to her chest. “You scared me. How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.”
“I just met your brother-in-law.” Shelley runs a hand through her hair and smiles. “He’s a piece of work, that one.”
“Sorry.”
