Page 34 of The Perfect Son
It’s another minute before my heart stops hammering in my ears and I hear the silence of the house. Outside an owl is hooting nearby. I stretch my arms up, my neck stiff, my eyes puffy and sore, and I remember I was crying.
I waited until Jamie was asleep. After he’d slunk into the house for dinner and we’d eaten leftover casserole in a stilted silence. I guess both of us felt a bit sorry and a bit more upset and pretended we were neither. I know I did anyway. I read him a story and kissed him good night before carrying myself to the living room and shutting the door so Jamie wouldn’t hear me. I collapsed on the sofa and cried and cried until there was nothing more inside me.
The heating has clicked off by the time I sit up again. The house is freezing. I’m shivering all over and need to move. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here for, but it feels like hours have passed. I’ll check on Jamie and wrap myself in our duvet for warmth. You can tell me the story of the night we met. Remember that, Mark? The housewarming party we both ended up at. Neither of us knowing anyone but Stacey.
Of course I do, Tessie. You were the most beautiful woman in the room. You always are.
Not anymore.
Jamie is fast asleep, and beautiful in the soft light of the nightlight. I’m just tiptoeing down the hall to our bedroom when the phone starts ringing—the sound is fire-alarm loud in the still of the night. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s late. A past-midnight kind of late. Too late for a phone call.
I rush along the upstairs hall all the way to the end by the back stairs and your study. I wanted you to take one of the downstairs rooms as a study. It’s not like we didn’t have enough rooms to choose from. I wanted this spare for a nursery, but you liked being tucked out of the way, overlooking the garden and the tree house you built for Jamie, and I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking. I couldn’t bear your eye roll, your “Not this again” comment if I mentioned the baby we were trying so hard to have.
I flick on the light. There’s no lampshade, just a bare, dusty bulb casting a harsh light. The room is empty except for the old desk you had as a boy growing up in this house and one of your mother’s old bookshelves—both are covered in a fine layer of dust.
There are three columns of cardboard boxes stacked neatly up against the wall.Mark’s studyis scribbled across the side of each one. Seeing your handwriting causes a stab of longing in my gut that shudders through me.
The phone is resting in its holder, propped on the nearest box, and I grab it, throwing the house into silence.
“Hello?” I say before it’s even at my ear.
There’s no sound, just like the calls earlier.
I hang up quickly and feel goose bumps prickle the skin on my arms. A gust of wind hits the window, rattling the panes and making me start. With the light on, the window is a black mirror. A shiver races over my body when I see my own frightened face staring back, and I flick off the light.
It takes only a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and the room to fall back into focus. Since the moon is out, there’s just enough light for me to see and I don’t feel so scared anymore.
The flashing red of the answerphone blinks into the darkness. Shelley’s voice plays in my thoughts.“I couldn’t leave a message because your answerphone is full.”
I try to remember when I last listened to the messages, but I’m not sure.
I sink onto the worn carpet and press play, jabbing my finger on the volume button until it’s as low as it can go. I don’t want to wake Jamie.
“Answerphone storage full,” an electronic voice informs me. “You have twenty-five new messages. Message one.”
“Hi, darling, it’s me.” The frail voice of my mum seems to echo in the empty room. “I’m settled back in now. How are you? I know it wasn’t ideal me staying in that house, but why don’t you come and stay here instead? The sea air will do you the world of good. I don’t like to think of you shut in that house all day. I love you so much, my darling. Call me anytime, day or night.”
My jaw tightens with every word she speaks. No mention of Jamie. No thought of school. So typical of my mother to think about what is best for her. We can’t just drop everything. I’m glad Shelley has spoken to her. I’m glad she won’t be calling as much.
The message clicks off and another begins.
“Hey, Tess,” my brother’s voice speaks into the room, undoing the tightness in my chest. There is the bustle of the hospital noise in the background. “I’m grabbing a quick break and phoning for a chat. It’s your birthday soon and I haven’t spoken to you for a while. I need your help with yesterday’s cryptic crossword in theGuardian. One word, five letters. The clue is ‘old.’ Give me a call when you can.”
No mention of Jamie or asking how I’m doing, but Sam doesn’t need to ask. It’s there in his voice and in his excuse to call. Sam was the one who got me hooked on crosswords to start with, back when we were teenagers and being dragged on camping holidays we were far too old for. There is no way he didn’t know the answer to his clue. It’s a joke about my age and I smile. The answer is biddy.
I think about snatching up the phone and calling Sam, but something stops me, a barrier. I don’t want to speak to Sam or my mum right now. They want to know I’m OK, but I don’t have the energy to lie. Besides, it’s the middle of the night. Sam will be working or sleeping, and calling at this time will only worry him more. I’ll call him tomorrow. Maybe.
The next message clicks on and I push thoughts of my family to the back of my mind.
“Tess, it’s Ian. I hope you’re OK. Can you call me, please? I need to talk to you about the money I mentioned at the funeral.”
Beep.
“It’s Ian again. Call me, please, Tess. This is important.” Each word is short and punctuated with impatience.
There are two messages from a secretary at Clarke & Barlow Solicitors asking to get in touch, and one from Jacob Barlow himself. I wonder if all solicitors are this pushy or if Ian is behind their persistence.
There’s a call from a kitchen company I’ve never heard of, then more shaking pleas from my mother. The next call is a hang-up, and the next and the next and the next until I lose count. Whoever it is, they stay on the line just long enough for the recording to begin and then they’re gone.
