Page 55 of The Perfect Son
“Hey,” she said then, her voice bouncing once more. “I meant to say I’ve got a free morning tomorrow. I was planning to hit the pool and go food shopping on the way back. Why don’t I pick you up and we can do a shop together? We can keep each other company.”
I smiled down the phone. Trust Shelley to make it sound like I’m doing her a favor when really it’s the other way round. I haven’t left the village for over a week—since Manningtree and the man in the black baseball cap who almost grabbed me, and then in the shop when my lungs stopped taking in air. Every time I’ve thought about nipping to Tesco or even to the store in the next village, I’ve heard Shelley’s warning in my head.“If this happens again and you’re alone it could be much scarier for you.”
“Good idea,” I replied.
—
We were in Tesco for hours. Not that I minded. Shelley made it fun as always. We pushed our trolleys along, side by side, nattering awaylike two old grannies. Shelley ignored my list and filled my trolley with loads more than we needed, and enough vegetables to feed a football team.
“I think that’s the best fun I’ve had shopping for food my whole life,” Shelley says as the wheels of her Mini crunch on our driveway. The back seats are crammed with bags and there are more in the boot, half Shelley’s and half mine.
“Me too.” Jamie will be cross to have missed it, even if it was a trip to Tesco, which he usually hates. “Thank you. Do you want to come in for a cuppa?” I ask, trying to sound casual, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. I’m not ready to be alone yet.
Shelley glances at her watch and pulls a face. “I’d better not. I’m seeing a client in an hour. The poor man lost his wife of sixty years to Alzheimer’s disease last month. I’ll give you a hand getting the stuff in, then I’d better scoot off.”
“Oh... OK.” I nod, my voice betraying me.
“Tim is out tonight at some work thing. Why don’t I come back for dinner and help you eat some of this food?”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”
“Don’t be daft.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand and I feel her energy diffuse into my body. I stare at Shelley for a moment and take in her face and her smile, so full of kindness, and I’m absolutely certain that the other night was a dream.
“I want to,” Shelley adds, opening the car door and letting the scent of dewy grass and freshness fill my senses.
“How are things with Tim?” I ask.
“The same.” She sighs. “We’re doing a very good job of avoiding each other at the moment. We need to sit down and talk our problems through, but I don’t think either of us is ready for it, which is another reason why dinner with you tonight would be great.”
“Ok. I’ll make a paella for the three of us,” I say as Shelley ducks her head into the back of the car and reappears with my shopping bags. Jamie will be so excited. He hasn’t stopped asking when he’ll see Shelley again.
Together, we lug the shopping to the porch and dump it down, two bags at a time. Ten bags in total. Shelley steps back to the car to shut the boot and I unlock the side door, giving it a shove with my shoulder until it opens.
The moment I step into the kitchen I know something is wrong.
It’s subtle—the littlest thing—and if Shelley had been behind me chatting away, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the kitchen door. The door I shut on my way out to keep the draft from the side door sweeping through the house. The kitchen door that is now wide open into the hall.
I freeze. The weight of the carrier bags digs into my fingers and I drop them to the floor. A glass jar hits the tiles with a crack, but still I don’t move.
Someone has been in our house, Mark.
Flashes of memory strobe though my thoughts. I see the faceless man lurking in the doorway in Manningtree. Me running on the slippery cobbles. He was chasing me, I know it. I hear the gravelly voice on the answerphone, full of menace and threat, and feel myself huddled on the floor in your cold dark study. The weeks have dulled my fear, but it’s back, digging its claws right into the pit of my stomach.
Stop, Tessie. It’ll be OK.
I hold my breath, listening for any creak, any noise, out of place among the usual groans of the house.
“Tess?” Shelley’s voice slices through the silence. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s been here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone’s been here while we were out. I shut the kitchen door and now it’s open.” Hearing the words aloud I realize how ridiculous I sound. But it’s more than the door; there’s a feeling too. Something in the air, the stillness of the house being disturbed, that I can’t describe. And a faint odor I can almost smell.
“Right, let’s walk through the house,” Shelley says, giving my arm a nudge. “We won’t touch anything, we’ll just look and see what’s missing.”
“Should we call the police?”
