Page 9 of The Perfect Son
The anger comes from nowhere, rising up and surprising me as much as Ian. “How dare you,” I hiss. Ian jerks back, my words a physical push. “How dare you say you know Mark. I knew Mark. I knew my husband. You two, you hardly ever spoke to each other, for God’s sake. What would you know about what he did or didn’t want?”
“We were brothers, Tess. We might not have spoken much, but we grew up together. I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. And if you knew your husband so well, why didn’t he tell you about the money he borrowed from me?”
There’s something knowing in his tone that I hate. As if Ian is holding something back. “We went over this at the funeral,” Ian says again as if that will suddenly make things clear to me.
“You mean when you cornered me in the pews. Let me ask you a question—did it not cross your mind to wait a week, or even a day? You only live twenty minutes down the bloody road. Why did you have to talk to me about it at the funeral?”
The tears racing down my cheeks burn my skin with the same intensity as the anger scorching inside me. “I’ve lost my husband,” I gasp. “He was the love of my life, you know?”
Something shifts in Ian’s posture, and his voice when he speaks is quiet once more. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve waited.”
I nod, and just like that the intensity is gone and the darkness hits me again. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I really don’t know anything about a loan. Mark handled the finances. We talked about having a new kitchen at some point but we were going to save up for it. I’ll look at the bank accounts, I’ll get in touch with Jacob, Ipromise. We certainly haven’t made any big purchases, so if Mark borrowed it—”
“He did, Tess. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it right away. I didn’t even want to lend him the money in the first place. It was only supposed to be for a couple of months.”
“OK. I’ll check the accounts.”
“Thank you.”
We stand in silence for a moment. Neither of us sure how to continue.
Jamie’s coping fine, by the way, I want to say. You know, your nephew? I don’t know why I’m so surprised he doesn’t ask about Jamie. Ian has always been the ten-pound-note-in-a-birthday-card type of uncle. There’s no point expecting him to be any different now.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Sorry this has happened, I mean.”
“Me too.” I nod and dab my fingers under my eyes, catching the next tear before it falls.
“I’ll come back next week.”
The way he says it, it sounds threatening somehow. Ian must think so too, because then he says, “I can bring some food. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I’ll check the accounts and let you know.”
Ian nods. I can tell there’s more he wants to say. Another push he wants to give. But my anger, my tears have rattled him, I think.
“Good-bye, Tess.” He strides out the side door without a backward glance. The door catches when he shuts it, bouncing back open. I wait for Ian to shut it properly, but he doesn’t. He’s already gone, crunching his polished shoes across the gravel back to his Land Rover.
It’s only when I reach the door to shut it that I see the flowers. Rich green stems wrapped in a rubber band, thick leaves and deep purple heads. Tulips. An entire bouquet of them—twenty at least.
There’s no cellophane. No note. Just two rubber bands keeping the stems together.
Ian is reversing out of the driveway and before I can stop myself my feet are scrambling and skidding across the stones. He’s almost gone, but I have to know. He’s looking in the rearview mirror checking for passing traffic, only seeing me when the palms of my hands slam against his window.
Ian starts, surprised by my sudden appearance or the crazed look in my eyes.
“Did you leave those flowers?” I blurt out the question before the window has finished opening.
He shakes his head. “What flowers?”
“The ones by the side door. You didn’t leave them?”
“No.”
I stumble back and turn to the doorway, half expecting to find it empty, the flowers a figment of my imagination; but they are still there in the corner, half-hidden by a mound of dark leaves that have collected in the open porch. Did someone leave them while Ian and I were talking, or were they there when we arrived and I didn’t notice because Ian was standing in the way? I don’t know.
“Don’t forget, Tess. Check the accounts, OK?” Ian calls as he eases the car onto the lane.
I give a meek nod and he’s gone.
