Page 74 of The Perfect Son
I know, I remember those bits too, but this strange warmth reminds me of the good summer days.
We got married on one of those hot days, didn’t we?
We did. See, it was idyllic.
I wonder if the Chelmsford mums will be meeting in the park this weekend and whether Jamie and I should go. I thought they were my best friends—Casey and Jo, Lisa and Julie, and Debbie when she wasn’t working. But I’ve only seen them once since we left Chelmsford, and that was at your funeral.
They couldn’t be bothered to visit you.
That’s not fair. They’ve tried to keep in touch. Texts have come through from one or the other of them almost every day asking if I’m OK and if I fancy popping down to Chelmsford for lunch or dinner, or feel up for visitors at the house.
I haven’t replied. Sometimes I think our friendship existed around proximity and children. Their friendship will carry on without me, other women will come and go, my spot will be filled by someone who lives closer.
If I go to see them, they’ll want to talk about you, and I don’t want that. They might ask me why I don’t move back to Chelmsford, and I don’t have the answer. I’ve thought about it, of course. I’d be closer to my mum, I’d have my friends again, it would be easier for tutoring if or when I decide to go back, and I’m sure Jamie would settle back in to his old school eventually.
But he’s happy here. He loves the garden and the house, he loves school, and the days of nagging and bargaining with him to put his school uniform on in the mornings are gone. I think he’s as excitedabout going back to school after the Easter break as he is about his birthday.
I do want to do something nice this weekend though, something normal. I want to get out of the house. I’m jumping at every creak of a floorboard and I can’t answer the phone again, in case it’s him. It’s rung a few times and each time I’ve been frozen to the spot, unable to breathe.
It’s why we came out. A trip to the playground and the meadow behind the new estate. Jamie had hoped to see a friend from school but the playground was empty so we’re on our way home to the tree house instead. I should’ve arranged some playdates before the end of term but I forgot and now it’s too late. When Easter is over I’ll make more effort to be on time for school and chat to the other mums. I’ll make more effort to be normal for Jamie.
The bushes along the lane have been cut back. Bits of nettle leaves and twigs litter the tarmac and I hop over them to avoid stinging my bare toes. An old estate car rattles past and I move Jamie and myself to the edge, grateful to whomever chopped back the brambles for the extra space on the road.
Jamie hasn’t spoken much these past few days, but the heat has improved both our moods. He is quiet but not sullen. Just thoughtful, I guess. When another car passes, coating my senses in the tang of diesel, I feel only annoyance. The sudden burst of adrenaline, the what-if-I-jump thought isn’t in me today. Will it be back tomorrow? I don’t know, but for now I’m enjoying the brief sense of summer that hurricane Bethany has brought to the village. There will be no bonfires in the air this weekend, only barbecues.
“There’s supposed to be a storm hitting in a few days,” I say to Jamie as we reach our driveway. “It’s the tail end of the hurricane. After that the temperature will drop and it will be cool spring days again.”
He shrugs a response, his feet already inching away from me in the direction of the tree house. “If it’s warm tomorrow though, shall we go to the beach at Frinton?”
Jamie smiles up at me with his big blues eyes. He prods his tongue against the wobbly tooth, testing its movement as he considers my suggestion. Then he nods before turning away and sprinting across the lawn.
I watch him disappear and feel suddenly alone. I hurry around the side of the house and sit on the lawn, listening to Jamie talk to himself. I don’t want to be in the house by myself, and I don’t want Jamie to be alone in the garden.
Tomorrow’s trip will be good for both of us.
CHAPTER 46
Saturday, March 31
8 DAYS TO JAMIE’S BIRTHDAY
The weather is glorious. We wake up to bright sunshine and clear skies. It takes almost an hour of digging around in the garage to find the beach bag with the buckets and spades. Jamie and I are both wearing last year’s faded summer clothes—a red T-shirt and denim shorts for Jamie, and me in an ASDA George dress with spaghetti straps that keep falling down my shoulders.
Dregs of last year’s sand rustle in the beach bag when I chuck it in the boot, and I feel a sudden pang, a void inside I can’t fill. Last year we all went to the beach together. The three of us—a family.
The time we went to visit your mum, I bet.
Probably, but I don’t want to think about that today, or you, in fact. With a deep breath I force the sadness away. I’ve made a picnic of Jamie’s favorite foods for the beach—jam sandwiches, Party Rings, and Monster Munch—and I remembered pound coins for parking and ice creams so we don’t have to traipse half a mile to the nearestcashpoint. I made pancakes for breakfast and didn’t drop them on the floor; the car is packed up and ready to go. I want to make a new memory today. A good one.
We’re in the car about to pull out of the driveway when Shelley’s white Mini pulls in.
“Shelley.” Jamie’s voice bounces with joy. He waves from the back seat.
Shelley grins and waves back and I feel something drop inside me. I forgot I’d made plans with Shelley. She turns off the engine and jumps out of the car wearing white cotton shorts and a yellow T-shirt. Her legs shimmer with a faint tan and show none of the stretch marks and blotches of my own legs.
Seeing Shelley makes me think of the notebook and her name written in it over and over. I think of the button I found by the tree and the hot chocolates she insisted on making, the eyes of hate staring at me from Jamie’s bedroom, and the lullaby that I still find myself humming.
The thoughts flash before my eyes—snapshots of something just out of reach, but whatever it is, it’s not enough to override the relief I feel seeing Shelley, the warmth I feel knowing she’s come to see me, that I matter to her, to someone.
