It’s done and signed. The sale will be settled in six weeks, a few days after the end of the school year. You’ve given in and taken the rational course, and you carefully hold the devastation of this choice at bay.
Finn suggests dinner together so you can break the news to Jarrah and plan your next steps. But as you wait on the verandah, Finn nursing a beer and you a glass of wine, dusk falls. Jarrah is nowhere and not answering his phone.
‘Is he often this late? Should we start worrying?’ you ask.
‘He is often this late,’ Finn says carefully. ‘Now he’s got a girlfriend. And he runs with Tom in the afternoons. He’s almost never home straight after school.’
‘Can you call Tom?’
Finn pulls his mobile from his pocket, squints at the screen, presses slowly with his big fingers. He greets Tom and there’s a long pause as he listens.
‘Hang on. You left him where?’
You have to put the glass down because your hand starts to shake. You grip the front of the chair, sink your fingers into the cushion, strain your ears to make out what Tom, in his tinny voice, is saying. You can’t afford to lose another son.
‘Christ.’ Finn gets up fast, stabs at the phone. ‘They had an argument or something. Tom’s driving around looking for Jarrah, but he can’t find him. Over on the bloody beach.’
Acid scrapes the back of your throat. In a moment you’re back, kneeling on the edge of the pool, Finn standing in the water on the step so your faces are level, Toby lying face up on your lap, limbs slack. As though asleep, except for his terrible, open eyes.
‘I’ll get in the car,’ Finn says. ‘You stay here in case he comes home.’
‘But how will you know where to look?’
‘I can’t just sit here.’
He goes for the keys. You check the sky. It’ll be dark soon. Jarrah’s nearly sixteen but he’s a kid. He’s not street-smart. Anything in the dangerous world could snatch him and smash him.
Finn is coming back out the door when the gate clicks and you both turn. Jarrah crosses the lawn barefoot, in unfamiliar shorts and T-shirt, his tread heavy, his head down. You try to restart your breathing so it’s something resembling normal. Finn puts a warning hand on your arm before you can speak.
‘Jarr. We were getting worried.’ His voice artificially casual.
‘Sorry.’ Jarrah’s is low and flat.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Running.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yep.’
Jarrah’s face is chalky. He hasn’t been running, not in the last half hour. You want to speak, but Finn tightens his grip, feeling it in you. Does he think hiding your worry is a good thing? He must, and so you bite your lip.
‘We’re going out to dinner,’ Finn says. ‘Want to shower and get dressed?’
‘Got homework,’ Jarrah says in that same flat voice.
‘We’ve got important things to talk about.’
‘Can’t we do it here?’
Finn sighs and his body sags. ‘Yeah, I guess we can do it here. I’ll call in a takeaway.’
If Jarrah says whatever you’ll scream, but he just nods. He comes up the steps, past you and inside. His legs are covered in sand. In a moment he’s disappeared.
‘I’ll let Tom know.’ Finn types a text so laboriously you want to snatch the phone from him and do it yourself. Instead you sink back down onto the chair, shaking with the sickening aftershock of adrenaline. Jarrah’s safe, but you’ve never seen him look so shut down. Not even after Toby.
Finn’s phone pings and he glances at it. ‘Tom says thanks for letting him know.’
‘Wonder how Jarrah got back here from the coast.’
‘He’s home,’ Finn says. ‘I think we should leave it alone. He’s got enough going on, Bridget.’
You want to snap at him: How do you know? Not just in anger, but as a genuine question. How does he know what’s happening to your son? You have no idea how to enter Jarrah’s world, how to ask him a question, how to manage the fact that he’s not a child any more, but not an adult either. It was all so simple before when the biggest problem was his crush on that girl at school. A crush you were pretty sure had no chance of going anywhere.
You don’t want to leave it alone. ‘What could they be fighting about?’
He shrugs. ‘They’re boys. Could be anything.’
‘Tom’s not a boy.’
‘He’s only nineteen.’
‘He drives, drinks, votes and works, Finn. He’s an adult. Maybe he’s not a good influence.’
‘Oh for God’s sake!’
At the anger in his voice you jump.
Finn visibly controls himself. ‘Jarrah needs a friend. Leave it alone.’
Your glass is empty and it’s an excuse to walk away from him. ‘You’d better call the takeaway,’ you say over your shoulder. In the kitchen you pour a large second glass of white and down half of it. Maybe that will stop your hands shaking. Maybe that will let you sit down to a family dinner like you could be normal again.
Standing in the kitchen, hearing Finn ordering pad thai, red duck curry, spring rolls, jasmine rice, your head spins. The rush of fear that something had happened to Jarrah has set off memories stamped in your cells. You want something to hold onto, one stable thing, and you’ve just signed away your home. Right now, all you have is hoping that when you creep outside tonight, in the dark, and lower yourself into the water, Toby will still be there.
‘Bridget?’
Finn has come into the room behind you. You can’t answer him. You’re shaking so hard you can barely stand.
You feel his hand on your shoulder, the other one at your waist. ‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘let’s stick together on this.’
You begin to break. ‘All right.’
He wraps his arms around you. You lean back into him, let him absorb your body’s shuddering, and to your surprise you feel something. Some inkling of kindness. Maybe you can do this.