The phone is ringing. Ringing and ringing – an incessant noise that pierces my sleep and drags me into the world.
I breathe in and peel open my eyes. There’s an alien feel to my surroundings and it takes a beat for the hazy memory of cuddling in Jamie’s bed to drift into my thoughts. I stare again at the room and recognize the row of Ninja Turtle figures on the shelf.
Slits of grey daylight penetrate the edges of the curtains.
‘Jamie?’ I call in a voice husky with sleep. ‘Jamie?’ I shout this time.
‘I’m on the PlayStation.’ His voice carries up the stairs.
‘What time is it?’
He doesn’t answer.
I stagger to the end of the hallway and to your makeshift study with the old desk you did your homework on as a boy. The room is icy cold and I long to dive back under the covers in Jamie’s room. Like the rest of the house, your study is still filled with the cardboard boxes from moving day. They are tucked up against the wall and stacked three high. Resting on one of the boxes is the cordless telephone sitting in its base, and I snatch it up.
‘Hello?’
It’s an effort to keep my eyes open, as if the air is filled with needles prickling my irises. I close them and feel myself drift again.
‘Tess?’ Shelley’s voice jolts me back to the room. ‘Are you there, Tess?’
‘Um.’
‘I’ve been trying you all morning. I was getting worried. You were going to call me to talk about what happened at the supermarket.’
It takes me a moment to remember what Shelley is talking about. ‘What time is it?’
A gust of wind blows into the microphone and I imagine Shelley on her mobile walking somewhere.
‘It’s … twelve thirty,’ she says.
‘Oh.’ Twelve thirty on a Saturday. Did we have plans today? I can’t remember. Guilt jabs at me – a pin to a balloon – and I’m no longer floating in and out of sleep. I’m awake. ‘Sorry.’
I haven’t made any lunch or breakfast. I race down the stairs as fast as my legs will allow and poke my head into the living room. Jamie is engrossed in a football game on the PlayStation.
I cover the microphone and whisper to Jamie, ‘Have you eaten?’
He twists his face around and flashes me a brief smile, nodding his head before losing himself once more to the game on the screen. I can tell he’s pleased with himself. For making himself his own food, or being able to play on the console all morning without interruption, I’m not sure.
The relief that he’s eaten doesn’t touch the surface of my guilt. How could I have slept all morning? What if Jamie had gone outside? Run into the road?
‘Tess?’ Shelley’s voice breaks into my thoughts again. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I … I’m not feeling too good. I think it’s flu.’ The lie seems garbled, even to me. I move an arm and rub my eyes. My muscles feel weak, overused, but from what I don’t know.
‘Tess, this is me. I’ve been where you are. Is this about thinking you saw Mark? What happened?’
‘A … a woman from Mark’s office came over last night.’ I lower my voice to a whisper and stagger from the living room and along the corridor to the kitchen. ‘She told me the event in Frankfurt was cancelled. There was no reason for Mark to be on the plane.’ A sob shudders through my body and I drop on to one of the kitchen chairs.
‘Oh Tess, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.’ There’s a pause before she speaks again. ‘I’m coming over.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’ The line is dead. She’s gone.
I don’t know how long I sit there for, in yesterday’s clothes, with yesterday’s dinner congealing by the sink, but my bare feet are numb from cold by the time there’s a knock on the side door.
‘Tess?’ Shelley calls out.
‘I’m coming,’ I shout, heaving myself out of the chair. It’s only then, as I’m reaching for the handle, that I remember I haven’t told Jamie. I’m not sure I’ve mentioned Shelley to him at all in fact. He won’t be happy, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.
A burst of cold air blows straight through me as I open the door. Shelley is wearing the same tight jeans, with a red V-neck jumper this time. The winter coat and the suede boots have been replaced with a black silk scarf and a pair of black Converse trainers.
‘Hey.’ Her smile is as wide as it was on her last visit, as if she is on my doorstep for a lunch date, a catch-up with an old friend, instead of here to help me pick up the pieces of my shattered life. ‘You look dreadful.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, and maybe because Shelley’s energy is infectious, or maybe because she didn’t tiptoe around how awful I look, I smile.
‘Shall I put the kettle on? We can talk some more.’
‘I …’ I shake my head. ‘I’m so tired.’ Tears flow from my eyes like a tap someone has forgotten to turn off. ‘You didn’t need to come over. I’m sure your volunteer role doesn’t extend to weekends.’
‘I’m not here as a grief counsellor, Tess. I’m here as a friend, one I think you need right now. I understand what you’re going through. So why don’t you go back to bed for a bit or have a bath if you prefer? Get some rest. We can talk later. I’ve got some food in the car. I can make dinner. Leave everything to me.’
Shelley slips out of her shoes, leaving them in the nook beside Jamie’s, and steps through the kitchen. I’m about to trail after her and protest, to remind her how shy Jamie is, but before I have the chance I hear him talking. I follow the noise and stand in the living-room doorway. Shelley is moving around the room, fluffing cushions and scooping up a pile of newspapers in the corner that have been there since for ever.
‘These are the controls,’ Jamie says. ‘X to pass and O to tackle.’ The way he’s talking, it’s as though they’re old friends instead of total strangers. There is no hint of the shyness he so often shows. I guess he feels it too – Shelley’s energy and the way she understands without having to say anything.
Shelley looks up and smiles.
I want to join them. I want to flop on to the sofa and listen to Jamie’s chatter, but I can’t. There’s a dead weight on my chest. I have to lie down. I have to sleep.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind if I go back to bed?’ I ask them as a yawn takes hold of my body.
‘We’re fine, Mum,’ Jamie shouts back happily.
‘Leave it all to me, Tess,’ Shelley calls after me as I’m already moving towards the stairs.
It’s OK, Tess, I’m here.
You’re not, though, are you, Mark? Your voice is really my voice.
Do you remember our first holiday with Jamie? We took him to Portugal, and he spent most of the holiday trying to eat the sand.
I remember.
All those waiters kept tripping over themselves to speak to you.
Hardly, but keep talking to me. I like to hear your voice.