Too many questions, not enough answers. I don’t know what happens next. ‘No, thanks, we’ll be fine. I don’t think he’ll come back tonight.’ I don’t know this, but it would be too clean cut, too obvious. It wouldn’t be any fun; timing and entrance are everything to you. ‘I’ll need to talk to Jack tomorrow first. He has no idea.’
My words do nothing to convince me. I’m not so sure of this anymore. I look over at him, sitting flopped back on the sofa, mobile in his hand, scrolling and apparently texting. Completely engrossed. Isn’t this normal, what all teenagers do? Stop being so paranoid. He looks up at me, as if feeling my concern, and smiles. It was so much easier back then, the cover-ups, the lies, the protection.
‘He needs to know the truth first, then I’ll do my best to explain to you two.’ I’ll do my best to articulate, strictly on a need-to-know basis, excluding the darker fragments lurking in my mind.
I’m just about to change the subject when Ruan pipes up again. ‘Hang on.’ His face lights up as he leans closer in. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but a guy called the clinic this afternoon, some guy. Didn’t get his name, though.’
‘Go on,’ I urge him. ‘There must be more to it than just some guy calling the clinic?’
He nods at a tentative-looking Bea. ‘I told you, Bea, didn’t I, remember?’ Moments pass, leaving me hanging between the two of them.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Bea said thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, you said it was strange at the time, didn’t you?’
‘What? What was strange?’
‘This guy called, asked for you. I told him you were out of clinic. Then he asked me if you were coming back to the clinic, and did you do late appointments. I told him, yes, sometimes, and no, I didn’t think you’d be coming back because it was already 17.45 and you were still, as far as I knew, in appointments. That you would be for at least another hour or so. I asked him if he wanted to leave a message for you, but either we were cut off, or he hung up.’ Ruan shrugs. ‘I don’t know which – the line seemed okay. So I checked, but he’d called from a withheld number. I didn’t think anything of it after I mentioned it to Bea. D’you think it could have been him?’
‘No idea, Ruan. No idea at all.’ My mind drifts off to the text you sent me earlier. This changes things. Maybe you didn’t know for sure then that I wasn’t home. Ruan had told you I wasn’t. Maybe you don’t know where we live. But then how did you know about Jack having a friend here? A lucky guess? Could have been. I don’t even know for certain it was you at all, do I? The text could have been from anyone. Other than the manner of the wording: precise and smug. Why would anyone else send me such a text? It wouldn’t make sense for it to be anyone other than you.
After more drinks, and despite the relief of casual banter, I’m still unable to shrug off the dark feeling tormenting me. I always knew you would be back, but to have it confirmed is something else. Jack knows too, I know he does; it shines through his eyes. There’s something unsaid in his persona tonight, something he needs to unload. But now is not the time.
I close the door after they all leave, checking it is securely locked; then check the kitchen back door again. For the first time since we moved here, I wish I had curtains, blinds, anything. I thought about it initially, but decided against it; nobody overlooks us and the windows behold charismatic features. But then I hadn’t considered what it would feel like to be watched. Every move I make in the kitchen, every step and each breath I take in the front room, I feel your eyes on me. Violated by your perceived presence.
I make for bed as soon as I can, thankful for the higher floor level. Somewhere to escape your eyes. Checking in on Jack as I pass his room, I stand and watch, waiting for his chest to rise and fall, just as I used to when he was a small baby. Petrified he was going to stop breathing. Feeling helpless; his safety, his fate out of my hands. For a moment, I once again consider sleeping next to him, or at least on the floor at the foot of his bed. I cannot go back to living this way again. I can’t. Across the room, I notice his mobile, a light indicating it’s charging on his chest of drawers to the side of his window, beckoning me. Should I look at it? No, how could I even contemplate it? Anyway, it has a password and I’ve no idea what it is. Why is this? Since when did I become such a suspecting, untrusting mother? I just want to keep him safe.
Oh, God. What have I done?
Should I have gone to the police with what I took back then? But I couldn’t, I can’t. Not only is it my weapon, our defence. It doesn’t tell the whole truth. And whilst you don’t know I have this, it keeps us safe. But does it? Is this why you have come looking for me now? Who else knows of its existence? Lies, so many lies. I stare at Jack’s peaceful face; why did I tell so many lies?
I rouse early, ahead of the sun, just in time to catch the moon before it magically disappears into the pastel sky. It’s cold; condensation has gathered on the old leaded windows, obscuring the view to the outside world. Time for the heating to kick in. A sleepy Jack follows me downstairs sometime after, as normal without much more than a courtesy acknowledgment of my presence. We both understand mornings are not our thing, and a mutual respect for quiet, other than the TV morning news programme, is fully respected. I busy myself picking up, straightening squidgy cushions and wiping kitchen worktops. Jack is huddled protectively over his bowl of cereal, staring absent-mindedly at the news channel. So he takes me by surprise when he initiates conversation.
‘You know last night, Mum?’
Here we go. My stomach performs a customary flip. ‘Mmm,’ is all I can manage.
‘It was about him. Wasn’t it?’ My stomach cartwheels, followed by a triple somersault. Jack didn’t ask me a question. It was a statement. He knows.
‘Him? What do you mean, Jack, “him”?’ Why am I saying this? He’s not a fool, so why am I treating him like one? Still trying to protect and shield him. But he needs to know. My protection could put him in danger. When am I going to face facts? He’s not stupid, but I am being so.
‘You know, him. You were thinking something to do with him, last night. Weren’t you? That’s why you were so upset.’
‘No, why do you say that?’ What am I doing? I still can’t help myself, can I? Tell him, for goodness’ sake! But it makes me feel so sick. I still, even now, keep hoping that if I don’t talk about it, it isn’t real. Total bullshit, and I know it, so why am I making this so extra hard?
‘I saw it in your eyes, Mum. It’s the only reason you’d behave like you did last night. Panicking as you did. I’m not stupid. I remember how you looked before, back then. I’ve seen it all before. You think I don’t realise what’s going on. It’s okay, Mum.’ I feel his eyes pleading with me as I start to fill the dishwasher. Trying to bide my time, to decide how best to handle this. Hoping something intelligent will come to mind. But it’s a little too early. Jack continues for me instead; I wonder who is the adult here.
‘There’s something else too. It’s not just about last night. There’s something else.’
I turn slowly to look at him. He doesn’t look up from his breakfast.
‘What? What else? What do you mean? What are you not telling me?’ I probe.
‘I’m trying to.’
I take a seat at the table with my coffee. ‘Go on, sorry, Jack.’
‘It might not be anything. It’s just odd. I keep getting these requests, invites, on Facebook and Instagram.’
‘What do you mean? What do they say?’
He shrugs. ‘Nothing really. They’re just friend requests. But from someone I don’t know.’
‘But isn’t this normal, happens all the time? As in, can’t random people just do that anyway?’