‘Can you make me a sandwich or something? I’m going to sit with Ben on the couch for a while.’
‘Sure.’ My hands shake as I pull out bread, tomatoes, cheese and lettuce. I flick the kettle on and shiver as it boils. I stare at my reflection in the kitchen window. I clench my jaw. Fuck you, I think. How dare you take my baby? I cut Scott’s sandwich in half. I pour myself a milky cocoa and slosh in a shot of bourbon. I need to sleep tonight.
‘Here.’
‘Thanks.’
Ben is curled on the couch. The red cushion under his head makes his face look white. I can see the soft feathery veins that disappear into his hair. I sit next to him and hold his tiny head in my hand. So fragile.
‘Gemma, I know that you are used to this kind of thing, but that world is not my world. Cops pawing through our things. Everyone judging us. I was scared today, Gem. Fucking terrified. And I didn’t even let my mind go where it could have.’
Scott is not looking at me. He is staring at a bearded man on the TV who’s fondling the roots of a small tree, the dirt sprinkling neatly into the hole he has prepared.
‘I was scared too, Scott. I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I called Felix, so he could take over. I knew I couldn’t do what I needed to do.’
‘Yeah.’
An ad break starts and the voices are louder. Ben stirs. Scott pokes at the remote to turn the sound down.
‘I think we’re just really different,’ he says.
The bourbon is creating a soft buzz in my ears and I knock back the rest of the drink and place the mug heavily on the coffee table. I close my eyes so I don’t have to respond to Scott, but as I sneak a look at his profile in the dim light I’m not sure whether he wants an answer from me or not.
Chapter Forty-five
Tuesday, 22 December, 6.02 am
My dream is horrifying. I am at a florist’s and every time I choose a bunch of flowers and pick it up, I realise it’s sitting in a bucket of blood. The florist is amused when I show her. ‘What do you want me to do, love? They still look pretty. Do you want to buy them or not?’ I start to cry. I wipe tears away and taste copper: there is blood all over my fingertips. The florist screams with laughter.
I wake with a start to Ben’s sleeping face. Slowly relaxing, I trace the soft slope of his nose with my eyes. The spray of dark lashes, the sweet smatter of lemonade freckles. He is breathtaking.
Beyond his head, Scott is asleep too, his breathing deep and even. His hand clutches Ben’s arm lightly.
I slide carefully out of bed and pull on a grey hoodie. Some days I feel manipulated by my biology, tricked into the feelings I have for Ben, but today I want to feel like a mother. Want to hold him in my arms. I want him to need me. In the bathroom I swallow a couple of painkillers and brush my teeth. My skin looks puffy. Fine lines weave along my forehead. I am so plain. There is no light in me and I wonder whether there ever really was. I think about Maggie’s perfectly made-up eyes and taut cheekbones and think I must look twenty years older than her rather than ten. I look like her mother. I shut the bathroom cupboard in frustration.
In the kitchen I detach my phone from the charger. Nothing from Jonesy but a text from Felix. I hold my breath as I click on it.
I’m glad Ben is safe. Hope you are okay.
I shove my phone into my pocket and wander through the house. It’s quiet; only the sound of birds chirping outside breaks the stillness. I think about yesterday, about the hours when Ben was missing. The disorienting stabbing pain that seized my entire body. And then I think, just for a moment, what I would be doing right now if Ben was still missing. Would Scott and I be together, clinging to each other? Would we be arguing, blaming, hating? I look at a photo of Scott on the fridge; he’s smiling as he holds up a bug-eyed fish. It’s a face I know so well but I don’t see it anymore. I haven’t looked at him properly for so long. Felix’s face floats into my vision. So familiar. The exact grain of his emerald irises. The gentle swallow he does when I begin to touch him. If Ben was gone forever, would Felix and I have a chance? Scott and I can’t work without Ben, I know that. I’m not even sure that we can work with him either.
Felix was impossible to read yesterday but I know it must have been bizarre meeting Scott, especially under those circumstances. I saw him looking at the pictures on the walls, noting the fraying rug and sagging furniture. Watching Scott and me as we grabbed at Ben, crying with joy.
I open the fridge and welcome the cold on my face. How can I be thinking like this? I’m a monster. Rosalind is making me crazy, just like she always has. Icy air bites at my eyes. The nerves in my teeth jangle.
‘Hi, Mummy.’
‘Ben!’ I slam the fridge shut and rush over to hug him. His body feels small as I lift him up; his bony hip pokes into my side.
‘Are you alright, darling?’
He nods. ‘I want toast.’
Tears brim in my eyes.
Ben looks worried and rushes to say, ‘Please.’
I smile at him. ‘Sure, baby, you sit here and I’ll get your toast.’
I shove bread in the toaster and grab some crayons and paper. Ben begins to scribble with the blue crayon. Big loopy circles. I butter his toast and place it in front of him. He wolfs it down, crusts and all.
‘Morning.’ Scott comes into the kitchen and makes a beeline for Ben. ‘Hey, little man.’
‘Daddy!’ Ben gives Scott a smile that is all sunshine. ‘Look, I did this.’
‘Amazing. I love it.’ Scott pulls Ben onto his lap.
I stand up and get a glass of water. I look outside. A magpie is sharpening its beak on the top of the fence. It seems crazy that less than twelve hours ago I thought I might never see my little boy again, and yet everything that I am looking at now would appear exactly the same. ‘I’m just going outside for a bit.’
Scott shrugs at me. ‘Okay.’
It’s already warm out. I unzip my hoodie and walk across the lawn to the back gate. I’m careful: the dewy grass is slippery. The magpie eyes me before crouching and pushing off, flying to a nearby gum. I lift the hook on the gate and step into the clearing.