Looking at the mess of tiny screws and bolts on the floor, I crawled over to the two circles of silver and picked them up. Cradling them in my hands, I let out a sound that was part howl part scream. I clutched the broken bits of compass to my chest. Barney came closer, trying to peer at the mangled mess. I caught his eye, and, thinking I was going to admonish him, he went to retreat. Not before I could reach out and squash him to me. Letting the scraps of compass fall away, I held him tight, so very, very tight, the miniature springs and coils scattered at our feet. This boy, this beautiful, precious lost boy, found at last. After a little while he took my hand and, helping me up to standing, he guided me forward, towards the mall’s sliding glass doors and the warmth within.
Inside, Christmas lights blared overhead and tinny carols blurted from the mall’s sound system. We drifted with the crowds, forward, to Santa’s Grotto in the central atrium. Made out of glittering white and blue fibreglass, it was designed to look like a giant sleigh chock-full of presents, and had a battalion of huge, silver reindeer out front. Taking a seat on one of the benches that lined the surrounding walls, I looked through my bag until I found my mobile and called Jason.
As his phone began to ring I looked at the queue for Santa’s Grotto. It stretched almost all the way back to the other end of the shopping centre. Balloon blowers and magicians were working their way up and down the crowd, trying to pacify the waiting kids.
I watched as a clown approached a small boy in the queue. Sitting on his father’s shoulders, he stared agog as the clown turned, twisted and tied a limp red balloon into a fantastic reindeer, complete with antlers. The clown presented the reindeer to the boy and he squealed with delight.
On the other end of the line I heard Jason’s phone click through to voicemail. Still focused on the kid with the balloon, I wondered if I should try calling Vicky instead. It meant she would get here first, but that was OK. Jason would soon follow.
The kid gave his reindeer balloon a kiss and then reached down to touch the reindeer to his dad’s cheek, miming another peck. The dad smiled and then, as though in some kind of a chain reaction, he turned round and gave his wife standing next to him a kiss on the mouth.
I looked at Barney, sitting by me on the bench, and imagined him sandwiched between Vicky and Jason. A complete family unit. I turned back to the family with the reindeer balloon. They were just strangers in the queue and there was no reason for them to acknowledge or include me in any way, but suddenly I felt left out, invisible. Absolutely, totally invisible.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The taxi pulled up outside Carla’s flat just before six. She’d said she would be away at the conference until tomorrow night and, as Tommy knew where I lived, I’d decided this was the next best place to keep Barney safe until I could get hold of Jason.
I’d spent all afternoon trying to get in touch. While we’d wandered around the shopping centre I’d dialled his number again and again. Jason had always said that, come the day his son was found, he hoped to be able to go to him straightaway. That he didn’t want their reunion to be mediated by the police or psychologists, authorities who would only give him access once they’d finished with all their tests and checks. And so it was for that reason – because I wanted him to have this time alone with Barney before everyone else got involved – that I continued to call him and not the police. But each time it kept ringing through to voicemail. I was sure he was ignoring me. That I was being punished for what I’d said, or what I’d almost said, this morning. Still, unwilling and unable to leave a message about something of such import, I kept trying. He couldn’t stay angry with me for ever.
Inside, Carla’s flat was cold and dark. I went through each room, turning on the lights and closing the curtains. Before long, Jasper, excited by the prospect of company, slinked his way around my legs, wanting to be fed.
Despite my best efforts to keep him distracted, Barney had become more and more nervy and withdrawn during the journey here. Now, as Jasper brushed past him, he cried out in fear.
I picked Jasper up and showed him to Barney.
‘Don’t be scared. Look. It was just the cat. He’s called Jasper. Say hello to Barney, Jasper,’ I said, nuzzling the cat’s neck.
He reached his hand forward, about to give him a stroke, but then he hesitated.
‘Who’s Barney? I’m called Mikey. My name is Mikey.’
‘I know another little boy called Barney. I must have got confused.’ I put the cat down and went over to the boiler to turn on the heating. As soon as I heard the pilot light flare, I turned back to him. ‘Hungry? Shall I make you a sandwich?’
But his cheeks were flushed and his bottom lip had started to quiver. He’d finally reached the end of his tether.
‘I want to go home, I want Jake and Kimberley,’ he said, looking at the floor. ‘I want my mum.’
‘And you will go home,’ I said, stroking his hair and tucking it behind his ear. ‘But first, I think you’d better eat something. Tommy won’t be happy if he discovers I haven’t looked after you properly.’
He didn’t say anything.
‘Will he?’
Reluctantly, he nodded.
‘Why don’t you go in the living room and I’ll bring you a sandwich. Do you like peanut butter and jam?’
‘Yes.’ He was about to go on his way but then he stopped. ‘I don’t like the crunchy type in my sandwich.’
‘Got it.’
I put the sandwich and a glass of orange juice on a tray, walked through to the living room and set them on the coffee-table. He looked at the sandwich and then me, as though he was trying to work out whether or not it was safe to eat, and then picked it up and finished it off in four large bites. He must have been starving. Had he asked for food and I just hadn’t heard? I berated myself for not thinking to get him something earlier.
He took a gulp of juice and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
‘I want to go now,’ he said. ‘Please can you call Tommy?’
‘Not just yet.’
As I went to clear his tray he started to cry.
‘Please ask him to come and get me,’ he sniffed, ‘please.’
Putting down the tray, I tried to give him a cuddle, but he was too upset and he struggled in my arms. I didn’t give in and held him tight. After a while, I felt him go limp. I stroked his hair and face.
‘Where did you get that scar?’ I asked, tracing my finger over the white semicircle of raised skin on his cheek.
‘I fell off a wall,’ he said, his words juddery from the crying. ‘Mum said it was just a scratch.’ He stopped, proud. ‘She said I was brave.’
I continued to smooth back his hair, giving him time to calm down.
‘Have you always been called Mikey?’ I asked, curious to see if he remembered anything from his life before.
‘Please call Tommy,’ he said. ‘Sorry I broke your compass.’ He started to cry again. ‘Where are they? I want to see them.’
‘What about your first mummy and daddy, can you remember them?’ I persevered.
‘I don’t have a daddy. Please,’ he begged, ‘please call Tommy.’
I didn’t respond and, eventually, his heaving sobs fizzled out to a whimper. When I looked down I saw that he’d fallen asleep, his face smeared with snot and tears. It was past midnight. Taking care not to wake him, I arranged him on the sofa and covered him with one of the patchwork ethnic blankets from Carla’s bed. As soon as I’d tucked him in, Jasper jumped up and curled himself into a ball by his feet.
I looked at his sleeping face. He was peaceful for now, ignorant of the fact that the world he’d known and felt secure in for the last five years was about to be pulled from under him. What would that do to the child? How would he deal with being wrenched away from the woman he now knew and loved as his mother? It would be hard, but no doubt there would be therapists and psychologists Jason and Vicky could call on to help make Barney part of their family again. And anyway, if it meant him being
back where he belonged, then all the distress and confusion would be worth it, wouldn’t it?
His lashes fluttered. There was a pause and then his eyelids began to twitch. He was dreaming. I watched his forehead pucker and smooth, the soft skin rippling into a frown.
I smiled. At long, long last, after all the searching, the child in my lap was Barney. And yet.
Jason had not been able to recognise him as his son. I remembered the day I had brought Jason to the off-licence to show the boy to him. His certainty had been absolute. Unwavering.
Now I realised what it was about this that surprised me the most. Not Jason’s mistake. His credulity had been stretched so often and for so long it had left him half blind. Very young children can change greatly in just a few years. Of course it was plausible for this boy to no longer resemble his three-year-old self.
No, what surprised me was Jason’s inability to even consider this loss of connection between a father and son as a possibility. It seemed that, in his grief and fear he had needed a certain idea of parenthood to cling onto. An idea that, even in his darkest days, could serve to reassure him he was still a dad. This idea had been a necessary part of his survival these five years, and he had held onto it at all costs. To doubt his ability to recognise his own child was not an admission he was ever able to make. It would have undermined the one thing that was keeping him going, the thing that let him face every day.
I sat there for hours, watching the child sleep.
When I reached for my phone, the sun was coming up, the birds chirruping outside.
I dialled and, after ringing a few times, it went through to voicemail. Determined to talk to him in person, I kept trying. Redialling, over and over until, eventually, he answered.
‘Please don’t hang up,’ I said as fast as I could.
‘What’s going on?’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
‘I was out of order yesterday. I made a mistake. But I’m going to put it all right.’ I paused. It felt like I was dangling from a precipice. ‘What I’m about to say is going to come as a bit of a shock and so you need to listen to me very carefully. OK?’
There was a pause and, for a moment, I thought he’d gone but then I heard him cough.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘but make it quick. I don’t have time for any more of your bullshit.’
I cleared my throat and took a breath, trying to formulate a sentence from the words jumbling around my head.
When I was done, I gave him Carla’s address.
‘Get here soon,’ I urged, ‘we’ll be waiting for you.’
Epilogue
I held my hands under the tap, cooling my skin for the pastry. The temperature outside was below freezing and soon the water ran so icy that my fingers burned with the cold. I forced myself to wait until they were numb and then I pulled away.
As soon as the blood began to return, hot and needling, to my fingertips, I set about flattening the shortcrust mixture with a rolling pin. Once it was the right thickness, I got a cutter and pressed it down into the soft, floured dough. I lifted the cutter back up and it brought the circle of dough with it. I let the shape fall into my hand and placed it in one of the dipped spaces in the baking tray, ready to be filled with mincemeat.
Baking mince pies from scratch hadn’t been strictly necessary (I had two shop-bought boxes in the cupboard), but I’d wanted to give the boys some time alone together and this had seemed like the perfect excuse. He’d spent the morning at Vicky’s house before coming over to see Jason and, although things between them were still difficult, they were definitely making progress.
I put the last of the lids on the mince pies and popped the tray in the oven. The small TV I kept on the side was showing The Snowman and so I settled on one of the breakfast-bar stools and sat back to watch the final ten minutes. It had just reached the point where the snowman and the boy were holding hands, flying across the fields together. As I hummed along to Aled Jones, the pies filling the house with their sweet spicy smell, I patted my stomach and smiled. I’d done a pregnancy test a few days ago and it had been positive. I’d decided to hold onto the news until tomorrow, Christmas Day.
Though I had yet to find a new job, the build up to Christmas had been busy. Jason had taken on a short welding contract and, as a consequence, he’d spent the past month trying to juggle Barney stuff with the rigour of twelve-hour shifts, six days a week. He hadn’t been terribly keen on the prospect of dusting off his toe-capped boots, not least because it meant he’d had to miss his first-aid exam, but without my salary coming in, the money had been too good to turn down.
It soon came to the part in the film where the boy cries because the snowman has melted. This bit never failed to upset me and so I looked away from the screen. My eye caught on the Advent calendar pinned to the noticeboard. Like my diary before it, the neat line of numbered days seemed to mock me and the magic blue line that had appeared on the pregnancy-test stick. Jason and I had hardly been at it like rabbits and that time with Tommy aside, I’d struggled to marry up possible conception dates.
I turned off the TV and began attacking the washing up. I was halfway through when the timer on the cooker beeped. I grabbed my oven gloves, pulled out the tray and then, with the help of a palette knife, fished each of the steaming pies onto a cooling rack.
All done, I leant forward for the final touch – a sprinkle of icing sugar – and, as I pressed against the cupboard, my apron pocket rustled. This morning’s post. Wanting to look over the letter one more time, I got it out as soon as I had finished with the pies. A brown envelope with a green double helix logo printed near the stamp, it was from the DNA test lab.
Since that day at the shopping centre, the two hair samples had stayed lodged in their padded envelope at the bottom of my bag. I knew the results were now nothing more than a formality. Still, I hadn’t wanted to be left with any vestige of doubt and so last week I’d decided to send them off for testing. Here was the verdict.
I scanned the second page for the millionth time. It confirmed Jason as a paternal match. I rolled the letter into a tube. There was no reason to keep the thing lying around. Going over to the sink, I turned on the waste disposal and, in one simple motion, fed the letter into its roar.
I wanted the boys to be able to enjoy the mince pies while they were still warm and so I arranged a couple on a plate and took them through to the living room. The weak afternoon sun had already started to disappear and the fairy lights we’d hung on the tree gave the room a twinkly, comforting glow. The Muppet Christmas Carol was playing on the TV, but the volume was too low for them to be watching it properly.
‘Heidi,’ said Jason, not even trying to hide his relief at the fact he would no longer have to be alone in the same room as him. ‘Come and put your feet up.’ He patted a space on the sofa.
Once more I found myself thrown off-kilter by his new hairstyle. He’d had it shorn a few days after being back on the welding site and even now, weeks later, I found the effect surprisingly harsh. Cut so near the scalp you could see the curve of bone pressing up through the skin, it reminded me of those tiny bird skulls you see on display in natural history museum cabinets.
I placed the mince pies on the coffee-table and then did as Jason said, tucking my feet up under me so that I could snuggle all the way back into the cushions.
The three of us sat there for a few moments, watching Michael Caine and the Muppets on screen, before Jason broke the silence.
‘These look amazing,’ he said, reaching for the mince pie nearest to him.
‘Thanks, Heidi. Very festive,’ said Martin from his spot in the armchair.
I nodded vaguely in acknowledgement and then we were back to pretending to watch the movie.
It had just got to the bit where the Ghost of Christmas Future makes his entrance, when the detective cleared his throat and sat up straight. For the first time since I’d entered the room, I let myself look directly at him.
It had been a while and I saw that he’
d gained some much-needed weight. It suited him. Anchored by the new girth of his waist and chest, his limbs seemed to have finally realised that they were all part of the same body. Gone was the marionette dangle of his arms and legs, and in its place was a slow, controlled, almost robotic way of moving that was calming to watch.
‘I should be going soon but, before I do, I wanted to say thanks for letting me come round, especially on Christmas Eve.’ He focused his gaze on Jason. ‘I know that, after what happened, you’re well within your rights to say you don’t want anything more to do with me.’
Jason nodded, unable to make eye contact.
‘I’m sorry about the way you found out,’ he continued. ‘I never meant for it to happen like that. I realise I should have told you as soon as I knew things between me and Vicky were getting serious.’
‘Apology accepted,’ said Jason, clearly wanting to bring the subject to a close.
We sat there in the silence, each of us nursing a different set of secrets. We were like safety deposit boxes, locked next to each other in the bank, oblivious to what our neighbours actually contained.
Martin shuffled himself to the edge of the armchair. It seemed he wasn’t quite done.
‘Also, I wanted to come by because I know that this is always a hard time of year for you both.’
At this I felt Jason tense and, as I didn’t want there to be a scene, I decided to be the one to respond.
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘But we struggle with it together.’ I took hold of Jason’s hand and kissed it. ‘That’s what makes us strong.’
I thought back to the last image I had of Barney. Shivering in the early-morning sun, he’d pressed himself flat against the small brick wall that bordered Carla’s front garden. As soon as he’d seen Tommy’s jeep approach, he’d leapt forward, his face opening into a smile. Tommy had got out along with a woman. She’d changed her hair and had aged somewhat in the last five years, but it was definitely her: the woman from the photofit. Jenny.
My Husband's Son: A dark and gripping psychological thriller Page 27
