The Shadow House(95)

Shrugging, he pushed open the front door and disappeared inside.

I lingered on the doorstep, feeling a strange mix of pride and melancholy. I wondered what kind of man my son might turn out to be. He’d been through such a big change over the past twelve months; our relationship had felt for so long like yet another bad break-up – Let’s just call it quits, shall we? There’s no point in trying to make this work – but now it felt like we might be on the mend after all.

I still had that twitchy feeling of powerlessness, though. In a way, things were easier with Kara; her needs were comparatively simple, the solutions more obvious. But with Ollie, each year that passed had me feeling less and less sure what to do with him, or for him. How could I make sure he didn’t end up like my dad? Or Stuart? Or poor Gabriel Kellerman? What could I do to save him from the abyss? The answer, I knew, was not much. I could no longer carry him around with me strapped to my chest, couldn’t swaddle him or breastfeed him or put him in a cot that he couldn’t climb out of. Pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to control any part of his life at all. But I could be less afraid. I could keep talking to him. Stop running. Be close and have faith.

Easier said than done, of course, but I would try.

I nudged open the door and sighed happily as the cool of the house hit me like a cold shower, soothing my flushed skin. Ollie was making toast in the kitchen while Kara pushed a fire truck back and forth over the living room rug, her brow creased adorably with fierce concentration.

‘Hey, baby girl,’ I said, crossing the room and bending down to kiss her peachy cheek. ‘What are you doing by yourself?’ I looked around. ‘Where’s—’

Down the hall, the toilet flushed and Jenny emerged from the bathroom with her arm in a sling. ‘Oh, Alex, you’re home.’ She limped towards me, her eyes wide. ‘How did it go?’

‘Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot,’ said Ollie, his mouth full of toast. ‘How was the presentation?’

‘Amazing.’ I beamed. ‘A full house of yes votes. We got it.’

Jenny squealed.

‘Good on ya, Mum,’ Ollie said, reaching over to give me a high five.

‘I knew you could do it!’ Jenny pumped her free fist in the air, then winced. ‘Ouch. I keep forgetting I still can’t do things like that.’

‘Yikes,’ I said. ‘Have you been alright looking after Kara? Sorry, I didn’t think—’

‘Oh, shush, I’m not that infirm. I can cope for forty minutes.’

‘How’s the head?’

‘Not too bad.’ Jenny touched her headscarf. ‘I’m using the cream and the scar now feels less raised, so that’s a good sign.’

‘And how are you going otherwise?’

She made a face. ‘Ribs are still sore, but my shoulder’s getting there. The doctor said the sling can come off next week, so …’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I meant, um, everything else.’

Jenny’s face dropped a little. ‘Oh, you know. One day at a time.’ She gave me a thin smile. ‘But I’m going to visit my parents tomorrow, so I must be feeling stronger, right?’

I smiled. ‘Right.’

‘Oh, and I have something exciting to show you.’ Hobbling to the kitchen bench, she picked up a stack of papers and handed them to me.

‘What’s this?’ I said, taking them.

‘The final Tiny House designs,’ Jenny said, proudly. ‘They just came through today.’ She unfolded one of the pages and spread it out on the benchtop. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘Oh, Jenny.’ I peered at the plans. ‘It really is.’

‘See how it’s long enough to have a bedroom downstairs as well as up in the loft? That way it’ll still be comfortable when I can no longer handle ladders and limited head space. And the dining area – look, there’s more than enough room for a table.’

‘It’s stunning,’ I said, leafing through the rest of the paperwork.

‘Come outside and let me show you again where it’s going in.’ Moving carefully but quickly to the door, she held it open for me and beckoned excitedly.

‘Ollie,’ I said, following her. ‘Keep an eye on Kara for five minutes?’

‘Sure,’ came Ollie’s reply. ‘In exchange for the whole top floor when Jenny moves out.’

‘Enough with that, it’s not going to happen.’

‘It’s happening.’

‘It’s not.’

‘Love you, Mum.’

‘Stop trying to butter me up.’


‘So, we’ll level the earth out here, look.’ Jenny swept her outstretched arm across the far side of the garden. ‘The front door will face that way, and the kitchen windows will look out onto the forest. See?’ She pointed at the designs in my hands.

‘It’ll be lovely, Jenny,’ I said, holding on to the papers as they flapped lightly in the wind. ‘Just perfect.’

She studied me, detecting the note of unease in my voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, it’s just … are you absolutely sure you want to stay? I want you to, of course, but after everything that’s happened, wouldn’t you rather a change of scenery? Get away from everything and just start over?’