The Marriage Act(23)

‘I’m sorry, I’ve totally lost track of time. Where’s Matthew?’

‘Ally and Marley took him to the virtual rowing centre.’

‘I thought we were all going on Saturday?’

‘It is Saturday,’ Jada replied, to Anthony’s immediate guilt. He recalled its inclusion on the digital family calendar but events in Anthony’s life were now measured in terms of days before and after he had killed Jem. Even before that, most of his family time was spent on catch-up, living vicariously through Jada’s abridged anecdotes and airdropped photos of his son while Anthony put work before his family.

Jada sank into a sofa under the window where the blinds were always drawn. The spotlights briefly caught the silver St Christopher pendant she wore around her neck, which had once belonged to Anthony’s mother. It was all he had left of her. She reached over to pick up a tekkamaki with her chopsticks while Anthony scooped at the rice. As they ate in a comfortable silence, Anthony glanced around the room. It was so sparsely furnished, it could barely be considered decorated. It contained a large oak desk with a keyboard projected on to it, his Audite and a monitor. The sofa was as white as the walls. There were no shelves for books or ornaments and it was strictly a paper-free environment, negating the need for trays, filing cabinets, a shredder or even a dustbin.

Jada must have been reading his mind. ‘You know that this room goes against everything I stand for, don’t you?’ she said.

‘It kills you that I won’t let you in with a swatch, doesn’t it?’

‘Hell yes! It’s a blank canvas begging for colour and texture. I don’t know how you can work in such a sterile environment.’

‘The lack of distractions allows me to think.’

The only subject he had been thinking about lately was showing few signs of abating. The more he tried to push Jem Jones out of his head, the more she lingered. The creases around her eyes when he’d made her smile, the kindness of her heart, the way the bullet he’d fired had contained traces of her bone and brain matter as it had exited her skull. Had he done the right thing? Yes, yes, of course. At least he thought he had.

‘But there’s nothing to inspire you,’ Jada continued.

‘Therefore, all my ideas are my own.’

Jada shook her head, unscrewed a bottle top and took a swig from her beer. ‘You need to remember to come up for air though, babe. You’ve been holed up in here for most of the week now. I know I sound like a broken record but you need to find a balance.’

‘Once the next project is out of the way then I’m all yours.’

‘Until the one after that. I know how this goes, Anthony; I wasn’t born yesterday.’

He needed to redirect the conversation from his work, so he inched his head ever so slightly in the direction of the Audite.

Jada rolled her eyes and corrected herself. ‘And we are grateful for how much of yourself you give to your work to support your family,’ she added, as if reading from a prompter. ‘But Matthew looks forward to being reunited with his long-lost father soon.’

The mention of Matthew stung. He was Anthony’s weak spot. Anthony’s mother had moved them from Saint Lucia back to her native England when her marriage to his father had fallen apart. She had also later made him watch her feed each photograph of his dad through a shredder until none remained.

Anthony was four years old when Anthony Snr had last been in touch. All he remembered of his father’s appearance were the opal-coloured eyes they shared, which paired with their golden-brown skin, made them both stand out in a crowded room. From an early age, Anthony promised himself that when he had a family of his own, he would be there for them. Yet despite his best intentions, he was failing.

‘How is Matthew?’ Anthony asked.

‘He’s fine,’ Jada said, but there was something rehearsed about her response. He rested his chopsticks against his bowl. ‘Honestly?’ he asked.

Jada took a moment. ‘I didn’t want to worry you but he’s been struggling again at school.’

‘Define struggling?’

‘Same as before. He’s finding it hard to concentrate on subjects that involve sitting and listening for prolonged periods. He becomes disruptive. He has no problem with gym, arts, design and technology because his body or his hands are moving. And coding classes where he gets to think and be creative – well, he takes after you with that. But English, geography, history and maths . . . that’s when his ADHD kicks in and he starts losing attention and distracting the rest of the class. You saw him at lunch with my sister and Marley; he couldn’t keep that phone out of his hand for a minute.’

‘All kids are like that.’

‘Not to his extreme. And have you tried keeping his focus on homework lately?’ They were both acutely aware that Anthony had not. ‘It’s easier herding bees.’

‘What about all those coping mechanisms his therapist gave him? Is he using them?’

‘Some, but not often enough.’

‘Maybe his teachers are exaggerating the extent of the problem. He’s still only seven so his concentration skills are finite.’

‘This goes beyond how long he can concentrate for.’

‘So let’s hire a tutor or find him another, better therapist, look outside of the NHS+.’