Rufus’s expression closes. ‘I didn’t ask you to do all that,’ he mumbles, still refusing to look at me.
Jo grimaces. I’m making her feel awkward. I turn to the front. ‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘We’ll talk about this when we get home.’ I put the car into gear and pull away too fast from the kerb.
43
There is a heavy silence in the car on the way home. Jo tries to break it with the odd chirpy remark but I don’t have the energy to force a smile. I snatch quick glances at Rufus in the rear-view mirror. He’s acting exactly as he used to in year eleven, before he admitted he was being bullied. All brooding and sulky. He’d matured so much in the last eighteen months and we’ve never been closer, despite Charlie moving out. But now it’s like we’ve reverted back two years.
I pull up outside Jo’s house. ‘I’ll text you later,’ she says, as she gets out of the car, flashing me a sympathetic smile. ‘Bye, Ruf.’
‘Yeah, bye,’ utters Rufus, half-heartedly, without looking up from his phone.
When we get home Rufus heads straight upstairs without a word and I slam around the kitchen in frustration, not wanting to charge up there after him and say something I might regret. When I’ve calmed down I ask myself why I’m so annoyed he’s made up with Jackson. I should be pleased. It shows maturity that he can forgive someone who tormented him. I’m the one holding on to all that bad feeling. Yet I can’t let it go. The whole thing had caused so many disagreements between me and Charlie – it was the catalyst for our separation. And what was itall for if Rufus just forgives Jackson? If Rufus acts like it never happened?
By the time I go upstairs it’s dark and I perch on the edge of Rufus’s bed. He’s lying on top of the quilt in a T-shirt and the checked shorts he wears in bed, the flickering phone screen casting eerie shadows across his face. I take in his strong brow and straight nose, the way he brushes his hair away from his eyes automatically, just like he used to do when he was small, and I glimpse the little boy he used to be underneath the gruff teenage exterior. The little boy who used to clamber onto my lap when he was two, sucking his thumb, wanting me to read him a story.
‘Ruf …’
He looks up with a sigh. ‘Mum, listen … I can’t talk about it tonight. I’m tired and I just want to go to sleep.’
It’s only eleven and Rufus doesn’t have to get up for college tomorrow. He’s spending the next three days with Charlie so I won’t have the chance to talk to him about it until Sunday and on Monday he starts his work experience in Bath.
‘I’m sorry I was cross about Jackson,’ I begin. ‘I just want you to be happy. If you’ve forgiven him, that’s great.’
‘Mum …’
‘Okay. We can talk about it another day.’
He grunts in response, but there’s a barrier between us. I just don’t understand why.
I get up reluctantly. ‘Love you,’ I say, as I go to leave the room.
‘Love you too,’ he replies automatically, without looking at me.
Atbreakfast the next morning Rufus doesn’t mention last night and neither do I. Instead he talks about the film he’s making with Freddie, his voice rising in excitement as he explains how he’s going to set up a particular shot through an arched window at Freddie’s house. ‘We hope to enter it into a short-films competition for under-eighteens,’ he says, his eyes lighting up as they always do when he talks about movies. As Rufus explains about atmosphere and plot, I listen in admiration, loving how creative he is when I’ve always been more practical, relieved that he has found his passion.
I’d booked today off work as holiday before Charlie and I split up because it’s our wedding anniversary, and I’d forgotten to cancel it. I wonder if Charlie has remembered. Our first wedding anniversary as an estranged couple. I’d expected to hear from him after the way we left things last time, hoping he still cared enough about me to check in and make sure I hadn’t lost my job, but there has been no word from him. It was Rufus who told me his dad was picking him up this morning and that he was staying with Charlie until Sunday. The three-day weekend stretches ahead of me, empty, and I contemplate asking my mum if I can go and stay with her in Rye. Anything is a better prospect than spending three days alone in this house with whatever Henry’s planning next door. But I can’t because her dogs wouldn’t like Phoenix being there and I can’t ask Jo to look after him because her daughter is allergic.
Voices from the street filter in through my open window. Rufus is upstairs packing a weekend bag. I move to thewindow, and recoil when I see Charlie leaning against the wall talking to Henry. It looks as though Henry is doing most of the talking and Charlie nods every now and again. Is he complaining to Charlie about me letting myself into their house?
Five minutes later the doorbell rings. ‘I’ll get it,’ I shout up the stairs to Rufus before answering the door to Charlie. I can’t tell by his expression if Henry has said anything to him about me.
‘Hi,’ he says, stepping into the hallway and closing the door.
‘Saw you talking to Henry,’ I say, going into the kitchen. He follows me.
‘Yep. He saw my van and was asking about my availability. He wants a room painted.’
I think back to their immaculately decorated house. The only room that needs painting is the attic.
‘He seems like a nice guy.’
I spin around to face him. ‘You’re kidding, right? After everything I’ve told you?’
‘What? Like you letting yourself into his house?’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I heard from Rufus that you’re no longer going to be working full-time at Citizens Advice.’
‘Something else might have come up … at Jo’s chambers.’
He stares at me.
