If you love something...

The figure was just visible through the darkness. Josie watched, breath bated, as it moved slowly, meticulously, through the garden and towards the house. She perched on the kitchen side in the pitch black, eyes wide, like a cat guarding the house. Any light would only make her a target. What did it want? They didn’t have much worth taking, though there was plenty of Paul’s stuff she wouldn’t mind being stolen… But didn’t burglars normally work in groups? Yes, she was sure this figure was after something far worse. Her heartbeat increased. She felt it pumping blood to every tip of her body, readying her for action. Her hand tightened around a knife, pulling it carefully from the knife block and holding it firm to her side. She wouldn’t go without a fight. CRASH. Her flower pot. And then a quiet familiar ‘shit’ uttered from the figure now just below the windowsill. Tom. 

She relayed the story to Paul the next morning in a hushed whisper, lest Tom hear through the walls. ‘It’s just not like him, Paul. I’m worried. What if something’s wrong?’ 

‘Nothing’s wrong Josie. He’s just a normal teenage boy. Did you never sneak out when you were younger?’

‘Absolutely not!’ She was appalled at the idea, had always assumed only kids in American movies would do such a thing.

‘I shouldn’t really be surprised I suppose. Why didn’t you confront him there and then? It’s not like you to hold off…’ 

‘Because I think there’s more to it, Paul. I’m going to keep an eye on him over the next few weeks. See if I can’t figure out what the problem is so I can help him out properly.’ She walked out of the room before Paul had a chance to reply. 

She found the top the same day she read about the murder. A triple homicide committed just a few blocks away on the same night Tom had been sneaking around the garden - it just seemed too obvious to ignore. The stain wasn’t massive but it was enough to set her heart racing. He’d hidden it right at the back of his shirt drawer, all scrunched up in a ball. Why else would he hide it? She said it to Paul later ‘Why else would he hide it?’ 

‘Well because of all this nonsense I’d suspect.’ He chuckled to himself and she batted him around his bald head with the stained top.

‘It’s not a laughing matter Paul. This is serious stuff! I’m talking about murder here. Our son, our only son, could be a part of something horrendous. He might need our help, Paul.’ His chuckle was a fully fledged laugh this time and he even removed his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes. 

‘Our help? What are you going to do Josie, help him cut up the body? I’ve seen you with the hedge trimmer, I don’t think you’ll be much help.’ 

‘There isn’t a body to cut up. I mean, well they’ve found the bodies already. That’s what the news said.’ She stood up a little straighter, confident in her own research. She’d even printed the news pages out in case he wanted to see for himself.  

‘Gosh found the body already, eh? Well I guess we ought to hand him in now before they come and get him themselves. Shall I ring the police, or did you want to do it yourself?’ He went back to his newspaper still chuckling and she walked off with a sigh. 

She gave herself a few weeks to gather evidence, though of course she’d rather have done it all as quickly as possible. Still, no true detective solved a case in a night and she wanted to do this properly. Her next room search, while he was at college, unearthed a lighter. Josie noted it down in the little wirebound notebook she’d bought for the purpose. Lighter. Why? Killer’s token? Are there others? After she was sure she’d scoured the room completely, she moved on to his bank statements - still in her name until he was eighteen - to search for unusual activity. She underlined every unknown transaction, including a cash withdrawal for £100, which she underlined three times, her hand shaking so that the lines became more like zig zags. £100 cash. What for? Murder weapon? Body disposal? Research this more!!!! Last, Josie unearthed the old polaroid camera Tom had begged for on his tenth birthday. So long ago now, yet it felt like yesterday. After a wistful look through the collection of badly photographed childhood memories, she took the camera to the study, setting up camp for the night, to catch Tom sneaking out again. After a week, she finally caught him, snapping two barely visible shots of him running through the garden. The last box on her investigation checklist was ticked. 

And so the time had come. She’d confront him, show him all the evidence she’d collected, and then maybe they could talk together about what to do next. However he was feeling, she was absolutely sure she could help him. 

‘Thomas. Can we talk?’ She looked at his broad back for signs of guilt, and noticed his shoulders twitch in agitation. The poor thing must be exhausted from carrying this for so long. Well she would help now. She would carry it too. What else were mothers for? 

‘I’m kinda busy right now, Mum. What’s up?’ 

‘Well this is serious, Tom. Whatever you have to do can wait.’ She walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, careful not to let her nails dig in. She’d practiced it on her own leg for ages, trying to achieve the perfect blend of firm but caring. She wanted her hand to say ‘I am not happy about what you’ve done but I am your mother and I will love you no matter what’. Also, maybe a little bit of ‘I am capable and strong enough to help you’. He turned to her with a look of confusion but followed her to the table regardless. 

‘...Ok. Shoot.’ She thought the language was perhaps a bit insensitive given the circumstances, but then the murder likely hadn’t involved a gun so she could forgive it. 

‘I know, Thomas. I know about everything.’ She reached down and picked up all the bits from over the last few weeks, placing them one by one on the table, staring at him meaningfully. The top, the lighter, the bank statement, the pictures she’d taken. She looked down at them quite proudly, until Thomas’ raised voice interrupted her reverie. 

‘What the fuck is all this, Mum? Why have you got my stuff?’

‘Language! I told you Thomas. I know.’ 

‘Have you been stalking me? Are you insane?’

‘With all respect, I’m not the one who-’

‘Who what, Mum? Jesus Christ, I’m nearly eighteen.’

‘Yes Thomas. But you’re not eighteen yet. If you go to the police before your birthday, they can’t send you to real prison. I’ve looked it up!’

‘Prison?’

‘Or… well there are other ways. I’ve spent a long time thinking about it and if you do want me to get rid of these things - to burn them or something - well, I’d do that for you Thomas. As long as I knew you truly regret what you did.’ 

‘Truly regret what, Mum?!’

‘The murder.’ She whispered it because the word felt so wrong in her mouth - like when you bite down on something crunchy in a soft mouthful of dessert. He stood up without saying anything, his face an odd, emotionless mask. ‘Thomas? I can help you if you just tell me about it. I’ve done loads of research and I can help you figure this all out. I don’t judge you my darling, I still love you. I’m absolutely sure you had your reasons.’ He picked the shirt up without looking at her. His voice was oddly calm. 

‘This blood? It happened when I was out with my friends. I’d had a bit to drink and some guy was being a dick so I punched him.’ He threw the shirt back on the table, ignoring her look of shock and picked up the bank statement, his eyes becoming slightly wild. ‘The statement? I spunked a load of my money on drink for an end of term party. And the pictures? Yes, I was sneaking out, Mum. To meet a girl. Because I’m nearly eighteen and my curfew is still nine o’clock. And my own mum doesn’t trust me enough to let me have girls in the house.’ 

‘Honey, I do trust you it’s just-’

‘It’s just that you need to control every element of my life. I’m going to Uni in a couple of weeks, Mum. What will you do then? Camp outside my halls and follow me to each lecture? Do a police check on every new friend I make?’ He walked out of the room before she had a chance to reply and she sat down heavily at the table. That hadn’t gone to plan. 

The room looked bigger somehow, even with the posters still on the wall, and the computer still on the desk. She sat down on his bed, 

‘Feels weird, hm?’ A hand on her shoulder, firm but caring. She looked straight ahead, eyes wide to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

‘I’m really pleased for him. Going to university is very exciting. He’ll do very well I’m sure. And he’s only a couple of hours away really.’

‘It’s OK if it’s hard Josie. You can be pleased for him and miss him too.’ 

‘Yes. Yes, you’re probably right. I’ll miss him. Though, I doubt he’ll miss us. He won’t need us anymore, now he’s off doing his thing!’ She curved her mouth tightly into the facsimile of a smile, trying desperately to pull it to reach her eyes. She felt as though she were reading from a script. Yes, of course she was proud of him, excited for him, but mostly she couldn’t stop wondering who she was now, without him. She felt desperately as though something were out of place, like someone had stolen a single chess piece and hidden it away, or taken a cup from her porcelain set and smashed it right before her eyes. 

‘He’ll miss us, love. But I hope not too much. This is his moment after all. Now, our job is to give him the space to grow.’ He put his arms around her and she let his words sink in. Yes, that was it. It wasn’t over. She still had a job. In fact, she would be so good at giving him space that he wouldn’t know what hit him! She’d give him so much space to grow that he’d be seven foot by the time he was done! She smiled up at Paul. He really was smarter than she gave him credit for. 

Paul watched his wife leave the room with a spring back in her step and nodded happily to himself. Good. She was funny, getting herself all worked up like that. But then, that’s mothers for you, terrified to let go. He stood up, taking one last look at the room their boy had grown up in. Strange, how quickly time went. He walked across the floorboards, stripped bare and varnished after a six year old Tom had spilt paint all over the carpet, past the bed frame with the secret language he’d created, scratched into the headboard and to the window, stained from years of forbidden condensation doodles. The curtains were faded from a lifetime of morning sunshine but the Toy Story print Tom had had a tantrum over in the shop was still just visible if you stared hard enough, and the quality must be great for them to have lasted all these years. He felt along the lining to figure out what kind of stitch they’d done to create such a solid curtain, perhaps he could even make some new ones for when Tom came back to visit. And then he felt it… Something solid. There was something inside the lining of the curtains. He reached in carefully thinking perhaps whoever had put them up had left a tool in there or something, but his fingers closed around cold metal. A knife? He pulled it out, heart beating. No, just a piece of metal, probably just used to weigh the curtains down… Unless… He dropped to his knees, scouring under the bed. Old books, old duvet covers and… what was this? Bin bags. Maybe just for sorting out rubbish, but maybe… Josie’s voice interrupted his thoughts, floating melodious up the stairs.

‘Paul! Shall we get a takeaway? We should probably celebrate!’ He looked at the metal and the bin bags for a minute, weighing up the odds. He was probably being silly, paranoid. Still, it was definitely better safe than sorry. He pocketed the metal and bin bags and walked downstairs. He’d continue his investigations tomorrow.