‘No, but—–’
‘I guess I always knew there had to be more to it than you had told me,’ Tom went on, taking another bite of his sandwich. ‘I mean, Dad—that is, he—divorced you, didn’t he? I never could understand that until now.’
Jaime shook her head. In Tom’s world, there were always absolutes. Philip had divorced her, therefore she had to be the guilty party. How could she explain that that had been one of the conditions Philip had demanded of Ben, when he agreed to stay away from her?
‘You’re not—angry, then?’ she ventured, not quite knowing how to proceed, and after a moment Tom shook his head.
‘Not angry, no. I wish you had told me sooner, that’s all.’ He paused. ‘Did you—did you love him?’
‘Who?’ Jaime’s mind refused to function. ‘Oh—Philip! Well, I—–’
‘No. Not him!’ exclaimed Tom, putting down his sandwich. His young face was flushed and awkward. ‘I meant—my dad. My real dad.’ He paused. ‘Did you?’
‘Oh!’ Jaime expelled a noisy breath. She could see how important it was to him, and she realised she hadn’t thought this through at all. The obvious progression hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘I—yes. Yes, I loved him.’ She was glad she could be honest about that. ‘But—well, he was married. And, although I thought he intended to leave his wife, he didn’t.’
Tom absorbed this silently. Then, picking up the sandwich again, almost absently, she thought, he said, ‘I suppose that’s why you never talked about him.’
Jaime’s lips tightened. ‘Could be.’
Tom bent his head. ‘Does—does he know about me?’
Oh, God! Jaime wondered how much more of this she could take without screaming.
But, ‘Yes,’ she managed at last, waiting for the axe to fall. It was only a matter of time before Tom asked his name, and, in spite of all her misgivings, could she honestly refuse to tell him?
‘The bastard!’ Tom’s response, like his reaction to Ben’s knowing he wasn’t Philip’s son earlier, was the exact opposite of what she had expected. ‘He got you pregnant, and then didn’t even have the guts to do the decent thing! Hell, Mum, how can you say you love him?’ He pushed his sandwich aside. ‘I hate him!’
Jaime was speechless. His words shocked her so much that the expletives he had used to make his point didn’t register until later. It wasn’t until he flung back his chair and got to his feet that she found her voice again.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Where do you think?’ Tom was too upset to be polite. ‘To bed, I suppose. What else is there?’
Jaime cleared her throat. ‘Tom—–’ The words wouldn’t come, and she gazed at his stony face in helpless confusion. ‘Tom, about—about Ben…’
‘Uncle Ben?’ Tom’s face softened. ‘Oh, Mum, Uncle Ben is the one good thing that’s come out of all this. Don’t you see? When you said he knew I wasn’t—wasn’t Philip Russell’s son, I was so relieved!’ He looked at the ceiling for a moment, and Jaime’s heart plummeted when she saw the unfamiliar glint of tears in his blue eyes. ‘You see,’ he added doggedly, ‘it means he likes me for who I am, not because he believes I’m his nephew. I can still go on seeing him, can’t I, Mum? Just because—just because that man’s dead, it won’t make any difference, will it?’
* * *
She should have told him then. Jaime knew it. But how could she do it? she argued defensively. How could she tell him about Ben, and destroy his relationship with the one person he seemed to admire? All right. So it was to her advantage as well, but so what? Didn’t the end justify the means? Didn’t she have some right to protect herself? At least until he was old enough to understand?
Not for the first time since Ben had come to live in Kingsmere, Jaime did not have a good night’s sleep. She tossed and turned for hours, reliving every minute of that conversation with her son. Even when exhaustion took its toll, her dreams were all like nightmares. If she wasn’t confronting images of Philip, rearing up from his grave to pursue her, she was locked in some filthy prison cell, watching Ben take Tom away from her.
She knew the dreams were conscience-related. Even though she might tell herself that by keeping the truth from Tom she was protecting Ben as well, it would take some time to construct a convincing case. Until then, she would just have to live with it. Why pre-empt disaster, when it could look after itself?
Breakfast was an uneasy meal. For her part, Jaime was still not convinced the worst was over. Tom might yet wish to pursue the discussion about his father, and she spent her time rehearsing responses to a variety of questions.
But, in the event, her fears proved groundless. Tom’s uneasiness apparently stemmed from doubts that she might change her mind about him seeing Ben again. He spent the time it took to ladle a huge plate of cornflakes into his mouth reassuring himself that his mother would have no objections if Ben invited him to the Priory again. He had evidently not given up hope that Ben might phone, and Jaime had to concede that she wouldn’t stand in his way.
All the same, she didn’t deny to herself that the circumstances had changed. Now that Tom knew that Philip had not been his father, he might want to discuss it with Ben. She just hoped Ben would remember his promises to her.
Saturday passed slowly. Maggie phoned in the afternoon to assure herself that her guest had arrived home safely the night before, and Jaime took the opportunity to offer a belated vote of thanks for the evening.
‘Sorry if I was a bit offhand,’ she murmured, accepting that Maggie’s part in the proceedings had been innocent enough. ‘Um—you must come here next time.’
Maggie agreed, and after a brief discussion of the evening Jaime managed to get off the phone without saying anything incriminating. But, it hadn’t been easy pretending she and Ben had parted on friendly terms. Particularly as Maggie thought she had been instrumental in bringing them together. If she only knew, thought Jaime bitterly, marching along the hall and into the kitchen. If it weren’t for Tom, she would have told her exactly what kind of man Ben was.
Tom came in as Jaime was slamming saucepans on to the drainer, and, putting down his squash kit, he regarded her worriedly. ‘Did—er—did Uncle Ben phone?’ he asked, his tone a mixture of dismay and anticipation, and Jaime gave him an ugly look.
‘No,’ she said, taking a certain amount of malicious pleasure from the disappointment that crossed his face as she dashed his hopes. ‘And don’t leave those dirty things there. The clothes basket is upstairs.’
Tom picked up his kit again. ‘So, what’s wrong?’ he exclaimed. ‘You were all right when I went out.’
‘I’m all right now,’ said Jaime shortly. Then, as compunction set in, she added, ‘I’m just not in the best of moods, that’s all. Don’t mind me. I’ll feel better when I’ve had a bath and something to eat. Beefburgers OK?’
Tom still looked doubtful, but he was not about to argue. ‘Yes, fine,’ he agreed, hovering uncertainly in the hall doorway. ‘Er—no one came, while I was out, did they? Like—like Angie, for example?’
‘No one came and no one called,’ his mother assured him in controlled tones. ‘Oh—except for Mrs Haines. She called.’ She paused. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go for my bath.’
The phone rang again when Jaime was in the bath. Perfect, she thought grimly, when Tom answered it and called that it was Uncle Ben—for him. All day she had been expecting Ben to ring, and he hadn’t. But, as soon as she was unavailable, he did. Dammit, it was as if he had extra-sensory perception.