Silent Child(25)
“Yeah, I know.” Rob tapped on the ceramic mug and stared down at his tea. “It’s just how much you’ve changed. You’re… I dunno…”
“What?”
“Does this really make you happy?” Rob waved his arm around the kitchen at the neat shelves and the pristine finish on the cupboard doors. “Where’s the character? Where’s your influence? This is all him. There’s that one painting of yours, which, by the way, is the only bit of colour in this place, and everything else is just… sterile.”
I hated the truth in his words and I hated him at that moment. I stood up, took his mug and emptied it into the sink. He wasn’t going to drink it anyway.
“You’d better go.”
“Don’t forget to rinse that mug.” The chair scraped as he moved away from the table. He snatched up his jacket from the back of the chair and began to yank it on over his arms. “You won’t want to leave any tea stains on the perfect cream surface. And for fuck’s sake don’t spill any on your grey dresses in your beige house. I’ll go and say goodbye to Aiden.”
I put the mug down in the sink and sighed. “Don’t go.”
He paused. The jacket came off, and almost immediately his arms were wrapped around my waist, stretching across my back with the baby bump between us. His head leaned against my shoulder.
“I’ve missed you, Emma.”
“No—that’s not… That’s not what I meant.” I pulled away, removing his hands. “No. We… We need to figure out what we’re going to do.” I ducked around him and avoided his eyes. I felt my cheeks, felt the flushed warmth of embarrassment. “I mean, we need to figure out a plan for how we’re going to deal with the press and how we’re going to cope with Aiden until he’s better.” I finally lifted my head and found his gaze. “I’m carrying his child, Rob. I can’t do this.”
13
It might surprise you to know that before Aiden was taken during the flood, I never considered myself a bad mother. Not even when I was eighteen years old with a baby at my breast did I worry about whether I was a good or bad mother. I went with it. I nurtured when I wanted to nurture. I was fun when I needed to be. I was creative when I was in the mood. There were times when Aiden was crying or throwing a tantrum that I needed a deep breath and longed for more of the vodka I’d drunk with Rob on the bench outside Rough Valley Forest, but they were rare and I didn’t dwell on them.
I was never the kind of mum who bought every gadget and new-fangled toy as soon as it came out to appease her little darlings. I was never the over-compensator because I felt guilty about snapping at my precious one or losing my temper after one too many glasses of Chardonnay. Not that I want to judge those people. We’re all getting by in this life. I won’t begrudge people their own methods for coping, but that just wasn’t me. Despite my age (or maybe because of it) I always felt secure about my parenting, and Mum always helped in her own, laid back style.
But now… Well, now I was the opposite. I was an indulger. As part of Aiden’s recovery programme I was required to make him meals from Dr Schaffer’s suggestions, which I intended to, but I also wanted to make up for everything he’d been through. I wanted to prove to him that there were still good things in the world. I’d already racked my brain for Aiden’s favourite recipes. He’d been a boy with a sweet tooth and I had allowed him a few treats every now and then. But now I poured the treats into his hands: Mars Bars and Snickers bars and Kinder Eggs with Star Wars toys inside. I stocked up on all kinds of goodies. I made him hot chocolate and buttery toast. When Jake came home that Sunday evening, I made a hot-dog casserole with thick pieces of white bread on the side and some chips because I remembered how much he loved chips. And all the time I made this food, I had a ridiculous smile on my face, occasionally catching a glimpse of myself in the shining microwave door and wondering if I’d become possessed by the Joker from the Batman films.
I found myself filled with electric nervous energy that spilled out as I moved around the kitchen. Even washing my hands was a frantic scrubbing rather than my usual quick rinse and dry.
“Now, Aiden, I want you to know that this is your home and you’re welcome here,” Jake said as I busied around the two men in my life, trying not to think about the moment Rob had wrapped his arms around me in this very spot. “But there are some rules.” I turned and watched. Aiden appeared to be listening intently. I had been about to tell Jake to go easy, but he certainly had Aiden’s attention, and even though I didn’t particularly agree with giving Aiden ground rules so soon, it was good to see my son actually listening. So I let him continue. “We keep a tidy house here. We wash our dishes straight after using them and we put things away. But don’t worry too much, okay. Don’t get stressed out about it. We’ll help you out. Okay, kid?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Jake really was trying his best to deal with the situation.
As I stirred my casserole, Jake directed Aiden in setting the kitchen table. They unfolded a tablecloth together and put down the placemats. My damaged old heart fleshed out just a little bit as I watched them. If only Aiden had smiled, or said something. Perhaps listening would have to do for now. But the way Aiden quietly followed Jake’s instructions felt like progress, and I loved Jake all the more for the way he was handling my psychologically wounded son.