Silent Child(35)

“Take a seat wherever is comfortable.”

I eyed the bean bag chair but decided I would never get out of it if I sat down, so I chose a plastic upright chair and pulled one across for Aiden.

“I’m so glad you decided to come and see me. I think it will be really useful for Aiden’s progression.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded. It wasn’t that I disagreed with her—I was glad we were going to therapy, but it had been an ordeal to get to the office. I’d had to throw a blanket over Aiden’s head to try to keep the paparazzi from taking any photographs of him. I couldn’t bear for anyone to print his photograph without my consent.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Aiden. I see you’ve had your hair cut.”

“Well, it was me with some blunt scissors over the bathroom sink,” I said with a laugh that felt unnatural. “It’s not the best haircut in the world.”

“Oh, well, I think you look very fetching.” The touch of Yorkshire in her voice helped to calm my nerves. It was like an old friend. Bishoptown residents tended to have slightly posher voices. There were some with strong Yorkshire accents, but more often than not I heard BBC English around the village.

I smiled at Aiden. “I think he likes it. I don’t think he can tell me for a while, but I like to think that if he could, he would.”

There was the smallest hint of a crack in Dr Foster’s smile, and I wasn’t sure I liked the way she regarded me then, with a slow nod of her head. “Absolutely. So, today, Aiden, I would like you to draw me some more pictures. Would you like that? Excellent.” She glossed quickly over Aiden’s lack of response. “How about I set you up on the desk over here. There are some coloured pencils and plenty of paper. Draw whatever pops into your head. That’s it. Very good.”

Once Aiden was set up, Dr Foster came across to sit with me. “Sorry if it seems like I’m talking down to him, but I think it’s best to go gently with him for a while.”

“I do the same. He doesn’t seem like a sixteen-year-old boy.” I thought of the kids at school, so cocksure and loud, full of themselves and full of the belief that they ruled the world.

“No, but that will come in time,” she said. “What can you tell me about his progress?”

“He hasn’t said anything. Not a thing. But…”

“Go on,” she prompted.

“I think I heard him sing.”

When Dr Foster leaned forward, I didn’t like the little glint of excitement in her eyes. I could see the pound signs dancing around in her imagination for when she turned in an article entitled ‘The Feral Child of Yorkshire’. “Really? What led up to this development?”

I pushed my hands between my thighs to stop myself rubbing the dry patches of skin, which were now red and angry from my constant niggling. “There was an argument.” I glanced up, expecting to see disapproval in Dr Foster’s expression.

“I’m not here to judge. Your family has been put in an extremely stressful situation over the last week. Arguments are to be expected.”

“Aiden was in the other room. It was the day we met at the woods. I was… not in a good place. I tried to go home and the reporters were there so I went to my best friend’s house. Rob came to meet us. He was agitated. Some reporter had taken his picture and he was obsessed with the idea that they’d accuse him of the kidnap. They always go after the dads, he said. I told him about the thing with the police and he lost his temper.”

“In a violent way?”

“No. Just raised voices. Then there was a slight pause, and I heard this high-pitched singing coming from the living room. I think it was Aiden. We’d left him in there watching Disney films.”

“You’re sure it was Aiden? It couldn’t have been the film?”

I shrugged. “It didn’t sound like anything from the film. He had the sound muted when I walked in.”

“Did you recognise the words or the tune from what Aiden was singing?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t hear words, just a small voice. It was… kind of haunting. You know those creepy songs they use in horror films when a child is possessed by a ghost or a doll comes to life?”

A half-smile spread across her lips. “My husband watches those films, so yes.”

“It was a little bit like that. Like a nursery rhyme.” I shivered. I hadn’t thought much about the song since we’d come back from Josie’s. I’d had the reporters to deal with, and then I had tried to block out the world. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe Jake was right.

“And since that moment?” she prompted.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Barely a whimper.”

“On the day you heard the singing, did anyone else hear his voice?”

“No, actually. It was just me. Do you think I imagined it?”

“No,” she said, with a voice that suggested that perhaps she did. “Not necessarily, but we can’t rule it out as an explanation. Now, tell me about how Aiden is sleeping since he came home from the hospital.”

“He goes to bed at 8pm every night and I check on him at 9pm. He’s always laid with his eyes shut but I’m not sure if he’s asleep or not. Sometimes I think he’s pretending.”