Silent Child(60)

“Emma, come here!”

My stomach lurched. What was wrong? Jake sounded upset. No, he sounded angry and… what? Afraid? I hurried away from the oven with my heart pounding. What was happening? My breath came out in ragged gasps as I limped up the stairs. I struggled on my injured foot down the hall and into the nursery.

“What the fuck happened?” Jake said, pointing down at the cot.

“I… I…” There were no words.

“Still think it’s safe to bring a newborn baby back to the house with that boy living here?”

“I…” Why couldn’t I speak?

Jake stormed out of the room, leaving me to stare down at the destroyed mobile. It had been cut up with scissors and strewn across the brand new blanket. And across the white blanket was a spray of red paint that mimicked blood all too well.





30


The day of the flood was the day I had realised that my life was not under my own control. So you would think that no matter what happened, I would be able to cope with the idea that I can’t control the world around me, only myself. But I don’t think that anyone can deal with that. Maybe after hours of meditation you might be able to convince yourself that you’re at peace, but I’m not sure I can believe it. Staring down at the red paint splattered all over the brand new crib for my unborn child, I realised once again that I was not in control of anything, especially not my son.

It took some convincing to get Jake to go to work on Monday morning. The truth is that I wanted him out of the house. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, pulling the duvet angrily around him, sighing and leaving his unspoken words dangling between us. There was no way I wanted him around Aiden in that mood. It’d be like pouring water on a chip-fat fire.

Despite everything Jake had said, I still didn’t want to send Aiden away. His accusation of my selfishness hit me hard, but the more pressing issue was of control, again. If Aiden was with some psychiatric care facility, I wasn’t able to control what happened to him. In my mind, I pictured him in a room with psychologists, going through test after test, pointing at their silly cards, ignoring repetitive questions, taking their numbing pills, and worse—becoming the subject of their latest book. No, I couldn’t let that happen to Aiden, but I didn’t want him to hurt the baby either.

After breakfast, I leaned across the kitchen table and took his hands in mine. Aiden still wasn’t particularly keen on being touched, but he had learned to tolerate it better. He didn’t squirm or flinch like he used to, and he was more allowing of me touching him than anyone else. If Jake or Rob touched his shoulder, no matter how lightly, he would move away from them.

“Aiden, I know you understand that in one week I’ll give birth to your sister. I don’t know what happened in the nursery. Did my fall frighten you?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I want you to know that your little sister is going to love you very much. We all love you very much. Me, your dad, Jake, Grandma and Grandad, we’re all one big family. I want to show you something.” Obediently, Aiden followed me up the stairs, moving with his usual stiffness. I kept glancing behind me to read his facial expression, but there was nothing.

More than once I imagined him grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back. More than once I picked up my pace, desperate to get to the top of the stairs to the corridor where I felt less vulnerable. I hated myself for thinking those thoughts.

“Remember yesterday, Aiden?” I asked, leading him into the nursery. “I fell over and you wouldn’t help me up. Well, that’s not very nice for one person to do to another person. We should always try to help each other. So if you fell down, I’d help you back up. If I fall, you should help me. Especially seeing as I’m pregnant at the moment.” I smiled down at my bump, but Aiden’s gaze didn’t follow mine. I cleared my throat and continued. “This is difficult to talk about, Aiden, because I don’t know why you did it. Why did you destroy the mobile and throw paint into the crib?” I moved away from the offending area so that he could view his handiwork. “That’s not a very nice thing to do at all. That’s not welcoming your baby sister to the home. Are you listening, Aiden? I can’t tell if you’re listening…”

I stopped speaking. For the first time since he had arrived back from the hospital, Aiden was frowning. There was a line forming between his eyebrows and his face was angled down at the crib. Slowly, he shook his head and backed away.

“Aiden?” I whispered.

He ignored me as usual, but this was different. He was absorbed by the sight of the broken mobile and red paint. He seemed frightened of them. A tingling sensation snaked up my spine and the blood drained from my face. Why was he so afraid of what was in that crib? He’d done it. So why did it frighten him?

And then it dawned on me: He didn’t remember doing it.

*

Spooked by Aiden’s reaction to the red paint (although I didn’t want to admit it at the time) I called Rob and asked him to come over. He brought his parents with him and they sat with Aiden watching a silly comedy film in the living room while I shared a pot of tea with my ex. He seemed tired today. Rob was generally an attractive man, but a little tiredness actually worked in his favour. Some stubble and eye-bags made him sexier, though I tried my hardest not to remember.

“Did you read Amy’s article?” I asked. We’d already discussed Aiden’s progress, though I decided not to tell him about the crib, and we’d exchanged pleasantries in the presence of his parents. The weather has turned quite mild for this time of year, hasn’t it? Unseasonably warm. Makes you wonder if there’s going to be a storm to clear it all away.