Silent Child(61)

“I did.” His uncharacteristically laconic response made me wonder if he was holding back.

“And? Tell me what you thought.”

Hunched over his tea, Rob had to lift his chin to look at me. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Just say it.”

“I think she was right.”

I exhaled in a rush. “What?”

“Hear me out, okay? Don’t go jumping to any conclusions. I know you’ll take that to think I’m calling you a bad mother.”

“I didn’t think that until you just said it.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, I don’t think that.” His face flushed pink. He took to staring at his tea again. “It’s just… some of it rang true. Aiden was a little wild. We both thought that was a cool thing. He was a brave kid, an active kid. I loved the fact that Aiden could climb a tree and played in the garden all day collecting spiders. I dunno if it’s some stupid macho thing but it made me feel good that he was a boy’s boy, you know?”

“Yes,” I answered. “And it is a stupid macho thing.”

His eyelashes flitted apart so he could roll his eyes at me. “What Amy said was mean-spirited and nasty. She was implying we’d let Aiden down and I don’t think we had.”

I bit my lip because there was a question I wanted to ask, but every time I thought it, tears pricked at my eyes and I was afraid that my voice would crack. “Was Aiden a bad kid?” The weight of the question lifted from my shoulders and I let out a long, slow breath.

“No, Emma, no. He wasn’t a bad kid. He was a little bugger when he wanted to be. I don’t think it was ever malicious, though, do you?”

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to ignore the way I’d begun to tremble. My entire body worked on stopping myself from bursting into tears. The pressure of taking care of my damaged son was getting to me. The exhaustion had seeped into every one of my muscles, but I wouldn’t admit it at the time. Looking back now, I know I should have asked for more help, but I was stubborn, and I was determined to try and keep in control. The problem was that in trying so desperately to stay in control, I couldn’t see that I was destined to lose it.

“Do you remember that camping trip to Brittany?” Rob asked.

I nodded, still gripping my tea to stop my hands from shaking. I was only half listening to him at this point.

“We went with Josie and Hugh. Oh boy, the hours of driving with Aiden cooped up in the car. I thought my eardrums were going to burst. Hugh had brought that huge tent with the little windows and the open porch bit at the front, and we ate nothing but sausages and beans for the week. Anyway, do you remember that prank Aiden pulled on the German couple two tents down?”

I shook my head. The entire week was a blur. Josie and Hugh were beginning their rocky descent into a bad marriage, and Josie and I spent the week chugging Chardonnay. No matter how many times I tried to extricate myself from Josie’s binging, she managed to pull me back in. Needless to say, Rob and Hugh were the responsible adults that week.

What I did remember was laughing. Aiden would stay up late with us at night and we’d sit around the campfire chatting about everything and nothing. Hugh liked to entertain the group, telling stories of his early years in an all-boy’s public school. I’d put my hands over Aiden’s ears as he told us about walking in on the other boys’ improprieties. He had us in stitches telling us stories with funny posh accents and silly faces.

“Do you remember how the campsite had that stupid little flagpole with the French flag on it? The thing was about half the size of a normal pole. Well, Aiden stole a couple of bras from the German woman’s tent and shimmied up the thing to tie them onto the pole. The poor woman was so large that those bras just started flapping in the wind.”

“Why don’t I remember this? Jesus, how old was he then?”

“Just over five,” Rob said. “He was definitely a monkey.”

Though Rob appeared to be delighted by his son’s naughtiness, I didn’t feel the same way. Why didn’t I remember him acting like that? I had a highlights reel in my mind of Aiden being a sweet, intelligent little boy. But there was more to him. He could be naughty. He used to steal things when he was three. He’d grab chocolates from the supermarket aisles. But he didn’t put them in our trolley. I once caught him sneaking them into a stranger’s trolley when they weren’t looking. I caught him at it, told him off, and forgot all about it until Amy’s article brought some of Aiden’s naughtier acts back to me. Was that normal behaviour for a three year old? I couldn’t help but wonder if I was now actively trying to find examples of him being bad.

“Is everything okay?” Rob asked.

“Fine,” I lied.

“How’s Josie doing? Any news from Hugh?”

“I haven’t called her.” I finally let go of the mug to run my warm hands over my face. It was shameful that I hadn’t been in touch with my best friend after her messy break-up.

“Why don’t we look after Aiden for a few hours so you can go and see her,” Rob suggested. “You’ve had Aiden 24/7 since his release. You need a break.”

At that moment, a few hours away from Aiden sounded like pure bliss. As much as I wanted complete control over everything around my damaged son, I needed some time away from him. I needed room to breathe.