Silent Child(67)

“Thank you for having me, though I wish it was under less tragic circumstances.” She beamed at the camera, revealing her white teeth. It was at that moment I realised she’d had work done. She’d had her teeth bleached before this interview.

“You’ve known Emma Price-Hewitt for many years, haven’t you?”

“I have. We actually went to school together.”

“And you were friendly?”

“We were, mostly,” Amy said, glancing slightly at the camera. “Emma was a lot more popular than I was. We hung out in some of the same circles. Bishoptown-on-Ouse is a very small village, so everyone knows everyone.”

“We know that Emma fell pregnant when she was eighteen. That must have been very difficult for her.”

“Oh, it was,” said Amy, as if she had any insight into what I was thinking and feeling at the time. “She would come to school with red eyes and smudged make-up. She was having a really tough time, I think.”

“Do you think the stress of having a child so young impacted on Aiden as a baby?”

“I would say so,” Amy replied, nodding along to the questions. “Aiden was a fussy baby. He would cry a lot whenever she walked him around the village.”

Lying cow.

“And you were actually Aiden’s schoolteacher, weren’t you?” asked the presenter.

“That’s right. I taught Aiden at ages five and six.”

“Was he a well-behaved little boy?”

Amy paused. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I would say he had a few behavioural problems. He was a very… energetic little boy with a great curiosity for life.”

“In the article you wrote for The Mail, you mentioned that Aiden was quite a reckless little boy and that you didn’t think he had been taught to stay safe.”

“Yes, I believe strongly that he hadn’t been taught how to protect himself. It’s sad, really. I mean, I love Emma like a sister, and I would never accuse her of negligence, but you have to wonder… If she hadn’t allowed Aiden to get so feral, maybe he wouldn’t have wandered off that day, and maybe he wouldn’t have gone with a stranger.”

I stood up and walked around the room, squeezing my fists closed and unclosed. My pulse was racing and Amy’s smug face had a huge target on her forehead. I wanted to smash that television screen, but I didn’t. I needed to see what else she had to say.

“So our phone-in today is on the subject of making sure our children are safe. That’s why we have child behavioural expert Raj Patel with us on the sofa. Please call on…”

I was dialling. I couldn’t help it. I was dialling in to the show. I spoke to some runner for the show first. They told me to turn off the television before I went live on-air. I didn’t tell them who I was. I lied and said I was Emily from Yorkshire. I waited for a few moments as my blood pumped so hard and fast I felt the pulse in my fingertips. Before I knew it, the presenter was introducing me.

“Emily from Yorkshire, what is your question?”

“My question is for Amy. Who do you think you are? Where do you get off blaming Emma Price when you’re the one who was supposed to be watching Aiden when he was taken? He walked away on your watch, Amy, not his mother’s. When children go to school, parents expect them to be taken care of—”

“—But teachers aren’t parents. Children need to be taught—” she started.

“Shut up, Amy. You lying cow. You sat there and you gave me that doll and you pretended to be my friend—”

“Um, who is this?”

“—Do you remember turning up to my house two months after Aiden was taken? Do you remember getting on your knees and begging my forgiveness? I wrapped my arms around you and I told you it was all forgiven, when I should have been driving a knife through your back like the one you’ve driven through mine.”





34


Maeve Graham-Lennox had talked to me about how normal men and women can wear a mask. Beneath that mask is the potential for any one of us to become a monster. I’d seen Amy’s mask slip, and I knew she was as much a monster as anyone else. I hated her then. I hated her freshly dry-cleaned silk blouse and her newly whitened teeth. I hated her TV hair and proper pose. And I was absolutely convinced that she was the one who took Aiden.

I called Denise and DCI Stevenson, and I begged them to look at her again, but they told me she had been dismissed from the investigation. She had been accounted for during the storm. There was only a five-minute period while she was on her own, and it wasn’t enough time to take Aiden to wherever his enclosure was. But still, I couldn’t let it go. That woman had transformed into another person before my eyes. How long had that other person existed? How long had she been planning to go to the press with her story?

Jake thought I was crazy. “No one who took a boy and kept him locked up for ten years,” he lowered his voice, “and did all that stuff to him, would ever go on TV and draw attention to themselves.” Even Rob agreed, and he was generally suspicious of everything.

In the midst of all that angst, I still took Aiden to his therapy session with Dr Foster on Wednesday.

“How’s Aiden getting on?” she asked.

“He’s the same, really. No change.”

“And you?” she asked.