Silent Child(70)

It was Sandra who was free first. I flashed her a wan smile, and led Aiden over to the counter. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him in the car alone.

“I… umm… need to pay this postage.” As I passed the card through the gap underneath the glass screen, I felt like everyone in the post office was watching me. I wiped my forehead again.

“Sure.” Sandra took the card, glancing at Aiden as she scanned a barcode on the front of the card. “One pound eighty, please.”

I had the change ready. I slid it through the gap.

“I’ll just get the letter.”

As Sandra walked away, Sam glanced over and gave a small half-smile. He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped. His gaze dropped to his hands and he drummed on the counter like he was trying to fill the silence. I was the only customer left in the shop, and awkwardness reached a new height. Luckily, Sandra bustled back to the front of the post office.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks.”

The envelope was thick, A4-sized, and slightly battered at the corners. I rammed it into my bag and began to leave with Aiden.

“Emma.”

I turned back to face Sandra. Her mouth was flapping open and shut and I averted my eyes so as not to make the moment even more awkward.

“I’m really sorry about Aiden,” she said.

“Me too,” Sam joined in.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, hurrying to leave the shop before the tears emerged from my eyes. My shrivelled heart twanged a little, like someone had plucked a taut string. That was something I never got used to: the overwhelming feeling you get with genuine concern or well-wishes. Most people are utterly fake. They don’t care about you and they barely manage to hide it. Then you get people like San-Sam, who knock you over with a sudden burst of kindness, and it’s so stupid because they only said ‘sorry’.

I managed to pull myself together back in the car. I took the letter and ripped open the flap while Aiden sat watching me. At least he seemed vaguely aware of his surroundings for a change. There were times when he ignored whatever was going on around him.

The prospectus was thick, which surprised me for such a small college. How many courses did they offer? I flicked through to the arts and humanities section and found the page for art history. My eyes scanned down the page, searching for Jake’s name. But when I found the course—art history on Tuesday and Thursday evenings—the name next to the module was not Jake Hewitt. It was David Brown.

I frowned and searched again. Had I got the wrong course? This time I trailed every single name with my finger, making sure that I hadn’t somehow read the wrong name alongside the wrong course. No. There was no mistake, Jake Hewitt was not listed in the prospectus. I removed my phone from my bag and dialled the number for the college.

“York Lifelong Learning Centre, how can I help you?” It wasn’t the same person; this time, it was a younger woman.

“Hi, I’m really sorry but I have an essay due in tomorrow and I’ve forgotten the name of my tutor. It’s for art history on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Oh, that’ll be David Brown.”

“I could have sworn he was called Jake something. I must be going crazy, unless David is new?”

“No,” she said. “He’s been working here for eight years now. Same evenings, too. But there’s a Jack Hawthorne who teaches Business Studies. Maybe you’re thinking of him?”

“I must be. Thanks so much for your help.”

“No problem.”

I hung up with my heart pounding against my ribs. I dabbed at the sweat on my forehead and leaned back against the car seat. How was this possible? When I’d first rung the college, I hadn’t truly believed it was possible Jake had lied to me about working those evenings. Why would I think that? It had just been to make sure. I’d ordered the prospectus just to double check. If I’d believed Jake was lying I would have called back, but I didn’t. I didn’t call back. Instead I’d forgotten all about it.

In a fit of rage I punched the steering wheel and let out a slow, deep growl of frustration. How could he lie to me? And why?

Aiden let out a tiny whimper and I quickly twisted my body in order to face him.

“Aiden, it’s all right,” I soothed. “I’m sorry. Mum is really sorry about that. She’s just… I’m just…” I deflated forwards and placed my head on the steering wheel. “I got some news that shocked me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I noticed that Aiden’s hands had balled up, so I gently unclenched them by working his stiff fingers out with my own. Then I stroked his hair and let out a long sigh.

“Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

As I put the key in the ignition, I wondered whether that was a promise I could keep.

*

I went back to the house because I needed answers. Jake had been lying to me for years. He’d been lying since the very first day I met him. He’d always had that job. This wasn’t something that had happened a few months ago; it was right from the very start. Every Tuesday and Thursday he worked at the college.

Aiden was happy enough to potter into the garage to work on his painting while I paced the kitchen, switching from biting my thumbnail to scratching the rash on my hands. The rash had spread out from my thumb across the back of my hand and down my wrist, and it was on both hands now. I raked my fingers through my hair and tried to calm the heat of anger as it spread over my body.