And the Rest Is History(26)

We stared at each other. I took in his stick-like limbs, the calluses on his hands, feet, knees and elbows. His left arm looked oddly bent. From the way he was cradling it, I wondered if it was broken. Even from here I could see he had lice. And fleas. His skin was rubbed red-raw in some places and flaking away in others.

The silence rolled on and on as the two of us stared suspiciously at each other, and then Leon said quietly, ‘Max, this is Matthew.’

I dragged my gaze from the filth-encrusted boy in front of me and croaked, ‘What did you say?’

‘This is Matthew. This is our son.’

I’m not proud of what I did next. I suppose I could say I didn’t believe him, but that wouldn’t be true. My own eyes glared back at me from under that shock of matted hair so dark with dirt and soot that I couldn’t have told you what colour it was. Deep down, I knew Leon would never lie about anything so important to both of us, but I couldn’t accept it. I didn’t want to accept it. My Matthew was a baby. He could barely sit up on his own. He smiled and blew bubbles. He held out his arms to me. He always held out his arms to me. He was his Mummy’s Boy. He wasn’t this … this…

I became aware I was still holding his bag, full of little vests and babysuits and Mr Happy pyjamas and nappies and a dozen other useless items that would never be needed again. Leon had brought Matthew back, but my baby was gone for ever.

Leon said, ‘Max…’

I jerked back to him, tried to speak, and failed. I let the bag drop to the floor where it landed with a thump. The noise broke the spell. For the first time in my life, I deliberately ran away. I bolted.

Someone shouted something behind me. I didn’t stop. I was desperate for time and space to think. I was out of that pod like a whippet, gasping in the cold air. I didn’t get far, which was just as well because I had no idea where I was going. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I ran to the lake and sought the shelter of the densely planted willows, their hanging branches just beginning to show green. I pushed my way through them into the soft, filtered light and away from the real world and the ugly things happening there. I hung on to a trunk, feeling my world reel around me.

My baby was gone.

There are fairy stories about this sort of thing. About babies being stolen by fairies or by elves, about ugly substitutes left in their place while the human child is spirited away to the hollow hills and never seen again. Except that this ugly boy was my child. This was Matthew. This stranger was my son. I would now never see his first steps, or hear his first words, or…

Someone was pushing their way through the hanging branches. I looked around, seeking a way out. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to have to talk about this nightmare. I didn’t want to have to force myself to come to terms with what had happened. To force myself to care for that ugly changeling…

I kept very quiet, hoping they would push their way past and miss me altogether. That I could have a few quiet moments just to think.

The nearest branches parted and Peterson appeared.

I braced myself. If he was going to have a go at me again then this time I was ready for him. And this time he might find he’d bitten off more than he could chew. This time I was in no mood to stand quietly while he vented his anger. I became aware I was sucking in great lungfuls of air. The world spun around me.

He caught my arm. ‘Sit down. Quickly.’

I slid down the trunk, closed my eyes, and laid my head back against the tree. I don’t know for how long I sat there before the dizziness passed.

‘Max.’

I kept my eyes closed, waiting for him to go away, but he didn’t.

‘What do you want?’

‘You have to go back.’

‘It’s not him.’

‘Yes, it is. You know it is. He has your eyes.’

I opened my eyes. ‘Why should I believe you?’

There was a very long silence and then he said, very simply, ‘I’m so very sorry.’

I felt the tears prick. I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat.

I think he mistook my silence. ‘Please, if you can, forget what I said before. I wasn’t thinking properly. I’d just lost Helen. I forgot you’d lost Matthew as well. Of course he was your first priority. Of course he was your first concern. I understand. Now. So please, listen to me just this once. You can go back to hating me tomorrow if you want to – but listen to me today, because I’m giving you good advice.’

I could hear the intensity in his voice.

‘You should be overjoyed. You have Matthew back. What does it matter if he’s older than when he left? It’s still the same Matthew. Do you think I wouldn’t give anything to have Helen back again – at any age? But she’s gone for ever and nothing can ever bring her back. Max, Leon has brought you back your son. And nearly killed himself doing it, by the look of him. You won’t wake every morning to face each day alone. You won’t have to think about how to spend the rest of your life without him. So stop pissing about, get back in there, and sort it out before it’s too late.’

We contemplated each other for a while. There was no doubting his sincerity. Even in the short time since I had last see him, he looked older. His face was thin and white and he was regarding me through pain-filled eyes.

I looked away. ‘I don’t hate you.’