There was nothing remarkable about the boy in the hospital room. He was propped up by pillows on the bed, with a pigeon chest poking up inside blue pyjamas. I never found out who bought him those pyjamas, but I suspected it was DCI Stevenson. The boy had straggly brown hair that hung lankly down to the collar of his pyjama top. He sat with his fingers clutching hold of the bed sheets, his gaze fixed on the tiny hospital television. I took a tentative step forward, following the doctor but barely aware of anyone else in the room except the boy in the bed, whose head turned in my direction and stopped my heart.
He had Rob’s eyes.
My Aiden—the little boy I nursed as a baby—had also had Rob’s eyes. They were chestnut brown with a hint of hazel near the pupil. A multitude of photographs popped into my head. Aiden’s first birthday, the time he smeared strawberry mousse all over his hands and face, bath-time, bedtime stories, sitting on Nana’s lap with Grandpa pulling faces, jumping up and down in puddles… all with a big grin across his face and those shining chestnut-brown eyes.
“How do we know the DNA test was correct?” I heard Jake say. “How do we know there wasn’t some sort of balls-up?”
“There wasn’t,” I whispered, utterly certain that it was Aiden sitting in front of me.
“It’s unlikely,” answered DCI Stevenson, “but to be sure I was going to suggest that we test his DNA against Emma’s. That way we’ll know one hundred per cent that this is Aiden Price.”
I buried you, I thought, with my gaze holding my son’s. In my heart I put you to rest. Can you ever forgive me?
Did I even deserve forgiveness? Mothers are supposed to never give up. In the movies, when the child is missing, the mother always knows they are alive. They would feel it if the child were dead. That connection, that magical connection between mother and child would be cut, and there was supposed to be a sensation that came along with it. But I’d seen Aiden’s red anorak pulled from the River Ouse and I’d assumed he was dead. I bit my lip to hold back the tears.
“Aiden,” I said, stepping towards the bed. “Hello.” I smiled at the boy with the dark brown hair and small chin. My old withered heart skipped a beat when it hit me that he was so small—not much bigger than a twelve-year-old—with eyes that seemed too big for his face.
“Don’t panic if he doesn’t react,” said Dr Schaffer. “We believe he’s listening and taking everything in, but it will take some time for him to process what has happened to him. Would you like to sit down, Mrs. Price-Hewitt?”
I nodded, and moved my body accordingly as the doctor pulled a chair close to Aiden’s bed. But as I was sitting, all I could think about was what had happened to my boy. Where had he been? A decade. Ten years. Wars were fought and lost in a decade. Prime Ministers and Presidents came and went. Important scientific discoveries were made. And all that time, my boy… my child… had been missing from the world. Missing from my world, at least.
Nudging the chair forward, I leaned towards him and let my hand hover a centimetre above his. Aiden stared down at my hand, frowned, and pulled his away.
“He’s not keen on physical contact at the moment,” explained Dr Schaffer.
I tried to ignore the pain those words caused, and withdrew my hand to place it on my lap. Twice I opened my mouth to speak, but twice I closed my mouth again. There was a Transformers cartoon blaring out through the room, interrupting the hanging silence, but even so the atmosphere was electric.
“Aiden, do you remember me?” I said in a croaky voice. “Do you know who I am?”
He blinked. He was so still it was terrifying. The little boy I had known was never still, and even though I knew instantly that this boy with the chestnut brown eyes was my son, I was having difficulty associating the curious six-year-old chatterbox with this soulful, mute young man.
I injected some cheer into my voice in a pathetic attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m your mum. We lost each other for a while but I’m back now and I’m going to make sure you’re safe, okay?” I blinked rapidly and took a deep breath, trying desperately to quell the rising tide of emotions threatening to sweep me away. “Once you’re feeling better you can come home with me and we can get to know each other again. Does that sound okay?”
There was not even a trace of a smile on his lips. His eyes slowly turned back to the television and I longed to wrap my arms around his narrow shoulders and hold him close to me. I turned to the doctor in a panic.
“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” Despite my efforts to hold back my tears a sob escaped, breaking through the noisy cartoon and jolting me back to reality. Aiden didn’t need to see me break down. He needed me to be strong, not a dithering wreck.