The chair scraped against the kitchen tiles as I abruptly rose from my seat. I hurried into the living room and dropped onto the sofa next to Aiden. By this point I had virtually given up trying to protect Aiden from the media. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what was going on anyway, or so I thought. Though he barely reacted to anything, I noticed the way his eyes scanned the headlines. Once I caught him flipping open a newspaper to a page plastered with his face. He didn’t point or gasp or in any other way react, but I could tell that he understood what was going on.
I turned up the television. Amy sat with her legs pulled together and her hands resting on her knees like a prim little girl waiting to have her picture taken. While her expression was relatively impassive, there was a haughtiness to her chin that I recognised for what it was: anger. This Amy was nothing like the meek, mousy girl I had worked with for years, nor the girl I remembered from school. I thought about the way she had sobbed as she’d begged me for forgiveness after we thought Aiden had drowned. I remember the way her eyeliner had smudged all the way down her face. It was all phoney. This girl, this woman, in her two-piece skirt suit and deep blue blouse—an obvious choice to highlight her eyes—was an attention-seeking jealous bitch.
“Now, we’ve all been talking about the shocking case of Aiden Price,” said the grey-haired male presenter. “Not only was Aiden declared dead three years ago, he was found walking the streets in a disorientated fashion, and police believe he has been held hostage for a decade. It truly is the most shocking crime, well, certainly that I’ve ever heard of, and possibly the most tragic, too. It’s been hard to make sense of the nature of this crime, and it’s sometimes difficult to quite understand the behaviour of both Aiden and his mother. We’re joined here today by Amy Perry, a friend of Emma Price-Hewitt, and schoolteacher of Aiden Price. Thank you for joining us today.”
“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—”