“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.
“It’s my due date in a week,” I said. “So I have a lot to think about.”
“But you’re so small!” she noted. “When I was nine months pregnant I looked more like a cow or a beached whale. You’re…” she trailed off and smiled—to cover up her mistake?
“Lucky?” I finished. “In some ways, I suppose.”
“So. Are you all set?” she asked, changing the subject.
I frowned. “We’ve just got to put the crib together and then we’ll be done.”
“How has Aiden been handling the changes going on around the house?”
This was my moment to tell Dr Foster about the incident with the crib. But my maternal instinct held back. While I actually liked Dr Foster, I did not completely trust her. I certainly didn’t want her to recommend that my son be taken away from me.
“He’s doing okay. He’s been in the nursery and he knows what’s happening, but he still isn’t talking so there’s not much to report.”
“And his drawings?”
Violent, I thought. So much more violent than before. He drew blood on steel, blood on leaves, blood in the crib… He had worn his red colouring pencil right down and his tube of red paint was down to the last drop.
“Same as usual.” I glanced nervously across to where Aiden sat colouring on his own. Away from us. That was who Aiden was now—he was an outsider looking in.
“I have been thinking about Aiden, and I believe it’s now time to look at some other options.”
I sat up straighter. I hadn’t been told about any other options.
Dr Foster lifted her hands in a calming gesture. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too taxing, but it is important. I want Aiden to start seeing a speech therapist to help him. Now that he’s settled into his environment, I think it’s time for us to actively help him speak.”
“Okay.”
“It’s been over two weeks and this level of mutism is unheard of. DCI Stevenson and I thought it was best that we push Aiden a little harder. Now, I don’t want to push too hard, which is why I’ve suggested a speech therapist.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Good. I’ll get my diary and give you some recommendations.”
I scratched the rash on my hand and pondered over what Dr Foster hadn’t said during our conversation. It was time for Aiden to talk, because otherwise we would never find out who took him ten years ago.
*
Bump was active that day. When your baby is kicking, the last thing you want to be doing is driving. I couldn’t wait to get us home. When we arrived, Aiden disappeared into the garage and I sloped into the kitchen for a glass of water and a biscuit.
My phone buzzed. When I checked the screen I saw Rob’s number. “Hello?”
“Emma, they’ve taken Dad in for questioning.”
“What?”
He spoke quickly, in a breathless, panicked voice. I heard movement in the background of the call and imagined Rob pacing up and down, unsure what to do with his anxious energy. “The police asked him to go down to the station for questioning. They say they’ve been reviewing CCTV footage from the day Aiden was taken and they’ve seen him walking near the bridge ten minutes before the abduction.”