Though there were dark clouds hovering above, the temperature remained unseasonably warm for October. As I drove through the narrow streets of Bishoptown village, I sweated in the thick jumper I’d worn over elasticated jeans. Aiden sat quietly next to me with his hands on his lap. Between us, 90s pop blasted out of the radio. I didn’t ramble to Aiden like I used to. There was a pile of letters addressed to him in the drawer of the desk in the bedroom, but as far as us chatting went… it didn’t.
When I think about this part of the ordeal, this moment in the crazy weeks that led up to my second child’s birth, I wonder whether I’d lost hope. I think about it like that in a way to challenge myself and who I believe I am. Did I give up on Aiden? Perhaps I did, however briefly. Sometimes I think that giving up on a victim is unforgivable. Other times I consider the term ‘lost cause’ with more weight than I used to.
Since Aiden’s reappearance, I’d avoided the post office. It was run, as all post offices seem to be, by middle-aged women and men so camp they’d fill the stereotype quota on a sitcom. In Bishoptown, though, I knew the names of all the post office workers. There was Sandra, with a son at Cambridge University. Everyone in the whole village knew Sandra’s son was at Cambridge, bless her proud mother’s heart. And Sam—a young guy in his twenties—who once gave me a recommendation for a good beautician to sort my eyebrows out. I hadn’t experienced that level of passive-aggressive criticism since my mother was alive, but I took the damn number anyway. The two of them called themselves collectively ‘San-Sam’ as though they were two celebrities who had married and thus merged their personas into one behemoth of infamy.
Though San-Sam were kind at heart and generally pleasant, up until this point I had always sent Denise to the post office to sort out the mail, partly because the police were worried about any unpleasant hate mail, and partly because I knew they’d fuss over me and I wasn’t sure if I could cope with that. However, I soon realised that I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I stepped into the post office with Aiden next to me, the place went deathly silent.
I joined the back of the queue and tried to pretend that I hadn’t noticed how the usual chatter of the shop had ceased as soon as I’d walked in. The stuffiness of the small shop made me sweat even more, and I felt a trickle run down my temple. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my jumper and hoped I wouldn’t have to wait too long. San-Sam were both at the counter, serving a customer each. I was third in the queue behind two OAPs I didn’t recognise. If there was ever a group of people who were forgotten about in Bishoptown, it was the elderly. They rarely left the house, but when they did, it was as a pack. Strength in numbers. Unfortunately for them, we tended not to really see them unless they were in the way, like they were today. It was sad, and it was something I was aware of, but I had too much on my plate to worry about it any further at that time.
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.