Twelve days until Connor is taken
The light pushing through the window prods at the headache that’s already forming behind my temples, I turn away from the brightness, one hand reaching out towards Aidan, but his side of the bed is empty, sheets cool.
It’s early. The sky outside streaked with apricot. I find Aidan in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar staring at his phone, a mug of steaming coffee and a slice of half-eaten toast dripping with sticky golden honey in front of him. From Alexa, The Mamas and the Papas invite me to dream of California.
My eyes sting with tiredness. Throughout the night I had frequently checked on Kieron, the way I did with both of the boys when they were babies. Hand on chest, feeling the rise and fall. Fingers against the forehead, checking for signs of a temperature. Then, Aidan had never once called me obsessive, although obsessive is what I was.
It’s what I am again.
‘How did it go last night?’ I yawn as I slide onto a stool.
‘Last night?’ He wipes crumbs from his mouth. ‘Oh, the horse. Fine. So, first day of term.’
My stomach rolls with nerves.
‘We’re doing the right thing… for Connor?’ I ask again.
Usually Aidan responds with a firm yes but this time he says, ‘I hope so.’ My fingers find his but he pulls his hand from under mine. ‘I’ve got to get to work.’
As he says this we both inadvertently straighten our spines. His eyes momentarily narrow in regret because he’s referenced that he still has a career before they widen into a question.
Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?
My gaze is steadfast.
Yes, I’m certain.
He gives a barely imperceptible nod. After so many years of marriage we’ve honed the ability to have a conversation without words.
But should I have resigned? During the stretch of summer, with both boys at home, there was always something to do. Now Connor will be at school, Kieron will sleep for most of the day until he’s recovered and then he too will rejoin his class. How will I fill my time? How will I define myself?
Already, I can feel myself slipping away.
I’ve woken Connor, checked on Kieron and now I’m dressed in faded black leggings and an old jumper of Aidan’s. My heart beats faster as I open the front door; I’ve steeled myself to find another bird on the step, but there’s nothing there. I glance up and down the street. No white car. My relief is tempered with caution and, once in the car, I keep checking my rear-view mirror until Connor throws himself onto the passenger seat in a cloud of too much deodorant and general mardy-ness. The heater is already throwing out warm air and the breakfast show I like is playing Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain’.
Again, I yawn.
‘I could drive myself?’ Connor says hopefully.
‘Nice try.’ I throw him a smile he doesn’t return. He passed his test shortly after he’d turned seventeen just before Easter, and although we’d allowed him to borrow the car once, he’d dented the wing parking and we hadn’t let him take it since.
Connor turns his attention to his phone, thumbs flying over the keypad. The traffic is back-to-school terrible. Each time it clears, my foot does the lift and drop of impatience against the accelerator, but when the speedo creeps towards 35 mph I force myself to slow down.
We don’t want an accident.
Another one.
I pull into Deene Street. I used to drop Connor right at the school gates but that was before he found me embarrassing.
‘We’re here,’ I say gently.
He raises his pale face from his screen. The muscles of his jaw tight. For a second I want to take him home. Really, he’s old enough to make up his own mind, but legally, he has to do something until he is eighteen and he was so set on a career in medical research. If he does leave school, I don’t want his decision to be based on fear and gossip and guilt.
I know what it’s like to run away from a situation. From accusing stares and pointing fingers. It didn’t change the way I felt about myself inside. There are some things we can never escape.
Ryan and Tyler are waiting by the bus shelter. Tall and gangly. Wearing the Kings Park Secondary uniform but all of them scruffy somehow in the way that teenagers often are. Ties skewwhiff, laces untied. Hair sticking up at all angles. Clever enough to sit A levels but unable to grasp the concept of a brush or comb. It’s reassuring they can all support each other through today.
Connor climbs out of the passenger seat, dragging his rucksack behind him. He slams the door without saying goodbye.
I open the window. ‘Do you need any money for lunch?’
‘Nah,’ Connor says. I flash him a hard stare and he adds a begrudging, ‘Thanks.’
‘How’s your mum?’ I can’t help asking Ryan, studying his face. He doesn’t look like he got much sleep.
‘She’s…’ He shrugs. ‘She’s not going in to work today.’
The boys begin to walk away. ‘See you later,’ I call after them.
Connor turns. ‘Have a good day!’ I say brightly. He raises his hand. I can’t tell whether he is waving goodbye or dismissing me.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. I don’t like leaving Kieron for too long but stopping by Mel’s to check on her won’t take too much time. As awful as the situation with her and Fergus is, there’s still something in her voice last night bothering me. I can’t imagine why she didn’t want me to go round. We’ve always been so close.
She was scared.
Of what?
A chill slowly creeps across me as I recall the dead birds on my doorstep, their insides spilling out. Was it a cat or was it someone blaming Connor for what’s happened and if so, are they blaming Ryan too? Had something happened at Mel and Fergus’s house? The stress on us all over the past few months has been immense; I’d thought more for us being Connor’s parents but perhaps just as much for Fergus because he’d been there. In charge.
I need to see her.
I rummage around in my bag for my phone so I can drop Kieron a message to tell him that I won’t be long. My handset slips from my fingers, falling onto the floor, under my seat. Irritated, I undo my seatbelt and get out of the car. Crouch down and stick my arm under my seat, spidering my fingers until they brush against… not hard plastic but soft material. I pull it out.
Pink.
Pink, very sexy, very lacy, very not mine knickers.
Stunned, I lose my balance, smacking my knees against the pavement.
Whose are they? I hold them up.
No one drives the car except me and Aidan and these aren’t anything to do with him, are they?
Of course not. Things are tense between us right now but that’s natural with everything we’re dealing with.
But, whispers doubt, he’s on his phone more and more. Frequently called out at night.
I can’t think the worst. With our lives in turmoil the last thing he’d have the time or energy for is an affair. I’d know if he was seeing someone. I’d just know.
Wouldn’t I?
I stare at the knickers again – not practical mum pants like mine. Somebody young might wear these.
‘Somebody’s had a good night,’ an old man cackles, nodding at the knickers I am still holding up as he walks past.
And kneeling there in the dirty kerb, littered with cigarette butts and a scrunched-up lager can, I nod that yes, somebody has had a good night.
But it wasn’t me.