It’s Amber who suggests we get our act together and go downstairs to where the welcoming party appear to be having a grand old time. Ellen’s raucous laughter echoes up the stairway into Amber’s room. Opening her stinging eyes wider, Amber’s face breaks into a mischievous smile.
‘The poor fella… I bet he wasn’t expecting that.’
Releasing a much-needed chuckle, I slip off the bed and look into the mirror. My eyes sting. I take a make-up remover wipe from Amber’s dressing table and attempt to erase the evidence of sadness. Lifting a bottle of tinted moisturizer, Amber squirts some onto her finger before handing it to me. ‘This will do the job.’
When we’ve both done our best to look like we weren’t crying, Amber walks to the door but before she opens it, I grab her close to me and hug her tightly. ‘We’re in this together, Amber, we’re going to need one another. I promise you, I’ll do anything for you. I love you more than you could possibly know.’
Not wanting to cry again, I push her away and follow her out the door to the sound of Tom rambling on about golf. He’s probably got his one trophy in his hand telling Kenny about the ‘hole in one’ he got seven years ago while on a trip in Portugal. Poor Kenny, he has a lot of crap to catch up with.
Ellen is on her second cup of tea when I walk into the room. My earlier disappearing act isn’t mentioned now that she’s been distracted by her new grandchild. Kenny looks like he wants to be beamed up on to another planet. His polite nods and smiles are clearly forced, bearing no resemblance to the squirming taking place inside him.
‘Is there any chance you could hang on for a while, Ellen? Tom and I want to pick up the boys from the crèche before it gets too late.’ This is my opportunity to have a word with Tom out of Kenny’s earshot.
Ellen looks at her watch before agreeing it’s not a problem. Kenny’s face immediately freezes, his eyes dart from side to side. The poor kid must feel like an animal at a circus so I suggest he goes into his room in case he has homework to do. The relief melts his expression and he immediately gets up from the table and leaves.
‘We’ll be back in half an hour, Ellen, if you want to ring Jack to pick you up then, or Tom can drop you home.’
Moving closer to her I whisper quietly, ‘I wouldn’t ask you to wait Ellen only I don’t want him on his own in the house with Amber until I get to know him.’
Ellen nods a wink. ‘That’s fine, Sal, Jack will collect me when you get back. Take all the time you need.’
‘They’ll think someone’s dead,’ I say, getting into the car. ‘I don’t believe we’ve ever gone together to pick up the boys.’
Tom laughs, still under the influence of having had an opportunity to tell his ‘hole in one’ story.
When the car pulls away from outside the house, I question Tom about what Kenny said. Who was it that told him Tom was his father? Kenny is saying it was his mother, but Tom is becoming suspicious like me. He’s convinced the mother didn’t want Kenny to know and doesn’t believe she would have told him. So who could it have been? Who told Kenny about Tom? Was it the mystery woman? The one the cops believe may be the killer. And if so, why?
The crèche vibrates with a completely positive atmosphere when we go through the door. Happy energy bursting out into the hallway from each of the busy rooms. Crayoned portraits hang on the wall to my right. ‘Our families’ is the heading above the display. Each picture is sketched in a rainbow of colour. Big people beside little people, one adult with one small person holding hands, two adults with three little people in the middle and other images with people in a row tallest to smallest. I wonder which ones are Cian and Aaron’s. My eyes dart from one to the other but before I have time to locate my boys’ masterpieces, Lorna the manager comes out of a room to see us. Her hair is tied back and she’s wearing a pair of leggings and a T-shirt, skinny as a lollipop stick.
‘Could I have a word before I call the boys?’ she says, sending waves of alarm through my body. What is it now? Has Aaron pushed someone again or did Cian curse at his teacher? Something tells me, by the way she doesn’t make full eye contact, that this is something else. And even though I don’t want to go there I have a funny feeling I know what it is.
The cloakroom is the only quiet room where Lorna can talk to us in private. She makes small talk about the weather while we walk to the end of the hallway. Tom gives me a quizzical look before we go into the room and I brace myself for the one discussion a parent does not want to have with anyone who minds her kid.
‘I’m glad I have the chance to speak to both of you together,’ she says pushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’
My mind has become accustomed to hearing bad news of late so I’m not expecting her to tell me my boys are geniuses.
‘I’d like to talk to you about Aaron’s lack of progress.’
Her lips are moving but I’m finding it hard to get her words to register in my head. Tom seems more focused, nodding his head in agreement or acceptance, I’m not sure.
Like I need more shit on my plate, it turns out Aaron’s teacher thinks he needs to be assessed. He’s not doing the things a three-year-old should be doing at this stage and she listed a few markers. Tom tells her he’s noticed, Cian tends to do a lot of things for him and questions, could this be the reason Aaron is behind?
I’m impressed Tom has noticed this and can back it up with some examples, the way Cian tells us when Aaron wants to go to the toilet, how he opens his snack bag for him. Once I even found him in the toilet with Aaron, pulling paper from the roller and handing it to him. I knew it wasn’t normal but passed it off as something he’d seen the carer in the crèche do. Deep down I’ve been waiting for Aaron to catch up with Cian. Blaming Cian for helping Aaron too much is my mind trying to ignore the obvious.
There’s also that part of me that believes children grow at their own pace, shine in their own time and I said this to Lorna. She agreed with me but still felt it would benefit Aaron immensely if we got him assessed. Early intervention is the most important thing, the magic ingredient, she said, before giving us a number to ring. Lorna expressed her commitment to working with the assessor and delivering any extra intervention that they suggested.
Lorna leaves to get the boys, Tom and I stand amidst a blanket of jackets and coats shoes and bags. Both of us are silent, Tom running his hand through his hair. The door opens a few moments later and in run the boys. ‘Mammy, Daddy.’ They seem extra excited that we’re both here to pick them up and I’m reminded how easy it is to thrill a kid. Just be there.
Aaron is uncomfortable with the strength of the hug I’m giving him, trying to wiggle from my grasp so I put him back on the ground, tears stinging my eyes. Tom puts his arm around me while Cian pulls their two bags from the shelf below the coats.
‘Sal, it’s probably nothing.’ But as I watch Aaron take his bag from Cian, I know it’s not nothing. Aaron needs help and I’m damned if I’m going to let a dead woman or a homeless boy get in the way of it. I’m going to make sure he gets the help he needs before he goes to primary school.
His little hand grabs mine, eager to leave, as he pulls me to the door.
‘Can we get ice cream?’ Cian says as I strap him into his seat. Poor kid thinks it’s a special occasion because both his mammy and daddy came to pick him up. I’m not about to disappoint him.
‘Of course we can get ice cream, Cian, we’ll go to McDonald’s.’
Tom looks at me like I’ve said something mad while Cian and Aaron wiggle with joy.
‘Ring your mother, Tom, she said she wasn’t in a hurry. I want to take the boys for ice cream.’
At McDonald’s, I watch each move Aaron makes as he successfully spoons every inch of ice cream into his mouth. Tom says he’ll ring the number first thing tomorrow. Get the ball rolling but I’m still worried about putting my kid into the system. Will it go on forever? Will every little move Aaron makes be scrutinized and discussed like he’s some sort of failure. I can’t believe this is happening, that I didn’t see it. But how could I, working full time to clear Tom’s debts? I should have been here for Aaron, noticed what was noticed in the crèche. Maybe I’d have seen things sooner, got him earlier intervention. This is all Tom’s fault.