‘Good.’ He pats my shoulder. ‘Keep talking, and don’t hold anything in. When I was a kid, I had an uncle who liked to hurt me. He used to give me a pound not to tell my mum and dad about what he did.’
I sit up straight, surprised.
‘I didn’t tell anyone for a long time. And you know what?’
I shake my head.
‘All I did was think about how unfair it was that it happened, and no one knew. All I did was think about how it was my fault and I was stupid, and I hated myself.’
‘I think those things too.’
‘It does nothing good, Aiden. For me it just made me a victim over and over again. That’s why I became a police officer, to get my revenge on my uncle, twenty times over.’
‘Did it help?’
‘No,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Because I kept on saying horrible things to myself. I drank too much, almost lost my wife.’ He sighs. ‘But when I started to talk about it, everything changed.’ He pauses. ‘This job can be pretty depressing at times, because I’m constantly meeting crappy people. But something else I learned was that those crappy people were hurt by other crappy people who were probably hurt by an older generation of crappy people. And the cycle goes back and back and back. It goes forward, too, until someone is strong enough to break it. That person breaks it because they forgive themselves, and the crappy arsehole who hurt them in the first place.’
‘I don’t know if I can do that.’
‘Oh, you can,’ he says, lowering his chin and nodding at me. ‘Believe me, mate. If anyone can do it, you can. You just need a little bit of hope and a little bit of love.’ He smiles and stands slowly, groaning at the weight of his older body. ‘I think your family is due some good luck now. How’s your Mum doing?’
‘Still unconscious.’
‘Let me know how she gets on. I’ll come and visit again. If you need anything, give me a shout, OK?’ Another firm nod, making sure I understand.
I mumble a thanks, still taking in his words. Still thinking about the cycle and the way to break it. Still thinking about forgiveness and blame and hatred and love. I pick up Gina from the creche and hold her hand to make sure she doesn’t wander off. When I look down at her, I’m scared for her, and for me and for what the world will be like if Mum doesn’t make it. I was so sure she was dead, but I was wrong. What else am I wrong about?
Do I dare to hope for the future?
Before entering Mum’s room, I see people in white coats through the frosted glass. They surround the bed, leaning over her. My heart skips a beat, I start to move forwards, but one of the nurses calls me back.
‘They won’t be a moment,’ she says.
‘What’s going on? Why are there so many people in there?’
‘She just woke up.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
EMMA
Rob stares at me with his dark eyes, pleading for forgiveness. I open my mouth to suggest we go for a walk in the woods. I have a bad headache and I want to clear it with fresh air. But then I realise that this isn’t Rob at all. It’s Aiden, my son. I close my eyes against the headache and see the midwife passing me a small bundle. I’m a child myself. Terrified of the future. Afraid that I won’t be enough for him. But as that small bundle settles into my arms, all of those fears fade away and there’s no one else in the room apart from me and him. My heart expands until it feels too big in my body. I need extra room for the love in my heart. It leaks out into the air and hangs around us like a cloud. It cannot be contained.
I open my eyes again and Aiden is still there. He’s a man now, but everything comes flooding back. All of our experiences as a family, the fact that I struggle to think of him as a man and not the baby I held in my arms. No matter what has happened over the past few decades, Aiden is a full-grown, fully formed human being.
‘Mum? Are you in pain? Do you want the nurse?’
My thoughts are muddled but now I see that I’m in a hospital. I want to laugh at the question about pain. What I’m feeling now is pure joy. Pain has been and gone. I could never experience any pain worse than I’ve already felt. For the first time in a long time I feel untouchable. It’s like me and Rob walking through Rough Valley, our hands entwined, the first touch of autumn on the leaves above us. Fifteen and the world at our feet. That’s untouchable. It was foolish to think it, but it was how we felt.
Aiden still looks concerned and I realise that my reply came out quite slurred. Luckily a doctor comes in and I hear him explaining that my brain needs time to recover after the injury I suffered during the collapse of the chapel. Of course. The chapel. Amy. Gina. Gina!
I try to stretch my arm out to my son, but I can’t seem to move it. My jaw works but the word is mumbled. My tongue feels thick in my mouth.
‘I think she’s saying Gina,’ Aiden says.
I nod my head without any idea if my head actually moves.
‘Gina is fine,’ he says. ‘She’s perfect. I found her before we came to the chapel to search for you. Amy’s been arrested. Everything is OK now.’
Untouchable joy continues to spread through my limbs like sunlight on skin. I close my eyes and bask in it.
I’m leaving the hospital today. Aiden and his grandparents are fussing around me, making sure I’m comfortable as I climb into the car. Rob’s there too, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. At one point he takes hold of my hand, but I pull away. Guilt flashes in his eyes and he swallows deeply. Since I woke, he’s visited the hospital every day, giving me advice based on his own experience with traumatic brain injuries. I’ve been grateful for it, but at the same time I can’t quite process how I feel about him yet. Amy punished us all, but her hatred seemed to focus on me. Whatever she felt about Rob fizzled out, but that fierce jealousy she felt towards me burned and burned and burned.
Losing consciousness isn’t like in the movies. You can’t whack a person on the head to knock them out without consequences. Head injuries kill brain cells. I’ll be a little bit less than I was. It’ll take time to get used to that. Each morning, when I open my eyes, I remind myself that I’m still enough. I’m still me.
We go back to my parents’ house, where our things from Manchester have arrived. We’ve decided not to run away from Bishoptown anymore. This is our home and it feels right to stay here. Sure, there are painful memories around every corner, but for the first time I feel like we’re strong enough to face them. I hadn’t realised that we were hiding in Manchester. With Amy out there, I hadn’t allowed myself even a moment to relax. But now she was going to prison for a long time, and that emotional weight had been lifted.
Aiden’s old school has offered me a job, which will be waiting for me when I’m ready to work again. We can start a new life here. A new, old life.
Gina chooses her room and she and Denny play together while I slowly put my belongings away. My fingers trail over the tin I use to store my paints. For the first time since I awoke from the coma, my heart pangs. What if I never recover the ability to paint? Tears sting my eyes and I clear my throat. What if. What if.
‘Mum?’
I lift my chin to find Aiden hovering by the door. Despite the straighter stance he’s had since the day at the chapel – the new-found confidence he exudes – he still looks awkward as hell standing there.
‘You OK?’
He nods.
‘I want to talk to you about something.’
This time my heart doesn’t clench. I don’t think the worst. My mind stays open, ready for the next challenge. I gesture for him to come in and sit down on the bed.
‘What’s on your mind, kiddo?’
‘I sold three more paintings today.’
My jaw drops. ‘Three? That’s incredible.’ There’s that familiar panic seizing my heart. The realisation that my child has a life outside my own. I push it down. There’s no place for those kinds of thoughts now.
‘I’ve got quite a lot of money saved up now,’ he says. ‘So I can help out with the bills.’
I shake my head. ‘There’s no need.’ Which is true. Jake’s inheritance has been providing us with enough disposable income to pay bills and live comfortably. Especially with my old job back.
‘Well, it’s there. But I thought I might use it for something else if you don’t want it. If that’s OK.’
‘What do you want to use the money for?’ I ask.
‘University,’ he says.
I sense that he has more to say so I remain quiet.
‘I know you don’t approve,’ he says. ‘And I understand why. I know that I came back wrong, that I’m all broken up. I know that I’m delicate and my skin hates sunlight and my knees ache when it rains. I know my digestive system isn’t great and my muscles are weak. I know that I have PTSD and have only just learned to sleep with the bedroom door closed. I know I didn’t speak for weeks when I came back and that I still struggle to talk sometimes. And I know that I’m going to find it difficult to make friends. I know I don’t like being touched. I don’t know if I like girls or boys. I don’t know if I’ll ever want a . . . partner. I don’t know who I am yet.’ He pauses, pants because he’s out of breath. ‘And I know that sometimes I wish I was back in the bunker and how sick that is.’ He pauses again, but I let him go on. ‘But I’m working through it. Dr Anderton is helping me. Words heal. The more I do, the more I say or write or paint, the better I am. I think I’m ready to move on.’
I take his hands in mine and hold him closer. ‘You didn’t come back wrong. We’re all broken, Aiden. And I don’t just mean this family, I mean everyone. And you know what? That’s what makes us all who we are. Even if you don’t know who you are, I do. I know you’re perfect. Perfectly strong, perfectly different, with a perfectly good heart. I think you’re ready, too.’
‘I can go?’ he asks.
‘You don’t have to ask my permission anymore, kiddo. You’re grown.’
He stares down at our hands and nods.
‘I’m here if you need me.’
‘OK,’ he says.
Epilogue
EMMA
It takes a lot longer this time. There are brand new aches and pains since the last time my feet trod these paths, but I don’t care. I’m with my family. The sun is shining and the wind is blowing back my hair. In my lungs is the Yorkshire air I know and love. I have good days and bad days. It’s just over a year since the accident at the chapel, and my recovery is gradual. Today I feel strong, and we’re walking back up the hill to the field where we like to sit and look at the clouds. The field that overlooks Bishoptown. Despite everything that’s happened, this tiny village is my home again.
‘You OK, Mum?’ Aiden asks.
I’m a little breathless from the hill. ‘I’ll have a rest. You guys go on ahead.’
Aiden turns to his dad, but Rob waves his hand.
‘I’ll stop and keep your mum company,’ he says.
We stand there for a moment, watching my daughter, now an even more precocious five-year-old, run on ahead, making rocket noises. Rob laughs and I do too. I steal a sideways glance at him and see him watching me, that slight hint of shame visible in the creases between his eyebrows. Our relationship isn’t what it was, but we are still good friends.
‘Do you think you’ll ever forgive me for what I did?’ he asks.
Forgiveness has been on my mind for a long time. Choosing not to forgive can be hard on the soul, but some acts are easier to forgive than others.
‘Yes,’ I reply, after a long pause.
He sighs. ‘I sense a but coming.’
I smile. ‘You always did know me better than anyone.’ His eyes catch the sunlight, sparkling. ‘I was locked in a cage when she told me. She’d just revealed a doll she’d named after the daughter she’d never borne. Amy was ill, evil and cruel, but when she told me what you did, I believed her. Right away, I believed her.’
‘Because you know me,’ he says.
‘I do. Everything she said reminded me of the person you used to be.’
‘An arsehole.’
I nod my head. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Another is selfish.’
His voice sounds sad as he says, ‘It’s true.’
The breeze tickles the hairs on the back of my neck as I take a moment to compose my thoughts. ‘What I don’t know is whether you’re still that person anymore.’
‘Neither do I,’ he admits. ‘But I’m trying not to be.’ He smiles, and laughter lines crinkle in the corners of his eyes. We shared a lot of laughter together once, and a lot of tears.
I put a hand on his arm. He’s good, I know he is, despite what he did twenty years ago. But in my heart, it feels as though I’ve already let him go. Still, we stand like that for a while, happy enough in each other’s company. No matter what, he’s the person who knows me better than everyone, and he’s the father to my wonderful, complex son. My first love, but hopefully not my last.
Ginny runs around us all, screaming for Denny to play football with her, pulling us back to the world around us.
Staring down at Bishoptown, it strikes me that the looming shadows of Hugh and Jake are still there, hanging over me. Even after Hugh’s death, I couldn’t rest and, in a sense, I was right not to rest, because I’d underestimated Amy’s hatred. But what I did during that time had consequences for my family. I’d held them too close and smothered them, like every mother worries she will.
Now that Amy is behind a different set of bars, those shadows are a little smaller. They’ll always exist, but we can work on making them smaller; on forcing them to stop blocking our light.
I allow my eyes to roam over every part of the view, the light and the shade. In the light I see golden trees, touched by autumn. In the shade I see the hint of winter to come. No matter what, the world continues on, and time keeps marching.
Aiden is at university now, studying for his art degree. His coffee table book is a bestseller, and he still sells paintings. He lives in a shared house in London during the week and comes home at the weekend. It terrifies me, and I think it scares him too sometimes, but he’s doing it and I’ve finally found a way to let go of the constraints I had unknowingly placed on him.
Gina is the most resilient of us all. I keep watching her, waiting for signs of trauma. But aside from a few bad dreams, she’s the same Gina as before. Sometimes she asks about Faith and where she is now. Even though I think she understands the evil things Amy and Faith did together, she has forgiven her captor without question, and I decided to do the same. Amy was both villain and victim within her life. I don’t have it in me to hate her anymore. In fact, I don’t have it in me to hate Hugh or Jake either.
When I lost Aiden, I discovered what it was like to lose control of my life. Everything spiralled until I thought I would lose my mind. Then he came back, and I learned how to take the control away from my abusive husband in order to save my loved ones. But I couldn’t give up that control. I kept controlling my children, choking them with the love I felt for them, terrified of anything happening to them again. And then Gina was taken away from me. I rarely let her out of my sight, and she was still taken from me. All that control and I couldn’t stop it from happening.
When I was trapped, Aiden found me. Aiden found Gina. Even Gina managed to call the police. I could do nothing. The best thing I could do for them was give up control. And now I’m doing it again. I’m letting them live. Letting them breathe. Giving them the space they need to become the people they are.
And what will I do while they are living? I can live for myself again. Now I can take my own breath, because we’re safe. We’re free.
***
Thank you for reading STOLEN GIRL! I hoped you enjoyed this continuation of Emma and Aiden’s story. These characters mean a lot to me, and I hope you love them as much as I do. Turn the page for one last instalment – AIDEN’S STORY, a short story set in between Silent Child and Stolen Girl.
If you enjoyed this book, you might like LITTLE ONE. Fran finds a child standing alone
in the park. But when she reunites her with the family, she suspects little Esther might not be safe with them.
Right now you can claim a free book by joining my mailing list.
Aiden’s Story
I guess this is me. I’m Aiden Price. I’m sixteen years old. The newspapers and the social media sites all call me the “Boy from the Bunker”, which is true. That’s who I am and where I came from. The bunker was my home for ten years, if you can call it a home. It isn’t anymore, though. I live with Mum and Gina. We’re selling Jake’s house because Mum doesn’t like it there.
After I escaped, I didn’t talk for a long time and I think it scared everyone. Mum especially. They didn’t know if I could read or write. They didn’t know what was going on in my head. I guess I didn’t know myself. If I’d spoken, I could’ve told everyone what happened, but I didn’t want to. I was scared of what they’d say when they found Hugh. When they saw what I did to him.
Whenever he hit me, I always felt like it was wrong, so maybe I shouldn’t have hit him when he gave me the bat. Before the bunker, when I was little, Mum and Dad both told me that hitting was wrong, but then I met Hugh and he broke all the rules I thought were true. I suppose I started to think that if he could break all the rules, I could too. And it seemed like the only way I could get out.
Anyway, Dr Anderton wants me to write down my story because she says it’ll help me. I’m going through something called cognitive behavioural therapy and it’s all about changing my thoughts from negative ones (bad thoughts) to positive ones (good thoughts). I’m not supposed to think bad things about myself. I can’t call myself stupid. I can’t think I’m alone anymore, because I have Mum, Gina and Dr Anderton to help me. Part of that is writing about what happened to me. This is what she called “narrative writing”.
But I don’t really know what to write.
Dr Anderton doesn’t like it when I don’t answer her in our sessions. Sometimes I don’t feel like talking again, it’s like the world slips away and I’m back in the cage on my own. Back in my empty head. But Dr Anderton says that words heal. If I talk about what happened, I can move on.
Stolen Girl Page 26
