he visited Mabel’s house, and no one minded. Here, no one ever judged his preferences and he didn’t have to pretend to like Minecraft or whatever the latest video game was. It was back to basics at Mabel’s, and he loved it.
‘Wait a minute. Are these your toys, Aidan?’ I ask. ‘I never even thought to ask Mabel where they came from, but I guess that makes sense.’
Aidan nods, still staring at Ben, who is in a world of his own.
‘I was ten when I moved in here for good,’ he says, lost in thought. ‘And no matter what toys I had outgrown by then, that little green train set was timeless to me. Man, life just flies by, doesn’t it?’
I can feel an internal glow as the glass of wine I’m cradling takes its sweet effect and I sit back on the sofa across from Aidan, watching him watch Ben as if he is watching his younger self.
‘Losing your parents at that age is unbearably sad,’ I whisper, then realize that Ben is of course within earshot and that at his age, listening to adult conversation is one of his favourite pastimes, especially when he gets to stay up a little later on a school night. The last thing I want to do now is talk about death in front of him when we’re all having such a relaxed evening.
‘It was,’ agrees Aidan, shrugging it off and snapping out of his flashback as quickly as he zoned into it. ‘So, what are your plans for Christmas then? I know it’s going to be different this year for all of us, but you’ll do something nice, won’t you?’
The thought of Christmas without Mabel makes my stomach churn, but Ben lights up.
‘I’m getting a robot and a Nintendo and I’m not sure what else yet, but I’m going to write my list soon, aren’t I Mum?’ he says, kneeling up on the floor with eyes wide as the moon.
‘And that answers my question,’ says Aidan. ‘I always thought that Christmas was only Christmas when there’s a kid in the house.’
‘It’s going to be different for all of us, that’s a given,’ I say, trying to keep things light. ‘As I’m sure this all is for you too.’
I’m already dreading waking up in the morning with that old familiar sensation of loss that will hit me all over again; the hollow feeling that sits deep inside which comes with such a devastating change. I dread looking out of the window and seeing the empty space where Aidan’s hired car has been, right in the place where Mabel’s funny little green VW Beetle used to sit before she sold it earlier on in her illness. Most of all I dread knowing that this house next door to me will be still and silent again, and that the path of grief and sadness will be walked on without anything to prop us up, for at least the foreseeable future.
16.
I check the time. It’s almost nine and as it’s a school night, I realize we’d really better get going.
Normally at this time, Ben would be tucked up in bed dreaming, and I’d be on the sofa in front of the TV, flicking through channels robotically, checking social media repeatedly, and wondering was it too early to go to bed. Jude and I used to watch TV together at night, but it normally ended in a row over something I’d said or done that day that had upset him, so the peace of switching off the telly, turning out the lights, locking the doors, and going to bed without an argument mid-week had become quite pleasant.
But being with Aidan is different. He can strike up a conversation about anything, from music of the nineties, to Italian cuisine, to the best video games on the market these days that Ben would enjoy. An evening in his company, even if it has broken our normally regimental bedtime routine, has been a much more positive and all-round wholesome experience than I could ever have expected.
‘I think it’s time for bed, buddy,’ I say to Ben, who dramatically lies on the sofa in protest.
‘But!’
‘No buts,’ I tell him in my best mummy voice. ‘Aidan has a long journey ahead of him tomorrow and we’ve had a great time, but you’re normally fast asleep by now. Aidan, I can’t believe you wouldn’t let me do the washing up. I wish you’d let me help before we go?’
Aidan shakes his head.
‘No way,