Secrets in the Snow - Emma Heatherington Page 0,46
and anyhow I need to keep my mind busy, believe me,’ he says emphatically. He yawns and I echo him, which makes us both smile.
‘You’re tired,’ I say, stating the obvious. ‘Dinner was delicious. Thanks again.’
‘I’m a little bit tired, yes,’ he admits. ‘But I’ve also a lot on my mind, so washing up a few plates and saucepans will help distract me from wandering around this house and feeling sorry for myself.’
I put on my coat as Ben pretends he isn’t going home and hugs his favourite cushion on Mabel’s settee, just the way he used to do when we’d have dinner here in days gone by. It’s a simple, round, pale-grey velvet cushion she bought in a high street store, but Ben always got great comfort from resting his head on it while he and Mabel would watch a movie or sort out the world’s problems with their many deep and meaningful conversations.
‘I know, how about you take that cushion home with you tonight?’ Aidan asks Ben, and I swear I don’t think I’ve ever seen my son look so overwhelmed at a gesture before. ‘You can keep it. I think Mabel would like that.’
Ben opens his mouth to respond, but the words don’t come out and I recognize the way his lip quivers, just like any mother’s instinct would recognize, that he is going to cry.
‘That’s very kind of you, Aidan,’ I say, trying to give Ben some space to compose himself, but he’s way beyond that already.
His chin wobbles, his mouth twitches, and then he pulls the cushion up to his face, burying himself in it to disguise his feelings, which makes my heart break for him. I feel a wave of panic, just like I did when he was little and he fell, or when I had to tell him Mabel was leaving us, or when he told me he was once being picked on at school in days gone by. It’s an instinct mixed with fear and protection, but whereas I stand there frozen in those few seconds of realization, then rush to his side, Aidan is already there. He puts his hand on Ben’s back and comforts him instantly, just like he did with me a few nights before.
‘It’s OK to cry, little guy,’ he tells Ben to the back of his silky brown head. ‘You don’t ever have to hide it when you feel sad or a little bit overwhelmed. It’s better to let it all out. That’s it. Have a good old cry.’
I crouch down in front of Ben and put my hand on his little hand as it grasps the cushion.
‘I just want her to come home,’ sniffles Ben. ‘I just want Mabel to come home.’
His little voice pleads with us and I feel so helpless watching on. All I can do is be there for him through this, I know that, but a tinge of anger bubbles inside me at how there is absolutely nothing I can do to take his pain away.
Soon, I’m crying softly too. I glance up at Aidan, who reaches his other hand across to me and squeezes it tightly. I know Ben’s reaction is all very normal and natural, but I still can’t help the anxiety that eats at me inside. There’s nothing, simply nothing as frightening as seeing your child in pain and knowing there is nothing in the world you can do to take it away. All you can do is be there for them, listen to their fears, and allow them to express any emotion they feel necessary.
Despite knowing all this, when I look at my broken child, so affected by the weight of grief twice now at such a young age, it chills me to my very core and I want to scream out at how unfair it all is.
‘You were Mabel’s very, very, special friend,’ Aidan says, finding the words I can’t seem to. He softly rubs the back of Ben’s little yellow hoodie as he speaks in such warm, reassuring tones. ‘There’s nothing like a good cry. You’ll feel better after, I know I always do.’
I wipe my eyes, feeling useless as I cry almost as much as Ben does, but I know my anguish is coming from the past as well as what is happening now. An unwelcome flashback to my time with Jude floods my mind. He couldn’t cope when Ben showed emotion through tears or tantrums, and he’d end up having his own tantrum in