Finding You (32 page)
Authors: Giselle Green
I look at Charlie. He looks at me.
‘I didn’t go to the Hermosa clinic because I hoped to make Lourdes pregnant, J,’ he comes straight out and says to me now.
‘No?’ I say in a small voice, not believing him, though there’s something in his voice that tells me, surprisingly enough, he is not lying.
‘I would never want a child with her, even if that were the only child I could ever father. I didn’t want a child with her last year when I went to Hermosa.’
‘She did, though?’
He doesn’t deny it. ‘It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted from me, Jules. She didn’t need my money. It was the baby and the fact that I’d make a perfect trophy husband for her, a husband that her friends would envy.’
‘Oh,’ I say, my voice a little high-pitched. ‘
What about the fact that she’s known you since you were both children and she was brought up a Catholic like you and she knows all your family and she’s always loved you?’
I remind him.
He’s shaking his head now, looking surprisingly determined. ‘She’s always wanted me, Jules. I don’t think she’s ever
loved
me. I’m not entirely sure that Lourdes knows what love is.’ He swallows suddenly. ‘I don’t think
I
really did, not really, until very recently in fact. And that is something that you taught me, J.’
I blink, staring at him. I did?
I taught him that?
How so?
‘Love is patient. Love is kind,’ he says softly, his face lighting up with something sad but beautiful now. ‘It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud,’ he continues, and I feel a small smile forming in the corner of my mouth in response as I realise that he is quoting probably the
only
Psalm that I recognise: Corinthians 13. I remember this; my mother used to keep a little card stuck with a magnet to the fridge door with this on it.
‘It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth,’ I continue for him. What comes next?
‘It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails ...’ Charlie stops and looks into my eyes. ‘And you are all those things,’ he finishes.
‘A work in progress,’ I protest. I am not always all those things. Certainly not always. I lift my chin a little, my mood slightly mollified.
‘So then, why did you go, Charles? Why did you go to the Hermosa clinic that day?’ And I see a tear form in the corner of his eye.
‘I went because I ...’ He shakes his head, clearly finding it difficult to get the words out now. ‘I loved my boy too much to lose him. I hurt too much. I thought ... if he were not mine, then, I would not have lost my child. I thought that might lessen the pain somehow.’ He looks up at me hopelessly.
‘How does that make any sense?’ I ask. And then the immediate implications of what he’s just said come flooding in. ‘Besides, if he wasn’t yours, then whose was he?’
Charlie doesn’t break eye contact this time. ‘No one’s, Jules. He was mine. But can’t you see the terrible place I had got into, for that to have made
any
kind of sense at all? When you’re in that place, where everything seems so dark, warped things can make a kind of sense that they would never do in the bright light of day. I made a terrible mistake, running away from my grief at losing him. I was running away, Jules, what you always accuse me of doing. I’m ...’ His voice breaks and he swallows hard. ‘I’m not running away any more, though. I’m here. Even though Angus yelled down the phone at me this morning. He practically
fired
me.’
I look at him in shock. ‘Angus fired
you
?’
‘Oh, he’ll get over it.’ Charlie waves this new piece of information away as if it’s nothing. ‘He didn’t expect me to turn down this hard-won chance to meet the partners, that’s all.’
I don’t answer him. My mind is back to what he’s just told me about why he went to Hermosa clinic. Does it make any sense? Does it mean he really believed I could have entrapped him with the pregnancy that was the doing of another man? It’s highly insulting to think so and yet ... I sense the workings of another hand in this. Lourdes’ hand. She’ll have put all this to him, no doubt, so cleverly and so expertly, it’ll all have seemed so innocent at the time, the things she’ll have said.
Oh, I know he’s an adult and responsible for his own thoughts and decisions, but sometimes, when people are under terrible pressure, they can allow their natural instincts to be warped. Charlie already knows I’d never have tried to trick him like that. He
knows
me.
‘I had to be here today,’ Charlie is saying. ‘With you. I had to tell you the truth. I had to ...’ he swallows. ‘I had to let you come to your own conclusions about what happens next.’
I nod, wrestling with so many of my own thoughts that I’m really not quite sure what to say.
When I look away from him towards the slide again, Hadyn’s somehow allowed the woman with the brown hair to seat him, elephant in crossed arms, at the top of the slide. She’s talking softly, patiently, into his ear and he’s smiling; I can see it from here.
Love is patient, love is kind
... Her own son is waiting patiently at the bottom, looking up. And then ... she lets him go and
wheeeeeeeh
... down he slides, a sound of pure delight and laughter coming from his throat. On any other day, I would be smiling so broadly to see this.
How many times
have I tried to persuade him to come down that slide, but he always changes his mind when he gets to the top?
I wipe my eyes, not knowing what to say to Charlie, who is sitting on the bench beside me, silently hurting, desperately needing some word of comfort from me after what he’s just confessed. Can I do this? Just ... wash away all the pain that still stands between us for that one, very silly and desperate thing that he did when he was still running away?
Love is not proud, love is not self-seeking ... it keeps no record of wrongs.
I put out my hand tentatively to take Charlie’s hand. He’s not running away today, is he? I’m not going to, either. When I glance over at the play area again, I see that whatever that woman has said to him, Hadyn by some miracle is waiting quietly his turn while she lets her own son down the slide. To anyone else, this might seem like an everyday, ordinary scene, but to me, all of this, it is a miracle. Could I have foreseen, just eight months ago when my boy was still gone, that we’d ever all be sitting out in the park together on a sparkling day like today? Could I have foretold just
two
days ago that Hadyn would ever let anyone push him down that slide, or even be prepared to take a turn on it? Miracles have happened. They can and they do happen, every single day.
‘What happens next?’ I ask Charlie quietly, standing up. His hand is still in mine. ‘Let’s go and discover that together.’
46 - Charlie
When my phone goes off for the third time, I do not just ignore it. I switch it off. It might be Angus again, ready to plead.
Just come in for half an hour, Charles. We won’t keep you, man. This is important. At the end of the day,
he will say
, a man has to earn his crust.
He’ll remind me of the school fees or the mortgage; what a step up like this could potentially mean for me. It could be Pippa, disappointed to receive the text I sent her saying we wouldn’t be taking her up on her offer. Or it might be Rob, with details of when he’s flying back out with the family, how many rooms they’ll need; are we okay to put them all up until such time as we need to go up to Thirsk? Or possibly it is Rolli from the care home, requiring information or instructions with regards to the funeral. Whoever it is and whatever they want, today ... they will wait.
As me and J walk back across the park with Hadyn perched high on my shoulders, I can feel his small hands clutching mine. I remember how once, I had been that boy. How, on my father’s shoulders, I’d once had a view of the whole world at my command on a day when we’d climbed the tor to the cemetery where my mother’s people lay, and he’d lifted me up high like this. All the family had been there. My mother and Rob and
abuela
and all the cousins; we’d gone up there with our buckets and rags on some annual pilgrimage to clean the headstones, the women chatting incessantly all the way and the men talking about football and the new mayor. No one had thought to talk to me, the littlest one and yet I still recall...
How proud I had felt, to be the youngest one there and yet still be the
tallest
one. From my father’s shoulders, I’d looked out over the view of the hills and fields below and I’d felt as if the whole world was there for the taking. I was a king. Everything I could see was my own. There was no endeavour in which I could fail; I
owned
the path up ahead, the future all mine while my father’s steady feet still trod the path below us.
And now that his feet will walk this earth no more...
I am the man whose feet are treading the path. As I turn to kiss Hadyn’s soft hand, I can feel the fur of his beloved elephant stuffed safely between his arm and my ear. His mother’s shoulder bumps against mine. She is smiling gently at me,
smiling
, because she has forgiven me my error and we are going back home to carry on with our lives. And right now, all I want to do is breathe in the warm air on this damask morning and give thanks. Give thanks for the blackbird’s song as she calls from the bush. Give thanks for the drowsy bumblebees rumbling around the pink dog roses at the edge of the park. Give thanks that I have this beautiful child to carry on my back and know that it will never be a burden for me to do so, for I am his father and he is my son, whatever may come.
And once again, just for this moment, I am a king. My wealth is counted in all the blessings of this day, and walking home with my family, all the leaves of the spindle bushes that line the route alongside us shimmer like golden pennies in the early summer light.
47 - Charlie
‘We won’t be here too long, big guy. We’ve got to go on a long journey later today,’ I tell Hadyn as he jumps out of his buggy and rushes up to his latest favourite haunt—the slide. He goes down it all by himself now. Ever since the woman with the brown hair prompted him to do it last week, he’s caught on, and I’ve been bringing him down here every morning since. I told Angus I wouldn’t be back at work till after the funeral and he’s had to swallow that. The important ops, they’ve covered for me; the cosmetic ones can wait. Right now, my feeling is that
everything
can wait till I reconnect with those who I need to.
And tomorrow, they bury my father.
‘Hi,’ I say. The brown-haired woman with her toddler is back. We exchange a smile like we’ve done a couple of times when she’s seen us here, but we’ve never actually spoken till today.
‘Hi,’ she replies shyly, acknowledging me. She indicates with her head. ‘No Mummy today?’
‘Not today,’ I smile. Jules is busy at home, packing us a bag and seeing to Rob’s family this morning before we all take the train up to Thirsk. I stretch out my legs, enjoying this rare free time on a day when my life seems to be coming together. We all had time in Spain together when we were waiting to get home, yes, but it was a time fraught with tension. So many things had to be packaged till we could get home. It’s only now that we’re starting to unravel them.
‘I’m Charlie,’ I offer her my hand, now. ‘Julia’s ...’ I hesitate over the word
partner
. I want to say
husband
. That’s what I’m still longing to say but,
slowly, slowly
, as my dad used to say to me,
catch a monkey...
‘I know,’ she says immediately. ‘I know who you are. I’m Colette.’
She’s Colette. I vaguely remember that name, recall Julia mentioning that she’d seen this woman at Mummies and Bubbies once or twice. Her child is a bit of a loner, J told me. A bit like Hadyn. He likes to do his own thing and his mother is very protective of him.
I’m about to idly ask her what her boy’s name is, whether he’s at playschool yet—just making conversation—when I see her son get up and do a funny thing.
He does that weird walk that Hadyn does, tiptoeing along like a little goose, and I can’t help but stare at him. What is he doing, high up on his tippy toes, hands flapping a little at his side? That’s exactly what I’ve seen Hadyn do. My heart does a strange flip, seeing it. Other children of this age are doing this, then?
It is normal?
I clear my throat, wanting to ask her but not sure how I should broach it, how she’ll take it.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ I say gently. ‘But your son ... does he often walk like that? I mean ...’ I add rapidly as she gives me a slightly startled look, ‘are his shoes hurting, do you think? Because my son does exactly the same thing. We’ve had him measured out properly for shoes, but I sometimes think that his feet ...’ I trail off now as she sticks her hands in her cardigan pockets.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘I’ve seen him with his mother before at the toddler group. I noticed your little boy.
Hadyn
, isn’t it?’
I nod, feeling strangely exposed for a moment. She seems to have the advantage of me here; knows more about me than I do about her. That’s women for you. She’s probably heard all the rest of our story, too.
‘I did wonder about your son.’ Then she adds thoughtfully, ‘Does Hadyn have ASD, too?’
‘I’m sorry?’ I lean in a little, wondering if I could have misheard her.
‘Autistic Spectrum Disorder,’ she says without missing a beat. ‘Like my son?’
I swallow. ‘Your son has that?’ I look over at the self-contained child in the corner of the little play area, pushing his car over the low wall, and something about him—I don’t know what—it reminds me so much of Hadyn, I can see why she would think it. I just asked her about her son’s
feet
,
though. Is there a link?
And it comes back to me now; that
this
was the thing our GP first noticed that prompted the referral onto Dr Noble’s team. His funny little walk. And I recall how, when we went to see the paediatric team a few weeks ago and they’d been pretty certain Hadyn would be called back for full assessment, Julia and I had both dismissed that idea out of hand. Because we’d each had other ideas about what could be going on for Hadyn.
We had then.
Now, we do not. We have no idea. Except this woman seems to think
she
knows what’s up. The thought shocks and scares me and at the same time, inexplicably, I feel a flicker of the smallest sense of relief that comes with it, too. Could she be right?
‘He hasn’t any diagnosis.’ I shake my head at her, feeling myself a little bewildered, feeling a sudden wave of sadness at this recognition from a stranger that my boy is
not
the same as everyone else’s child. This woman knows it; she sees it, unequivocally and unapologetically, because her child is not the same, either.
Shit. Hasn’t Julia been saying this for months? That Hadyn is different. That he
struggles.
I knew it, she knew it, only we didn’t properly understand how, we didn’t understand why that might be...
‘No diagnosis yet?’ Colette looks sympathetic. Yet, she says. Not
if
. When.
‘You think he has autism?’ My voice is very quiet, very still, and I see the slightly shocked look on her face now as she recognises that this is the first time I have properly heard this; that this might be what Hadyn has.
I hear her as she takes in a breath. ‘The tiptoe walking is one classic sign,’ she tells me quietly. Then, very gently, she asks, ‘Does he display any of the other typical symptoms, like ... avoiding eye contact, spaciness, hand flapping, spinning, fascination with water and shiny objects?
I look up at her, finding it hard to take all this in at once. ‘Well, yes,’ I admit reluctantly.
But what’s all this about?
Suddenly, I am very aware that this person is a stranger. I’m not comfortable talking to her like this. What’s Julia going to say? I brought my son down to the park for a runabout before the long journey ahead and when I said hi to this woman, I didn’t expect to hear all this.
‘He doesn’t like being touched and doesn’t easily form attachments?’ Colette is still busy listing symptoms. ‘Maybe he’s a picky eater ...’ she falters to a halt.
I stare at her. Has she been talking to Alys or someone who knows us? She must have. I swallow but don’t answer. After my first glimmer of hope that I might finally understand my son, a wariness has crept back in.
‘I remember overhearing his mother talking at playgroup about how her son’s speech had developed perfectly until the age of about eighteen months and then ... when she got him back, he’d lost it all, yes?’
I nod, a little dumbfounded.
‘It’s another classic symptom,’ she informs me. ‘Early onset of speech that may then be lost by eighteen to twenty-four months.’
Autism,
I’m thinking as she’s saying all this.
Surely not
? Isn’t that what The Rainman had, in that film a while back? She’s just described Hadyn to a tee. Is this what Hadyn’s got? My heart beats a little faster at the thought. And if it is ASD—then, what will that mean; what’s that going to mean for my little boy in his life? What’s that going to mean for
us,
his parents? I stare at the ground, trying to take this possibility in and unable to look at her anymore. A flurry of leaves roll along the ground and they feel like the waves of sadness that are building up inside of me now, coming out of nowhere. God, what now? We’re laying my father to rest tomorrow. I don’t want to have to
deal
with any more. At the same time I know, something tells me, deep in my gut that this is not something that I should delay, either. It is not something I should run away from. I am going to have to stand and face this. And soon.
I hear my dad’s voice now, loud and clear, as if I were still back in that dream.
It’s all right, son.
Is it, Dad?
I think. Somehow—I do not know how—I get the sense that maybe it is. Maybe it will be.
‘Look, thanks for the talk, Colette.’ My voice sounds very gruff. ‘We’ve got to go now. It’s my father’s funeral, tomorrow.’
Why do I tell her that last bit? I have no idea.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she says. Then she looks over at where our two children are engaging in some sort of parallel play, not exactly ignoring each other but not making contact, either. As Hadyn and I leave the park, she adds tentatively, ‘Push for a diagnosis,’ she urges. ‘You may have just lost your dad but ... you may also be about to discover who your son really is. Once you know, you’ll be amazed at the difference you can make.’
As I walk away, brushing the tears from my eyes, I see this woman in my mind’s eye as she was, a week ago, whispering to Hadyn at the top of the slide. She knew the magic words, Julia had joked later. Maybe that wasn’t magic, though.
Maybe that was something else, and it can be learned.