Читать книгу A Very Special Need - Caroline Anderson - Страница 6

‘NIGHT-night, sweetheart.’ Hugh bent and kissed the soft little cheek, and smoothed the silky strands of hair back from his daughter’s brow. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Night, Daddy,’ she mumbled.

His hand was on the light switch when her voice stopped him. ‘Daddy?’ she whispered.

He paused. ‘Yes, darling?’

‘Did you see Christine, really?

‘Yes—I told you all about it.’

‘And was she really all right?’

His arm dropped back to his side and he went over to the bed again and perched on the edge. ‘Toots, she’s fine. She’s just had a baby—that’s why she’s in hospital.’

‘But my mummy died.’

So that was it. Hugh swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed her little hand. ‘I know, sweetheart, but your mummy was sick—her heart had a problem and she got suddenly much worse. Nobody could have prevented it.’

‘Daddy?’

His heart sank. ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

‘If she hadn’t had me, would she still be alive?’

It was a question he had asked himself over and over again, and he gave her the only answer he could—the one he gave himself. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it. I just know that part of her is alive in you, and if we hadn’t had you then I would have lost that part, too, as well as all the rest of her. As it is, I’ve got a bit of her in Marty and a bit in you so I’ll never really lose her completely. She’ll always be with me, in a very special way, and she’ll always be with you because she’s part of you.’

The little hand in his squeezed comfortingly. ‘Do you still miss her, Daddy?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Yes, Toots, I still miss her sometimes. I loved her very much.’

There was a thoughtful silence for a moment, then Alice said, ‘Daddy, do you think you’ll ever find another mummy for me? I think I’d like to have a mummy.’

Inexplicably he thought of Judith, and banished the thought as idle fantasy. He hardly knew the woman!

‘Maybe, one day,’ he replied.

‘Then you wouldn’t have to be so lonely any more.’

He bent and hugged her. ‘I’m not lonely, Toots. I’ve got you and Martin to keep me company.’

Her little arms snaked around his neck and hugged him tight, and a wet and very welcome kiss landed somewhere between his eye and his ear. ‘Love you, Daddy,’ she whispered.

His throat almost closed up with emotion. ‘Love you, too, Toots,’ he whispered back, his voice strangled.

He kissed her again, tucked her up for the second time and turned down the light, leaving her door open a fraction so she didn’t feel cut off.

Then he went back downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee while he got his mind back into order. Was he lonely? He’d assured Toots he wasn’t, but of course he was—lonely for the company of a woman, a partner, a companion to share life’s ups and downs. Still, as he’d told Toots, he had his children and so he was never really alone.

He could hear the television in the snug, which meant Martin was in there. He’d hardly seen him all week. Perhaps they’d have a game of chess. Humming softly, he ambled down the hall into the cosy room overlooking the garden, stretched out in the big comfy armchair and looked across at his son. ‘OK?’ he said with a smile.

‘Mmm,’ he replied, staring fixedly at the screen. He was sprawled on the sofa and hadn’t even looked up as his father entered the room. Hugh flicked a glance at the apparently riveting television and saw some ghastly game show in progress.

Sighing inwardly, he girded his loins for confrontation and asked, ‘Done your homework?’

Martin made an irritated clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Dad, it’s Friday.’

‘Yes, and I’m sick of having every Sunday evening ruined by your homework because you’ve left it to the last minute.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’

‘Before or after you play squash with Colin or go to rugby club or any of the other distractions you’ll find?’

‘Before—for God’s sake, Dad, what is this?’

‘Watch your language, Martin—and what it is is me caring about you and your education.’

The boy gave a disgruntled sigh and turned his attention back to the set. His mouth was set in a mutinous line, but Hugh was too tired to deal with him tonight. He picked up the television remote control and changed channels.

‘Hey! I was watching that!’

‘ “Was” being the operative word. Even if you’re not doing your homework you are not watching mindless buffoons being cheered on by an audience of performing seals! You’ll be brain-damaged by all these ghastly game shows.’

Martin sighed abruptly. ‘Hardly—and talking of which, does Judith working for you mean we’re going to have that spaz here all the time?’

Hugh froze, then very slowly pressed the off button on the remote. ‘Spaz?’ he said with deadly quiet.

Martin laughed awkwardly. Oh, come on, Dad, you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I do—unfortunately. I never imagined I would hear you say it, though.’

Martin squirmed, but he didn’t back down. ‘Dad, he’s a spastic.’

‘He has a condition known as cerebral palsy, which has affected the motor control part of his brain—’

‘He’s brain damaged.’

‘Yes, he is—but please don’t make the mistake of imagining he’s stupid.’

‘He speaks so slowly—it drives me mad,’ Martin imitated so accurately that Hugh winced.

‘It could have been you, son—or me, or your little sister. Especially your little sister, with the problems attending her birth. Just remember, until whatever happened went wrong Edward was all set to be a normal, healthy baby and grow up into a normal, healthy adult. He still is healthy, but because his muscles don’t work quite as his brain would like to tell them to his body is in a weakened state. That in itself brings problems. Just imagine how you’d feel trapped inside an unco-operative body like Edward is.’

‘Gross.’ Martin shuddered eloquently. ‘Does he go to that special school—you know, the one that has the minibuses full of raspberry ripples?’

Hugh bit his tongue and refused to comment on the reference to cripples. ‘No,’ he said grimly, hanging onto his temper with difficulty, ‘he goes to the school you’d be at if you weren’t so disgustingly privileged and spoilt. Perhaps I should send you there after all. You might learn some manners and some human kindness.’

He stopped abruptly, jamming his hands through his hair and propping his elbows on his knees. His disappointment reflected in his voice, he added, ‘It grieves me to say it, Martin, but there are times when I’m glad your mother isn’t here any more so she doesn’t have to see how badly I’ve failed in the way I’ve brought you up.’ He looked up and speared his son with that searching cobalt stare. ‘Where did I go wrong, Marty? Too hard? Too soft? Because as sure as hell I’ve done something wrong.’

Martin had the grace to blush and look uncomfortable. ‘Ah, come on, Dad, don’t get heavy with me. He’s really hard work, you know?’

‘He isn’t. He’s a good kid, struggling against enormous odds to cope in a world that just isn’t geared up for anything but perfection. Normal, healthy girls get anorexia because the advertising industry tells them over and over again that the body beautiful is supposed to be scraggily thin and undernourished. Men have hair transplants and women dye their hair and have plastic surgery at huge expense because we can’t cope with the natural consequences of ageing. Kids are committing suicide because they feel hopelessly inadequate because the world makes such huge demands on them. And you think it’s too much trouble to talk to a very clever boy just because you have to wait a moment for his answers.’

‘Dad, he’s a dweeb—’

‘And you’re a disappointment to me, Martin.’

The boy shot out of the settee and glowered mutinously down at Hugh. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said sarcastically, and flounced out of the room, banging the door shut so hard the frame shook.

‘Martin!’

There was a pregnant pause, then the door opened again a crack.

‘Slam that door once more and you’re grounded for a month. Now go and do your homework, please.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Martin growled sarcastically. The door shut with a little less force, and Hugh closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the chair.

Where had he gone wrong? Had Martin always been like this? He didn’t know. He’d been too busy working to notice. Had it been too much to expect that just knowing his father worked with disabled children would give Martin the same compassion and understanding?

Clearly.

Oh, damn. Hugh got up and rummaged in his CD collection, found something soothing and put it on. The lights were low, the music was soft and he found his thoughts turning yet again to Judith.

How difficult was it, bringing up a disabled child in this unforgiving world—never mind alone? He couldn’t even manage a healthy, normal teenager. How Judith coped with Edward was a mystery. She must have to deal with all his frustration and disappointment, and probably her own guilt at her part in his disablement if it was due to a birth injury. Even if she hadn’t been to blame, she would still blame herself. Parents always did, at least until they worked through that.

He wondered when she had found out there was something wrong. Had she known straight away? Unlikely, he thought, with that fairly low level of disability. Often CP was undiagnosed for months or even years. Had she had the support of her parents? A partner? Who was Edward’s father? Did they see him?

So many questions—and none of the answers really any of his business. Only those relevant to his treatment of the child could possibly be considered justified, and yet he found the others clamoured at him.

Those questions and others—like how she would feel in his arms, and if her lips were really as soft as they looked, and if her body was as lush as it appeared or if the fullness of her breasts was just an illusion created by clever underwear.

He didn’t think so. She didn’t have the money for clever underwear. So, real, then. Full and soft and womanly.