Triumph Over Adversity 3-in-1 Collection. Casey Watson

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СКАЧАТЬ was waiting, I knew. Waiting for me to come in and give him his tea, before Mike and Riley both got home from work. I went into the kitchen and pulled out a plate and some cutlery.

      ‘Honestly,’ I called to him as I dished out some casserole from the slow cooker, ‘why you can’t wait till the others get home is beyond me, Kieron. And if you can’t wait, you could at least get off the sofa and help yourself to something.’

      He looked across and gave me one of his pained looks as he turned down the TV volume. ‘Oh, Mum,’ he moaned. ‘Don’t get on at me. I’m stressed out enough as it is!’

      ‘And what exactly have you got to be stressed about?’ I asked him as I took the bowl of steaming casserole through to the dining-room table. I had strict rules about the eating of meals and where it was allowed to happen, even if I was generally a little on the soft side when it came to my son. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Come through here and eat this before it gets cold. So, tell me,’ I added as I set it down, and glancing at the evidence of a day spent mostly watching telly rather than career planning, ‘have you thought any more about what you’re going to do?’

      Kieron scraped back a dining chair and plonked himself down wearily. ‘Oh God, Mum,’ he stropped. ‘Five minutes you’ve been in and already you’re getting on at me!’

      I ruffled his hair and pulled a chair out. My cup of coffee could probably wait. ‘Sorry, love,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to get on at you. I want to help you. Dad and I were only saying this morning, perhaps we could sit down with you this evening – you know – go through some options with you maybe? It’s no good for you, this – sitting around on your own all day, moping. You’ll just get fed up, and you know what you’re like – next thing, you’ll end up getting in a state.’

      He shovelled in a couple of mouthfuls before replying. He could eat for Britain could Kieron. ‘I’m not in a state, Mum – I’m just bored. And I don’t mean to snap. It’s just that Jack and James and Si – they’ve got stuff going on, haven’t they? Jack’s got his new job, the others are at college …’ He trailed off, and downed another mouthful. ‘And it’s like … well, it’s like it’s all right for them because they know what they’re doing – and they know because they can all do stuff. But I can’t. I don’t think I can do anything that real grown-ups do. I’m crap at all that.’

      ‘Nonsense!’ I said firmly. It was a familiar refrain lately. As soon as he thought about the change inherent in making such big decisions, he took the safer route – putting it off for another day. ‘Kieron,’ I told him, ‘you are not “crap”, and of course you can do things.’

      He could, too. Though his GCSE results had disappointed him, being mostly Ds, it wasn’t as straightforward as it might have been. He’d struggled with dyslexia since primary school and his diagnosis of Asperger’s had only come in the last two years, meaning valuable time and support that could have helped him achieve higher grades hadn’t been available to him till much later in his school life. That he was capable of more wasn’t in doubt – the teachers had all said so. I reiterated that fact again now. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to,’ I told him. ‘You just have to decide what it is you want to do, that’s all. And that’s what you have to put your mind to – deciding – not avoiding. Which is why you and Dad and I need to sit down and have a proper talk. Anyway, right now I’m off upstairs to change and have a shower before they’re back. And make sure you put that plate back when you’re done, okay? Okay?’

      ‘Um, oh, yeah. Will do,’ he said, having, in typical teenage boy fashion, already tuned me out in favour of the bit of programme he could still see through the glass doors between the table and the telly.

      Honestly, I thought to myself as I headed up the stairs, if anyone had told me when they were little that I’d be worrying about my kids so much at this age, I’d have thought they were mad. But of course, I’d been wrong – older didn’t necessarily mean less difficult to parent. It was just that you did your worrying on a different level.

      But at least Kieron could communicate his worries – well, up to a point and after a fashion anyway. I thought back to the anxious-looking little girl who’d be joining my class the following morning. How could she be helped in her troubles – and she clearly had some troubles on her shoulder – if she couldn’t communicate anything to anyone?

Chapter 4

      I was feeling lighter of heart as I walked into school the following morning, at least where Kieron was concerned. Where I had only prompted mild teenage disgruntlement, Mike had produced progress, and we’d all gone to bed with a plan that seemed workable – for Kieron to at least think about exploring the possibility of applying to the local college to do a two-year course in Media Studies, with an emphasis on music production.

      It had been a friend of Mike’s from work that had suggested it. His son had just finished one and had really enjoyed it, and, better still, it had clearly served him well. He was now doing an apprenticeship with a theatre group in London, learning how to produce music for shows.

      Mike had done a soft-sell on it, knowing that to go in guns blazing would be likely to make Kieron anxious by default. Instead, he couched it in terms that made it sound more like a hobby he could dabble in than an actual college course. After all, he loved music as much as he loved football and superheroes (i.e. a lot), and once we looked into things further and found the teaching style was mostly small-group based, it began to seem much less daunting than he’d originally thought. He was still reticent, but he was also asking questions, at least, which was an encouraging development. But now came the biggie: his task for today was to take the bold and scary step of phoning the admissions office to try and make an appointment.

      Whether he’d have managed it by the time I got home from work remained to be seen. I felt hopeful, though, and able to turn my attention to the probably equally scared young girl who was joining us today.

      I could see Imogen and her grandmother when I walked into reception. They were seated in the corner, on the small sofa that was stationed there for the purpose, and both silently watched my progress through the double doors.

      I was pleased to see they’d arrived early as it would be much less daunting for Imogen if she could come straight to my classroom with me than run the gamut of all the other kids arriving.

      I raised an arm and waved. ‘Morning!’ I called to them, smiling. They both stood as I approached, as if to attention.

      Mrs Hinchcliffe was holding Imogen’s arm protectively, but it was clear she was keen to be gone. ‘Do I have to stay with her?’ she asked me, having acknowledged my greeting.

      I shook my head. ‘No, no, that’s fine,’ I told her. ‘Imogen can come with me now.’ I turned and met her gaze. ‘Okay? And will you be picking Imogen up again?’ I asked Mrs Hinchcliffe, ‘or will she be making her own way home?’

      Imogen’s grandmother shuffled, a touch uncomfortably, I thought, before she answered. ‘No,’ she said, finally. ‘She knows her way home. It’s only five minutes away. And she won’t want me here, I’m sure. Showing her up …’

      Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable. It really did feel odd to be talking about this girl as if she was an inanimate object. ‘Okay, then,’ I said. ‘Well, we’ll be off then, shall we, Imogen? And I’ll see you, well … whenever, Mrs Hinchcliffe. Though it occurred to me that perhaps we could speak on the phone later – have a bit of a catch-up? If СКАЧАТЬ