Skin Deep: All She Wanted Was a Mummy, But Was She Too Ugly to Be Loved?. Casey Watson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ grin on my face, despite knowing almost nothing about the girl. But then if I was mad, then so was my husband, Mike, because when I’d phoned him at work to double check he was fine about us doing it, he’d agreed to it as well – and in an instant.

      ‘Well, we said we would, didn’t we?’ he’d pointed out when I asked him if he meant it. These weren’t light decisions to make, after all. But he was right; that had always been the deal. When we’d asked if we could be allowed to keep Tyler, we’d assured John that we’d still be more than happy to foster other kids who might need us – kids who could benefit from going on the specialist behaviour-modification programme we’d been trained to deliver. And this was apparently once such – though for what reason I knew not. But it was a little girl, and she was only eight, so there’d be no extra testosterone wafting around. No, it would be fine. It would work okay with Tyler.

      ‘So I’ll tell him yes, then,’ I’d said. ‘You know, assuming all seems well once they get here?’

      ‘Course!’ Mike assured me. ‘You’ve had it easy for long enough, love. Time to get stuck back in.’

      Cheeky sod, I thought now. I’d get him back for that later. Perhaps with a well-aimed water blast or two. Right now I had less than an hour – no, nearer 45 minutes – and, if not a mad woman, I was definitely a woman possessed. First impressions worked both ways, after all.

Chapter 2

      Like mums everywhere, I always seemed to have several balls in the air at once, so even without the added health and safety risk of my sopping kitchen floor, it was odds on that I’d trip up and lose sight of one. And it seemed I had today. It was only because I was dusting the elderly house phone in the hall that I realised that, in my haste to get things ready for my unexpected visitors, I’d almost forgotten my poor son’s daily ‘un-alarm’ call.

      I checked the time, took an executive decision and went to find my mobile. If I didn’t do it now, who knew when I’d next have the chance? And then there might be hell to pay. Keiron had – has – a mild form of what used to be known as Asperger’s syndrome and which is now more commonly referred to as an ASD, or autism spectrum disorder. In an ideal world, I hoped that word ‘disorder’ might soon be changed to ‘difference’, but in the meantime it did mean certain challenges for him, so I supposed it was partly correct. It was something we were all used to, however, and if you met him you’d probably barely even notice it, but the management of it had been a big part of his childhood and even now, though he lived a full and fulfilling life, it still impacted on him in myriad little ways.

      He and his long-term girlfriend Lauren were on holiday in Cyprus, which was something of a milestone for them both. As anyone familiar with autism knows, even in its mildest forms it can cause major anxieties, and often these are centred around routine and change. That was Kieron to a T – loved routine, hated change. And with a passion. So going on a holiday, when he’d been growing up, was a very big deal, and something we only attempted rarely.

      It wasn’t surprising, then, that when he’d popped round after work one day and announced they were going to Cyprus, just the two of them, I was shocked, as was Mike. This was a big step. It was the first time they’d been away on their own and they weren’t just going away – they were going abroad!

      The holiday had obviously taken a fair bit of arranging, and the strain of it soon began to tell. Though he was a grown man of 26, and was understandably keen to meet the challenge, he was terrifically anxious about how he might cope – or, rather, fail to cope – once he got there. Lauren, bless her, had taken on the mantle of chief organiser, planning it, organising their savings and making all the arrangements. But as the date had loomed we could all tell he was struggling with the thought of it, as he reacted just as he’d done since he was a little boy, by chewing off all the skin around his fingernails. That was always a bad sign. So much so that I’d begun to question the wisdom of going at all.

      ‘Look, Kieron,’ I said one afternoon, when he’d popped round for tea. ‘If you really don’t want to go to Cyprus, then you don’t have to, you know. A holiday is supposed to be something you do for pleasure, after all. Have you spoken to Lauren about how stressed you are? I know she’ll understand if you don’t feel you can face it.’

      But he was having none of it, and my heart really went out to him. ‘I have, and that’s exactly what she says as well. But no, Mum,’ he said, ‘I really, really want to go. If I can crack this once, I’ll have it cracked for ever, then, won’t I? Well, sort of. I’m just – oh, you know what I’m like. I can’t stop thinking about all the things that might go wrong on the journey. What if I get stressed and need to talk to you?’

      ‘Then call me. Get that Euro-travelling package-thingy they do.’

      ‘And what if I don’t know where to go at the airport, or what queue to join, and Lauren doesn’t either? What if we accidentally get on the wrong plane?’

      I was pretty sure Lauren would have had all of that under control, because she was a brilliant, capable girl, not to mention the fact that air travel was almost like bus travel these days. But I also knew my son and how his anxieties could overtake him; so much so that he’d stopped coming on family holidays at the age of 16, preferring to stay instead with my sister Donna.

      No, Kieron just needed to know there was a safety net, that was all. ‘So, like I said,’ I repeated, ‘if Lauren can’t sort it, get your phone out and call me. And, I tell you what. How about I call you from time to time in any case. You know, just to see how you’re doing?’

      ‘Would you, Mum?’ he asked, and I knew right away that this was what he needed. Better for me to keep in touch with him than for him to de-stress himself by reaching for his mobile to call me every five minutes. Just knowing I’d be popping up on his screen at every stage would probably be enough to keep him on top of his anxiety, but without the added anxiety of feeling Lauren would think he was being silly, even though I knew she wouldn’t. Oh, it was a game, it really was, fathoming it all out.

      ‘Course I will,’ I said. ‘I’ll be like the BT woman, ringing up with alarm calls. Except they’ll be “un-alarm” calls, because there won’t be any alarms, I’m sure of it, as Lauren will have everything under control. And if anything unexpected does happen, you can call me, like I say. Except nothing will, I promise.’

      He looked 100 per cent happier. ‘Thanks, Mum. Just till we’re there and settled and that, anyway.’

      ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘You’re just anxious about the travelling, love, which, trust me, is perfectly normal.’

      And my ‘un-alarm’ calls had clearly done the trick. We’d spoken four times on the Saturday, three on the Sunday, and now, when I told him I’d got to go as John was due at any moment, he’d hung up before I’d barely taken the phone from my ear, leaving me secure in the knowledge that they were having a good time, and free to concentrate on my young visitor.

      Who seemed to be arriving even as I put my mobile back on its charger. With all the windows open, in order to counteract the sweltering heat, I could hear a car pulling up outside the house even before I saw it. I felt the usual stirring of intrigue. It wasn’t quite excitement; that was the wrong word to use in such a circumstance – this was a child who’d been taken into care as an emergency, after all. But there was still a certain frisson; I’d opened several front doors by now, to several different children, and perhaps because ours was a kind of fostering that often took place at short notice I really had to be unshockable when I pulled it back to greet whoever СКАЧАТЬ