Free Another Night, Another Day by Sarah Rayner Page B

which she has carefully tidied. Everything is going swimmingly until she opens
the door to the bathroom.
    They step inside – it’s a good-sized room – and at once Finn says, ‘What are those pictures for, Mummy?’
    Beside the lavatory is Blu-Tacked a diagram of a boy with his trousers undone and an arrow indicating they should be pulled downwards; below is a similar picture with an arrow directing the boy
to sit on the loo seat. Recently Abby and Eva have initiated a toilet-training programme with Callum, and they have printed out diagrams from the computer. Next to the loo roll is another picture
to demonstrate how many sheets of paper should be used.
    ‘They’re for my little boy,’ she says.
    ‘Doesn’t he use the loo?’ asks Finn.
    ‘Um – he’s not very good at it.’
    ‘Oh,’ says Finn. ‘He’s very big not to do that.’
    ‘He’s getting better at it,’ says Abby, though she’s not sure he is.
    The woman frowns once more; the man coughs. ‘Now Finn, don’t be rude,’ he says. Abby is sure she can sense them thinking:
Good grief, is your son still in nappies?
    ‘It’s OK,’ she says, not wanting Finn to feel bad. By now she has no choice but to elaborate. She addresses Finn’s parents. ‘My son has autism.’
    ‘What’s autism?’ asks Finn.
    ‘Finn!’ The woman speaks sharply. ‘What did Daddy say?’
    Abby can see that Finn is poised to cry. She thinks fast – her skills are honed on that score. Again she crouches down to Finn’s height. It seems easier to explain to him. ‘It
means something happened inside my little boy’s head before he was born, Finn, so that he’s not as good at some things as you are, even though he’s older than you, and using the
loo is one of those things.’
    ‘Ah,’ nods Finn.
    ‘And sometimes he does funny things too, like when someone touches him by mistake. That’s why he jumped so high when you arrived, did you see?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But he’s very good at other things,’ says Abby.
    ‘Like jumping?’ says Finn.
    ‘Yes.’ Abby smiles. ‘You should see him on the trampoline!’ Then, impulsively, she ruffles the lad’s hair. How lovely to be able to touch a little boy in affection,
she thinks, without fear of being batted away.
    * * *
    No point in moping, Karen says to herself. She’s due in Worthing again shortly.
    ‘Do you
have
to go and see your dad tomorrow?’ Anna had said the night before. ‘I don’t wish to sound heartless, but it doesn’t sound as if he remembers
much when you visit. It’s a lot to take on, when it’s bound to be a tough day.’
    ‘But I’m not just going for Dad – I’m going for Mum.’
    ‘You’re always putting other people’s needs before your own.’
    ‘If I’m going to have a shit day, it might as well be
really
shit.’
    That had made Anna laugh. ‘At least let me come with you to the cemetery.’
    ‘I’ll take you up on that.’
    Maybe Anna had a point, Karen thinks, as she waves off Molly and Luke at the school gates. It’s never easy seeing her father; the last time she and Shirley visited, the nurse told them
George had become incontinent. ‘Some people say there are many parallels between the phases of child development and Alzheimer’s,’ the nurse had explained. ‘Just as a child
learns to sit up, then crawl, speak and be potty-trained, so our patients . . . um . . . do the same, but in reverse.’
    As fast as Molly is learning new things at school, Dad’s mind is unravelling, Karen sighs. In many ways modern healthcare has failed both Simon and George. Their GP didn’t diagnose
Simon’s heart condition; hardly his fault when her husband hadn’t been for a check-up in years. Conversely, medicine has done almost too much for her father, for what quality of life
does he have? In years gone by, another illness or disease would doubtless have claimed him by now. Instead he remains with them, but only just. Which is preferable, Karen wonders, to go in seconds