The Rosie Result

by Graeme Simsion

  He had become more popular and socially active since the fishing trip. Via Carl, he had obtained a new costume featuring jeans and shoes which resembled trainers but which were patently not well designed for that purpose.

  He had resumed wearing his backpack with both straps, which seemed to be some sort of reversion, but he explained that Carl’s advice had been out of date.

  ‘Ever since 21 Jump Street, it’s cooler to double-strap,’ he said. ‘And that’s forever ago.’

  Rosie intercepted him as he prepared to depart for a party celebrating the birthday of Blake, the boy he had defeated at the swimming carnival.

  ‘What did you buy him?’ asked Rosie. She pointed to a long parcel which Hudson was carrying by a string tied to both ends.

  ‘Just a bat.’

  ‘A cricket bat?’

  Hudson nodded.

  ‘Are you sure it’s the right size?’

  ‘He told me which one he wanted. It’s a good one.’

  ‘For forty dollars?’

  ‘I added some of my own money.’

  ‘How much did it cost?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  I would have abandoned the conversation at that point, but Rosie persisted. ‘About.’

  ‘A hundred.’

  ‘It cost a hundred dollars?’

  ‘No, that was what I added. About.’

  ‘Where did the money come from?’

  ‘Dave pays me for helping with the blocks. I have to go or I’ll miss the tram.’

  On the phone, Dave explained that Hudson had been modest about his contribution—and the compensation. ‘He didn’t just set up the website. He had the idea, he came up with the brand, he was the one who pushed me to charge about four times what I thought they were worth. He’s earned his fifty per cent.’

  ‘Fifty per cent? Of what?’

  ‘Profit. All sales minus cost of materials. We’re partners. Fifty–fifty. To be honest, I didn’t think we’d make much, but now I’m looking at saving for Zina’s college fund and I guess he’s saving for his own. I thought you knew that.’

  ‘Seems incredible. You’re doing all the work.’

  ‘I’m making more money than if I’d set it up myself. Not complaining. We shared the risk. I’ve had a business; I know how it works. But he’ll be running Microsoft one day.’

  I told Rosie.

  ‘He’s buying friends,’ she said. ‘And now he’s done it for some of them, the others are going to expect it.’

  ‘We can order him to discontinue the practice.’

  ‘We can. He can tell the other kids that he’s not allowed to buy expensive presents anymore. And I guess the invitations will stop.’

  ‘Possibly that will be an important lesson about human behaviour,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure he knows it already. It’d be a better lesson if he stopped buying expensive presents and the invitations kept coming anyway. It’d be better if the world was like that.’ She put Hudson’s plate in the dishwasher.

  ‘We were worried that he didn’t have friends,’ she said. ‘Now at least he’s mixing. He’s found a way to do it, even if it’s not the way we’d like. Maybe it’ll kick-start some real friendships.’

  We agreed that the ban would not come into force until the end of the school year, now only six weeks away. New rules could be set for high school. It seemed a logical decision, but I went to bed feeling uncomfortable. Hudson was in danger of becoming the sort of person I had disapproved of all my life.

  40

  ‘Come here,’ called Rosie.

  ‘What are you doing in Hudson’s bedroom?’ Based on what I believed Hudson would want—i.e. exercising empathy—I avoided entering his room. The exception was when Rosie had persuaded me to hack his computer, an action I continued to feel guilty about. He was currently absent, configuring my mother’s internet access in exchange for homemade caramel slice at her new flat in Fairfield.

  ‘Cleaning,’ said Rosie. ‘Which was one of the tasks my husband volunteered for when he gave up his day job. The room’s a pigsty. And you can tell him that he needs to take a shower more often.’

  I had arrived at the bedroom door. ‘I thought we were letting him be himself rather than trying to mould him.’

  ‘Tell him to shower every day and buy him a can of deodorant. Anyway, the reason I called you is this. Come and see.’

  I needed to lie on Hudson’s bed to read the sheet of paper that he had attached to his bedside table.

  Run every day

  Talk to Blanche

  Parties

  Don’t talk about the app

  No meltdowns

  Nobody likes a show-off

  SHUT UP

  Beside Parties was the number eight, with earlier numbers crossed out. Presumably this was the number of events attended, at a cost to us of $320 for gifts and, extrapolating from the price of the cricket bat, approximately $800 to Hudson. The second half of the sheet was a series of integers in descending order, starting from sixty-four. The numbers above twenty-three had been crossed out.

  I knew what it was immediately. I had kept the same count mentally as a child.

  ‘Number of days left of term,’ I said. ‘I think he got the idea from Dave. On the fishing trip. Dave monitors his weight and—’

  ‘Okay. I hear you.’ Rosie spoke louder than was necessary and I sensed frustration. With me. I got up from the bed.

  ‘This is so sad,’ said Rosie. ‘What are we doing to him?’

  ‘It’s about fitting in,’ I said. ‘We’ve tried to help him, but he’s realised that he needs to do it himself. Psychologists agree that change needs to come from personal commitment…’

  ‘Don, I’ve got a PhD in psychology. I don’t need a lecture on motivation. I’m sad that he needs to do this at all. I love him as he is.’

  ‘Agreed. Me also. But the world doesn’t. The school world. A lot of the rest of the world.’

  ‘That was your life, wasn’t it?’

  ‘When I was young. It wasn’t just the world that didn’t like me. I didn’t like me. I wanted to change.’

  ‘You might not have wanted to if you’d been accepted. And you’re okay now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ The answer was automatic: I was happy with Rosie, Hudson, the bar. But I needed to add, ‘Except for losing my job and my best friend and almost losing you following the Antenatal Uproar and living in fear that I’ll be accused of harassment or racism or misogyny or shot by the police due to a social error.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m really sorry. Again.’

  ‘Only one of those incidents involved you. But if Hudson is attempting to avoid problems of that kind, despite them being due to the human environment rather than him, we should support him.’

  ‘Dov’s going to St Benedict’s next year,’ said Hudson. ‘It’s a special school, but not just for…intellectually disabled. They take smart kids who have trouble reaching their full potential in the traditional school environment.’

  It was Hudson’s evening at the bar, but his friends had not turned up yet.

  ‘Sounds like you know a bit about it,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Dov’s mum had a spare brochure. He really wants me to go there.’

  ‘Why you?’

  ‘Because I used to go behind the screen with him. We’re sort of friends. Actually, friends.’

  ‘Would you like to see it?’ said Rosie. ‘Have a chat with one of the teachers?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I was shocked. Despite the resistance that Hudson’s school had displayed to enrolling him for the following year, I had no doubt he would be accepted in the government-school system, where principals were, according to the press, unable to expel drug dealers, knife wielders and apprentice terrorists.

  And there were other private schools. But a ‘special’ school? It would be final proof that the Hudson Project had failed. And it seemed Rosie was encouraging the idea.

  When Hudson had
gone, I shared my reaction with her.

  ‘We should let him have a look,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying he’ll want to go there, but wherever he ends up, he’s going to have some challenges. We don’t want him thinking there’s somewhere else that would’ve been better that he didn’t get a chance to see.’

  The headmaster of St Benedict’s, whose name was Barry O’Connor, made the appointment for 5.30 p.m. so Rosie could attend without taking time off work. Hudson accompanied us.

  ‘I’m sure you realise this is a Catholic school,’ said Barry, whom I guessed was in his fifties and slightly overweight (BMI approximately twenty-seven). Rosie laughed, as though the school’s religious affiliation had been obvious to her. ‘But we get children from all backgrounds. I’m guessing Hudson’s friend Dov may have a Jewish heritage.’

  Barry gave a short speech emphasising the school’s acceptance of human diversity. It was similar to the speech we had been given by Bronwyn the Principal prior to enrolling Hudson, but Barry illustrated it with numerous examples, including some featuring autism.

  Whether or not Hudson met the diagnostic criteria for autism, it was encouraging to know that individual traits would be treated with understanding. I had observed that neurotypicals criticised autistic people for lacking empathy—towards them—but seldom made any effort to improve their own empathy towards autistic people.

  My reflections had distracted me from the conversation. Hudson was speaking.

  ‘What sort of ATAR scores does the school achieve? The top students.’

  ‘Are you thinking of a particular university course?’ asked Barry.

  ‘Maybe Law.’

  Law! I blamed Dave.

  ‘And what has attracted you to the legal profession?’ said Barry.

  ‘Stuff that happens, everywhere—even at school. People get accused of things and don’t get a fair trial.’

  Rosie had been right. The Pigeon Betrayal had changed the course of Hudson’s life.

  ‘I must say that’s an encouraging explanation,’ said Barry. He looked hard at Hudson. ‘You need good academic results—really good results—to get into Law straight from school. Some of our students do, but if that’s your focus, you’ll probably be better off where you are. If you can manage the social aspects.’

  He turned to Rosie and me. ‘A lot of our students are late bloomers: they go on to great things, sometimes very mainstream things like Law and Medicine and business careers, but often after a rethink in their late twenties or thirties. We’re just as happy to claim them as our own.’

  Back to Hudson. Barry was an expert focuser. ‘Do you have any questions?’

  Hudson nodded. ‘What’s the proportion of males and females?’

  ‘We haven’t always been co-educational, and it’s taking a while for girls’ enrolments to catch up. When you’re talking about kids who have trouble dealing with mainstream schools…well, we get a lot of boys.’

  ‘What are the proportions?’ asked Hudson, again.

  ‘We’re about eighty per cent boys.’

  Driving home, Rosie asked Hudson about the gender question.

  ‘I need practice…interacting…with girls,’ he said. ‘So I’m not a late bloomer.’ He laughed. ‘Like Dad.’

  ‘But overall?’ I asked.

  ‘I think it’ll be good for Dov. Probably I’ll go to the state high school. Unless my school changes its mind.’

  41

  For two weeks before the cross-country event, Hudson was focused on his role as team captain, to the extent of suspending work on the bar app, which was now reasonably stable. The race was over two kilometres, including some uneven terrain, according to the form we were required to sign.

  ‘I’m not going to win,’ he said. ‘I’ve been training, but there are a few kids who’ve been doing athletics since they were about two, so they’ll be faster. It’s done with points: ten points for the winner, nine for second, eight for—’

  ‘I’ve deduced the system. Seven points for fourth, correct?’

  ‘Correct. But every finisher scores one point. I need to get everyone in the house to run and make sure they don’t drop out, which can happen if you go too fast too early. That’s the most common mistake. First step is permission forms. I’m making sure they’ve all been done.’

  Hudson was still running through his plans as Rosie arrived home.

  ‘Steady pace is best, with a sprint at the end. But going slow at the start is better than going fast. You should run the second half faster than the first. It’s easier to catch up than to try to keep a lead.’

  ‘Whew,’ said Rosie, when Hudson took time out for some other task. ‘I guess he’s got something to prove. If his team wins, Rabbit will have to back down on his “no good at team sports” thing.’

  ‘Which was a major factor in the school’s informal diagnosis of autism.’

  ‘If you’re thinking he’ll change his mind…and persuade Bronwyn…I wouldn’t count on it.’

  Rosie took time off work (‘I’ve stopped caring what Judas thinks’) to attend the race. Phil was also there in his role as Hudson’s coach. We gathered in a small grandstand at a public sports ground. The competitors would be required to complete a lap of the field after covering the dangerous ‘uneven terrain’.

  Phil looked around. ‘Can’t see Blue House Jerk,’ he said.

  ‘I suspect his daughter’s vision would be inadequate. Fortunately, she’s not in Hudson’s house.’

  We heard the starting gun, and about eight minutes later the first runners arrived—one in front, followed by a bunch of three—and began their lap.

  ‘Should see Hudson soon,’ said Phil about two minutes later, checking his phone, which was in stopwatch mode.

  More competitors arrived, but not Hudson. Phil was becoming agitated. The winner crossed the line, followed by the three runners—two females and one male—who had accompanied her into the final stage. I assumed these were the athletes that Hudson had mentioned, and they provided a dramatic demonstration of the value of proper training. The next runner still had more than half a lap to complete, and a large number of children were spread out behind him.

  Finally, Hudson entered the stadium, and the reason for the delay became apparent. He was holding the hand of a girl I immediately recognised as Blanche, due to the dark glasses, white hair and blue shirt indicating her house affiliation. On Hudson’s other side was an overweight child—Dov, wearing a green shirt. He was clearly tired. Hudson patted him on the back and pointed ahead.

  There was a huge round of applause and cheering, presumably for Blanche’s courage in participating. But there was further drama to come. As soon as they commenced the lap of the field, Hudson released Blanche’s hand and increased his pace. Dov took over the hand-holding role, and Hudson began overtaking runners. Phil was cheering loudly, but so was the remainder of the crowd.

  ‘C’mon,’ said Phil, not to Hudson but to us, and began pushing his way through the crowd in the stand. We followed as he broke into a run towards the finish line. ‘They’ll try to hug him,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to spoil it for him.’

  Hudson crossed the finish line and put his hands on his knees as he regained his breath. Phil spread his arms to shield Hudson from unwanted contact, then, when he straightened up, shook his hand. I noticed Hudson looking directly at Phil and concentrating on getting the handshake correct.

  ‘Great work,’ said Phil. You went past everyone on that last lap.’

  ‘Where did I come?’

  ‘Fifth. Perfect run for you. You were never going to beat the first four.’

  ‘Did you see a girl with a green shirt? A super-tall girl?’

  ‘She won.’

  Hudson punched the air, then waited by the finish line until everyone had crossed. Blanche and Dov were not the last. Hudson shook both of their hands expertly, and then Allannah appeared and hugged Blanche and Dov, giving Hudson enough warning to allow him to have his hand out instead. There was a bigger
cluster of people around Hudson than around the individual winner, and Rosie, Phil and I were now standing back.

  ‘That’s the mother, is it?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘She’s young but…I had some amazing goddess in mind. Given what you’ve said about her.’

  ‘She appears to be crying. Presumably with happiness that Blanche completed the course.’

  Behind me, a male voice that I didn’t recognise said, ‘I can see why he’s captain. Puts us all to shame, yelling our heads off for our kid’s team and he looks after a girl from another house. He’ll be prime minister one day. At least I hope so.’

  ‘We’d like to think so, too. Unfortunately he has a few challenges. But it’s a lesson for the other kids. They see him doing this, with all that he has to overcome, and, well…it’s quite inspiring for them.’

  The second voice I did recognise. It was Bronwyn, the principal.

  Two days after the run, Hudson brought home a notice.

  Parents may be aware that a student was suspended for a week last term for bringing a sharp instrument to school. Parents and students should know that it is strictly forbidden to bring knives or any object that might pose a danger to staff or students. However, there has been some misinformation circulated about the incident, and we want to clarify that the student did not threaten or harm any person or animal, nor do we have any reason to believe that this was intended. The student has returned to school after receiving a week’s suspension and there will be no further action.

  ‘Blanche fessed up,’ said Rosie. ‘Has Hudson seen it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He wanted to know if he was now entitled to attend the high school without an autism assessment.’

  ‘And…’

  ‘Bronwyn considers the resolution of the Pigeon Betrayal to be irrelevant to the high-school question.’

  Rabbit thought otherwise. ‘Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the cross-country,’ he said on the phone.