The Boy Who Hugs Trees

by Dougie McHale

  Adam senses Georgia has eased into an unguarded contentment and he asks, ‘What would you like me to call you?’

  Georgia takes a seat. ‘Well Adam, since we’re not being formal, please call me Georgia, everyone else does.’ She smiles.

  He nods and tastes the coffee from a white cup. ‘You make a strong coffee Georgia’.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry; I should have asked how you take it,’

  ‘No, its ok, don’t worry, I like it that way, strong and dark… Your garden’s nice.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for that. A gardener comes every two weeks, although I like to potter about now and again.’ She thinks of the garden at the house in Corfu and feels an excited contentment.

  ‘If I had to maintain a garden there would be more chips laid than grass grown. I like a well-kept garden, though. I can’t believe the variety of garden furniture that people can buy now.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we need the weather to appreciate it; there’ll be no such problems in that department in Corfu. I spend most of my time living outdoors when we are over there.’ She hears the elation in her voice.

  ‘Yes, I can imagine that would be the way of life.’

  ‘That brings me to an important subject.’

  He detects a hint of excitement in her voice.

  ‘I’m quite surprised you haven’t asked where we are staying in Corfu.’

  ‘To be honest, I haven’t thought of the mechanics of it all. I suppose I didn’t want to tempt fate.’ Adam had an impression of a modern house, with a pool and sun beds.

  Georgia smiles. ‘Don’t worry; we’ll get to all of that later.’

  She thinks for a moment. ‘I realised my mistake once Dylan became upset with the last lady. Interpersonal skills and knowledge go hand in hand. You can’t have one without the other otherwise, it’s a recipe for disaster, as I found out to my cost and Dylan’s detriment.’

  She runs long fingers through her hair, an involuntary ritual that Adam notes peppers her conversation. To his surprise, he finds it projects a seductive quality he reproachfully pushes from his mind.

  Georgia walks over to Dylan, who has been walking with a bounce, up and down the garden. She touches him on the shoulder.

  ‘Dylan, take your headphones off, it’s time to sit with Mr Newman. Would you like a drink of orange?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Dylan says, removing the headphones from his ears.

  Dylan sits opposite Adam, head bowed. Georgia pours a glass of orange and hands it to him.

  ‘Thanks.’ He takes the glass and holds it in both hands on his lap.

  ‘I’ll be inside if you need me.’

  Adam is unsure if Georgia is addressing one or both of them. He raises the cup to his lips and savours the strong coffee. Adam clears his throat. He feels a pang of sympathy for Dylan. The boy must be unnerved by all this attention he thinks. Dylan sniffs. He does that a lot, Adam reminds himself, probably a tic.

  ‘Dylan, my name is Adam and I’m here because I would like to teach you now you’re not going to school. I know this must be odd for you, having to meet lots of people you’ve not met before.’

  Dylan continues to stare into his lap. Adam tells Dylan about himself, where he lives, where he works, his likes and dislikes. There is a long pause. Dylan continues to stare into his lap.

  ‘What is your favourite subject at school?’

  Dylan shrugs.

  ‘We can talk about something else if you want.’

  ‘Computer lessons were practical, and I was content to be in the music class, but only sometimes.’

  ‘And why would that be?’ Good, Adam thinks, at least he will speak.

  ‘If a subject doesn’t interest me, then I don’t see any reasonable explanation why I should learn about it. That would not be logical.’ Dylan does not lift his gaze.

  ‘Well then, you must have an interest in a certain musical style or topic, maybe.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.’

  ‘Is that who you were listening to?’

  ‘I only listen to Mozart.’

  ‘I don’t know a lot about classical music but I’ve heard Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. You know the one that everyone knows, the part that goes... Dan Dan Dan Dan.’

  Dylan's head remains bowed.

  ‘Do you know what? I’d like it if you could tell me something about classical music?’

  ‘Well a symphony consists of four movements; it nearly always has a slow beginning, then an allegro which is the most important movement as it develops all of the themes.’

  Dylan speaks with exuberance in his voice. ‘The complete collection of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s music fills one hundred and seventy compact discs, which I actually have. Compare that with Bach, whose music fills one hundred and fifty-seven compact discs and then Haydn with one hundred and fifty. Now, what makes Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart the genius he undoubtedly was, is, Bach died at the age of sixty-five, Haydn at seventy-seven but Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was just thirty-six years old when he died on Monday, December 5th, 1791 of complications arising from a chronic kidney failure, rheumatic fever and a streptococcal infection.’

  ‘That’s a lot of music.’

  ‘Mozart wrote forty-one symphonies, twenty-seven concertos for the piano, five for the violin, four for horn, two for flute, and one for the bassoon, oboe, clarinet, and the flute and harp. Twenty-four violin sonatas, twenty-five string duos, string trios, string quintets, string quartets, eighteen piano sonatas, nineteen operas, then there are keyboard works, sacred works, concert arias, canons, songs, serenades, dances, marches and divertimenti.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about Mozart.’

  ‘As well as listening to his music, I have also read quite a lot of books on Mozart and his life. I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but I know a lot about him. When Mozart was my age, he had already travelled to and given concerts in Vienna, Paris, London and Italy with his father, Leopold. He spoke German, Italian, French and Latin. He was away from his home for three thousand seven hundred and twenty days. That is over ten years, one-third of his life.’

  ‘Apart from listening to his music and reading about him, is there anything else you like doing or are interested in?’

  ‘I like to walk beside the river opposite our house. The lady who mum sent away said it was dangerous, and she didn’t let me hug the trees.’

  ‘You like to hug trees?’

  ‘Yes, I like the feel of the bark, actually.’

  ‘We can go if you want, if it’s ok with your mum.’

  Dylan glances at Adam then, ‘Good.’

  Dylan leads the way, his headphones clamped to his ears, as they cross Deanhaugh Street. At the foot of a clock tower, they descend metal framed steps and follow a path that takes them to Water of Leith, a river that cuts through Edinburgh. They stride along the embankment until they come to a small clearing. Adam has an unsettling momentary sense they are being watched. The charred remains of a small fire and discarded bottles of cheap vodka and super strength lager, litter the ground. Fragments of glass and decapitated bottlenecks lie scattered across the dry earth, like the dead on a battlefield. Adam’s attention is snagged by a tree trunk arched over the water, its branches skimming the surface, like outstretched arms, as if poised to dive into the placid flowing current.

  Dylan removes his headphones and lets them fall around his shoulders. He walks towards a dead tree, with folds of reptilian bark that creases and lines its trunk. He leans inwards, raises his arms, turns his head to the side and gently presses his check to the trunk. Dylan closes his eyes and greets his old friend with a smile, slowly sidestepping around the trunk.

  ‘Look it’s the tree hugger.’ The voice comes from behind Dylan, projected provokingly.

  Three teenagers run down the slight decline of a well-worn track and into the small clearing, the timbre of their voices buoyant at the prospect of taunting their unsuspe
cted discovery. One boy bends down and grabs a small rock. With a flick of his wrist, he tosses it in the air and catches it in his palm, repeating the action several times, as he moves closer to Dylan, accompanied by a sardonic grin.

  ‘We’ve got you this time tree hugger, there’s nowhere to run.’

  The other two boys stand behind their friend, laughing encouragingly. He moves closer. Dylan turns, facing the threat before him. Adam remains out of view. The boy moves to Dylan’s side, juggling the rock between his hands. Adam acts quickly, swiping the rock from the air in one swift motion. The boy seems genuinely astonished, as he stumbled backwards.

  ‘Do you still feel big, now you don’t have your little stone?’ Adam smiles threateningly.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ the boy gasps.

  Adam leans towards him, staring into the boy’s blinking eyes. ‘I’m your worst nightmare, you little shit, now piss off to wherever you came from,’ Adam rasps in a steely tone.

  They stare at each other and then, like a scared dog, the boy backs away, retreating to his friends and the wounded pack disappears, tails between legs.

  ‘You swore Mr Newman; that conveys a lack of command of the English language.’

  ‘It was a necessity that was effective, given the circumstances, I thought.’ Adam tosses the rock into a clump of bushes.

  Dylan bends his head to one side. ‘I can see the logic in that, actually.’

  ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does this happen a lot?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Have they ever hurt you?’

  ‘No. They call me names. They don’t scare me. School is worse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t like school. Well, maybe not all schools in general. I don’t know what other schools are like, I only know about the one I went to. I hated my school.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me why?’

  Dylan shrugs.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else if you like, while we walk home.’

  ‘I was picked on… bullied… They obviously didn’t understand me and I didn’t understand them, but that’s not a reason to do and say the things they did.’

  Dylan paces backwards and forwards, staring at the ground.

  ‘It happened every day, but they were careful not to let the adults see. I think about it a lot. I’m able to replay each incident, every detail. I store them in folders in my mind, like a computer. It brings back the feelings each time as if it were happening again. At first, I thought they were playing a game; this must be how people play I thought. I didn’t really understand it. I felt confused. I said sorry a lot and that made them laugh, like a joke, but I didn’t know why it was funny. I find it hard to know what people think about, actually.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’ Adam asks, sympathetically.

  ‘No. They told me not to tell anyone. It was a secret and they said that if I told an adult, something bad would happen to me. I found lots of places to hide in. It’s a big old building but they always found me.’ Dylan frowns. ‘School is a confusing place. People break the rules or change the rules. School smells of disinfectant and the corridors vibrate with loud noises, they’re often filled with lots of people talking and shouting. I couldn’t make sense of the noise. I hate the corridors because people often bump into me and I find that to be painful, just like a shock wave running through me.

  ‘I was made fun of by certain boys. I didn’t know that at the time. They often followed me around the school at break times. They called me names like, ‘freak,’ and ‘geek,’ and emptied my school bag onto the ground. Sometimes, I’d try to push them away, but that made it worse and they would laugh. I was physically assaulted once, actually. They took money from me, to buy cigarettes to smoke within the school boundary. I told them that cigarettes can kill people. One boy, the biggest in size, said that if I told anyone, there would be only one person in danger of being killed. They all laughed again like they always did. I didn’t understand what he meant. I said that I had to tell a teacher because rules were made to be followed not broken. That was when he hit me.’

  ‘Did you tell a teacher or your mum?’

  ‘The teachers were always saying things I didn’t understand,’ Dylan says despairingly. He hesitates. ‘I was always getting into trouble because in the classroom, I often looked at the wall or the floor, and the teacher would shout at me, saying I was ignoring him and not listening. When I said that I find it really uncomfortable to look at a person when they’re speaking, he said that I was being insolent.

  ‘A lot of the time, I focus on an object next to the person or behind them. If they are close, like you are now, I always look at their mouths, never into their eyes.’

  Adam looks at him curiously. ‘Does your mum know about the bullying?’

  ‘Oh yes. Mum found out about the bullying because a teacher noticed my pack lunch box was always empty when we sat down to eat lunch. He asked me why this was and I said that it’s part of a game I play with the other boys. I give them the food in my lunch box and that makes them laugh. I know now that we weren’t playing a game.’

  Dylan stops pacing and smiles awkwardly. ‘Out of the entire people mum interviewed, she said that you were the best qualified. She should have picked you first, she was sorry she didn’t, so you should know all about children like me, actually.’

  ‘Not every person with autism is the same. For example, most of the children I taught liked school. They were happy to be there.’

  ‘I would have liked school if the teachers understood what it meant to have someone like me in their class. The children in your class were happy. I would like you to be my teacher, Mr Newman, so I can feel happy like those other children.’

  Adam looks at Dylan with a conspiratorial smile. ‘I would like that very much, Dylan.’

  Adam hadn’t expected Dylan’s frank disclosure. He feels a rising sense of pity for the boy, made all the more tangible by the ordeals he must have faced on a daily basis.

  ‘Are you excited about going to Corfu?’ he asks, trying to sound optimistic.

  Dylan nods briefly. ‘Mm, a little I suppose. It won’t be like the holidays I’ve had there. I’ve never had to take school lessons there, that will be different. It won’t be like school, which will be a good thing, actually.’

  Chapter 10

  Katherine

  Adam was born in Manchester, the youngest of three children. His father was a lawyer in one of the larger and more prosperous firms in the city. Adam’s mother worked part time as a teacher, at the local primary school. His sister, Annabel, was four years older than Adam and ten minutes older than her twin sister Sarah. Adam attended the local primary school where his mother taught. His sisters looked out for him, protecting him like mother hens at every opportunity. He didn’t mind their attention.

  Adam’s father spoke with a measured voice and was meticulous and a perfectionist in everything he did; attributes that advanced his career. When Adam was seven, his father secured a partnership at a prominent Glasgow law firm. The family moved to Kelvinside, a predominantly middle-class area of the city. Adam attended Kelvinside Academy, a private day school near the city’s Botanic Gardens. The main school building was category A listed. He moved from the junior school to the senior school, playing in the rugby and cricket team. Adam became de-anglicised, adopting a soft west coast tone to his voice.

  He discovered music and a few of his friends started a band. Adam played rhythm guitar. He wasn’t proficient enough to master the lead brakes and intricate solos that are required from a lead guitarist; that was left to Jim. Jim owned a Marshall stack and at sixteen he had already cultivated the look of the rock star with his flowing hair and fluffy stubble, perfecting the poses of Slash from Guns n Roses, as he executed another screeching solo on the fret board of his sunburst Gibson Les Paul. Adam was content to fill the spaces with his crunching chords and dream o
f stadium gigs and platinum discs.

  It lasted a year, and they parted company citing musical differences, the usual footnote to a breakup. Adam had become disillusioned with the local music scene, when he realised it was only a small percentage of bands that eventually secured a contract in the music business and, even then, success is not guaranteed.

  There was always an expectation on his father’s part that Adam would follow him into Law. His father was a serious man, astute and disciplined. He seldom appreciated the views of others, waving a hand of impatience if they conflicted with his own. It was a trait that served him well in his profession but not as a father. Adam achieved good grades that afforded him the choice of applying to several universities. Instead of studying Law in Edinburgh, his father’s recommendation, he accepted an offer to attend Jordon Hill College of Education, studying a BA Hons in Primary Education.

  Adam first saw Katherine in the student bar. It was December and winter had settled over a shivering Glasgow. Thursday night was usually the start of the weekend for most of the regulars in the student bar. The band had just finished playing, the last chords fading from the final encore. Ordering a round of drinks, his attention was drawn to a group of girls, who arrived discarding jackets and scarves in animated gestures. It was so warm in the diminutive surroundings that the walls often perspired when the place was bouncing to the next big band to come out of the city. Its nickname was, ‘the oven’ and on this night, it felt like one.

  She stood beside him and ordered three white wines, a red, and half a pint of cider. Katherine was a few inches shorter than Adam, an advantage that allowed him to scan her up and down without being detected. He found her attractive. She flicked her hair behind an ear, and he was able to appreciate the structure of her face. Adam’s drinks arrived, he paid the barman and intentionally lingered as he deposited the change into his wallet.

  ‘Did you catch the band?’