The Face of It

by Rosie Williams

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Love you.

  ‘Love you too.’

  Paige hung up the phone and leant back on the sofa, melting into the cushions. Sooty got up, made a few lazy circles on her lap, and settled back down. Paige smiled and began stroking him, his purrs reverberating into her thighs and stomach. At least he was predictable. As long as he was fed and had somewhere to sleep, he would love you no matter what. Paige wished people were that easy.

  Paige began looking up information about autism on her phone, such as how to get a diagnosis and what a diagnosis would mean. There were many accounts online of adults, some in their fifties and sixties, getting a diagnosis and it changing their lives. Some of them were able to stop blaming themselves for social faux pas they had committed as children or teenagers, that they now knew were due to being autistic. Others found it opened the door to a new community of friends and felt they had finally, after decades, found where they belonged in this world. Paige thought about where she belonged and couldn’t come up with an answer. There was here, with Sooty. She knew she was part of the group at work, but only on a professional basis; she didn’t get invited to any social events that weren’t official and run by the department. She belonged with Maya, but how much of that was due to Maya accommodating her ‘quirks’ and idiosyncrasies? Most of the stories mentioned how the person had gone to their doctor about getting a diagnosis only to be turned away or told it was unnecessary. But they had kept fighting and eventually been referred and subsequently diagnosed. Paige didn’t know if she had the strength for that.

  The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the living room was now pitch black. Paige hadn’t turned the light on when she got in and wasn’t about to disturb Sooty to do so. The boiler kicked into life and the heating came on at the time Paige was usually home, making the radiators gurgle and groan. Slowly, the house warmed up; Sooty even moved off Paige’s warm lap and back to the other end of the sofa. Paige finally got up and put the lights on, the warm glow flooding the room, her eyes taking a while to adjust.

  As the kettle was boiling to make a cup of tea, Paige booked a doctor’s appointment via the surgery website. It felt like it was now or never. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was, however her brain was wired.

  By the time she settled back on the sofa she was shaking, despite now being warm. It had been a long day.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Appointments

  The doctors’ surgery was chilly, and most of the patients still had their coats on. Mismatched chairs lined the wall, circling the wonky table littered with out-of-date magazines that sat in the centre of the room. The clock on the wall ticked away with the occasional cough or snivel interrupting its monotonous sound. Parents spoke in low voices to their children, willing them to be calm and quiet, handing them their own mobile phones to keep them entertained. Sticky fingers belonging to little people who barely knew how to talk happily scrolled through apps to find their games, or through videos to find a particular one. Rain splashed onto the window before trickling down and pooling slightly on the windowsill. The woman on the reception desk was busily clicking away at the computer screen, deliberately ignoring the queue of people lining up to check in. Only the ringing phone seemed to be able to get her attention.

  Paige checked the time again. Her appointment had been ten minutes ago, and she couldn’t understand how they were already running late this early in the morning. She had planned to be in by ten, but that was looking less and less likely. An announcement and name crackled over the tannoy and an older gentleman unsteadily got to his feat before shuffling towards the consulting rooms. Paige uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, adjusting her posture to try and alleviate the discomfort from the old, lumpy chairs.

  ‘Paige Spencer to room four’ was suddenly ejected from the speakers, and Paige jumped to her feet. She knocked before entering the doctor’s office, just as her mother had taught her to do, and was greeted by a mumbled ‘Come in’ from the other side of the wooden door.

  The slightly overweight, grey-haired doctor sat at his desk, squinting at the computer screen as he scrolled with his mouse. Various posters and office memos decorated the notice board above the computer screen, some of them with dates from over two years ago. The blinds were pulled across but not fully closed, allowing some privacy while also letting light into the room. An antiseptic smell mixed with must floated around in the air.

  Page sat down on the chair placed parallel with the desk and waited for the doctor to finish what he was doing.

  ‘Hello, how can I help you today?’ he said, turning in his swivel chair to look at Paige, his moustache brushing the top of his lip as he spoke.

  ‘I would like to be referred to be assessed for autism.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm, he said, bringing his hands to his lips, holding them like a person would when praying. ‘And why do you want that?’

  ‘Because I think I’m autistic,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Ah-ha, yes.’ He smirked. ‘I mean, why do you think you have autism? You seem a nice, well-spoken young lady.’ He smiled a patronising smile and Paige half expected him to finish with a ‘run along now’ or offer her a lollipop.

  ‘It has been suggested by colleagues, my niece and nephew are probably autistic, and I know there is a genetic element -’

  ‘Ah, been consulting Dr Google, have we?’

  ‘That’s not... I mean... wouldn’t you research it?

  ‘And why else do you think you have autism?’

  ‘A lot of the characteristics fit. Ever since I was a child I’ve needed routine, I’ve never been able to tolerate loud noises, I don’t like being touched -’

  ‘Do you work?’ he interrupted.

  ‘Yes...’

  ‘As what?’

  ‘I teach at a university.’

  The doctor slapped his legs as if he had just made a great scientific discovery.

  ‘So you are a fully functional member of society! Even if you do have autism, which I think is unlikely, you would be considered high-functioning and have no need for a diagnosis!’ He swivelled back to the desk and started writing up notes from their appointment.

  ‘Anything else I can help -’ he began. This time it was Paige’s turn to interrupt.

  ‘I would still like to be referred. Many autistic adults have jobs, that doesn't mean they’re not autistic. Functioning labels seem to just be used to deny people support or deny autonomy.’

  ‘I mean... it’s true people with autism sometimes have jobs,’ he said, glossing over Paige’s thoughts, ‘but you don’t just have a job, you have a career! One that involves social interaction!’

  ‘So autistic people can’t have careers?’

  ‘That’s not what... I didn’t mean...’ he said, becoming flustered.

  ‘So you are prejudiced against autistic people?’

  ‘No! Of course not!’

  ‘So having a career is not an excuse for you not to refer me. I have many of the “symptoms”, if this was a medical problem we wouldn’t be having this discussion,’ Paige said sternly.

  ‘Fine, I will refer you. But I must warn you the waiting times are on average around twelve months, as children going for assessment are given the priority - they are the ones that can be helped,’ he finished, slamming his index fingers onto the keyboard keys. Paige felt her anger swell inside her, but she bit her tongue; she didn’t want to give him an excuse to change his mind.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said through gritted teeth as she got up to leave. She heard the doctor sigh as she left the room, and could almost feel his eyes rolling, but she forced herself to keep walking so she did not say something she regretted.

  Once outside the surgery the cool fresh air helped her calm down. She thought it was ridiculous that someone in the medical profession could say and believe such things.

  Paige walked back to her car and tried not to think about the old doctor and his patronising words. Instead, she thought about the woman in her book
; how she had thought differently and how it had made a positive difference to the world.

  The car park was full and there were people waiting for a space. Paige gestured at the driver at the front of a queue that she was leaving, so he could have her spot, and he gave her the thumbs up in thanks and slowly followed her to her car. It took her a while to unlock the door as her hands were so cold, and even longer to get the key into the ignition, but she finally was able to back out. The other driver flashed his headlights, thanking her again, and swung his car in.

  Paige made her way to work, hoping that she hadn’t annoyed anyone with her lateness. At least she was on time for her eleven a.m. appointment with her masters student.

  Paige’s masters student was already waiting outside her office when she got there. Headphones in, head bowed, his dark clothes almost made him blend into the background. His personal assistant stood there awkwardly rocking backwards and forwards from his heel to the ball of his foot, smiling at everyone.

  ‘Hi, Jacob, come in,’ Paige said as she unlocked her door. Jacob responded by looking up slightly and taking his headphones out. At Jacob’s request, the assistant always waited outside.

  The first dry weather in a while meant the sun was shining from an almost clear sky, so her office was fairly brightly lit for a winter’s day. There were no longer papers piled around a beanbag in the corner; instead, they had been neatly filed into a much more transportable binder. She had started writing in different environments, her favourites being cafés or coffee shops. It allowed her to people watch and get inspiration for the characters without being disturbed.

  ‘Have a seat,’ she said, noticing Jacob still standing awkwardly by her desk. He sat and retrieved his tablet from his bag, setting it on his lap, before folding his hands in front of him and playing with one of the many different fidget toys she had seen him use. She’d mentioned how easily distracted she could get by sound once, and he’d only brought silent fidget toys to their meetings since. She looked across her desk at the dark-haired man. In his late twenties, he had long black hair and almost exclusively wore superhero T-shirts, seamless trousers, and trainers. Paige wished she could be that nonchalant about the judging eyes of others.

  ‘So how are you, Jacob?’ Paige asked gently.

  Jacob spoke through the tablet, typing his response before having the tablet read it out loud. ‘I am OK, thank you.’

  ‘In your email you said you were a bit lonely and struggling to get used to the city, is that still the case?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK. Have you joined any clubs or societies since you got here? Either within the university or just the city in general?’

  ‘No. I’m scared,’ his electronic voice responded with its pronounced English accent, which was jarring, as she knew Jacob was Welsh.

  ‘What about joining an autistic group? Do they exist?’ Paige asked, turning to Google to try and find out. Jacob didn’t respond immediately but looked down at the floor in thought.

  ‘Maybe,’ the voice said monotonously.

  ‘OK, well there is one group in the city, has a group I can send you a link to it. Will you try?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. OK, now down to business. I’ve read your research thus far and, honestly, you’ve done a fantastic job. There are a few tweaks I’d like to run through with you, but I think we could potentially publish this as a paper, if you were willing to put the work in?’

  A smile slowly spread across Jacob’s face and his eyes sparkled. His fingers frantically tapped on his tablet like they couldn’t keep up with his brain.

  ‘Really? That would be amazing. That would show them,’ his electronic voice said blandly, failing to communicate his excitement.

  ‘Yes, it would,’ Paige said, smiling. Jacob had struggled in school, where his needs as an autistic person weren’t met; the school had just focused on trying to make him appear ‘normal’. They ignored his non-verbal communication to try and ‘encourage’ him to speak with his mouth. His parents withdrew him from school, helped him learn how to type into an electronic device that could speak for him, and started home-schooling him. All the while his social worker tried to paint Jacob’s parents as neglectful by taking him out of school, saying he’d never succeed without their help.

  Paige brought her chair round to the other side of her desk to sit next to Jacob and go through his work, turning her computer monitor around so he could see. Paige tried to focus on the screen so she wouldn’t read what he was typing before he was ready to ‘speak’; she wouldn’t like it if people constantly tried to finish her sentences. They worked for about an hour, discussing the finer points of academic writing and the research he had done on nineteenth-century politics. When it was time for their meeting to be over, Paige scooted away in her chair back to the other side of her desk, and booked in their next meeting.

  ‘Would the sixteenth January the same time suit you?’ she asked. Jacob checked the calendar on his phone and nodded.

  ‘Great, see you then,’ Paige said, turning back to her computer to write up their meeting notes. Jacob left, making sure that the door didn’t slam loudly behind him.

  It only took a few minutes to type up the notes and email them across to Jacob, after which Paige gathered her things and her binder and made her way downstairs. She had booked the afternoon off to work on her book, so was heading to her favourite café. On the way there she kept thinking about her meeting with Jacob and the doctor’s words floated into her head: ‘I don’t think it’s likely’. Taylor’s voice intruded not long after, screaming that she didn’t look autistic. Paige started walking faster, and playing with the buttons on her coat. Many cars sped past her as she walked, belching metallic fumes. Stopping at a pedestrian crossing she watched as they flew past as multi-coloured blurs. The beep beep beep of the crossing signal scratched at her throat and the studded paving slabs made her feel like she was falling.

  Paige took a slightly longer route through a park to get away from all the different sensory inputs, only for the park to bring back memories of her date with Taylor and cause her even more input, this time from her own emotions. There was a couple sitting holding hands on one of the benches, the woman resting her head on the man’s shoulder. Paige hurried past them. A robin started singing from one of the trees, its little red breast swelling with the tune. Paige tried to concentrate on the song, and her breathing, and slowed her pace, not wanting to startle the little bird. He looked at her with his dewy eye and continued his melody. Paige stopped to listen. After the robin had finished, he flew away, off to serenade someone else. Paige took a deep breath and carried on toward the coffee shop, strolling slowly. So what if she didn’t have many similarities with Jacob; people are inherently different, it’s the natural human state. She smiled, thinking of how each robin sang a similar, but different song.

  The coffee shop had its windows decorated with stencils and fake snow. Fluffy white fabric adorned the windowsills on the inside, and local children had made reindeer out of paper plates, which had been hung behind the glass. New flavours of coffee had appeared on the menu, such as gingerbread and black cherry, and Christmas songs played on a loop in the background. Christmas had definitely landed.

  Paige pushed open the heavy front door and made her way inside, the warmth hitting her immediately. She removed her coat and tucked it under her arm while she waited in the queue to order. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to draw holly and Christmas trees on the chalkboards behind the counter, and there was tinsel wrapped around the till, slightly hindering the opening of the cash drawer.

  Paige ordered a luxurious-sounding hot chocolate and a chocolate croissant. The server recognised her and smiled as she said she’d bring it over. Paige turned away from the counter and hesitated; her usual corner was taken by an old man. He sat perched on the edge of the seat, sipping his drink and squinting at the newspaper in front of h
im. The hiss of the coffee machine startled her into action, and she sat down in the nearest seat she could find pulling out her laptop. There was no plug at her current table, and she was immediately anxious that the battery would die before the older gentleman left.

  The server brought over her drink and croissant, the delicious smells mingling in the air. The warm pastry almost melted on her tongue, satisfying her sweet tooth before she started work.

  She was about halfway through writing the book, and her character was at a crux. Historical records were vague at this point, so Paige would have to make a creative decision; something that she was not used to doing. Did the young woman try and find shelter in a local farmhouse, and risk being caught, or did she keep walking and hope to get to her destination alive, despite the cruel winter biting at her heels? Paige took a sip of her chocolate and felt a pang of shame. This wasn’t some fictional character; she had been a real woman, resisting the Nazis. Despite how much Taylor’s words still stung, they were just words; they didn’t compare. A tidal wave of guilt from the self-pity she had been wallowing in washed over her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gifts and Gratitude

  TAYLOR

  It was late evening on the twenty-third of December when Taylor and Dylan set off on the drive to their parents’ house, loudly singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio. The roads were packed with cars, people going home for the holidays or going somewhere just to get away from the Christmas spirit. The twins were in full song, competitively warbling to keep themselves amused on the car journey. Most of the houses they passed on the way to the motorway had decorations in the windows. There were tasteful baubles and metal Christmas trees, religious mangers, and inflatable jolly Santas looking like they could float away any minute. Some people even had blow-up snowmen and snow globes in their garden, tethered tightly to the ground.

  Dylan had finished his classes for the holidays a couple of weeks ago, but had stayed in town so the siblings could travel home together; it was a long drive and Taylor had been working so hard, Dylan had joked he didn’t trust her to keep her eyes open. Taylor was grateful. She hadn’t been sleeping properly since her fight with Paige. Every time she thought about it her stomach twisted itself into knots and she started feeling a bit sick. They hadn’t spoken since that afternoon, abruptly breaking their pattern of texting nearly every day.