Shtum

by Jem Lester

  ‘I didn’t know,’ I say, as much to myself as to her. She waves it away.

  ‘Then I had the bright idea of ordering some more from the internet, just in case, to cover the shortfall. But as soon as they arrived, I took two. I’d never done that before, but it felt good – and it was something for me, you know?’

  I knew.

  ‘It felt risky and naughty and I just thought: fuck it! If this is what it takes to live my life then so be it.’

  ‘How long?’ I ask, and her face changes. The bravado that heralded this revelation has dissolved, the anger she expressed in the water garden has passed and now I have this alter-Emma opposite me, vulnerable, diminished and a mirror for my shame.

  ‘Five years, give or take.’

  ‘Five years!’ I’m stunned. How could I have spotted nothing? Five fucking years. ‘And work? Did they not notice?’

  ‘I hid it from you, didn’t I?’

  She drinks some more coffee and opens a bag of mini cookies that Jonah has purloined from the café counter. I spy the café owner jotting it down in a notebook.

  ‘I began to make mistakes. Nothing serious, but it made me paranoid. I wanted to sleep all the time. So I made the decision that I had to give them up, when the last batch ran out I wouldn’t order any more. The first day without was unimaginable. It was like waking up in a hurricane, I could hear every sound in hi-definition and at full volume, I was hopelessly paranoid, thought I was going to die. So I told work I had flu.’

  ‘I remember now.’ And I did. A week of dirty nappies, takeaways and curses. I couldn’t get to the pub or sneak booze back into the house and I resented every day of it.

  ‘I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the anxiety. Couldn’t take the reality. Getting the prescription from the doctor was like winning the lottery and I was off and running again, only worse.’

  My hands are over my face, my sunglasses over my hands.

  Her voice is faltering. ‘The week before you left, I almost killed Jonah. You were out and I’d just bathed him and washed his hair and I only left him for two minutes, to turn the oven off, and I could smell him before I saw him and it was everywhere, Ben. In his hair, down his legs, on the carpet, his mattress, the walls. His handprints were on the walls, Ben, and he just laughed at me and I found myself throwing things at him, anything I could find – toys, clothes, CDs – and he began biting his hand and jumping angrily and I just couldn’t stop swearing at him. I was out of control and I looked down and I had the glass vase in my hand and …’

  I have never seen her cry like this, with her whole body.

  ‘And I took two pills and showered him – which he hated – and filled him full of Calpol and gave him melatonin to knock him out and stuck him on the sofa while I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and struggled to pick him up and put him to bed and hoped he wouldn’t wake in the morning and then you came in and all you had to say when I told you was you should have put a nappy on him. A fucking nappy, Ben.

  ‘And the saddest part of all was that I felt guilty. While you polished off half a bottle of whisky, I sat in my drug-induced stupor full of guilt and shame and planned the least disruptive way to kill myself – to unburden you and Jonah of the weight of my hatred and incompetence. I wasn’t even going to end my life for me, I was planning to do it for the men in my life – neither of whom even spoke to me.’

  I need to get up and walk. ‘Give me a second,’ I say. Jonah has his back to me, he is gripping the green playground railings. I quietly walk up behind him and lean down to kiss his brown neck. He doesn’t flinch. The sun has warmed the air and the children’s cries have dampened in the rising humidity. I take my glasses off and turn my closed eyes skyward. But a vision of my father in his hospice bed forms on the inside of my eyelids and I reach for my son and bathe his cheek and his neck with their torrent. He stands rigid.

  My tear ducts have acted as pressure valves and I feel calmer as I walk back to her and sit down.

  ‘They call it a moment of clarity. It was after I spoke to Georg about you and Jonah moving in with him. It was something he said that triggered it. I’ll never forget it,’ she says.

  ‘What was it? Ben’s a shmock?’

  She smiles. ‘No, he said I shouldn’t make the same mistake as him. He said that I must love myself and forgive myself, or life will get stuck, like a record, in a groove. That same day, I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist and told her everything. Three days later, instead of checking in for a flight, I checked myself into rehab.’

  ‘Rehab,’ I repeat. ‘With heroin and cocaine addicts?’

  ‘Yes. And alcoholics.’

  I change the subject. ‘What did work say?’

  ‘I signed off with stress. They all know about Jonah, but I didn’t want them to know about the drugs and I didn’t want it on my medical record either. I didn’t use the company health insurance, I paid for it myself.’

  ‘So that’s why you couldn’t pay for the tribunal upfront? Dad knew all this, too?’

  ‘He had to, Ben. I needed him to look after both of you and I needed him to lend us the money for the tribunal.’

  ‘He agreed to lend us the money? Before? But he put me through hell.’ I shake my head. ‘At least he was consistent.’ I stare at the floor; honesty begets honesty. ‘I didn’t leave marketing, I was sacked. They caught me drinking. Dad, as ever, was my last hope.’

  ‘No, Ben, I should have been your last hope. Why didn’t you confide in me?’

  ‘I thought you’d leave me. And you? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t think you cared.’

  We look closely at each other and embrace. It’s miserable and summons up the grief like a catalyst. In the end it isn’t words – either written or spoken – that convince me my marriage is over – it’s the feeling of being embraced by a stranger.

  ‘I should really get back to the house,’ I say.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, no need.’

  ‘Well then, can I take Jonah? It would make life easier for you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  So we arrange ourselves, pick up phones and keys, finish off our drinks and linger, both in contemplation and – in my case – huge regret.

  ‘Ben, look at Jonah!’

  A blond boy, no taller than Jonah’s knee, has caught his attention. We watch as Jonah drops to his haunches, looks the child directly in the eye and treats him to a glowing, sparkly-eyed grin.

  ‘I’ve never seen him do that before. Have you ever seen him do that before?’

  ‘No,’ I nod in wonder, ‘I never have.’

  Summer

  Dad leaves me the house – which is more than I expected. If I thought he had no idea what was going on at the warehouse, I was wrong. He left it to Valentine, it turns out – who has postponed his Caribbean return – and I’m glad for him. I offered my help and he laughed at me. There was a private pension and life insurance that leaves me debt free, and with a little in reserve and with Emma’s promised half of the tribunal cost, the house can be properly childproofed and Johnny’s cheque torn up.

  The summer holidays are in full swing now. It’s late August and I’m simply biding time. Jonah and I are in a rhythm. The council grudgingly agreed to three days’ a week holiday club for him – which he is enjoying. And on the other days, we hit the park, McDonald’s, then the park again – we do what he wants to do, life is easier like that. His mood is eerily calm, a calm before the storm, but who knows? I don’t know if he misses Dad, whether he remembers him, even. Maybe he was just another adult there to meet his needs, which are and will remain – in material and social terms – very simple. Although it’s strange that Jonah has made a unilateral decision to sleep in Dad’s bed. He may find the remaining scent comforting, or he may just like the bed, or the shadows in
the darkness. Again, it’s a mystery. But he wakes less often.

  Maurice has been round regularly and I haven’t had the heart to ask for his key back, so he just arrives. He has taken some mementos – wrapped them in oil-cloth like precious gems.

  Emma and I have agreed an informal, workable arrangement around Jonah and she’s back in his life on a regular basis. He saw the sea for the first time this summer and I can imagine him, in later life, tanned and carefree, wandering along the sand pulling seaweed and shells and twiddling to his heart’s content.

  I am beginning to accept my part in all these troubles, to find some compassion, to think about making amends, to think about starting again. Still, in the forefront of my mind is the outcome of the tribunal and I can’t begin to think of a life ahead until then. So I’m on hold a bit.

  Currently, I’m listening to Radio 4 on my back on the sofa, having given up the Guardian crossword with just one clue solved. Jonah is off at club – they picked him up an hour ago and he skipped to the bus with a smile.

  I can feel my eyes closing as the doorbell rings.

  ‘Maurice, use your key.’

  But the bell rings a second, third, fourth time.

  ‘Fucking hell.’ I slide from the sofa and head to the front door. I see his shape through the stained-glass window and open the door.

  ‘Maurice, why didn’t …’

  It’s not Maurice.

  It is the postman with a recorded delivery letter.

  It’s arrived.

  Tummy ache

  My stomach fights for independence as I open the envelope. I try to read every word but then start scanning, madly. My eyes racing after my finger, pulling words from the text, tallying pluses and minuses as the phrases leap at me.

  First Tier Tribunal Special Educational Needs and Disability

  DECISION

  Appeal by:Mrs Emma Jewell and Mr Benjamin Jewell

  Against decision of:London Borough of Wynchgate

  Concerning:Jonah (born 11 May 2000)

  Hearing date:28 July 2011

  Tribunal panel:Lianne Wyatt (Tribunal Judge)

  Peter Greeling (Specialist Member) Nigel Prior (Specialist Member)

  Appeal

  Mrs Jewell and Mr Jewell appeal under section 326 of the Education Act 1996 against the contents of a statement of special educational needs made by the London Borough of Wynchgate (LA) for their son, Jonah.

  Tribunal’s conclusions with reasons

  We carefully considered the written evidence submitted to the tribunal in advance and the evidence given to us at the hearing. We also took account of the Code of Practice and the relevant sections of the Education Act 1996 and the Special Educational Needs and Disability Act 2001.

  Our Conclusions are:

  1.We are pleased that the parties maintained a dialogue about the issues in the appeal up to the date of the hearing and include their agreed amendments as part of our order.

  2.In relation to the issues in Part 2 of the statement, there is evidence to support a view that even when Jonah demonstrates appropriate behaviour, this undoubtedly reflects the level of individual professional input available to him. Furthermore, without this support, Jonah’s behaviour presents a risk to himself and to others. Therefore, we agree that the requested parental amendments should be inserted.

  3.In Part 3 it seemed to us that the parties were working on different definitions of a total communication approach. We agree that a consistent method for use in all contexts should be identified. PECS is Jonah’s preferred method of communication and this needs to be described in his statement as such, but equally this should be placed in the context of a range of other communication approaches as advised. Jonah needs access to a range of choices based on identification of a specific principal method to be provided

  4.There was little dispute between the respective speech and language therapists and we concur that the amendments sought in relation to the language programme and direct speech and language therapy should be inserted save for the changes we have made to ensure that Jonah’s communication preference is recognised in the provision of a specific method, but that he also has a range of choices as agreed are necessary in a total communication approach.

  5.We note the LA’s comments about the evidence from Ms Smart and we accept that Jonah has had regular indirect therapy. But we also note that Ms McDonald said the last joint work by the therapeutic team was in October 2010. In the absence of evidence to counter Ms Smart’s specific recommendations about the provision of occupational therapy, we accept that the amendments sought by the parents should be inserted in the statement.

  6.There is no necessity to insert the requested reference to a specified professional to carry out the functional behavioural analysis. This can readily be done by a teacher experienced in behaviour management techniques.

  7.Regarding the central question of an extended or waking day, a delicate line must be trodden between examining the full picture of a child’s needs and limiting our decision to a careful assessment of his educational needs within that full picture and deciding what is appropriate to meet those particular needs.

  8.The fact a child has a need for a consistency of approach does not necessarily mean this is an educational need that needs to be met with educational provision beyond the school day. Similarly, the fact that the well-being of a child and/or his family may benefit from social care input does not make that provision educational. lt is undoubtedly the case that there is only a small group of children whose needs are so complex and significant that a curriculum beyond the normal school day is required.

  9.However, it is a matter of fact and degree and judgement in each case and it is the individual needs of the child in question that is determinative. Our task does not include identifying what might be an optimum or ideal provision for the full range of Jonah’s educational and other needs. Both consistency and a behavioural programme appear to be features of Jonah’s educational needs.

  10.Jonah’s combined and complex ASD and severe learning difficulties require a change of approach. For this child, his behavioural and related needs are integral to the complexity of his educational needs and are obstacles to his learning.

  11.The LA’s claim that the current package was working and producing both progress and consistency did not stand up to close scrutiny.

  12.All the recommended therapies need to be delivered throughout the day across a range of settings by a multidisciplinary team of staff focused consistently on that task and able to plan and communicate effectively

  13.Therefore, given the complexity and interplay of his severe needs and the stage of his education, Jonah requires a level of consistency that inevitably points to a waking-day curriculum.

  14.Clearly, the most important aspect of the appeal for both parties was the identification of the school to be named in Part 4.

  15.Maureen Mitchell School is not suitable to meet Jonah’s special educational needs. Therefore, we turn to consider the LA’s alternative option of a residential placement at The Sunrise Academy School. However, taking into account all that we were told about The Sunrise Academy, we do not believe it can meet Jonah’s needs at this stage of his education.

  16.Taken as a whole, placement at Highgrove Manor is the only viable option in the particular circumstances of this case.

  Order

  Appeal allowed.

  Signed:Ms Liz Goldthorpe

  Lianne Wyatt Tribunal Judge

  Amended under Rule 44 Health Education and Social Care Chamber Rules 2008

  21 September 2011.

  I re-read the last sentence over and over again. Jonah won. And my excitement is for him, for the future he is now assured of, for the expanse of green fields and trees, for the chance he will have to exist without the stresses laid upon him by the u
npredictability of a non-autistic world. For me? The revelation that I’ve finally finished something fills me with pride and relief and it is, I reflect – after a string of losses – the first thing I’ve ever won.

  For the first time in months – possibly years – I phone Emma with good news.

  ‘The nightmare is over,’ I say. ‘We won.’

  She cries.

  So this is victory. I can allow myself that. Dad’s expression of pride, finally finishing something, something life-changing – the realisation that without loving myself, I cannot hope to love another. Emma knew and felt this for herself. She prioritised herself over Jonah; it was what she needed to do. We both screwed up, but at least we’re starting to fix it.

  I want to sleep for the remaining week. Emma has posted the news about Jonah on her Facebook page, but all I feel is a sincere bitterness that none of these well-wishers were around to help Emma and me when things were at their toughest. Yet now that we’ve split up and Jonah’s going and the chance to invite us over as a family has evaporated, they’re full of ebullience. I’m affronted by their shortsighted belief that it’s perfectly fine for your eleven-year-old to leave home, probably for good. I feel like sending them all a response, but they wouldn’t get the irony. So I ignore them all, while secretly wishing them many happy years of rehab fees and unwanted pregnancies for their proto-delinquent offspring. Their children’s words will hurt them more than my son’s silence, that I can guarantee them. I need to let these feelings go, I know. They are a cover for my fear and a short-term antidote to my self-loathing, both of which I need to tackle if I want to live a happy life. At least, for the first time, I recognise this fact – which is a good place to start this new journey.

  My mood swings between hope and a dull kind of nihilism. If only I could win this for Jonah, I had thought, everything would be good from now on. But feelings are more complicated than that.