‘He ought to sell them,’ Sally said examining it. ‘It’s a clever concept.’
‘He’s decided he wants to be an industrial designer,’ I tell her. ‘He keeps coming back with bits of junk and turning them into something useful. He now sits at the dinner table on his newly created supermarket trolley chair.’
‘That’s great,’ Sally replies. ‘He’s obviously got a real flair for design. You could tell with all those origami figures he made on holiday.’
‘Maybe,’ I reply, proud of Harvey’s emerging talent. ‘He’s got a friend whose father designs drain covers. I think he’s inspired him.’
‘Well, I suppose drain covers are necessary, but I think Harvey could probably go further. He’s a bright lad and a credit to you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, grateful.
‘And how are your other talented children?’ she continues. ‘More importantly, how are you?’
‘Not great,’ I tell her, beginning to feel slightly better now that I’m with someone willing to sit down and talk to me.
‘I’m really sorry about the party,’ Sally says. ‘I mean, the way I told you about Iris. I just presumed you would already know.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I’d spoken to Ben a couple of times after the holiday. I knew Iris had been ill. But the last time we talked he said she was OK again.’
‘I should have realised. He called and spoke to Paddy, after they’d had the diagnosis. I don’t know why I thought he would have told you. I can see it would be difficult. He probably expected us to pass the news on, then.’
‘Did he ask you to?’
‘Well, it’s possible he asked Paddy, but if he did he never relayed it.’
The waiter returns with two glasses of pinot grigio and a bottle of sparkling water.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘Thank you sooo much,’ Sally adds, then, to me, ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers. Thanks for calling, Sally. Thanks for coming down.’ I take a sip of my wine and look around the restaurant. ‘It’s good to see you, but this all feels a bit wrong. It seems too normal.’
‘Do things feel abnormal?’
‘Yes, they do.’ I put my glass down. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Iris being deaf and stressing about all the “what if”s, wondering what I should have done to make things turn out differently.’
‘It’s no good thinking like that now.’ Sally does her best to be reassuring.
‘But I can’t help myself. I know why I did things at the time, but now of course I wish I’d acted differently. I wish I’d never left Gabby with Maggie and Iris that day we went to the dune, but I wanted to be there for the boys.’
‘It probably wouldn’t have made much difference.’
‘It might have.’
‘Maybe, but Gabs had measles and we were all sharing a house. I don’t think you need to beat yourself up about going on the outing.’
‘Meaning I should be beating myself up about not having had her vaccinated?’
‘I didn’t say that, Bel. You had your reasons. I respect that.’
‘Do you? No one else does. And wherever I turn there seems to be something to remind me of that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I suppose it’s just that you become more aware of things when you’re caught up in them. I switched the radio on this morning and they were talking about the measles outbreak in Wales, warning parents to do get their kids immunised. It felt as if they were admonishing me directly.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Sally says. ‘But it’s like you said: you just start noticing things more. Paddy came home from work on Monday saying the ticket inspector was deaf and he hadn’t realised and, I don’t know, they had some kind of exchange before he saw his hearing aids and then felt bad.’
‘What does Paddy think?’ I ask.
‘Well, he was a bit embarrassed, I think, but he mentioned it more because he said he’d just started noticing that there are a lot of deaf people around.’
‘I mean about Iris.’
‘Well, he thinks it’s very bad news, of course. It’s going to be hard for them. And it’s sad because… well, because Maggie’s not likely to have any more children.’
‘Would that make it better?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know. It’s just, if it’s your only child, it seems worse somehow,’ Sally replies.
‘And a whole lot worse if you know it could have been avoided?’ I say. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘That’s not what I said.’ Sally bristles at my tone. ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault. Iris could have picked up measles elsewhere.’
‘But she didn’t, did she?’ I reply. ‘I’ve been going over and over the circumstances in my mind, trying to come up with any possible scenario in which Iris did pick it up elsewhere, and, believe me, I’ve tried very hard, but I can’t. We were at your house for two weeks, Sally. Maggie and Iris never left the place. The only person Iris came into contact with was Gabriella.’
‘Even so, what were the chances that she would become deaf? It’s unusual. It’s unlucky. You never could have foreseen that she would lose her hearing.’
‘The chances are high enough in a baby.’ I sigh. ‘I should never have left Gabriella in the house with them on the day we went to the dune. I should have stayed and looked after her myself.’
‘It does no good to keep torturing yourself, Isobel. We’ve all done the same. I remember making Chris wear a hoodie when we went away once because he had chicken pox and we didn’t want to cancel our holiday.’
‘It’s not the same – ’
‘It is, though. I knew the airline wouldn’t let us fly if they noticed his spots, I knew it posed a risk to other passengers, but I did it all the same. You didn’t even know Gabs had measles at the time. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘No, but…’ I begin.
It was true, I hadn’t known for sure, not until the doctor confirmed it, but I’d had my suspicions. No, I’d had more than suspicions; I can admit that to myself, but not to Sally.
‘It’s such a terrible thing to happen, to Iris,’ I continue. ‘I feel responsible. Eric clearly thinks I’m responsible too, and Gabby. I don’t know what to do.’
‘I feel partly responsible as well,’ Sally says. ‘Because it was at our house.’
‘But you were just looking after us all. It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘All the same…’
‘But it’s not the same, is it? I just wish there were something I could do, some way of turning the clock back.’
‘And would you?’ Sally asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you had the time back, would you have acted differently? Maybe it’s not helpful to think that you would. Maybe you wouldn’t.’
‘I would if I knew what I know now.’
‘But you didn’t, Isobel.’
Sally pauses to butter her bread and I realise I am not the slightest bit hungry.
‘At the time, when you decided not to have Gabs immunised, there was all that stuff in the news about the dangers, about the risk of autism,’ Sally continued. ‘Conrad had just been diagnosed. If I’d been in your shoes, maybe I’d have done the same.’
‘Would you?’ I doubt it somehow. Sally is so much more practical and far less emotional than me.
‘I’d have been seriously worried about it, yes. If I’d had my kids later and all the stuff about the MMR had been in the news I might well not have had them vaccinated either, though I’m sure Paddy would have put his foot down.’
‘So Paddy does think I was wrong?’ I don’t really want to know, but I feel I have to.
‘Well, you know what Paddy’s like.’ She looks away, which tells me what I need to know.
‘He thinks I’m a “bloody emotional fool”?’ I say, mimicking his Sheffield accent.
‘Actually…’ Sally begins, then hesitates.
‘What? You might as well tell me. I’m aware people ar
e going to make judgements. Jesus, it was bad enough when we came back from holiday and other parents found out Gabs had had measles. I got the full range of dirty looks and bitchy comments in the playground at the start of term. I still do.’
‘Well, yes, if you really want to know, Paddy does think you were “bloody daft”, but he doesn’t just blame you,’ she says.
‘I was the only one who didn’t have my kids vaccinated.’
‘But you weren’t, were you? Eric is their father. I told Paddy you were feeling terrible and Eric was refusing to talk to you and he said he thought he was just as much to blame. I mean if anyone is. It’s not all your fault.’
‘That’s not what Eric seems to think,’ I say, grateful that, even if Paddy does think I’ve been irresponsible, he’s not laying it all on me.
‘What does he think?’
‘Well, I don’t really know because we haven’t talked but, judging by the way he’s been behaving towards me, he thinks it’s all down to me.’
‘But you must have made the decision together, to not have the kids immunised?’ Sally asks.
‘Not exactly,’ I try to explain. ‘We talked about it at the time and Eric could see I was worried and tried to reassure me that there was nothing to worry about.’
‘But he didn’t convince you?’
‘He tried to, but in the end he let me make the final call.’
‘So he has to share some of the responsibility for the outcome of that call.’
‘I don’t think that’s how he sees it,’ I say, wishing he did. It would still be hard to come to terms with the sequence of events, but it would be a whole lot easier if Eric were with me.
‘Ben and Maggie must really hate us,’ I change tack.
‘They probably don’t feel that warm towards you at the moment,’ Sally concedes, as the waiter comes back to take our order. ‘But maybe they just need some time. I can’t believe there will be any lasting fallout. You’ve always been so close, you and Ben.’
‘Not always,’ I say, unsure how much Sally suspects.
Sometimes you think you have secrets, and then discover that everyone else knew them all along. Sally’s known me almost as long as I’ve known Ben, longer than I’ve known Eric. I sometimes think she knows, even if it’s only subconsciously, about me and Ben. I think she’s probably guessed. But maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she doesn’t want to know.
Sometimes life is easier if you remain in a state of unknowingness.
Ben, Wednesday afternoon
‘Do you want tea?’ I ask.
I’ve made a pot, which feels like a prop, something Maggie and I need between us when we ‘talk’.
I came home from school earlier than usual, which is possible on a Wednesday because I don’t teach the last period. Maggie and I have earmarked the time to discuss what we’re going to do. It’s the first time, since I met with Hedda on Monday, that we’ve had a chance to sit and talk properly. And we both know that even this discussion is likely to be broken by Iris.
Maggie has been strapping her into the baby bouncer that hangs in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. It keeps her happy for longer than other things. Sometimes she can bounce and make noises, watching us, for a good twenty minutes.
Iris smiles now as Maggie pulls a chair up to the kitchen table and sits at right angles to me.
‘So what did you tell the solicitor?’ Maggie asks, as I pour her a cup of tea. ‘How did you leave things with her, at the end of your meeting?’
‘That I’d discuss it with you.’
‘I wish you’d done that before you made the appointment to see her.’
‘I told you, I didn’t know if there’d be anything to tell. I didn’t want to distract you. You’ve got enough on. I didn’t want to give you extra stuff to think about if there was no point.’
‘Exactly,’ Maggie replies.
‘Exactly what exactly?’
Iris makes a horrible deep-throated sound and we both turn to look at her. There’s nothing wrong. She’s bounced herself round so she’s facing away from us, that’s all, but it’s set her off grizzling. Maggie goes over to the doorframe, twists the bouncing thing round so she’s facing us again. Iris stops the grizzling noise but she’s still wearing the grizzly expression.
I’m quietly pleased with her for being in this mood, even if it disturbs our chance to talk. She’s illustrating why I have to do something; making the point that she’s not the same as she was before. She’s not how I want her to be. She wasn’t always easy, but this inability to engage is different and I don’t like it. I know it’s not her fault but I find myself getting irritated with her anyway – not now, when I want to use her irritability to suit my own ends, but generally. Just be how you used to be, Iris, I want to say to her.
I could say it. She wouldn’t hear me. So it’s irrational to think that if I articulated this in her presence she would mind. But it’s not the sort of thing you should say out loud anyway. I can’t even say it to Maggie. She’s angry too, obviously, but more accepting.
It’s something no one tells you, the great unspoken rule and the elephant in the room – if you have a disabled child, you can’t actually say to anyone that you hate the fact that they are. You have to learn to live with it, just as the doctor said. It’s not what my mum would have called ‘the done thing’, to tell anyone that you find having a child who can’t hear a thing and doesn’t respond because of it slightly freaky. You can’t tell your friends that the frustration she clearly feels herself also drives you to distraction. You’re the grown-up in all of this. You’re the one who has to cope with it.
But it might be a whole lot easier if you could just say to every single person you met, ‘My daughter is deaf. It’s a fucking nightmare. It makes her grouchy and irritable most of the time and she’s going to have to learn sign language or have implants or something. It’s a fucking mess and it’s not fair. We didn’t deserve this.’
It might be a whole lot easier if I could just say to every Tom, Dick and Harry, ‘I never even wanted children in the first place and now, not only do I have a daughter, I have a deaf one at that. There’s irony for you.’
It’s ironic also that I think if it wasn’t frowned upon to say these things I might feel a tiny bit better, but it is, so I can’t. I have to pretend it’s a terrible thing, yes, but it could have been so much worse and we’re coping, thank you very much. But the truth is, I’m not.
I can’t just accept it and get on with it. So if getting a solicitor to rattle Isobel’s cage helps me then I’m going to do it, even if Maggie is not keen. It’s better than saying to my partner, who I really love, ‘I never wanted a child in the first place and now look. How do you think that makes me feel?’
‘So what would happen first, if we decided to go ahead?’ Maggie stresses the ‘we’, as if it’s very doubtful that she will give the go-ahead herself.
‘She would send a letter of action to Isobel and Eric, basically outlining our case.’
‘Which is?’
‘That they had a duty of care to our child but effectively they allowed Iris to be infected, by not telling us they knew Gabby had measles. Therefore they are consequentially responsible for the damage to her hearing and we are seeking damages for costs incurred by having a deaf child.’
‘You sound like a solicitor yourself,’ Maggie says. ‘And then what happens?’
‘She waits for them to respond,’ I say. ‘They’ll need to get a solicitor themselves. Their solicitor will probably deny it at first. They will write a lot of letters and eventually we will reach a settlement, or we’ll take them to court if we don’t.’
‘It sounds as if it will all take ages, be stressful to us and may not get us anywhere.’ Maggie can only see negatives.
‘At least we will have done something.’ I want her to try to see this from my point of view. ‘At least I will have done something.’
‘There might be something else we could do,’ Maggie says, thought
ful.
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t know. I just wonder if there’s another way of making a point. If that’s what you want.’
‘It’s not just that,’ I say. ‘There are financial implications too. You don’t know if you’ll be able to go back to work. Iris is going to need extra equipment, specialist schooling, stuff like that.’
‘But Eric and Isobel don’t have very much money,’ Maggie points out. ‘Even if your solicitor does manage to screw some out of them, it’s not going to amount to much. Is it really worth all the stress?’
‘But there’s the principle as well.’ I try to appeal to Maggie’s sense of right and wrong but she is distracted by Iris, who begins to cry again. ‘Shhh, shhh,’ she says, turning to the door and raising her fingers to her lips, making a sign everyone knows, not just people who’ve started to read books on sign language.
‘Eric and Isobel haven’t been in touch. We haven’t actually heard anything from them,’ I remind Maggie.
I didn’t tell her about the text from Isobel. It made me too angry and amounted to nothing.
‘I know.’ Maggie walks over to the bouncer and lifts Iris out of it. She puts her on her knee but Iris struggles to be free so she sets her down on the floor, where she seems momentarily happy to sit and chew the table leg.
‘By the way, Sally called earlier,’ Maggie says.
‘Really?’ I also hadn’t told Maggie she’d tried my mobile too. ‘She called here?’
‘Yes.’ Maggie gives me an odd look.
‘What did she say?’
‘She just said she was sorry we hadn’t been at the party as she’d been looking forward to seeing us and finding out how we were – that sort of thing.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said we were OK and you’d call her yourself some time.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Well, obviously, we had a longer conversation. I told her a bit more about how Iris was. But I got the impression she wanted to talk to you, although she must have known you wouldn’t be back from school. I said you would call her when you were.’
‘She must have spoken to Isobel. Did she say?’
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