Like mums everywhere, I always seemed to have several balls in the air at once, so even without the added health and safety risk of my sopping kitchen floor, it was odds on that I’d trip up and lose sight of one. And it seemed I had today. It was only because I was dusting the elderly house phone in the hall that I realised that, in my haste to get things ready for my unexpected visitors, I’d almost forgotten my poor son’s daily ‘un-alarm’ call.
I checked the time, took an executive decision and went to find my mobile. If I didn’t do it now, who knew when I’d next have the chance? And then there might be hell to pay. Keiron had – has – a mild form of what used to be known as Asperger’s syndrome and which is now more commonly referred to as an ASD, or autism spectrum disorder. In an ideal world, I hoped that word ‘disorder’ might soon be changed to ‘difference’, but in the meantime it did mean certain challenges for him, so I supposed it was partly correct. It was something we were all used to, however, and if you met him you’d probably barely even notice it, but the management of it had been a big part of his childhood and even now, though he lived a full and fulfilling life, it still impacted on him in myriad little ways.
He and his long-term girlfriend Lauren were on holiday in Cyprus, which was something of a milestone for them both. As anyone familiar with autism knows, even in its mildest forms it can cause major anxieties, and often these are centred around routine and change. That was Kieron to a T – loved routine, hated change. And with a passion. So going on a holiday, when he’d been growing up, was a very big deal, and something we only attempted rarely.
It wasn’t surprising, then, that when he’d popped round after work one day and announced they were going to Cyprus, just the two of them, I was shocked, as was Mike. This was a big step. It was the first time they’d been away on their own and they weren’t just going away – they were going abroad!
The holiday had obviously taken a fair bit of arranging, and the strain of it soon began to tell. Though he was a grown man of 26, and was understandably keen to meet the challenge, he was terrifically anxious about how he might cope – or, rather, fail to cope – once he got there. Lauren, bless her, had taken on the mantle of chief organiser, planning it, organising their savings and making all the arrangements. But as the date had loomed we could all tell he was struggling with the thought of it, as he reacted just as he’d done since he was a little boy, by chewing off all the skin around his fingernails. That was always a bad sign. So much so that I’d begun to question the wisdom of going at all.
‘Look, Kieron,’ I said one afternoon, when he’d popped round for tea. ‘If you really don’t want to go to Cyprus, then you don’t have to, you know. A holiday is supposed to be something you do for pleasure, after all. Have you spoken to Lauren about how stressed you are? I know she’ll understand if you don’t feel you can face it.’
But he was having none of it, and my heart really went out to him. ‘I have, and that’s exactly what she says as well. But no, Mum,’ he said, ‘I really, really want to go. If I can crack this once, I’ll have it cracked for ever, then, won’t I? Well, sort of. I’m just – oh, you know what I’m like. I can’t stop thinking about all the things that might go wrong on the journey. What if I get stressed and need to talk to you?’
‘Then call me. Get that Euro-travelling package-thingy they do.’
‘And what if I don’t know where to go at the airport, or what queue to join, and Lauren doesn’t either? What if we accidentally get on the wrong plane?’
I was pretty sure Lauren would have had all of that under control, because she was a brilliant, capable girl, not to mention the fact that air travel was almost like bus travel these days. But I also knew my son and how his anxieties could overtake him; so much so that he’d stopped coming on family holidays at the age of 16, preferring to stay instead with my sister Donna.
No, Kieron just needed to know there was a safety net, that was all. ‘So, like I said,’ I repeated, ‘if Lauren can’t sort it, get your phone out and call me. And, I tell you what. How about I call you from time to time in any case. You know, just to see how you’re doing?’
‘Would you, Mum?’ he asked, and I knew right away that this was what he needed. Better for me to keep in touch with him than for him to de-stress himself by reaching for his mobile to call me every five minutes. Just knowing I’d be popping up on his screen at every stage would probably be enough to keep him on top of his anxiety, but without the added anxiety of feeling Lauren would think he was being silly, even though I knew she wouldn’t. Oh, it was a game, it really was, fathoming it all out.
‘Course I will,’ I said. ‘I’ll be like the BT woman, ringing up with alarm calls. Except they’ll be “un-alarm” calls, because there won’t be any alarms, I’m sure of it, as Lauren will have everything under control. And if anything unexpected does happen, you can call me, like I say. Except nothing will, I promise.’
He looked 100 per cent happier. ‘Thanks, Mum. Just till we’re there and settled and that, anyway.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘You’re just anxious about the travelling, love, which, trust me, is perfectly normal.’
And my ‘un-alarm’ calls had clearly done the trick. We’d spoken four times on the Saturday, three on the Sunday, and now, when I told him I’d got to go as John was due at any moment, he’d hung up before I’d barely taken the phone from my ear, leaving me secure in the knowledge that they were having a good time, and free to concentrate on my young visitor.
Who seemed to be arriving even as I put my mobile back on its charger. With all the windows open, in order to counteract the sweltering heat, I could hear a car pulling up outside the house even before I saw it. I felt the usual stirring of intrigue. It wasn’t quite excitement; that was the wrong word to use in such a circumstance – this was a child who’d been taken into care as an emergency, after all. But there was still a certain frisson; I’d opened several front doors by now, to several different children, and perhaps because ours was a kind of fostering that often took place at short notice I really had to be unshockable when I pulled it back to greet whoever was standing nervously on our front doorstep.
In this case, however, it was only John. And he didn’t look nervous in the least. Just very hot.
‘Oh,’ I said, looking beyond him towards the car. ‘Are you on your own, then?’
‘Only for a little bit,’ he said. ‘They’ve had to go back. For a forgotten Barbie doll. Shouldn’t be long.’
I ushered him inside. ‘Come on in, then. Do you want a cold glass of something? Or an ice pop?’ I said, grinning. ‘We’re very well stocked with those currently, as you can imagine.’
‘Just a large glass of water,’ he said, loosening his tie, and following me into the kitchen. ‘I’m parched. Like a flipping furnace, my car is, in weather like this.’ He grinned ruefully as he placed a manila folder on my kitchen table. ‘Actually – hmm – under the circumstances, perhaps I’d better rephrase that.’
It took me half a second to work out what he was on about. Of course. The fire. ‘Sorry,’ I said, placing a pint glass of water down beside the files. ‘Bit slow on the uptake there, wasn’t I? Sit down, I’ll’ – I stopped and went over to the window, which was being liberally sprayed with a blast from one of the water guns. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Tyler! Will you STOP that!’ I called out of the window. ‘Sorry, John. Think the heat’s getting to the boys, too. They’re both completely manic.’
John chuckled. ‘Enjoying the holidays, then? Sounds like