Make A Christmas Wish: A heartwarming, witty and magical festive treat. Julia Williams
new woman otherwise he wouldn’t be decorating the tree with her. He’s particular like that. I thought maybe I’d hung around for Joe. But it turns out he is even less like other people than I thought, and doing quite well without me. It reminds me of all the times I felt so useless as a mum even though I tried so hard to get it right; now I’m dead, I’m worse than useless. I stare through the window and the memories come crowding in.
I think it was that first Christmas with Joe when I finally realized something was wrong with him. Always a difficult baby, at nearly a year old he still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and I found it difficult to bond with him. He was often fractious when he was awake and I was exhausted with the effort of looking after him. I felt guilty – after the miscarriages I should have been thrilled with my new baby – but when I mentioned it to Adam, he told me I was imagining things.
‘All babies cry,’ he said. Like he knew anything about it. He was working really hard to pay off our crippling mortgage, spending long hours away from home, frequently away on business. It wasn’t his fault; he just couldn’t see how hard it was for me.
‘Yes, but not like this,’ I said.
Adam didn’t listen. No one listened. My nearly retired doctor, who was kind, but overworked, had I think dismissed me as a neurotic mother. Not difficult after those early weeks when I cried all the time and was eventually diagnosed with postnatal depression. My mother always thought I looked at the cup half empty. My friends thought I just had a difficult baby.
But that Christmas it all changed, at which point even Adam had to believe me.
That Christmas was when Joe started banging his head every night. We’d put bumpers round his cot as we were told to do, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. I’d put him in bed every night and, thump-thump-thump, it would start. It was distressing to watch, but if I tried to cuddle him or take him away he cried. I sometimes felt as though my touch was toxic to him.
Then there was the way he didn’t seem to respond to his name, or smile very much. I felt so sure it wasn’t the way he should be developing, I started looking things up, though Adam told me I was looking to find something that wasn’t there. But he had to admit things weren’t right when we were unwrapping presents after Christmas dinner and Joe completely freaked and threw himself on the floor, screaming. Nothing would console him. Not Adam, who could normally calm him down, nor my mum, who prided herself on her perfect touch with babies. And certainly not me. How could I not feel useless?
At first no one could say what was wrong, though I stuck to my guns and kept asking. All anyone could tell us was that Joe wasn’t developing the way he should. He had only just learned to crawl, and wasn’t making any attempt to stand up. As he grew towards toddlerhood, he reacted even more badly to my touching him. It broke my heart to hear him scream when I went to hug him, and I was covered in bruises where he lashed out at me. It was as though he were locked in his own little world.
I began to avoid mother and baby groups, unable to be sure that Joe would play nicely or kick off by throwing toys, hitting the other children or banging his head on the ground. As the babies in my antenatal group grew, it was becoming more obvious that Joe was different. I’d lost my first two babies, and now this. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
It wasn’t until Joe was nearly three, after months of consultations and meetings with experts, that we found out why.
‘Asperger’s? What’s that?’ Adam asked, looking pale.
So they explained as kindly as they could. How Joe found it difficult to interact socially, how he wouldn’t have the emotional and social cues that other people did, which could make him appear unsympathetic and different to the other kids. How it was likely he wouldn’t last in the state system at school.
‘Oh shit, shit,’ said Adam.
‘But how? Why?’ I wanted to know.
And then Adam told me about his brother. The one no one ever discussed and who I didn’t know existed till then. He lived locked away in a home because Adam’s parents couldn’t cope with their secret shame.
I was flabbergasted. I should have known this sooner.
‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said over and over again, his face pale with distress, ‘I should have told you, but – Mum and Dad, they never want to talk about it. And I’ve never felt able to either.’
What did it matter either way? Would it have made anything different? I’d have still chosen to have Joe; after all Adam’s turned out OK. It’s a lottery. And we just lost.
Malachi jumps up next to me. ‘Don’t give up so soon,’ he says with an unexpected kindness in his voice. ‘Listen to me and everything will work out.’
‘Listen to you, how?’ I say, unconvinced.
‘Let me take you on a journey,’ he says. ‘There’s a lot you need to learn.’
Adam
Suddenly all the lights in the house begin flickering on and off, as if someone is maniacally flipping switches. I have a vague sense of unease about it and go to check the circuit breaker, but none of the fuses have blown and all the light switches seem to be working.
‘Must be a power surge,’ jokes Emily. ‘Everyone’s probably turned their lights on at once.’
I’m not so convinced.
‘Maybe there’s a problem with the wiring,’ I say. ‘I’ll call an electrician in the morning. We must get it sorted before Christmas.’
The lights seem to settle down, and the wind too, so I dismiss my unease as the product of an overactive imagination. But later when I go into the kitchen to start dinner, the back door blows open. I go to shut it and stare out at the night. It’s stormy and cold, and the wind is howling in the trees. I shiver. It’s not a night to be out in, and yet I could swear there’s someone there, in the back garden, who is exuding menace and anger.
‘Is anyone there?’ I call, but no one answers; all I see is a mangy black cat which runs in front of my path.
It must be the stress, I think. What with stress and guilt, I’m losing it. With one last glance at the garden, I shut the door and go back inside. But my sense of unease lingers on.
Emily
‘OK, Joe, how do you think that looks?’ Emily smiled at Joe as they surveyed their – well mainly Joe’s – work decorating the Christmas tree. Over the past few months she and Adam had been spending more time together and slowly letting Joe get to know her, but she still fretted that they were taking it too fast. Joe was such an enigma, and Emily found it hard to know what he was thinking. Apparently Livvy was the only person who understood him intuitively. Whatever her faults, Joe had been very close to his mum. Adam was still finding little notes he’d written to her around the house.
‘Joe needs a routine,’ Adam kept telling Emily, ‘and at least he knows you from swimming. That helps a lot. Besides, he likes you.’
That was a huge relief. It was so hard to tell.
Funnily enough it was Joe who led Emily to Adam two Christmases ago. When Emily had lost her husband, Graham, to a girl in the marketing department, she had been devastated. At her friend Lucy’s insistence, she’d moved from North to South West London to start a new life, part of which had involved Emily taking up swimming, and it was at the Monday swimming club where she first spotted Joe.
Up and down. Up and down. He swam decisively with certain strokes, driven by some inner compulsion that Emily recognized. In her own way she swam just as obsessively as he did.