A Very Special Need. Caroline Anderson

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘HAPPY birthday.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Thirty today and still looking as good as ever.’

      Judith gave her reflection a jaundiced sneer. ‘You’re biased,’ she told it. ‘And a lousy liar.’

      The reflection sneered back—the little snub nose wrinkling, the eyes unflinching—taking inventory with no holds barred. They scanned the skin, pale under the superficial light tan of summer, and the eyes smudged with shadows of worry and fatigue—the laughter lines unused in recent weeks. Hmm, she thought. The bone structure was all right, but the top dressing lacked a certain sparkle, and the hair today was definitely mouse brown.

      The eyes scanned down her body over the soft curves that despite the scrimped diet failed to disappear, assessing the charity shop clothes—the clever buys that managed to look almost reasonable if not at the cutting edge of fashion—then back up, meeting themselves with relentless honesty.

      ‘OK,’ the reflection conceeded. ‘So you’re looking thirty today. And tired. And jaded, and dissatisfied with your lot. And you’ve got a white hair—see it there, sticking out?’

      She turned away from the unblinking grey lasers. She didn’t need that much honesty, even from herself—and especially not today.

      Thirty, she thought, and what had she got to show for it? She looked round the living room of the small flat, at the furniture that, like her, looked tired and jaded and dissatisfied. A rented home, second-hand furniture, Oxfam clothes, temporary work in the term time to keep them ticking over—she had nothing to show for her thirty years at all.

      There was a shuffling, bumping noise in the hall.

      No. Not nothing, she amended. She had Edward—and she hadn’t even managed to do that right.

      She turned a bright smile to the door as it swung open. ‘All ready?’

      He nodded, slowly and deliberately, and his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. His eyes went from her to the mirror just beside her. ‘Looking for the wrinkles?’ he teased in his halting, reluctant speech.

      ‘Cheeky monkey,’ she said with a grin, and went over and hugged him. ‘All ready for school?’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      She eyed him worriedly. ‘Want to talk about it?’

      He shrugged, a slow, deliberate shrug that matched his other movements. ‘New kids—nothing I can’t handle.’

      New kids looking at him, wondering what was wrong with him, calling him ‘Spaz’ and laughing at his hesitant speech and awkward gait. The first day of the new school year was always the same. A wave of maternal protectiveness almost swamped her, but she crushed it back down ruthlessly. He didn’t need her pity.

      ‘You’ll be fine,’ she assured him briskly. ‘They’ll soon get used to you and they won’t think anything of it in a week or so—less if they join the chess club.’

      He grinned, his courage as always bringing tears very close to the surface. She turned away and gathered up her bag and a light jacket against the chilly September wind, and blinked hard.

      ‘Let’s go, then,’ she said, turning back with her smile firmly in place again. ‘And tonight we’ll have a treat and go out for a pizza.’

      ‘Can we afford it?’ he asked with a shrewd wisdom well ahead of his thirteen years.

      She punched his arm gently. ‘Hey, you let me worry about that. It’s my birthday—we ought to celebrate.’

      ‘Yeah.’ His smile was sad, and he shifted his school bag on his shoulder and turned, picking up his sticks from by the door. ‘Let’s hit the road, then.’

      They walked down the path and turned left, coming out within a minute or so onto the road along which the bus ran. There was a crowd of youngsters gathered at the stop, and she could feel the tension pouring off him as he braced himself and walked towards them.

      ‘See you, Mum,’ he mumbled, and she made herself hang back and watch from a distance as he joined the group.

      A black boy separated from the crowd, tall and gangling in baggy jeans, his head completely shaved. ‘Yo, Woody, how you doin’, man?’ he yelled and gave her son a high five, then flung an arm around his shoulders and dragged him into the crowd.

      She grinned to herself and turned away. He’d be all right now. Al would take care of