In keeping with the informality, I began the conversation with small talk.
‘Are you still single?’
‘No change from three months ago. And I know what you’re going to say next and the answer is that it’s not up for discussion. It’s been twelve years. We’ve both moved on.’
‘Not successfully. In terms of finding a new partner. You do still want a partner, correct?’
‘It’s not at the top of my list. Anyway, I thought you were after advice.’
‘I thought I should reciprocate by offering you some advice. I was right about Judas. Simon Lefebvre.’
‘Everyone was right about Simon. If anyone in my family needs genetic counselling, we’ll come to you and I’ll expect it delivered over coffee for nothing. But I’m the psychologist. Simon’s in the past, Gene and I are living our separate lives, Eugenie and Carl are adults. We’re fine. Now, what’s happening with you and Rosie?’
I explained the Hudson situation.
‘I see a lot of this,’ said Claudia. ‘On the one hand, I think that teachers are in a wonderful position to notice if something is going on, and we absolutely have to listen and respect their experience and observations. But they’re not qualified to diagnose autism, let alone the full range of disorders that it might be mistaken for.’
‘Excellent point.’
‘If you decide to get a diagnosis, give the psychologist an open brief, not “Does he have autism, yes or no?”’
‘Obviously. As a consequence of your previous point.’
‘Another thing,’ she said. ‘I know you’re primed to think in genetic terms, but don’t forget environment. Hudson’s got your genes, but he’s also grown up with you as a father, and… well…some of your traits…overlap with the diagnostic criteria.’
I had the information I needed.
‘Sit down—finish your coffee,’ said Claudia. ‘I won’t say any more about autism. But Hudson’s been hard work for Rosie, hasn’t he?’
‘I presume all children are hard work.’
‘It’s just that last time we spoke, you mentioned that your sex life dropped off when Hudson was four or five.’
‘Correct. We wanted another child, and the single most common reason for infertility is insufficient frequency of sex. I pointed this out to Rosie on numerous occasions.’
‘I wonder if that might be the reason. Subconsciously. That she didn’t really want another child, when one was difficult enough. And she had the chance of getting back to work.’
‘She never mentioned it.’
‘People don’t always mention their motivations. They don’t always know them. That’s why I have a job.’
Laszlo was at his desk. I found a seat and worked at my laptop until he removed his ear defenders and stood up to take a break. Our conversation was brief, focused and direct. There was no other way to have a conversation with Laszlo.
‘What happened to the goggles?’ I asked.
‘A failed experiment. Good for cycling in the rain, not so good for the computer screen.’
‘Have you ever been tested for autism?’
‘Your question is too imprecise.’
‘Why?’
‘I was tested for Asperger’s syndrome, which at the time was not considered a subcategory of autism.’
‘What was the result?’
‘Positive. With a high level of confidence.’
‘Has the effect of the diagnosis been positive or negative?’
‘Positive. If I’m criticised for some behaviour, I say, “I have Asperger’s.”’ He tapped his bicycle helmet. ‘There is no need to demonstrate any relationship between the diagnosis and the behaviour. Then they leave me alone. Except Frances. She says, “You’re not Asperger’s; you’re Laszlo Hevesi.” Which is true, but Asperger’s is a good approximation for the working environment.’
‘Do you think it would be a good idea for an eleven-year-old? To have an autism diagnosis?’
‘It depends if they want to be left alone. If so, maybe yes. If not, I have no opinion. How is the cancer work going?’
‘I’m having difficulty learning the data-analysis software.’
‘Tell me if you need help. Scientists have to help each other.’
‘Why have you chosen to call me at this time?’
Isaac Esler’s standard phone greeting is a joke, related to his profession of psychiatrist, but it works just as well to treat his jokes as serious statements.
‘I chose to call because we’re having some problems with Hudson. I selected the time because we would both be awake.’ It was 7.30 p.m. in New York.
‘Well, Don, you know that I can’t offer you professional advice, not over the phone, not without seeing Hudson and because of our social relationship. I’d say, see someone locally, but…there’s so much incompetence. You don’t want him shot full of dexmethamphetamine on the strength of a fifty-minute consult with a junior Australian clinician who thinks Freud is a way to serve rice.’
As always, Isaac argued himself out of his ethical statement, and we talked for two hours and seven minutes. His wife, Judy, brought dinner to the phone. He was oddly interested in Hudson’s relationship with Blanche.
‘As we know, the cause célèbre of the anti-vax movement is the supposed association of vaccination with autism. Which in turn is demonised, and I use that word deliberately, because I’d argue that a religious analogy is appropriate here. And this young woman, brought up to believe this, has formed a relationship with a young man who, at least according to what she’s probably heard at school, may be autistic. How old are they now?’
‘Hudson’s eleven.’
‘Hmm. I’d love to meet her. And the mother.’
‘What about Hudson?’
‘Difficult to explore until you tell me what it is you’re holding back.’
‘On what subject?’
‘What’s happening in your life. Or happened.’
‘Numerous things…’
‘Start with, “Coincidentally” or “In a surprising parallel to what’s happening with Hudson”.’
‘Coincidentally, my own experiences at school…’ A better answer presented itself. ‘It’s been suggested, by the university, that I also seek a diagnosis.’
Isaac’s next question was predictable: ‘Do you think it’s possible that these two things could be related?’
‘Definitely not. They’re independent. The school has no knowledge—’
‘But the teacher met you while you were considering your
own diagnosis? And then suggested that Hudson get one?’
‘I didn’t mention my situation to the teacher.’
‘Don, you should know by now not to limit yourself to the overt.’
As it was late, we agreed that I should not have a separate conversation with Judy, not even to point out the advantages of a cordless phone. As usual, Isaac had offered fascinating insights that I—as yet—had no idea how to translate into action.
I raised the Hudson problem with George and Dave on our weekly Boys’ Night Out. The name given to our Skype discussions was misleading in all respects: we were no longer boys (George was seventy-six); it was 7 a.m. in Melbourne (though late evening in New York); we were all ‘in’ at our homes.
‘The school has requested that Hudson be assessed for autism,’ I said when George’s and Dave’s avatars appeared on the screen.
‘And good morning to you too, Don,’ said George. ‘How’s the weather, how’s Rosie, how’s your dad doing? And I’m fine too, thanks, just a little bored. Thinking about going back to England. Or I could migrate to Australia. I gather there’s a shortage of drummers, judging from the music you lot are producing. What about you, Dave?’
‘No change. Sonia’s still pushing to do a secondment at one of the branches. She won’t get a promotion till she’s done it and the last thing I need right now is to relocate. Fulvio’s got colic and he’s waking up every hour. The antidepressants don’t seem to be doing
anything except playing hell with my weight. But tell us what’s happening with Hudson. Take my mind off my own life.’
‘All right,’ said George, ‘Hudson first, but we’re not finished with you.’
‘I can tell you what Sonia would say,’ said Dave.
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘That will save a separate call.’
‘I’ll be straight with you because you’re you. She thinks you both work too hard and you’re missing out on watching him grow up. She thought Rosie did the right thing going part-time, but this isn’t a good time for you to be studying as well as working. She’d say, “If Hudson’s having problems, I’m not surprised.”’
‘Take that,’ said George.
‘Sorry,’ said Dave. ‘Truth is, Sonia would happily change places with you and Rosie. Work part-time, be with Zina and Fulvio while I did overtime to save for college, play with the kids on weekends.’
‘What do you think, Dave?’ said George. ‘You have any issues like this with Zina?’
‘Totally different. She’s a girl: when I was at school there were kids like Hudson, but all boys.’
George and I were silent while we waited for Dave to continue. Interrupting Dave led to loss of information.
‘I’ve always been a big guy. Even at school. But nobody said anything until one day, this one time, this kid calls me Fat Boy. And after that it was always Fat Boy. Right through high school. I knew even back then that if I dropped the weight, the name would stick. And sometimes, when I’m trying to stop myself eating a burger, I think, what the hell, whatever I do I’ll still be Fat Boy.’
‘You got the analogy, Don?’ said George.
‘Of course.’ I was far better at analogies than I had once been. ‘Obesity equates with autism. Correct?’
‘Correct,’ said Dave. ‘Give a dog a bad name.’
‘What dog?’
‘Just an expression. The dog was me. What about you, George?’
‘If we’re talking about names, when I went to school in London, they called me a git, because I was from the North and I wasn’t big enough to do anything about it. It’s not exactly an affectionate term. I didn’t do so well with studies or sport or anything. And there was this bastard who was always having a go at me. Put me in hospital once, and they still didn’t do anything.
‘But then, because of one thing, which was playing the drums, I’m a rock star, and I couldn’t have given a stuff what they thought. Them, in their crappy little jobs, taxi drivers and plumbers and bloody solicitor’s clerks, and I’m up on the stage doing what they can only dream about, the best job in the world, all the birds and drugs you wanted…’
‘So,’ I said, ‘your advice is the same as Phil’s: tolerate school because things may be better later in life?’
Now that I said it myself, it sounded like a terrible philosophy for an eleven-year-old with six and a half years of schooling remaining. Calculated as a percentage of the time he had lived so far, it was the equivalent of me accepting unhappiness now because life would improve after the age of eighty-one.
‘I suppose that’s it,’ said George. ‘I just had to get through school. But I’ll tell you, if I knew then what I know now…’
Dave said something, but I didn’t notice. George had given me the solution to the problem. To all the problems.
11
If I knew then what I know now. While I was at university, and even later, I would lie in bed creating fantasies of what I could have done at school. Knowing what I knew now, a further thirty years later, those fantasies, had they become reality, would only have made things worse.
They largely involved my presenting better arguments—unassailable arguments—against the things that I didn’t like: unreasonable rules; aesthetic, religious and political positions presented as fact; favouritism and discrimination. It was unlikely that the teachers would have bowed to my superior logic: We admit it—Donald Tillman is right. We will abolish the hair-length specification, remove God from the school prayer and make Donald head boy.
In terms of being accepted at school, it would have been better to fantasise about being the cricket captain. Blair Lindley, who held that position, as well as that of head boy, had ‘gone on’ to represent the state on two occasions, and was now a respected wealth-management consultant. My mother had provided this information.
I had not even been appointed a prefect, despite being the top student academically, and had ‘gone on’ to be a scientist participating in the search for cancer cures. Both career paths were predictable from our childhood interests and achievements. The school had made it clear which was more valued. This was the sort of argument I had imagined making in a speech to the assembly.
But now I had a chance to do something more practical—to share what I’d learned with Hudson. Because, after starting with some of the personality traits that Hudson had apparently inherited or learned, and consequently experiencing similar problems at school, becoming clinically depressed in my early years at university and feeling isolated until meeting Rosie at thirty-nine, I had come through. I had the world’s best life. Hudson could have that, too. By knowing what I wish I’d known when I was his age.
George’s insight was critical to finding the solution to my five problems. But multiple people had contributed.
Phil: Keep the psychologists out of it.
Claudia: The school cannot be relied upon for psychological expertise.
Dave: Do not allow Hudson to be labelled.
Laszlo: A label is likely to result in social isolation.
‘Rabbit’ Warren: Hudson requires life skills.
My father: Who’s going to teach him to ride a bike?
Isaac Esler: Hudson’s life has parallels with your own.
Allannah: You and Hudson are peas in a pod.
Liz the Activist: The socially marginalised need to support each other.
Sonia: You need to spend more time with your son.
Margot the Autism Mum: Twenty-five hours a week. We did whatever was needed.
And Rosie, of course: Welcome to what women have been doing forever.
‘I’m quitting my job to devote maximum time to preparing Hudson for high school.’
‘You’re what? Don, no, we can’t afford…you can’t…’
I had anticipated this reaction, or some version of it that amounted to this is not a good idea, and had taken the day off to deal with the details that were likely to concern Rosie. We had eaten dinner and Hudson was now reading in bed. Rosie shut the hall door to prevent him hearing our conversation.
‘I believe I’ve considered all reasonable objections,’ I said.
‘Of course you have…’
‘I may be mistaken. Hence, I propose that we prepare cocktails, and by the time we have consumed them, I guarantee we will have reached agreement.’
‘And you guarantee that how?’
‘Either I will have dealt with all your objections, or I will have failed to do so, in which case the proposal is abandoned.’
‘You haven’t made any commitments yet?’
‘Of course not. I needed to consult you.’ I had learned a lot since the New York Relocation Surprise.
‘All right. I’ll have a Last Word.’
I was familiar with Rosie’s cocktail preferences and had prepared accordingly.
I retrieved the lime juice from the fridge and ice cubes from the freezer, and placed two jiggers, two cocktail shakers and two glasses on the table. Then I produced the olive jars I had put aside.
‘You’ve pre-squeezed the limes?’ said Rosie.
‘Correct. And the jars are labelled. Gin, Maraschino, Green Chartreuse. We have a set each.’
‘Okay, it’s a liquor comparison,’ she said.
Rosie was accustomed to cocktail experiments, although we had not performed one since returning from New York. We also competed for speed, and Rosie generally won.
But tonight, for the first time in a situation which did not involve some kind of
accident, I poured my glass first.
‘Hey,’ said Rosie. ‘If it’s warm, you don’t win.’
I passed her my glass and she tasted.
‘Okay, it’s cold. I thought you hadn’t shaken enough.’ She sipped again. ‘Wow, this is good, really good.’ She tasted her own. ‘And mine’s crap…maybe just in comparison.’
‘Any questions?’ I asked.
‘Obviously, what did you put in it?’
‘I meant on the Hudson Project. Which is higher priority than the cocktail experiment.’
‘How about you lay it out for me? You plan to quit your job and spend time with Hudson…’
‘Correct.’
‘You’d pick him up from school on the days that I do now?’
‘Phil’s days also. I would be available every day.’
‘So I could go back to work full-time…’
‘Is it too late to resume the chief-investigator role?’
‘Stefan thinks it’s his. He’ll go ballistic. But…Hudson’s at school most of the day. Maybe you could just go part-time.’
‘My current job requires more than a full-time effort. If the person doing the job is me.’
‘You’re still thinking about Laszlo?’
‘Laszlo is far better qualified. I will recommend he replace me.’
‘Is that why—’
‘It’s a positive side effect. Also, no disciplinary hearing. Time to visit my father. Possibly resume martial-arts training.’
‘Don, this is all wonderful—and I’d love you to spend more time with Hudson, and with me, and with your mum and dad, but you know we need your salary.’ The house purchase had consumed most of our savings.
She sipped her cocktail. ‘I guess we could move Hudson to the public school. I just—’
‘Not necessary. The financial problem is solved. I’m opening a bar.’
Preparing to establish a small business that would replace my university salary had taken up most of the morning. My first cocktail-making experience had been at a medical-school reunion, where Rosie and I had discovered that we enjoyed joint activities, leading ultimately to marriage and the creation of Hudson. At the end of that night, the manager, a friendly and competent person named Amghad, had offered me a partnership in a prospective cocktail-making business. ‘I’m in no hurry,’ he’d said.
The Rosie Result Page 7
