Carl hated tension and unpleasantness. Besides, the more she played down this awful situation, the less likely he would be to point the finger at her.
What if he decided she was a bad mother and a worse wife? She couldn’t hold down a paid job and she was clearly dreadful at the unpaid one at home.
Guilt and a looming sense of failure made the cake stick in her throat. As she concentrated on being lovely and keeping her breathing even, Francine prayed silently that Nuala wouldn’t pulverise them at the end of Cameron’s assessment.
Chapter 17
Francine and Carl were waiting anxiously in the small office when Nuala opened the door. ‘Come in and see what we’ve been doing,’ she said. Cameron was sitting on a chair near the desk.
‘Hi, honey,’ Francine said, rushing to her son’s side. ‘How did you get on?’
‘Good,’ Cameron said.
‘Did it go okay?’ Carl asked Nuala.
‘Cameron was a great boy,’ she said, motioning towards the back office once more. Tracey appeared again.
‘She said if I sat and did the talking part that I could play war again,’ Cameron said, and made for his castle.
‘It’s “Nuala”, sweetheart, not “she”,’ Francine corrected.
Cameron was already engrossed in the battle so Francine decided to leave him be.
‘Now I’ll prepare a full report, of course,’ Nuala began, ‘but for now, please sit down and we’ll have a brief chat.’
Francine felt sick. To her, this was like sitting in front of a judge and jury. She jumped when Carl took her hand in his. ‘It’s okay, darling, we’ll get through this together. Team Hennessy, remember?’ He winked.
‘I ran a psycho-educational assessment on Cameron,’ Nuala said.
‘Good Lord, that sounds serious,’ Francine said, her eyes filling with tears once more.
‘It’s not as dreadful as you may think.’ Nuala was calm and sweet. ‘It involved asking Cameron to carry out some simple tasks, such as a jigsaw, writing, looking at pictures and finding missing pieces in a puzzle.’
‘Did he do as you asked?’ Francine wanted to know.
‘Yes, although he struggled with some of the requests,’ Nuala answered. ‘He’s very young, of course, and we really can’t achieve a full and proper diagnosis until he’s a little older, but my initial analysis would suggest there is a high probability that Cameron is dyslexic. However, we can’t confirm that until he’s older.’
‘But would that explain his bad behaviour?’ Francine asked.
‘I need to spend more time with him on another day,’ Nuala continued, ‘but he also appears to be suffering with attention-deficit disorder. Have you heard of this condition?’
‘Yes.’ Francine and Carl were horrified.
‘Isn’t that more concerning children who run around non-stop, never sit still and can’t concentrate on anything at all?’ Carl asked.
‘Not all the time,’ Nuala explained. ‘A child with ADD can display some of the symptoms you mentioned but they can also be daydreamers or children who become overlooked.’ Nuala was patient and kind as she dispelled some of the common myths on the condition. Cameron did seem to fit the bill when she went through a checklist of behavioural traits. ‘Does he tire easily of tasks and often look to move on to something else?’
‘Yes,’ Francine said instantly.
‘Would he become angry and swiftly frustrated while you’re playing a board game, for example?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Carl answered. ‘We were playing snakes and ladders only the other day and he upended the board and threw it across the room. It wasn’t even his go but it was like a fuse went off in his head and he couldn’t control himself.’
‘Does he make a continual mess which he never seems to clear up?’ Nuala pressed on.
‘Yes, and we’ve had endless arguments over this,’ Francine told her. ‘The other children often complain that he gets away with not tidying up. But, more often than not, I find it easier to clear away his toys myself rather than have yet another battle with him.’
‘Is he a good sleeper?’ Nuala asked.
‘No!’ they answered in unison.
‘He’s always thumping around the room well into the night, yet he never seems overtired,’ Francine explained.
Nuala made lots more notes in her book. ‘Okay, well done, both of you. I’m going to take some time to go through my notes from our meeting and also the assessment with Cameron. Would you make an appointment to return and we’ll try to work through this?’ Nuala stood up and led them back into the main room.
‘But he can concentrate and play when he feels like it,’ Francine said, confused. ‘Surely a child with ADD wouldn’t sit and play with an intricate toy like that castle for so long. He can do PlayStation or Nintendo for hours too.’
‘That’s the often misconceived notion about this disorder,’ Nuala explained. ‘ADD can also result in a child who is totally removed from his or her peers. One who is quiet and shy, forgetful and reserved. There are many forms and indeed plenty of ways of tackling it. I promise we’ll do our best to pull together and work with Cameron.’
‘Will he have to go on medication?’ Francine asked.
‘Not necessarily, Francine. In many cases medication isn’t a consideration at all,’ Nuala said.
‘But don’t the media talk about children who are on stuff that turns previously insane personalities into teddy bears?’ Carl asked, scratching his chin.
‘Our son isn’t insane,’ Francine snapped.
‘Of course he’s not, love.’ Carl seemed crushed. ‘That wasn’t what I meant. All I was saying is that I’ve heard of kids taking the recommended medication and it’s changed their lives for the better. That’s all. I’m simply trying to think positively.’ His brow was furrowed.
‘That would be a long way down the road, Carl, so let’s not jump the gun,’ Nuala said. ‘It’s best if we take this one step at a time. Before long we’ll have worked out a good strategy to help Cameron and your home life. Is that fair enough?’
‘Is this the disorder that can be helped with omega-three fish oils?’ Francine asked, ignoring Nuala’s last statement. ‘If I stop in the village and buy some in the chemist, would that be a good start?’
‘Well, there has been some data to suggest that fish oils are beneficial to children,’ Nuala answered carefully, ‘but really this needs to happen one step at a time, as I just said. We take each child individually and work slowly through the steps that may suit the particular situation.’
Francine was totally deflated.
‘So there’s no quick-fix pill or potion,’ Carl stated.
‘Precisely,’ Nuala agreed. ‘The biggest step is recognising there may be a problem, and the earlier the issues are addressed, the better the outcome. So you’ve done the right thing in coming along today with Cameron. We’ll work as a team and between the three of us we’ll do our best for him.’
‘For sure. We call ourselves Team Hennessy, don’t we, Francine?’
‘Yes.’ Francine looked up at him with her most winning smile.
‘All I can say is thank you,’ Carl said, pumping Nuala’s hand up and down. ‘I’m feeling good about this. We’ll have this ADD thing by the short ’n’ curlies before you can whistle.’ Banging his hands together and rubbing them vigorously, Carl raised and relaxed his shoulders, gave his neck a quick click to left and right and took a deep breath. ‘This is going to be just fine.’ He smiled and made for the door.
Francine wished she shared his faith. She hoped to God he was right. He usually displayed fantastic judgement. He was certainly right about one thing, though. They were a good team. If Nuala joined them as a professional extra, things could only improve, surely.
‘One thing before you go,’ Nuala said. ‘A child with ADD doesn’t want to be naughty or disruptive. They love to be good and fit in just the same as any other little person. They don’t wake each day and decide to be troublesome. Once we
can get some guidelines in place for you all, I’d hope to see a really constructive change. But please keep in mind there’s no malice attached to his behaviour.’
Francine took Cameron’s hand and led him towards the door.
‘I’ll wait with him while you make the next appointment,’ she suggested to Carl.
‘Fine, love,’ he said.
As they stood outside, Francine stared down at her son. He didn’t seem any different from other children. There was no twitch or obvious impairment.
Was there a possibility Nuala had it wrong? How could she and Carl have had three perfectly normal children, then a problem like this with number four? It didn’t make sense.
They could always get a second opinion. Nuala wasn’t an oracle – who was to say she even knew what she was talking about? People printed bogus certificates from the Internet all the time. Maybe she was a fraud.
Moments later, Carl emerged from the building looking rather harassed.
‘I need to get into the office pronto,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’ll have to call a taxi for yourself and Cameron. I’m so sorry, darling.’
‘Nonsense,’ Francine said. ‘We’ll get the bus. Look, there’s a stop. It’ll bring us to the village and we can stroll up and collect the car in plenty of time for the school run. Besides, it’ll be fun, won’t it, Cameron?’
‘What about my hot chocolate and cake?’ Cameron asked.
‘Oh, Cameron, I’m sorry. A man needs me to go to work right this minute. Mum will take you to the café before you go on the bus – won’t you?’ He looked at Francine pleadingly.
‘Of course I will. It’ll be our special date, just you and me,’ she said.
‘Okay, Dad! I really want to go on a bus!’
‘See?’ Francine said, with delight. ‘You fly off to work and we’ll see you later on.’
Carl kissed his wife and son, then sped off.
They walked back into the same coffee shop that she and Carl had left a few minutes before. Francine ordered sparkling water for herself, then hot chocolate and a slice of cake for Cameron.
‘Can we sit on the high stools over here?’ Cameron asked, pointing to the far wall.
‘Sure,’ Francine said, as she followed him with their tray.
Cameron chatted amicably while swinging his legs and munching.
‘What a lovely little fella you have there,’ the waitress said, as she took their empty tray. She ruffled his hair and chucked him under the chin.
‘Me and my mum are going on a big bus in a minute,’ he said.
‘Wow, you’re a lucky boy, aren’t you?’ She smiled.
‘Yup,’ Cameron said, and winked.
Francine was suddenly scared. Had she just opened a can of worms for no reason? Maybe the few isolated tantrums Cameron had experienced were all part of him flexing his muscles. It was probably just the poor little fella’s way of adjusting to being with her all the time instead of Annie. What if she’d dragged them all to see Nuala for absolutely no reason?
Confusion flooded her as she wiped the chocolate from her son’s face.
‘Let’s go, Mum. The bus might be waiting for us!’ he said, tugging at her hand.
It was much colder outside than Francine had realised. As they stood for what felt like hours waiting for a bus to turn up, she wished she hadn’t brought Cameron here after all.
‘We won’t tell everyone about going to meet Nuala today. It’ll be a little family secret for you and Daddy and me,’ Francine said gently.
‘Why? Do you think Cara and Craig and Conor would be jealous we didn’t let them play with the castle?’ Cameron asked.
‘Um, yes,’ Francine said distractedly. She just didn’t want the whole of Bakers Valley talking about her son, saying he was a problem child or that he had a ‘condition’. She didn’t want it for Cameron and she couldn’t bear the thought of being the topic of gossip among her peers.
Cameron grew impatient. ‘When is the bus coming? I want to sit up high and pretend I’m the driver. Can we go up the stairs?’ he asked.
‘Yes, love,’ she soothed him.
The spattering rain had turned into a full-blown soaking shower. By the time a bus hurtled towards them Francine was chilled, wet and miserable. ‘Oh, thank goodness! Let’s hop on,’ she said, taking Cameron’s hand.
‘No!’ he yelled, stamping his feet. ‘It doesn’t have an upstairs. I’m not going on that one.’
‘Cameron, please!’ Francine begged, feeling as if she might cry. ‘We’re both cold and soaked. Let’s just go on this bus and I promise we’ll go somewhere on a double-decker another day.’
‘No!’ he said. The sting as he kicked her in the shins brought tears to her eyes.
‘Don’t kick your mammy like that,’ the bus driver bellowed. ‘Get on here and stop that behaviour.’
Cameron was totally taken back by the stranger shouting at him. In terror he bolted on to the bus and down to the back, flinging himself under a seat.
‘Sorry about that,’ Francine said, as she rooted in her purse for the fare.
‘You’re not the one who should be apologising, it’s that boy of yours. I’ve three at home and I can tell you now if one of them did that to my missus it would be the first and last time,’ he said. ‘People go on about smacking kids and spout all this drivel about it being bad for them. I’m not shy about giving them a tap on the arse and it does them no harm. You’d want to get him in check before he gets bigger and more violent.’
‘My husband and I don’t believe in hitting our children.’ Francine was appalled.
‘Suit yourself, love.’ The driver took their fare and muttered under his breath about spoiled brats and parents who don’t know how to control kids.
Ashamed, Francine jerked down the bus as it swerved away from the kerb. ‘Come out and sit with me, sweetheart,’ she coaxed.
‘No! I hate you!’ he screamed.
Francine could feel sweat beading on her forehead. Every pair of eyes on the bus was boring into her as she sank into a seat close to where Cameron had lodged himself. He was examining a football card another child had dropped. Thanking God for small mercies, Francine prayed they’d make it to the village without any further incident.
Two older ladies with headscarves knotted under their chins and hard handbags clutched at their breasts were unabashedly staring and commenting to one another.
‘The youth of today.’
‘No respect.’
‘The mother’s worse to put up with it.’
‘Terrible behaviour.’
‘Disgraceful.’
Francine wanted the ground to swallow her. ‘Cameron, please get up off the floor, there’s a good boy,’ she tried.
He blanked her.
As the rain lashed down outside, Francine couldn’t have felt more miserable. She should probably have pulled Cameron out from under the seat and made him sit nicely. But she really hadn’t the heart. If he started yelling again she’d be even more mortified.
As they approached the village, Francine warned him they were getting out soon.
‘I want to stay here,’ he whined.
‘We have to collect Cara, Conor and Craig soon, so you can’t,’ she said sharply. ‘Now stand up, come to the door and you can wait for it to open.’
Instead of moving to the back door, which was much closer to them, Cameron stomped down the length of the bus with his hands on his hips making as much noise and drawing as much attention as he could.
‘Bye-bye,’ he called to the driver, who responded by glowering at him.
‘He’s a mean old toad.’ He pointed at the driver as the bus pulled away.
‘He’s cross because you were yelling,’ Francine explained. ‘If you try not to shout at people they won’t be so annoyed with you.’
‘He’s a poo-brain and his bus is crap,’ Cameron said.
‘Cameron!’ Francine thought she was going to pass out. ‘Where on earth did you hear that sort of language?
’ There was nothing Francine hated more than hearing children curse.
‘I know lots of words like that. I know “shit”, “fuck”, “bastard”,’ he said, counting on his fingers.
‘Hello, Mrs Hennessy,’ Mr Clement, from the optician’s, said, as he shuffled past. ‘That boy of yours could do with having his mouth washed out with soap.’
‘I wasn’t even talking to you,’ Cameron said. ‘I was talking to my mum. So you keep your big fat nose to yourself. You look like the mouldy old tortoise that lived in my nana’s garden. Now piss off and mind your own business.’
Francine was utterly paralysed with shame.
‘What else do I know?’ Cameron wondered. ‘Oh, “bitch-cow”, that’s the one Conor says to Cara when she’s annoying. And there’s boll—’
‘Stop it!’ Francine screamed. ‘Stop it right now. How dare you say those words? How dare you embarrass me and treat Mr Clement with such disrespect?’ Once Francine started yelling it was like a poltergeist had taken over. ‘You behaved like something from the zoo on that bus. You acted like a child who was raised in a gutter. You are not like my son. You don’t behave like any of the Hennessys. I don’t accept that Nuala says you don’t mean this. You go out of your way to make my life a misery. For years I’ve ignored poor Annie when she told me you were awful. I’ve tried to jolly you along—’ Francine was heaving and crying. ‘You’re naughty and horrible and I’m not putting up with this a second longer.’
‘You’re a mean old bitch!’ Cameron screamed back.
Suddenly Francine was viewing the scene through onlookers’ eyes. She and Cameron must look like a pair of drunks hurling abuse at one another in the middle of the sleepy village. ‘Look at what you’ve reduced me to,’ she said, as she grabbed Cameron’s arm. ‘Look at what you’ve done,’ she sobbed, as they stomped towards their quiet cul-de-sac.
Cameron was trying to free his arm. ‘Ow – that hurts. Stop it, Mum.’
Thankfully, they didn’t meet another soul. Francine’s resentment and fear spewed forth. As she slammed the front door, she rounded on Cameron. ‘Get up those stairs into your bedroom and change out of your wet clothes. If you so much as make a sound, God help you!’
Perfect Wives Page 19
