‘Pets As Therapy. They’re volunteer dogs. Well, that is, the owners volunteer their dogs for service. Karl coming in clutching his new doggy friend prompted me to contact one of our volunteers. What do you think?’
‘I think I may be hallucinating.’ Mark laughed, disbelieving. ‘The most I’ve seen Karl do lately is line up his cars, turn endlessly around in circles, try to set fire to the place or throw himself on the floor.’
Dr. Lewis nodded. ‘That’s where I’m hoping Ben might come in and help Karl stop being a hostage to his rituals. Dogs like Ben are used all over, to bring comfort to people: in hospitals, hospices, residential homes and special-needs schools. They allow kids to express themselves in ways they otherwise couldn’t.’
‘Right,’ Mark looked doubtful. ‘And if the kids get a little over-expressive and try to part the dog with its tail?’
‘Oh, I’m sure one or two of them will, but we don’t worry if the dog doesn’t. They all have to pass an assessment test, undertaken by an accredited assessor. Karl won’t come to any harm. In fact, I’d say it’s doing him some good, wouldn’t you?’
Mark nodded, the ability to speak seemed to have temporarily deserted him. He pressed a thumb and forefinger against his eyes.
‘We’ve been assessing Karl over the last few months…’ Dr. Lewis wrapped an arm around Mark’s shoulders and walked him away from the group, nodding at a volunteer to step in as he did so ‘… and we think he might benefit from an Autism Assistance dog.’
‘An assistance dog?’ Marked looked at Dr. Lewis dubiously.
‘Autism Assistance Dog or AAD, as we call them. They’re trained to assist people with autism. Much like service dogs are trained to perform tasks for people with other sensory-processing disabilities, to help them gain independence and confidence, ultimately the ability to perform day-to-day activities, much like everyone else.’
Mark drew in a deep breath. ‘Karl isn’t like everyone else, though, is he?’ He stopped, looked Dr. Lewis straight in the eye, then looked back to Karl, who’d now wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck. Jesus. Now, that was a miracle. Mark glanced at the sky. One he’d never allowed himself to hope for. ‘Do you think it can help him?’ he asked, daring — after so many despairing, draining years of trying to keep Karl safe — to hope for more.
‘Well, it can’t cure him, but…’
‘I know that,’ Mark snapped, and immediately regretted it. The guy was just covering himself, but the fact was, Mark did know. Caring for Karl was for life, an almost indescribable task to anyone but Dr. Lewis: The uphill struggle to get the diagnosis, the constant assessments, the roller-coaster ride of not knowing where and what might bring on a tantrum.
The constant ritual they lived their lives by, making sure Karl’s daily routine wasn’t detracted from before he was ready. He was scared of traffic, of crowds, of shops, the noise seeming to close in on him and cause a total meltdown sometimes. Even background noises — noises most people couldn’t even hear, could drive Karl to distraction.
Mark wasn’t ashamed of Karl. He could never be that. Karl was the same child he’d loved before he heard the word autism, after all. But Mark wanted more for his son. He wanted Karl to be the best that he could. He didn’t believe Karl was happy cocooned in his own little world, when the outside world was such a mass of people and places he couldn’t make sense of. Mark wanted Karl to learn, at least learn new ways of coping with daily activity. Because, at the end of the day, Mark knew he wouldn’t always be around — to hold Karl when he was scared, to stop him from bolting in front of that car, to find him when he’d wandered too far.
Mark massaged his temples. ‘Dr. Lewis, I apologise. It’s been a long day and… I’m struggling, to be honest. It’s hard to allow myself to hope, you know?’
Dr. Lewis nodded. ‘Autism is hard on the children, but it’s sometimes harder on the parents. We don’t know whether it can help Karl until we try, though. And whilst Karl might tire of Ben, he certainly doesn’t seem to be in danger of doing so imminently.’
Mark glanced back to the group. ‘No,’ he conceded, watching Karl stroke the dog with repeated consistent, soft strokes, from his head to his tail. ‘Okay, tell me more.’
‘Good.’ Dr. Lewis smiled. ‘Well, it is a relatively new thing, but it does seem to be getting results. Obviously, the dog provided is fully-trained, assuming there’s a dog available.’
Mark nodded, trying not to feel disappointed before they’d even got started.
‘The parents or carers have to have the correct training and support, along with the child, of course,’ Dr. Lewis continued, ‘but basically, whilst being aware that every autistic child is unique, we’re looking to help with behaviours in common that lead to social isolation, both within the family and with other people. Mobility issues, lack of awareness of danger in everyday situations.’
Mark nodded again, understanding, but not quite getting how. ‘Can it stop him from wandering, or bolting, when he’s out in the open?’ he asked, that being one of his major fears.
‘That’s the idea. The child and the dog share a harness and, initially, you control the child by commanding the dog.’
Mark looked at Dr. Lewis, not sure he wanted Karl to be tethered to a dog.
‘It might seem a bit extreme at first,’ Dr. Lewis said, ‘but remember these dogs are highly trained. And the benefits are enormous. Increased safety for the child, increased independence. The amazing thing is, from case studies, it does appear to teach the child responsibility. We’ve seen positive changes in behaviour, lower aggression levels, and of huge benefit is that the dog seems to offer comfort to the child when he gets upset. They’re allowed full access to public places, as are other sensory assistance dogs.’
‘So he’d be with him wherever he goes?’ Mark stopped to look back at Karl.
‘Yes, by and large. The ultimate aim is to reduce the stress associated with interacting with people. An autism dog, given it works out, can allow a child to participate in education, social, and leisure activities.’
‘… to lead a more fulfilling life.’ Mark finished, his gaze on Karl, who’d curled up on the lawn with Ben now, and seemed to be sleeping.
‘So, how do we apply?’ he asked, choked, because if ever he’d been looking for evidence there was a God, this had to be it.
****
Donna pulled up on her drive feeling miserable. Then, marginally better as she imagined Jean getting her artistically-knotted scarf caught in the shredder. The Chief Executive was so besotted with her, he’d probably think it was some kinky sex game and try to bonk her. Donna sighed. She didn’t care if they were having an affair as long as Jean didn’t keep offloading her work onto her. She had no hope of her application for childcare training succeeding if she couldn’t keep on top of her workload, thus ensuring a decent reference.
Ah, well, she was home now. She’d try a little one-on-one assertiveness with Jean tomorrow — or email her — possibly.
Coward. Donna despaired of ever getting ahead as she trudged through the front door. She just didn’t do confrontation well.
‘Sweetie!’ she cried, spotting Sadie hopping precariously up the hall. ‘You came to greet me. Aw, hon…’ Donna bent down to stroke her faithful friend and felt a lot better, until she remembered tonight was Pilates night.
Oh, she really did not want to go. She’d much rather stay at home and examine her heart about her feelings for Mark; and her conscience about her treatment of him.
Why had she turned him down? She was a grown woman. She didn’t have to give all of herself, heart, body, and soul, until she knew him, knew whether he was interested in anything long term. And surely she could have handled it if he didn’t turn out to be as perfect as she needed him to be. Perhaps she could have, in time. She wouldn’t have time though, not now she’d pushed him away.
She sighed, a shuddery sigh. She’d have to go to Pilates. Her sister would be insistent, being the healthy body equals healt
hy mind sort and determined to keep in shape. Not that Alicia ever looked out of shape, as Jeremy hadn’t been slow to point out. Unlike Donna, Alicia was tall, beautiful and slender, even after having a baby.
Donna sighed again and tried not to mind. Alicia was as mad as a hatter, as eccentric as their mother, always there for her — and Donna loved her to bits. No, she couldn’t let her sister down.
Like she had Mark.
Awash with guilt, Donna headed for the kitchen to check whether Findus was home or under the table. The table invariably, dining out on a carrot.
‘Hey, little one, how are you doing, hmm?’ Donna crouched down to trail the pad of her finger the length of his velvet-soft nose.
‘All right, hon?’ She blinked lovingly at him. Findus stopped gnawing his carrot to fix her with one sideways bright eye.
‘You’re all fur, aren’t you, sweetie, hey?’ Donna continued to stroke him, gentle strokes over his head — careful to avoid his sensitive ears — and down his back, feeling the fragility of his little bones beneath her fingers. ‘A big furry fluff-ball, aren’t you?’
She reached to gather him up, as Findus warmed to her touch, always a bit wary, being a one guy kind of rabbit. ‘A gorgeous, big, furry fluff-ball,’ she cooed.
Findus observed her, unmoved, bar a twitch or two of his nose.
Donna smiled and twitched, and then kissed him; she couldn’t resist. ‘Smitten, aren’t I, sweetie, hey?’ She laughed as Findus offered her another startled twitch back, then held him close to pop him back safe in his cage.
‘Between you and me, I think I might be smitten with another gorgeous guy, Findus,’ she confided, nuzzling his cheek as she carried him there. ‘And I’m not sure I want to be,’ she fluffed up his hay and encouraged Findus to find his way home, ‘because I’m not sure I can give all of me.
‘So what should I do?’ she asked herself more than Findus, as she closed the cage door. Not that there was anything much to do, now she’d more or less told Mark where to go. She sighed again, then smiled, as Findus demonstrated his thoughts on the subject and hopped merrily into bed.
‘Hmm? I suspect this is more the male point of view, Findus,’ she told him, making sure the door was closed tight, then checking Sadie was safe on her chair, before trailing upstairs in search of sports gear that wouldn’t make her look like the back end of a bus. Should she ring Mark back, she debated. She could always say she was calling about the damp jacket he’d left behind when he’d read his urgent text. He couldn’t be very authoritative in only half a police uniform, after all. She walked over to where she’d hung it on the wardrobe door to dry. Brushed a bit of fluff from it. Trailed her hand over it. Sniffed it.
It smelled of him. She breathed deep the citrussy scent of his aftershave. Joop Homme. Yes, definitely, Joop. She’d identified it in her lunch hour at Boots. Orange blossom, cinnamon, jasmine accented with amber, cedar, vanilla — and pure essence of man.
It suited him.
No, she couldn’t ring him. Even if he wanted to speak to her, she’d be doing it for all the wrong reasons. She had another quick sniff, then wandered across the room to peer into drawers, hoping for inspiration. She’d be ringing him out of guilt and guilt was a problem she’d struggled with throughout her marriage. Jeremy always seemed to make her feel as if everything was her fault if they argued, jumping on her every mood, asking casually if it was ‘that time of the month’ whenever she’d been upset over things he’d said, and done, and had been doing for a very long time behind her back. She’d been such a fool to let him treat her so badly.
But Mark wasn’t Jeremy.
Mark was nice. She was beginning to think that that’s what she would have found at the core of him, if only she’d given him a chance. No hidden depths or dark secrets, just niceness.
Jeremy was most definitely not nice.
His overt condescension hadn’t taught her that. It was a combination of things. The way he’d laugh at her, belittling her in front of friends. Drawling, ‘Donna’s domestic Goddess gene doesn’t work very well, does it, darling?’ when she’d spent hours in the kitchen and things had gone a bit awry. He’d create situations where he could laugh at her. He knew she was terrified of spiders. He’d pretended to throw one at her once. It was just a crinkled-up leaf from a plant, but Donna hadn’t known that when it landed in her hair. They’d had company around that time, too. She’d been hysterical and the man she’d once thought herself safe with had laughed at her.
And then, when the guests had gone, they would argue and Jeremy would stomp about and bang things and shout.
He’d scared her. Donna shuddered involuntarily and reminded herself never, ever, would she go there again.
Mark scared her too, she supposed, though in a completely different way than Jeremy. No one could be as perfect as he seemed. Donna didn’t want be there when the gloss wore off. When Mark got bored and stopped trying. The opposite of love, it seemed to Donna, wasn’t hate. It was indifference: Treating a person as if they were nothing more than a mild irritation, or didn’t exist at all.
No, she wouldn’t ring him, she decided, pouring herself into her too-tight sweatpants and vowing to diet immediately after she’d finished her bar of Cadbury’s Whole Nut.
What happened with Jeremy wasn’t Mark’s fault, but she couldn’t go through that again. Donna honestly didn’t know whether she was damaged goods now, or whether she’d never functioned properly in the first place, inviting a man into her life who didn’t truly care for her. Whatever, she didn’t feel able to cope with the aftermath if she made the same mistake all over again with Mark.
And she could, quite easily.
Except… it was all history now, wasn’t it? And if it wasn’t, it soon would be if he caught a glimpse of her in this little lot. Donna appraised herself in the mirror, rolled her eyes and hastily tugged off a breast-flattening vest in favour of baggy. Finally, as ready as she could be in mismatching sports gear, she wrestled her hair into a band and dashed downstairs.
‘Bye, baby.’ She kissed Sadie, left Matt pizza money — he being out, having progressed from Facebook to face-to-face with a girl, and plucked up her car keys.
Just as she reached the front door, the phone rang. Donna’s mouth went dry. She glanced at the caller display. It was Mark. Her heart boomed against her chest as she plucked up the receiver.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘It’s me. How are you?’
Donna took a breath. ‘The same as I was earlier. Okay, you know.’
‘Any chance you’ve changed your mind? About dinner?’
Donna chewed on her lip. Say yes. Say yes, a little voice said in her head. Go back upstairs, put on some make-up, pick out your best dress and say yes. ‘I can’t, Mark, not tonight. I…’
‘Look, Donna, don’t blow me off again,’ he said quickly. ‘I understand. You don’t want to get too involved. Can’t we just talk though, over coffee maybe?’
Donna agonised. ‘Mark, I can’t tonight, really. I have to meet my sister.’
‘Tomorrow?’
Donna closed her eyes. ‘I… I’m not sure. I have something on,’ she said, part of her backsliding already. ‘Can I call you?’
‘Okay,’ Mark said, with an audible sigh. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you, then. Bye, Donna.’
****
Would she call? Mark didn’t think so. Well, he’d tried. There was nothing else he could do, short of driving past her house with blue lights flashing and a banner flying behind saying, “Donna O’Connor will you please give me a bloody chance?’
Not much point if she really wasn’t interested. He supposed he should just forget about her and move on. He’d got too much on his plate already anyway. Pulling in a breath, he started the engine, then switched off again as his mobile rang. Noting the number he didn’t hesitate to answer, though he was disappointed it wasn’t Donna.
‘Hi, Dad. What’s happening?’
‘Power’s gone off.’ His dad sighed. ‘Lights, TV, cooke
r, the lot. Just wondered if you knew of a decent electrician, rather than me sticking a needle in the old Yellow Pages?’
‘Not one who’s likely to come at short notice, no. You’re sure it’s not just a bulb blown, or something?’
‘Oh, that would do it, would it?’ his dad asked, sounding slightly embarrassed.
Mark guessed why. Working away from home most his married life meant his dad didn’t have a clue about maintaining a house. It had been hard on his mum sometimes, harder when she’d realised it wasn’t all work that kept him away. It was hard on the old man now though. His guilt weighed heavy, Mark knew.
‘That, or a short in the supply somewhere,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll need to flip the switch on the fuse… No. No, leave it.’
Mark pictured his dad struggling to climb the ladder to reach the fuse box. Uh-uh, not with his dodgy hip. ‘Stay where you are, Dad. I’m on my way.’
****
Twenty minutes later, Mark headed through his father’s kitchen with the stepladder. ‘All done,’ he said to his dad, who was standing at the table, looking awkward and out of place in a room that was once solely his wife’s domain.
‘There’s a torch in the utility,’ Mark offered, noting his dad was scraping spilled candle-wax from the table. ‘Mum kept one in the cupboard for emergencies.’
‘Ah.’ His dad smiled. Stiffly, Mark noticed. His dad hadn’t smiled much since his mum died. That was the trouble with regrets, Mark supposed. Life had a habit of moving on before you could do anything about them.
No point in his dad beating himself up about it now though, or for Mark to be laying blame. His dad was getting older, confused sometimes, and, God knew, Mark had a few regrets of his own. The past was the past, best left where it was, he reckoned. Life was just too short to be agonising over stuff you couldn’t change.
‘Do you fancy some tea?’ he asked, trying to ease the awkwardness between them.
‘I’ll get it.’ His father insisted, turning to stride to the cooker, still the proud man with a razor sharp memory Mark had always known his father to be, so long as he wasn’t trying to recall what happened yesterday.
Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. Page 5
