Riley, page 25
He now joined in Peter’s quiet laughter. Then becoming serious once more, he said, ‘Ye could ask for a second opinion, couldn’t ye, ’cos Johnson’s opinion is that the boy’ll grow out of it. His philosophy is, let children run themselves wild because they’re not children very long. That’s what he says, isn’t it?’
Riley, also serious now, nodded to him, saying, ‘Yes, yes, it is, Mac, and I know you’re right; but one has to be prodded into facing up to these things. In any case, I must tell you we’ve already discussed it, and I’m making an appointment for a second opinion.’
Hamish, his voice changing entirely now, said brightly, ‘Perhaps he only wants a few special pills now and then to quieten him down; and if he didn’t gallop so much outside he wouldn’t need so much rest inside. At least, that’s how I see it; but I’m a simple man, ye ken.’
At this Riley gave a hoot and, smiling broadly, he said, ‘Yes, yes, I know, Mac, you’re a very simple man. I guessed that the first time we met, a very simple man,’ and on this he thrust out his fist towards Mac’s shoulder; then turned and went back into the sitting room.
‘This tea will be dead cold; come and sit down.’
‘Give me here the teapot!’
After Mrs Atkins had hurried from the room, Nyrene said on a laugh, ‘Give me here the teapot! Give me here the teapot! She’s becoming as bad, or as good, whichever way you look at it, as Mac. What have you been talking about?’
‘Oh,’ said Riley lightly, ‘lots of things.’
He was again seated on the couch and had put his hand out towards his son who, at the moment, seemed oblivious of everything but the job of separating the piece of almond paste from the icing that topped the slice of Christmas cake on his plate. He wasn’t fond of icing, but was very fond of almond paste, and he did not turn his head as Riley said to him in a raised tone, ‘I’m thinking about tomorrow. I’m wondering if we should mend that sleigh or just build a snowman. What d’you think?’
Riley turned and looked at Nyrene; then they both looked at their son. He had put the last piece of almond paste in his mouth and was chewing it slowly as he returned their gaze, but he did not speak or refer to the arrangements being prepared for him on the morrow. His expression would not have been unfitting in a much older person who was willing to go along with what had been said, not for his own sake but for theirs, which he seemed to emphasise when he turned back to the business of eating his cake.
Six
It was the day before Peter was due to leave for the road again. They were in Aberdeen and he and Nyrene were sitting in the comfortable reception room of Mr Kramer, the children’s specialist who had been highly recommended by Dr Johnson.
Mr Kramer was as tall as Hamish McIntyre but much broader, an outsize specimen of a man; but when he spoke his voice was a contradiction to his build, for he had what could be described as a small voice. In a sing-song way he said, ‘You’re quite a big fellow for your age. How old did you say you are?’ The big face was beaming down into the child’s and Charles was smiling back into it and there was a mischievous look in his eye as he answered the tall man, saying, ‘They t-tell me, sir, I am four years old.’
There was a quick glance between Mr Kramer and the parents sitting at the far side of the desk; then the face returned and beamed again down on Charles and the soft voice said, ‘They told you that? Well, I would’ve thought you were much older. When is your birthday?’
The child’s glance wavered for a moment: it was as if he were thinking; then he said, ‘Last year, before Christmas.’
‘Fair enough. Fair enough.’ The big man now moved uneasily in his chair as he said, ‘I’m getting to be a very old man and stooping doesn’t agree with me. Now would you object if I lifted you onto the end of my desk here so we could be face to face?’
He hadn’t intended to wait for an answer, but when it came saying, ‘No. No,’ the big man was slightly nonplussed and inclined to smile, and he said, ‘Good enough.’ Then putting out his hands he lifted the boy up onto the end of the desk; and once there, Charles turned and looked at his parents sitting rather straight-faced on the other side and he smiled at them. It was a reassuring smile, and when his mother smiled back at him he said, ‘Mr Mac would have laughed.’
The seemingly strange response brought a questioning look from Mr Kramer, followed by the quiet enquiry, ‘Who is Mr Mac?’
It was Riley who answered, saying, ‘He’s our friend. He looks after the house and garden and helps my wife with anything she wants doing. He’s very fond of Charles and Charles of him.’ He paused here and smiled slightly before he added, ‘They play a lot together.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ Now the big face was close to Charles’s and saying, ‘Is this Mr Mac the one who jumps and gallops as quickly as you do?’
Charles’s smile was broad now as he replied, ‘Yes. Yes, sir. But…but he cannot jump very far.’
Charles now brought his arms above his head and they went into a flopping, waving motion, and his heels began to kick the back of the desk as he now said, ‘We fly…or’—his head bobbing now—‘we try to fly.’
Mr Kramer was now holding Charles’s hands steady and bringing them down in front of the boy, saying ‘Well, it isn’t everyone that can fly. It’s very difficult to do. Even the birds have a hard time of it, and you and Mr…Mac get very tired, do you?’
There was no immediate response; it was as if the child were thinking; then with his head to the side he said, ‘Not really tired, I just want to—’ When he stopped they all waited with him; then it was Mr Kramer who spoke more softly still, saying, ‘What happens when you are tired? Do you just want to go to sleep?’
The answer came quite quickly and abruptly, ‘No! Not to sleep, just to—’ Again it was as if the child were thinking, then Mr Kramer, his voice rising, exclaimed, ‘We’ll forget about flying for the moment, but if you do ever manage to fly, you come straight to me and show me how to do it. Is that a promise?’
The twinkle was back in Charles’s eye as he turned his head, and there was that old knowing look on his face as he gazed at his parents, and the answer he gave was a bright high laugh.
Mr Kramer now rang a bell, and when a door opened and a nurse entered he said, ‘This is Master Charles, Nurse, and he would love to see all your toys, your blocks and things, in your room. Would you like to go with Nurse?’
The last words were addressed to the boy; and his face, now losing its bright appeal, took on a wary look. And now his gaze was directed towards his mother; but it was Riley who said, ‘It’s just next door or so, quite near. There are some lovely games. Nurse will show you.’
‘You come, Daddy-man?’
‘No, darling, you go with Nurse.’ It was Nyrene speaking now, and the child, swiftly getting onto his knees on the desk, looked at his mother and said, ‘No, Mama. Not just me go.’
Riley and Nyrene looked at each other in slight apprehension, before Riley addressed Mr Kramer: ‘All right if I go with him, sir?’
‘Perfectly. Perfectly, yes, I’m sure you’d love to play with the blocks too; and while you’re away Mrs Riley and I’ll sit here nattering. What about it, Mrs Riley?’
‘Yes, that would be very nice, Mr Kramer, very nice.’
The nurse now led them out of the room and just a few steps along a corridor to another room where there were numerous small tables on which were coloured blocks and shapes of all sizes.
Meanwhile, back in the reception room, Nyrene was gazing at Mr Kramer and he was saying, ‘Well, you can get one fear out of your mind, Mrs Riley, and it’s the fear of all mothers I know in this situation: the boy is not mentally handicapped.’
The oh, thank God! wasn’t voiced, but Nyrene said, ‘But there is something not quite right?’
Mr Kramer leant back in his chair and put his fingertips together before he said, ‘I mightn’t be able to pinpoint it for some time; all I can say at the moment is, the child is intelligent and he has a thinking mind. Oh yes, definitely a thinking mind, but it is more active than his years warrant.’
‘Yes. Yes, we have thought that many a time, especially when he’s in his quiet periods.’
‘Describe them again to me.’
This Nyrene did, and when she had finished he said, ‘There have been no fits, nothing spectacular?’
‘No, nothing apart from extreme exertion beforehand.’
‘What I think Nurse might confirm is that he is dyslexic.’
Nyrene was nodding quickly now, saying, ‘Yes, yes I’ve thought of that too; we’ve both thought of that. But that isn’t so bad, is it? Well, I mean, there are actors and actresses and notable people who are dyslexic.’
‘Oh yes, yes, definitely, you’re right. And what’s more, much can be done now to assist the child to cope with this. It’s not a disease, it’s an impediment. Now what I think we’ve got to go into and find out more about is this tiredness, or sleeping while still awake; and you feel it isn’t only caused by extra exertion, but occurs when he is left alone; that is without one or other of you to hand. You say your helpers don’t seem to fill the gap your absence leaves?’
‘Yes. Yes. He loves them both; but recently when I had to accompany my husband back to his home, they had a most distressing time with him for three or four days. It was then he spent most of the time in what we call his quiet periods.’
‘Well, I think this will have to be dealt with separately. But now let us go and see what progress has been made next door.’
Mr Kramer stood up, and she also, but she did not immediately move. Looking straight at him she said, ‘Would the so-called quiet periods suggest he might have a rare mental condition?’ and he, returning her gaze, said, ‘Well now, Mrs Riley, I cannot answer that as yet. I shall have to see him here periodically for both physical and mental examinations; and the physical side has still to be gone into. But, don’t worry. As I see him now there’s no reason to suggest that he will not grow into a normal little boy.’
When, the following day, Nyrene reported to Dr Johnson the result of their meeting with Mr Kramer, it appeared he already knew something of it, for he surprised her straight away by saying, ‘Well now, he thinks there’s no autism. I’d have thought there might have been; but there, you live and learn. And he knows what he’s talking about, does Mr Kramer. As for dyslexia, that’s nothing to worry about, not today.’
The previous night, as they lay in each other’s arms and talked, she had asked Riley, ‘If David acquired the Town Hall would you go back?’
‘Like a shot, darling, quicker than a shot, oh yes. I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot during the past days. We could rent one of those flats they are proposing to build. Why shouldn’t we?’
There had been a pause before she said, ‘I couldn’t come with you, darling, could I?’
‘Oh?’ he questioned. There was another pause before he said, ‘But he could be a lot better, by then. I have faith in that man.’
‘Yes, you’re right. But until then, you could be home every weekend; and by that time I should have my,’ she stressed the word, ‘my drama school running.’ And she had laughed.
‘Yes.’ He had risen on his elbows and looked down into her face haloed by the pink shade of the bedside lamp and said, ‘Now be serious about this, dear. You have marvellous scope here: the barn could make a wonderful setting and, as Mac said yesterday, there are two stables next door which could be turned into dressing rooms with a shower. He seemed very keen on it so long as he’s then able to extend the vegetable garden. Him and his vegetables! He’ll have this turned into a market garden, you see, before he’s finished.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing, there’s all that land lying fallow.’
‘Look, darling, if you get that school going you’ll have more than enough on your hands. It’s a marvellous idea. And if I could be settled again at the New Palace, well what more could we want?’
Her voice came low and thick, ‘Only never to be parted at all, darling, because I ache for you every moment you are away.’
‘Well, my love, how do you think I feel? There are times when I want to say, “To hell! I’ve had enough of this,” and just walk out; and every time I look at another woman I’m comparing her with you, especially on the stage. You may not know it, Mrs Riley, but I’ve been accused of not showing enough affection in the love scenes.’
‘I’m so glad to hear that, Mr Riley, because I…well I dread the day when you might look at another woman and there’ll be no comparison.’
‘Never! Never!’ They were lying close now and he was making her breathless in his hold as he repeated, ‘Never! Listen, woman: that will never happen to me. There’s nothing or no-one can come between us. I know that right in the heart of me, nothing and no-one. Now get that into your silly head.’
She had said nothing to this, but she had loved him and they slept, and the next day came.
Seven
After a week at the Sunderland Empire, Riley spent four happy days at home; but now here he was in York and it was Wednesday afternoon and the matinee had just finished. For the time being he had the dressing room to himself, and he took from his coat pocket Nyrene’s last letter. It was mostly about the child and the wonderful news that he had accomplished an A and a G all by himself. But the end of the letter, as always, was to the effect that she wouldn’t be alive until she saw him again and she had never longed for another year to pass as she had the coming one when he would be installed back in Fellburn.
Riley noticed that, when referring to his return to Fellburn and the new theatre, Nyrene never mentioned his mother, but in his own mind she was ever-present as a threat. He was folding up the letter when the door was thrust open and a young actress named Evelyn Dowell, who was something of a comedienne, approached him on exaggerated tiptoe, saying in a hushed whisper, ‘There’s a mantrap downstairs wanting to see you, a vixen-wolf if ever I saw one. My, good job she’s not in this lot, for our leading lady wouldn’t stop at skull and hair!’
Thrusting his hand out towards her, Riley waved her away on a laugh, saying, ‘I’ve heard you before, Evelyn, and I remember Coventry and the two antiquarians you saddled me with.’
‘Oh! They were two old dears and good fun, but this one…well! But this one, I’m serious. She’s waiting. She gave a sort of French name, and when I tried to put her off she said to tell you that she was a Mr Beardsley’s or Birdsley’s niece.’
He was on his feet now, staring at the young girl, and what he said was, ‘Oh Lord, not her!’
‘Yes. Yes, her.’ The young actress made a face at him now. ‘So you know her? My! You are lucky; and to still be alive.’
‘Go on with you!’ He grabbed at his coat and pulled it on, ran his hand over the top of his hair, then quite inanely said, ‘What does she want?’
‘Well, if you were asking me that objectively, I would say you at the moment but, at a push, any respectable-looking male within arm’s length of her. So, laddie, watch your step.’
Again he flapped his hand towards her.
She was standing at the end of the middle aisle looking towards the stage on which men were busily moving pieces of scenery about, and he greeted her heartily with the cliché, ‘Well, well! What’s brought you to this neck of the woods, may I ask?’
‘Oh. Hello.’ She turned to him, her face bright, saying, ‘I can put it briefly: a broken-down car, a placard advertising the matinee, and a ticket to allow me to sit through your play. But mind, I had to pay the full amount because I couldn’t get in for half-price, not being an old-age pensioner.’
He laughed. ‘That’s a pity,’ he said.
‘May I sit down here?’ She pointed to the end seat, and he said, ‘I don’t see why not, at least for the next few minutes anyway, for presently we are having a meeting before this evening’s performance.’
‘Oh, a meeting,’ she said, indicating by a movement of her hand that she didn’t believe a word he had said.
He, too, sat down, saying, ‘What happened to the car?’
‘Oh, it stopped talking to me when I was just outside the town, so I stopped at a garage and they said, “Apart from everything else, you need a new exhaust, miss.” Well, I told them it wasn’t long since it had had a new exhaust. I also said that if they could find anything else that I didn’t know about, would they please see to it?’ Then moving into a very good imitation of a mechanic, she said, ‘“Take a couple of hours, miss.” And what I said to him was, fair enough; two to three hours, no more.’ Her voice now resuming its natural tone, she said, ‘They’re daylight robbers, these garage owners; at least, when they think they’re dealing with a numskull…I learnt that word from Uncle.’
