Yesterday was the first day back at school after the half term holidays.
I love the first day back, it's a chance to plan ahead, work out Pip's problems and plan strategies to deal with them. I diligently fill up my diary with dates for meeting the school staff and visiting colleges for his post-18 education. I fire off emails to the school and his day release college, listing my concerns and explaining his most recent anxieties. I prepare the evening meal early in the day, so I have the luxury of knowing everything will be ready when the children get home and I can concentrate on the minor emergencies which will occur. And throughout it all, I make myself pot after pot of china tea in an elegant china teapot, sipping the steaming brew as I plan my life, luxuriating in my sudden freedom.
Around about three o'clock I start to get anxious about Pip's day. Both this school and his last one used to phone parents at the end of the school day, to inform them of any problems. If the phone goes after three o'clock then I become a bit jumpy and I bark my phone number down the line. Friends and family know to avoid me just before home time. My response is illogical and stupid, as Pip always phones me during the day, to list his woes and worries. If things sound particularly difficult then I phone up his teacher, who always reassures me.
But Mondays are never a problem with Pip. Mondays are Pip's college day, where he gets to pretend to be a normal boy in a normal college, except that he studies computing so a number of his classmates also have Asperger's Syndrome. Monday is also Ian, Pip's learning assistant's day at college and Ian fills Pip with confidence and reassurance. He lets Pip slip out to the nearby shop at lunch time, he advises Pip on social problems and he makes sure that Pip understood the lecturer. Even better, Ian drives a Land Rover, one of Pip's most recent obsessions.
Monday is the day when I can concentrate on the other children, which means sorting out Nina's problems and collecting her from her after school piano lesson. That leaves Alex, my most emotionally independent child, to walk home and install himself on facebook for the evening.
Yesterday, I collected Nina from her lesson as usual. She had slept badly the night before and was tired and worried about her English exam the following day. We discussed the book the exam was on, until my head reeled with act and scenes; I was so engrossed in the play that I didn't notice I had taken the long way home. By the time we had driven back into town, Nina was becoming anxious so I changed the subject to the perennial favourite, did Alex remember his key, or was he sitting on the front door step waiting for us?
Alex has an incredibly poor short term memory and is too lazy to develop a strategy to overcome it, relying too heavily on his own charm and sweet nature. Unfortunately, teachers are inoculated against charm early on in their careers. I sent Alex to school at eight, anxious to avoid the disaster which characterized the start of Pip's education. He survived the first two years, then the problems started. Within a month he was attending school part time and I was finding my world collapsing around me. His problems were so similar to Pip's, lack of eye contact, not understanding the teacher, forgetting everything, over-anxiety and unhappiness. Why did I think that I deserved one autistic child and two 'normal' children? We limped through that and the following year, taking whole weeks off, carefully informing the educational welfare officer that things weren't working, then shooting off in the car to visit friends or glory in a walk on the Derbyshire moors.
When we reached the Educational Welfare stage I informed Jay, the children's father. He emailed me back to tell me that Alex's problems explained his recent dream that he was walking along Blackpool beach and could see Alex in the distance, with a strange woman. As he ran to them he could see that Alex's aura was all wrong but he woke up before he could reach them. I read the email, looking for a word of advice or encouragement and realised it really was just a note to tell me all about his own problems and anxieties, which were obviously very important. When I was facing the prospect of caring for two autistic children on my own, along came the funniest email, which entertained my friends and family for weeks. Every cloud, as they say, has a silver lining.
Eventually, I took Alex to see an educational psychologist, who diagnosed specific learning difficulties, verifying all the problems I had observed and listing strategies the school could try. I felt vindicated and confident as I slapped the report down on the reception desk and pompously declared that the headteacher would need to read it. If he did, then he didn't let on, preferring to send out a less than complimentary end of year report. But by then I was indignant and fired back with a three page essay on why the report illustrated the failings of the school. Unfortunately, the mild mannered head of year was in the office when I handed it in. I don't swear and I'm not rude but witnesses described me as very determined and forceful during the interview. At a subsequent parents' evening he winced as he saw me walking to his desk and greeted me with a sheepish 'I didn't think you had forgiven me.' The headteacher, in the meantime, decided to win me over and between us, we turned Alex's school life around.
Alex still has problems, he is a confident and clever mathematician, but always fails the mental maths tests, he forgets his lunch, books, pens and pencils and his behaviour is always only just this side of acceptable. However, in the general scheme of things I'm not worried. He doesn't shout abuse at his teachers, fight his classmates, run away from school or complain directly to OFSTED like Pip does, so what's my problem? Alex still achieves good marks, even though he spends a decent number of lessons working in the corridor and he brushes off detentions and teacher's comments in his organiser.
Three weeks ago Alex got his first comment of the academic year, which to be fair, was a silly mistake on the teacher's part. Her note in the organiser was liberally peppered with spelling and grammar mistakes, so I did what all teachers do under the circumstances – I got the red pen out and corrected it. Perhaps I should have been more circumspect, more accepting of her authority because Alex started collecting more teachers' notes. By that time, it was too late and Alex was already annoyed. Half term came as a relief to me, time to draw a line under the challenging behaviour.
I had totally forgotten about the problems of the previous few weeks when I walked into the house yesterday evening. Alex had remembered his key and had walked to open the door for us when he saw us arrive home. He was walking back to the computer when I asked him 'did you have a good day at school?' It was a mere formality, as I was still too worried about Nina's exam the following day. 'Yes, it was fine, loved the sandwiches,' replied the reluctant scholar. I could tell by his voice that there had been no issues at school, so I turned towards the kitchen.
'Oh,' he half turned 'there was something.' He was so relaxed and the story started so calmly and innocently. 'It was that Mr S. in English. Ben, who was sitting next to me, was talking to me. It was OK, mum,' Alex responded to my increasing attention. 'He was talking about the text we were reading. You can talk about your work. But Mr S. told me to go out and I told him it was Ben who was talking. Ben should go out, not me. I hadn't done anything wrong.' I held the kettle in mid-air as I waited for the reassurance that it had all ended well. Alex was standing by the kitchen door, hands defiantly on hips 'Mr S. said I was being sent out for staring into Ben's eyes. So I just said 'are you dissing my sexuality?' and walked out!' The kettle clattered on the hob and I started laughing out of shock. Nina had come into the kitchen to hear the tail end of the story and glared at me 'you shouldn't laugh, he isn't funny and you only encourage him. He was wrong, you should be telling him off!'
I soon stopped laughing, it's parents' evening tonight and Mr S. is the first teacher on my list.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Monday, 22 February 2010
How to be a Perfect Parent
Oh dear, Pip has been in contact with his dad, Jay and it didn't go too well. It never does. I'm now left with a very upset and hurt young man on my hands. He follows me around like a large, lumbering shadow, throwing insulting comments about Jay, trying to get me to solve this latest problem. Unfortunately, Jay's behaviour is as incomprehensible and self-centred as Pip's is. There is no solution, one of them has to back down and as usual, I know I can work on Pip's self-obsessiveness but I can't do anything with Jay.
It started innocently enough. Pip wanted to learn to drive a car and asked me if he could add his name to my insurance. I can, but it will cost me hundreds of pounds and I simply can't afford it. Pip decided to ask his father for the money by email. The answer should have been 'no' but Jay is too sophisticated for that; he has to give a totally spurious reason for refusing, preferably one which can easily be satisfied. This time he excelled himself. Jay couldn't pay for the insurance because Pip is only 16 and doesn't have a license. Except, Pip can apply for and receive a provisional license now, it just won't be valid until Pip's birthday in 4 months time. Pip knew he could overcome this hurdle, so he wrote back to Jay. Jay then gave a more valid reason, he can't give Pip more money than he gives the other two children. By that time, Pip wasn't putting up with any more reasons.
In the meantime, Pip told me about this correspondence, I told him that Jay made an arrangement to pay half of the children's additional educational expenses and has been reneging on the agreement for Nina since January, 2009. He has refused to contribute towards Pip's and Alex's additional expenses since July 2009. By the time you include the short university taster course for Nina, Pip's travel costs, the school trip for Alex and the new school uniforms, I am already a thousand pounds out of pocket. 'Don't worry, I'll get it back off the selfish bastard,' Pip assured me. I laughed, Jay has a reputation for selfishness and meanness which would make the hardest skinflint jealous and he is an expert in punishing people by withholding finance. I've already missed two payments of the children's maintenance to force me to see sense and go back to work and he stopped my maintenance in case I was living with someone and they were benefitting from his generosity. I wasn't, I presented a sworn statement to the court, but it made no difference, the money, all £150 per month, wasn't reinstated.
But back to the clash of the titans. Pip wrote to Jay:
Jay
you only care about yourself you don't care about anyone else and you make up stupid excuses and never realy live up to them o and by thw way you owe me two football strips, an underdones lp and many more items and i doubt you will ever give them to me because you are a self obssesed git who only cares about himself all my mates at school who i can't see outside of school because i have got no money there pairents take them to football and pay for them do drive and give tham £80 a week and don't you say that they must be rich because yuo know full well where you put all you money yep betfair all i hear about is your health and your problems
o i have now got a provisional so i have got a licance but i doubt you will pay for insurance like you said if i got a licance
oh and by the way you probebley won't reply to this coz of your helth is bad
BLOODY TWAT
Pip
In the past, Jay has accused me of poisoning the children against him but I sincerely hope he doesn't think I would allow that email, riddled with errors, out of the house. All those years of additional spelling and grammar support and Pip is still unable to spell or construct a sentence. I can cross English teacher, solicitor, marketing executive and proof reader off the list of potential careers for Pip, damn!
Jay replies in one of his best, cold blooded replies. He emails from work, with his characteristic signature, jam packed with his many qualifications:
Dear Pip
I can see that this is quite an angry email.
I am sorry you are angry that I did not send you things – I remember you wanted helium once but I thought it was too dangerous. I did send a cheque once and you ripped it up and sent it back.
Its 5 years now since I last saw you. Your friends probably see their mums and dads every day or maybe at least every two weeks if they are separated. Maybe also your friends don’t call their fathers gits or tw___s as you have taken to doing. How do you think that makes me feel? Maybe also your friends say thank you occasionally for things. You your sister and you brother don’t even do that now. I took a lot of care choosing Nina’s and Alex’s last presents and what thanks did I get – none. I just had the phone put down on me. Some people would say that is being ungrateful.
I am sorry you are fed up with hearing about by health, but at least I can keep working and help keep a roof over your head while I am still fit.
I will send you something for your birthday to do with what you like. You may choose to put it towards car insurance. When you are 18 I will spend as much money on you as I did when Nina was 18 – it’s only fair.
Lots of love
Dad
I mentally repeated my mantra 'it's all about him' as I read the email. No mention of the fact that Pip does thank his father or that Jay promised lots of presents but never bought them, just reminders that his health is bearing up and that the other children are ungrateful.
I asked Pip not to reply but of course he had to, like a pre-programmed computer. From then on, the facts came tumbling out. Jay had a sports car when he was at university, but it was his father's old one which they hadn't got round to selling. Pip couldn't have his father's old Ford Focus because it had been exchanged for another sports car. This was to augment the other two cars which Jay and his wife now own. Jay was forced to start buying two seater sports cars because Pip and Alex refused to see him, so he had no need for family saloons. Jay's mother added Jay to her car insurance when he was at University, so it is written in stone that mothers have to sort it out. Jay already has to pay me over a thousand pounds a month (four hundred pounds of which never leaves his bank account). And finally, just to rub salt into Pip's wounds, Jay told him 'I know what it is like to be the poor person - it makes you appreciate more of what you do have.' I assume that his poverty refers back to the time when he had to manage with a second-hand sports car and free insurance – poor times indeed.
Pip, in the meantime, decided to change his surname to my maiden name and it had to be done that evening. I spent the evening negotiating a time delay before he changes his name but dashed off an email to his school warning them that it might happen in the near future.
Pip doesn't understand that Jay builds barriers between himself and the people who love him. He doesn't understand that Jay cannot understand the needs of others so will never be generous or thoughtful. He doesn't understand that Jay blames everyone else for his misfortunes, that he alternates between blaming me for his failed relationships with the children and blaming them. And Pip, similarly blessed with a complete lack of empathy, can see no parallels between his own and Jay's behaviour. His first reaction was anger, which has been so typical for both Pip and Jay but more recently this has dissolved into upset. He is slowly coming round to the idea that Jay will never be the parent he wants, that Pip is not an important part of Jay's life and that Jay will never be more than an angry, self obsessed individual.
We have spent over a week now, going over the same old story, gleaning insights into Jay's character, searching through his emails for signs of manipulation and of lies, we have discussed the idea of trusting someone who always puts his own wishes above the needs of others, we have analysed his thoughts and feelings, his desire to punish one child for the behaviour of another and his ability to blame me for all his woes. It all wrenches open old wounds and I find myself exhausted by helping Pip to make sense of his relationship with his father, calming his anger, listening to him as he drones on and on about how he feels and not least, by remembering the misery which characterised my marriage to Jay.
Some days are better than others but there have been bleak times, like when Pip seamlessly went from insulting his father to insulting and threatening his brother. Within minutes, Pip had thrown his glasses on the floor, the lens rolling under the coffee table, and stormed out of the house into the dark night, shouting abuse. I refused to follow him, angry at his sudden flash of aggression and furious that the new glasses were already broken. Our visitor sat there, open mouthed in shock and confused by the sudden outcome. I sank my head into my hands, pulled myself together then fell to the floor, trying to recover the glasses parts. I mumbled my usual apologies to the room and the visitor looked up and mumbled back the trite comments that people usually make. I felt the tears welling in my eyes and busied myself with the glasses. I was clearly so distressed by the whole matter that I couldn't work out how to put the lens back into the frame. I began to panic at my own weakness, then it finally twigged – the lenses had popped out before and Pip had put them both back, in the wrong sides. He must have been unable to see for the last few weeks, yet he never questioned why. Suddenly, I felt all my anger disperse, I stood up and announced to my bemused family and friend 'He's been wearing his bloody glasses the wrong way round! What bloody hope is there for him?' picked up the phone, dialled his mobile and barked 'You've been out long enough, get back here now and stop being so bloody theatrical!' Just like a little lamb, he came in, went to his bedroom and gave me a much needed night off from counselling.
It started innocently enough. Pip wanted to learn to drive a car and asked me if he could add his name to my insurance. I can, but it will cost me hundreds of pounds and I simply can't afford it. Pip decided to ask his father for the money by email. The answer should have been 'no' but Jay is too sophisticated for that; he has to give a totally spurious reason for refusing, preferably one which can easily be satisfied. This time he excelled himself. Jay couldn't pay for the insurance because Pip is only 16 and doesn't have a license. Except, Pip can apply for and receive a provisional license now, it just won't be valid until Pip's birthday in 4 months time. Pip knew he could overcome this hurdle, so he wrote back to Jay. Jay then gave a more valid reason, he can't give Pip more money than he gives the other two children. By that time, Pip wasn't putting up with any more reasons.
In the meantime, Pip told me about this correspondence, I told him that Jay made an arrangement to pay half of the children's additional educational expenses and has been reneging on the agreement for Nina since January, 2009. He has refused to contribute towards Pip's and Alex's additional expenses since July 2009. By the time you include the short university taster course for Nina, Pip's travel costs, the school trip for Alex and the new school uniforms, I am already a thousand pounds out of pocket. 'Don't worry, I'll get it back off the selfish bastard,' Pip assured me. I laughed, Jay has a reputation for selfishness and meanness which would make the hardest skinflint jealous and he is an expert in punishing people by withholding finance. I've already missed two payments of the children's maintenance to force me to see sense and go back to work and he stopped my maintenance in case I was living with someone and they were benefitting from his generosity. I wasn't, I presented a sworn statement to the court, but it made no difference, the money, all £150 per month, wasn't reinstated.
But back to the clash of the titans. Pip wrote to Jay:
Jay
you only care about yourself you don't care about anyone else and you make up stupid excuses and never realy live up to them o and by thw way you owe me two football strips, an underdones lp and many more items and i doubt you will ever give them to me because you are a self obssesed git who only cares about himself all my mates at school who i can't see outside of school because i have got no money there pairents take them to football and pay for them do drive and give tham £80 a week and don't you say that they must be rich because yuo know full well where you put all you money yep betfair all i hear about is your health and your problems
o i have now got a provisional so i have got a licance but i doubt you will pay for insurance like you said if i got a licance
oh and by the way you probebley won't reply to this coz of your helth is bad
BLOODY TWAT
Pip
In the past, Jay has accused me of poisoning the children against him but I sincerely hope he doesn't think I would allow that email, riddled with errors, out of the house. All those years of additional spelling and grammar support and Pip is still unable to spell or construct a sentence. I can cross English teacher, solicitor, marketing executive and proof reader off the list of potential careers for Pip, damn!
Jay replies in one of his best, cold blooded replies. He emails from work, with his characteristic signature, jam packed with his many qualifications:
Dear Pip
I can see that this is quite an angry email.
I am sorry you are angry that I did not send you things – I remember you wanted helium once but I thought it was too dangerous. I did send a cheque once and you ripped it up and sent it back.
Its 5 years now since I last saw you. Your friends probably see their mums and dads every day or maybe at least every two weeks if they are separated. Maybe also your friends don’t call their fathers gits or tw___s as you have taken to doing. How do you think that makes me feel? Maybe also your friends say thank you occasionally for things. You your sister and you brother don’t even do that now. I took a lot of care choosing Nina’s and Alex’s last presents and what thanks did I get – none. I just had the phone put down on me. Some people would say that is being ungrateful.
I am sorry you are fed up with hearing about by health, but at least I can keep working and help keep a roof over your head while I am still fit.
I will send you something for your birthday to do with what you like. You may choose to put it towards car insurance. When you are 18 I will spend as much money on you as I did when Nina was 18 – it’s only fair.
Lots of love
Dad
I mentally repeated my mantra 'it's all about him' as I read the email. No mention of the fact that Pip does thank his father or that Jay promised lots of presents but never bought them, just reminders that his health is bearing up and that the other children are ungrateful.
I asked Pip not to reply but of course he had to, like a pre-programmed computer. From then on, the facts came tumbling out. Jay had a sports car when he was at university, but it was his father's old one which they hadn't got round to selling. Pip couldn't have his father's old Ford Focus because it had been exchanged for another sports car. This was to augment the other two cars which Jay and his wife now own. Jay was forced to start buying two seater sports cars because Pip and Alex refused to see him, so he had no need for family saloons. Jay's mother added Jay to her car insurance when he was at University, so it is written in stone that mothers have to sort it out. Jay already has to pay me over a thousand pounds a month (four hundred pounds of which never leaves his bank account). And finally, just to rub salt into Pip's wounds, Jay told him 'I know what it is like to be the poor person - it makes you appreciate more of what you do have.' I assume that his poverty refers back to the time when he had to manage with a second-hand sports car and free insurance – poor times indeed.
Pip, in the meantime, decided to change his surname to my maiden name and it had to be done that evening. I spent the evening negotiating a time delay before he changes his name but dashed off an email to his school warning them that it might happen in the near future.
Pip doesn't understand that Jay builds barriers between himself and the people who love him. He doesn't understand that Jay cannot understand the needs of others so will never be generous or thoughtful. He doesn't understand that Jay blames everyone else for his misfortunes, that he alternates between blaming me for his failed relationships with the children and blaming them. And Pip, similarly blessed with a complete lack of empathy, can see no parallels between his own and Jay's behaviour. His first reaction was anger, which has been so typical for both Pip and Jay but more recently this has dissolved into upset. He is slowly coming round to the idea that Jay will never be the parent he wants, that Pip is not an important part of Jay's life and that Jay will never be more than an angry, self obsessed individual.
We have spent over a week now, going over the same old story, gleaning insights into Jay's character, searching through his emails for signs of manipulation and of lies, we have discussed the idea of trusting someone who always puts his own wishes above the needs of others, we have analysed his thoughts and feelings, his desire to punish one child for the behaviour of another and his ability to blame me for all his woes. It all wrenches open old wounds and I find myself exhausted by helping Pip to make sense of his relationship with his father, calming his anger, listening to him as he drones on and on about how he feels and not least, by remembering the misery which characterised my marriage to Jay.
Some days are better than others but there have been bleak times, like when Pip seamlessly went from insulting his father to insulting and threatening his brother. Within minutes, Pip had thrown his glasses on the floor, the lens rolling under the coffee table, and stormed out of the house into the dark night, shouting abuse. I refused to follow him, angry at his sudden flash of aggression and furious that the new glasses were already broken. Our visitor sat there, open mouthed in shock and confused by the sudden outcome. I sank my head into my hands, pulled myself together then fell to the floor, trying to recover the glasses parts. I mumbled my usual apologies to the room and the visitor looked up and mumbled back the trite comments that people usually make. I felt the tears welling in my eyes and busied myself with the glasses. I was clearly so distressed by the whole matter that I couldn't work out how to put the lens back into the frame. I began to panic at my own weakness, then it finally twigged – the lenses had popped out before and Pip had put them both back, in the wrong sides. He must have been unable to see for the last few weeks, yet he never questioned why. Suddenly, I felt all my anger disperse, I stood up and announced to my bemused family and friend 'He's been wearing his bloody glasses the wrong way round! What bloody hope is there for him?' picked up the phone, dialled his mobile and barked 'You've been out long enough, get back here now and stop being so bloody theatrical!' Just like a little lamb, he came in, went to his bedroom and gave me a much needed night off from counselling.
Friday, 5 February 2010
The Bibliophile
I met up with Dee and Lulu yesterday. I think it is the first time we have seen Dee this year but we speak regularly on the phone.
Dee had been strangely quiet on the phone front for over a week, so I knew there was trouble brewing. And it was obvious where the trouble was coming from.
Dee and I met years ago, at a school open day. She is the mother of Pip's school friend, Joe so we soon fell into conversation, both desperate to smooth over our boys' already difficult path to friendship. Within the first few minutes of meeting we both knew our sons' diagnoses, and more importantly, each other's marriage problems.
By that time, I was separated but Dee was still living in the same house as her husband, Mark. That, and Joe, was about the only thing they had in common. Mark had already retired from a public service career, on the grounds of ill health and she was recovering from a course of chemotherapy, to treat a slow growing cancer. When I met her, she was short of breath, couldn't walk far and carried a stick but underneath all these disabilities was a very strong woman, trying to get out. It was that strength of character which kept her going through many miserable years with a particularly difficult and manipulative husband.
Soon after that, Pip became the victim of the school bully, a new boy with a comprehensive set of bullying strategies suitable for all situations. I found myself battling with the headteacher as she wriggled her way out of her own anti-bullying policies. That was the point when Dee came to my rescue, attending meetings, arguing my case and giving me moral support. We started to meet up regularly, inviting other mothers as their needs arose and hence our coven was born.
At the beginning, when it was just the two of us, we were united by the two problems of a child with Asperger's Syndrome and a husband with misdiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome and our conversations reflected this. We were both living with the effects of years of abuse, neglect, confusion and distress and these were clearly problems which normal wives, in normal marriages, don't understand so we unburdened our souls to one another. It was quite early on when we developed our twin theories about Asperger's Syndrome – that something horrific and distressing happens on the honeymoon and that sex is miserable and humiliating. Her contribution to the theory goes like this:
Mark took Dee on a honeymoon to the Isle of Man, the holiday coinciding with the TT races which he was interested in. He had hired a bungalow on the island for a week. What he didn't tell her was that he had invited three other couples along too. Dee and Mark were the first couple to arrive, so had the choice of bedrooms, the choice being between two double rooms, a twin bedded room and a bunk bedded room. He picked the room with the bunk beds. Things deteriorated from then on.
With regard to the sex, his interest is in voyeurism. Hers isn't. It started innocently enough, with him suggesting they have an early night. He was a bit anxious that they get to bed quickly but she thought nothing of it. She still hadn't realised when the phone rang, or when he answered it during sex. However, the penny dropped when he carried on with both the sex and the phone call, taking care to let the caller hear her moaning.
Years later when she had just qualified in therapeutic massage, there was a knock at the door. She answered it, to find a rather mild mannered, middle aged man at the door, his eyes blinking behind thick spectacles. He introduced himself as Brian, who had come down from Birkenhead and was ready for his hot and sexy massage. She slammed the door on him and marched into the kitchen to confront Mark. Of course he had organised the appointment, it had been arranged through the sexual services website he had set up for her and he was charging £50, some of which she would be given. When she recounts this story her voice rises in pitch and volume '£50! Is that all you thought I was worth? You can service Brian yourself for £50!'
From then on, she made no attempt to pretend theirs was a happy marriage.
After a few of our meetings and much laughter, she decided that enough was enough and whilst she wasn't necessarily looking for happiness, she could no longer cope with the misery and humiliation and she asked him for a separation. He decided I was the cause and from then on my name was blackened in their house 'It's that Ailsa Asperger, she's putting all sorts of nonsense into your head.' But it wasn't.
That was the start of her most recent problems, all centred around finances. Kinky sex is one of his many interests, meanness is another. Mark, like my Jay, has a theory that everything is his and if he doesn't get sex off his wife then there is no need to support her. After all, even prostitutes don't expect that. He currently wants his pension and their mortgage endowment, leaving her with the house and a substantial mortgage. His argument is that she already runs a steamy massage business, her cancer isn't a health issue, Joe's Asperger's Syndrome doesn't affect his behaviour and he doesn't require support so why should Dee sponge off the husband she rejected?
She has a more down to earth view of the situation: her cancer will come back in the next three years, she doesn't have a massage business, she is permanently ill with respiratory infections and Joe already receives considerable support, which won't lessen in the future.
Stalemate and it's making her depressed.
Meeting up was just the tonic she needed. She was so desperate to talk that she phoned me up on the way out, making me late. I raced to the venue, an old house with large squishy couches which looked out on the wilderness of a garden. I was the first one there and sank gratefully into a couch with my frothy coffee and cake, waiting for the others to arrive. It was still only mid morning and the cafe, although never empty, was quiet. The door creaked open and Dee came in, closely followed by Lulu. We talked briefly about our boys before finally broaching the subject. Lulu and I listened in silence as she ranted on about the unfairness of it all. Our coffee went cold, the froth dissolved into a scum and the windows misted over but Dee remained inconsolable. We ate sandwiches and sipped steaming hot chocolate but the unhappy atmosphere continued.
We ordered tea, a sure sign that things were getting too serious, the cloud of misery just would not lift. Finally, in desperation, I had a plan. I leaned over to Lulu, looking confidentially over my glasses and half whispering 'Dee and I have a theory that sex with a man with Asperger's is unremittingly bad, you say you've got a husband with Asperger's, come on, dish the dirt.' She looked at me in horror, every inch of the privately educated lady that she is, then I noticed a smile quivering tentatively at the extreme edges of her lips. It hovered for a while, whilst she made up her mind but eventually it formed a shy grin. 'He's so heavy-handed, do you know what I mean?' We nodded over the Earl Grey, knowing exactly what she meant but also anticipating there was more to come. It came out in fits and starts, each one precious to our little group.
I told her how I used to look at the clock and promise myself it would be all over in less than ten minutes. 'No, no, it isn't like that. He drinks too much, he takes ages and ages. I get bored,' the grin covered her face now 'I read a book while he labours on.' Simultaneously, Dee and I rolled back our heads and whooped out loud, our voices filling the room. Strangers lifted their heads from their lattes and stared at us but we were too enthralled to worry. With one final push, it was out and Lulu sat there relieved at her honesty and cleansed by her confession 'he thinks he's got an enormous willy and he's always complimenting himself on it.'
The cloud had dissipated, the misery had passed, here we were with a common bond, three women who had suffered on our own, in silence and misery for all those years. Now we were laughing at our own stupidity and sense of properness. It was all out in the open, we were free.
This morning, bright and early, Dee phoned me up. There was a sense of purpose in her voice. 'I've been thinking' she said. 'While Lulu reads in bed,' then Dee's irrepressible giggle, 'do you think she wears her reading glasses? And how does she turn the page?' The mood was catching 'yes, yes' I spluttered, anxious to join in, 'do you think she's reading a cookery book and making a shopping list at the same time?' 'Where does she keep the pen?' we were unstoppable.
Dee had been strangely quiet on the phone front for over a week, so I knew there was trouble brewing. And it was obvious where the trouble was coming from.
Dee and I met years ago, at a school open day. She is the mother of Pip's school friend, Joe so we soon fell into conversation, both desperate to smooth over our boys' already difficult path to friendship. Within the first few minutes of meeting we both knew our sons' diagnoses, and more importantly, each other's marriage problems.
By that time, I was separated but Dee was still living in the same house as her husband, Mark. That, and Joe, was about the only thing they had in common. Mark had already retired from a public service career, on the grounds of ill health and she was recovering from a course of chemotherapy, to treat a slow growing cancer. When I met her, she was short of breath, couldn't walk far and carried a stick but underneath all these disabilities was a very strong woman, trying to get out. It was that strength of character which kept her going through many miserable years with a particularly difficult and manipulative husband.
Soon after that, Pip became the victim of the school bully, a new boy with a comprehensive set of bullying strategies suitable for all situations. I found myself battling with the headteacher as she wriggled her way out of her own anti-bullying policies. That was the point when Dee came to my rescue, attending meetings, arguing my case and giving me moral support. We started to meet up regularly, inviting other mothers as their needs arose and hence our coven was born.
At the beginning, when it was just the two of us, we were united by the two problems of a child with Asperger's Syndrome and a husband with misdiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome and our conversations reflected this. We were both living with the effects of years of abuse, neglect, confusion and distress and these were clearly problems which normal wives, in normal marriages, don't understand so we unburdened our souls to one another. It was quite early on when we developed our twin theories about Asperger's Syndrome – that something horrific and distressing happens on the honeymoon and that sex is miserable and humiliating. Her contribution to the theory goes like this:
Mark took Dee on a honeymoon to the Isle of Man, the holiday coinciding with the TT races which he was interested in. He had hired a bungalow on the island for a week. What he didn't tell her was that he had invited three other couples along too. Dee and Mark were the first couple to arrive, so had the choice of bedrooms, the choice being between two double rooms, a twin bedded room and a bunk bedded room. He picked the room with the bunk beds. Things deteriorated from then on.
With regard to the sex, his interest is in voyeurism. Hers isn't. It started innocently enough, with him suggesting they have an early night. He was a bit anxious that they get to bed quickly but she thought nothing of it. She still hadn't realised when the phone rang, or when he answered it during sex. However, the penny dropped when he carried on with both the sex and the phone call, taking care to let the caller hear her moaning.
Years later when she had just qualified in therapeutic massage, there was a knock at the door. She answered it, to find a rather mild mannered, middle aged man at the door, his eyes blinking behind thick spectacles. He introduced himself as Brian, who had come down from Birkenhead and was ready for his hot and sexy massage. She slammed the door on him and marched into the kitchen to confront Mark. Of course he had organised the appointment, it had been arranged through the sexual services website he had set up for her and he was charging £50, some of which she would be given. When she recounts this story her voice rises in pitch and volume '£50! Is that all you thought I was worth? You can service Brian yourself for £50!'
From then on, she made no attempt to pretend theirs was a happy marriage.
After a few of our meetings and much laughter, she decided that enough was enough and whilst she wasn't necessarily looking for happiness, she could no longer cope with the misery and humiliation and she asked him for a separation. He decided I was the cause and from then on my name was blackened in their house 'It's that Ailsa Asperger, she's putting all sorts of nonsense into your head.' But it wasn't.
That was the start of her most recent problems, all centred around finances. Kinky sex is one of his many interests, meanness is another. Mark, like my Jay, has a theory that everything is his and if he doesn't get sex off his wife then there is no need to support her. After all, even prostitutes don't expect that. He currently wants his pension and their mortgage endowment, leaving her with the house and a substantial mortgage. His argument is that she already runs a steamy massage business, her cancer isn't a health issue, Joe's Asperger's Syndrome doesn't affect his behaviour and he doesn't require support so why should Dee sponge off the husband she rejected?
She has a more down to earth view of the situation: her cancer will come back in the next three years, she doesn't have a massage business, she is permanently ill with respiratory infections and Joe already receives considerable support, which won't lessen in the future.
Stalemate and it's making her depressed.
Meeting up was just the tonic she needed. She was so desperate to talk that she phoned me up on the way out, making me late. I raced to the venue, an old house with large squishy couches which looked out on the wilderness of a garden. I was the first one there and sank gratefully into a couch with my frothy coffee and cake, waiting for the others to arrive. It was still only mid morning and the cafe, although never empty, was quiet. The door creaked open and Dee came in, closely followed by Lulu. We talked briefly about our boys before finally broaching the subject. Lulu and I listened in silence as she ranted on about the unfairness of it all. Our coffee went cold, the froth dissolved into a scum and the windows misted over but Dee remained inconsolable. We ate sandwiches and sipped steaming hot chocolate but the unhappy atmosphere continued.
We ordered tea, a sure sign that things were getting too serious, the cloud of misery just would not lift. Finally, in desperation, I had a plan. I leaned over to Lulu, looking confidentially over my glasses and half whispering 'Dee and I have a theory that sex with a man with Asperger's is unremittingly bad, you say you've got a husband with Asperger's, come on, dish the dirt.' She looked at me in horror, every inch of the privately educated lady that she is, then I noticed a smile quivering tentatively at the extreme edges of her lips. It hovered for a while, whilst she made up her mind but eventually it formed a shy grin. 'He's so heavy-handed, do you know what I mean?' We nodded over the Earl Grey, knowing exactly what she meant but also anticipating there was more to come. It came out in fits and starts, each one precious to our little group.
I told her how I used to look at the clock and promise myself it would be all over in less than ten minutes. 'No, no, it isn't like that. He drinks too much, he takes ages and ages. I get bored,' the grin covered her face now 'I read a book while he labours on.' Simultaneously, Dee and I rolled back our heads and whooped out loud, our voices filling the room. Strangers lifted their heads from their lattes and stared at us but we were too enthralled to worry. With one final push, it was out and Lulu sat there relieved at her honesty and cleansed by her confession 'he thinks he's got an enormous willy and he's always complimenting himself on it.'
The cloud had dissipated, the misery had passed, here we were with a common bond, three women who had suffered on our own, in silence and misery for all those years. Now we were laughing at our own stupidity and sense of properness. It was all out in the open, we were free.
This morning, bright and early, Dee phoned me up. There was a sense of purpose in her voice. 'I've been thinking' she said. 'While Lulu reads in bed,' then Dee's irrepressible giggle, 'do you think she wears her reading glasses? And how does she turn the page?' The mood was catching 'yes, yes' I spluttered, anxious to join in, 'do you think she's reading a cookery book and making a shopping list at the same time?' 'Where does she keep the pen?' we were unstoppable.
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