George. What time do you want to come to collect him tomorrow?’
‘Shall we say about eleven?’
‘That’s fine. I’m in most days. I’ve little reason to go out. I’ll give you some of Danny’s toys and more of his clothes. I wasn’t thinking straight yesterday. Have you got enough for now?’
‘Yes. Plenty.’
‘I’ll go and see Danny now then. It’ll be strange not having to come to school to collect him this afternoon.’
‘Try not to worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll take good care of him.’
‘I know you will, and you’ll do a better job of it than me.’
There was little more I could say right now to help Reva, for, as she’d admitted, she was in a ‘dark place’ and felt a failure as a mother, wife and, I suspected, as a person too. I assumed Terri would have advised Reva to see a doctor if she felt she needed help with depression. It wasn’t for me to suggest it to her. We stood and left the staff room. At the end of the corridor we said goodbye to each other, and Reva went to Danny’s classroom while I went towards reception and then out of the school.
Once home I made a cup of coffee and took it to the table, together with Reva’s notes. I began reading as I sipped my coffee. There was so much detail. Too much detail. I flicked through. Every minute of every day was accounted for, with lengthy, painstaking instructions on what to do and what not to do in every situation. Mealtimes included how to position Danny’s cutlery the way he liked it to avoid a tantrum, and the morning routine included what to say to Danny when I woke him, and then again at night when he went to bed. Reva had written how I should greet him at the end of the school day, and that I shouldn’t ask what he’d done at school as he didn’t like that and could become angry. I should say, ‘We’re going home in the car, Danny,’ but then I had to remain silent as we walked to the car, because he didn’t like to be talked to. I had to let him open the car door himself, and I wasn’t to help him climb in, or touch his seatbelt, as it annoyed him. Reva had also noted that it took Danny a long time to fasten his seatbelt due to his lack of coordination, and consequently she always made sure she parked her car with the passenger door on the pavement side so she didn’t have to stand in the road while she waited for him to fasten it. And so it continued, page after page …
While some of what Reva had written would be helpful – for example, Danny’s bath-time routine, the toys he enjoyed playing with and the television programme that most engaged him – much of it was too regimented to be of use in my household. My family was very different to Reva’s, and I couldn’t expect my children to change their lives to revolve around Danny’s routine. I also felt that so much regimentation was stifling. To have every minute of every hour accounted for meant there was no room for creativity or impulsive or impromptu actions. Yet I could see why Reva had run their lives like this. There’s a feeling of safety in the familiar and predictable. She was in a fragile state and had desperately clung to what she knew worked as a coping mechanism. The downside was that she and Danny were hostages to his behaviour – prisoners locked in their routine.
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