Finding You (11 page)

14 - Julia

Hadyn is shaking his head stubbornly. He’s got that truculent look on his face that I’ve come to recognise of late. Cripes. I’m not even going to be able to persuade him to enter the doctor’s room for his check-up, am I? Am I going to have to physically pick him up and carry him in the same way I had to carry him out of the park just now?

‘Come on, honey,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Please let’s not turn this morning into another battle of wills.’             

‘What an absolute pleasure, Mrs Lowerby. Do come in.’ I’m not Mrs Lowerby yet, but Dr Fraser never seems to remember. He pulls out his chair from behind his desk just as Hadyn spies a red toy truck on the windowsill and decides he will go in after all.

‘And this must be your famous young man ... please, do go ahead and take the truck,’ he tells my son, who’s already got hold of it. The doctor leans forward so he’s on a level with Hadyn. He’s a short, stocky Glaswegian and more reticent than his wife, who’s the GP I usually see. Right now, he’s got a wide, open smile on his face, a look that speaks of nothing short of wonder.

Hadyn takes him in warily, doesn’t move.

‘You can have him on your lap if you—or he—would prefer,’ Dr Fraser offers kindly.

‘That’s all right. He doesn’t usually …’ Dr Fraser’s eyebrows raise a little at my words, as if this is a surprising revelation. ‘He prefers to stand,’ I finish lamely.

‘Doesn’t want to sit with Mummy, eh? Well now, young man.’ The doctor leans in gingerly, a little closer. His tentativeness reminds me of the way I once saw a vet stand over a wounded cat. ‘Shall we have a little look at you? Are you going to let me today?’ He makes a move to pick up my son’s arm, but Hadyn responds by holding his elbows in tightly to his chest. He isn’t having any of it.

‘No?’ Dr Fraser says. Then he looks at me, still smiling. ‘We’ll have to ask Mummy some questions then, is that all right? Doesn’t like being touched, does he?’ he comments mildly.

‘He’s still a bit wary,’ I admit.

‘Hmm. Usually, you find when they’re wary, they don’t want to stray too far from Mum,’ he observes.  ‘And he’s been back with his family now for … how many weeks?’ Our GP zips back on his wheeled chair, leans over, and scrutinises his computer screen. ‘We’re now the end of April so ... five months?’

‘That’s right. We found him at the beginning of December.’

‘December,’ he says wonderingly. He looks over at Hadyn as the sunlight streaming in through the half-closed blinds behind him makes the impression of a little circlet of gold round his head. 

‘It’s a miracle, isn’t it?’ Dr Fraser comments to me, still in awe. ‘Nothing short of one.’

‘It is.’

‘I still recall when you came in here for sleeping pills,’ he murmurs. ‘The time when you’d been estranged from your son. You couldn’t sleep at all.’

‘Your wife sent me to see a counsellor,’ I remember.

‘Yes, she did. They can be so helpful, can’t they?’

I nod politely. I don’t recall that it was, particularly. But anyway …

‘It’s amazing.’ The doctor can’t seem to get past the wonder of the fact that I’ve got my child back. That he is here, a living, breathing creature of flesh and blood, standing right in front of him. ‘I bet you’re sleeping a lot better these days than you were back then?’ His face crinkles up jovially.

‘I’m hardly sleeping at all, Dr Fraser,’ I admit. ‘Hadyn’s a bit of a disrupted sleeper. In fact, I was going to ask you what I should …’

‘Oh well.’ He throws his arms up in good humour, like an uncle who’s just lost a bet with you and now has to give you 50p. ‘It’s to be expected, isn’t it? He’s practically just come back. I never sleep well when I have to go away anywhere different, on conference and such like. You get used to your own bed, don’t you? Too many changes, eh Hadyn?’ He speaks directly to my son again, who just glowers at him and then looks away stubbornly into the corner. Dr Fraser’s manner changes now, very subtly, but definitely changes, as if he’s just noticed something.

‘Hadyn,’ he calls him softly. My son continues to ignore him. ‘Will he come?’ he turns to me and asks, and I feel a little embarrassed,     

‘He might not,’ I admit.

‘You call him over,’ Dr Fraser suggests now. ‘Will he come when Mummy calls him?’

‘Hadyn, will you come over here, please?’ I clear my throat, my embarrassment rising because I know that Hadyn most often does not come when he’s called. It’s something that has been pointed out to me a couple of times by other people already. Should I tell the doctor that? Will he think the reason for it is because I simply haven’t managed to make any real connection with my son in the five months since we’ve retrieved him?

I
should
have by now, surely?

‘
Please
?’ I add.

‘Hadyn.’ Patiently, the doctor tries once more. ‘I have some more cars in this drawer over here, see...’ Hadyn hugs the red truck closer to him and turns his body slightly away as if he’s trying to block the man out.  Dr Fraser straightens, looks at me again.  ‘Is Hadyn shy, would you say?’

‘I
think
so. Sometimes I think so. Around new people, maybe.’

The doctor nods.  ‘I’d agree with you. He hasn’t been too keen on giving me any eye contact today, I see. Have you noticed he’s often like that, or is today just a blip, would you say? Unfamiliar surroundings fazing him a little, perhaps?’       

His question throws me. Are children
normally
that friendly with people they don’t know? It’s probably a bit of an unfair question, too. Hadyn still acts as if he hardly knows me and his dad some days. He’s still probably not even sure who we are, or why he’s been thrust into our lives, is he?  God, all this is so confusing at times. I’m already getting the picture that Hadyn stands out a little; I know that he does. But how helpful are all these questions about things like
eye contact
?  He was taken away for a year. Is it fair to compare him to what other children of his age might be like?

I fold my arms.  ‘I’m not entirely sure what any of this has to do with Hadyn not sleeping well which is the main concern I’ve come in with today,  Dr Fraser.’

‘I understand,’ he says gently. ‘I’m attempting to get a baseline picture of what Hadyn’s like now that he’s back home. That way, we can assess what we can help him with, if he needs any particular help.’

He thinks I’ve just come across as a bit defensive, doesn’t he?

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I rub at my eyes, and Dr Fraser smiles at me sympathetically. ‘He wasn’t shy about coming in and picking up that toy truck,’ I observe.  The doctor nods.

‘No,’ he says. ‘He wasn’t shy about that.’ He pushes his body backwards now and—
zip
—his chair goes spinning across to his computer desk again.
Click click
. He types in a few words and without looking up, asks, ‘What would you say he’s like around other children, Mrs Lowerby?’

‘He seems happy enough around them. He sat at Alys’ table with Tatti and Lucien and did his drawings for ages when we visited a couple of weeks ago and ...’

‘He likes drawing?’ Dr Fraser puts in, for some reason pleased.

‘Well,’ I qualify, ‘Charlie calls it his art, but Hadyn really only draws squiggles, if I’m honest.’

‘At this age, that would be perfectly appropriate,’ he tells me. 

 I screw up my eyes still trying to recall some other instance of Hadyn with others more of his own age.

‘He’s not entirely sure what to do when I take him to the toddler group,’ I admit. ‘Though he sat happily with his older cousin Maite for hours at Antonio’s birthday party. I thought he was doing well till he managed to tip the little boy’s birthday cake over ...’ I add hesitantly.

‘Oh dear. Children do the funniest things, Mrs Lowerby. The
funniest
things.’ Dr Fraser types a few more words onto the screen.

‘We haven’t got round to enrolling him for any nursery placement yet, but it’s on the schedule,’ I run on, just so he knows. 

‘That’s good,’ Dr Fraser approves. ‘Very good. He should hopefully enjoy that.’ He looks up at me thoughtfully now.  ‘I’d be interested to know how he gets on. Anything else you have any concerns about?’

‘Yes. I’m a bit concerned about his diet, too. He’s a bit ... faddy.’

Dr Fraser glances at his screen again.  ‘Young kids these days, eh? I’d say he seems healthy enough.’ He looks up at me expectantly as if he’s waiting for something else.         

There were other things.  Right now, my mind has gone blank. I should have made a list like Charlie advised me. It took such an extraordinary effort to get Hadyn here this morning that I’m washed out already and it’s only eleven a.m.

‘Now.’ He turns back to regard Hadyn again. ‘I notice he’s not made a peep in all the time he’s been standing there. Is he a very quiet child, do you find?’

‘He makes noise when he wants to. He’ll yell out, or ... sometimes, he’ll laugh. But he doesn’t speak. That’s another thing I wanted to mention to you ...’

‘You
do
think Hadyn understands you?’ the doctor enquires.

‘I think so. He never seems too keen to do anything I request of him, though.’ Would the doctor believe me if I told him it took us two hours to get out of the house this morning? He’d think I was a very slow, inefficient mum, no doubt. 

‘We’ll keep an eye on that.’ He types something else into his computer. ‘We can refer him to a speech therapist in time. If it comes to it. But it is very early days, isn’t it?’ He smiles indulgently at me again. ‘You speak to him all the time, I take it—as you would a much younger child?’

‘Of course,’ I nod. I have an ongoing monologue in the house with him.

‘They learn by listening, as you know. If he’s tuned into a different language, it might take a little while longer before he picks up English again. And children differ so much in these things.  My nephew,’ he tells me, smiling, ‘he never spoke a single word till he was three years old! Not a word.  He’s a professor of economics at a London University now,’ he adds proudly.  He types in a few more words onto his screen. Then he slides open the bottom section of his desk drawer casually. A bright blue tipper truck is clearly visible inside, and Hadyn lurches forward to get it.  Dr Fraser watches him with sudden renewed interest.

‘He
is
interested in the cars after all,’ he observes. Then he looks at me, curious. ‘Does Hadyn often walk like that?’ he asks unexpectedly.

‘Walk like what?’ I’d been digging in my bag already, looking for my car keys so I’d have both hands free for Hadyn when we got outside.

‘On tippy-toes,’ Dr Fraser does a motion with his hands. ‘Like that.’

I laugh.  ‘He got used to wearing sandals in Spain. I don’t think he likes the new shoes I’ve made him wear since we got back.’

Dr Fraser nods thoughtfully.

‘They do fit, though,’ I add hastily. ‘He was measured out properly for them, of course.’

‘Of course. And he wasn’t doing it before you got him the shoes?’

I consider the question. I haven’t really thought about this much, before. Now that he’s brought it up, I think I can recall Eva mentioning something about it just after Christmas.

‘He might have been,’ I concede. ‘You think Hadyn might have something wrong with his feet?’ I ask now, a little surprised. ‘Charlie’s never said anything, and he gave him a really thorough physical checking-over when we got Hadyn back.’

‘I’m sure he did,’ Dr Fraser murmurs in agreement.  He’s typing very fast onto his computer screen now, but it’s facing away from me so I can’t see what he’s writing. Is he typing down something that he’s noticed about Hadyn’s funny walk?

‘Now.  I’ve listened to your concerns and I’m going to request that Mrs Rowe the Health Visitor should go over some strategies with you on the sleep front when she visits, and you can tell her any concerns you may have about his diet. She’s full of good advice and tips about this sort of thing.’ He hesitates, then he adds, ‘I think I’d also like to refer Hadyn on to be seen by a colleague of mine, too. Would that be all right?  If I got an appointment sent through for you, do you think you’d be happy to take your son to see him?’

‘About his feet?’ I look at him in surprise.

‘I think my colleague would be very interested to see him.’

‘Well ... of course,’ I say hesitantly. ‘If you think there’s really any need?’

‘I know you’ve all been through so much,’ he continues kindly. ‘But your son deserves only the very best attention now you’ve got him back, you agree?’

I can’t argue with that.

‘This is the person I’d like Hadyn to see.’ He hands me a card as we both stand up.  ‘Here are his details. In case you want to check him out online before you go, put your mind at ease.’

‘Thank you, Dr Fraser.’

‘My receptionist will send you the appointment through. You don’t need to do anything else.’ He puts out his hand to shake mine and I shove the card straight in my pocket.

Outside in the surgery car park, the sun is bright in our eyes and I have to hold onto Hadyn’s hand tight, as he wants to run out. I yank him back and a car horn beeps at us, the face of the driver alarmed.
I’m sorry
I mouth at the other person. They shake their head disapprovingly.