Its one of those things that just happens.
Emily and James had been waiting for little Harry for ages, but the pregnancy turned out to be a nightmare and he arrived three weeks early, tiny enough to fit in a neonatal cotside. His organs were underdeveloped, he needed a ventilator, two surgeries and a retinal detachment repair. They said goodbye to him twice, but the little fighter made it through.
Soon it became clear that Harry could barely see or hear. Physically he eventually managed to sit up, grab a toy and shuffle to a low rail, but his mind just wouldnt catch up. At first the two parents held on together; then James quietly slipped away into his own world and Emily kept fighting solo.
When Harry was three and a half, they finally secured a NHS slot for cochlear implants. He could now hear a bit, yet his development still stalled. He attended countless sessions with therapists, speechpathologists, psychologists and every specialist you can think of. Emily would bring Harry to my practice on a regular basis. I kept suggesting new exercises, new toys, new tricks and Emily tried them all, to no avail. Most of the time Harry sat in his playpen, turning a plastic ring, rattling it on the floor, gnawing his own fingers, sometimes letting out a single whine, sometimes a modulated squeal. Emily swore he recognised her voice, greeted her with a peculiar chirp and loved when she scratched his back and tickled his feet.
Finally an elderly psychiatrist, looking rather like a gardengnome, told Emily, What diagnosis do you want now? Hes a walking vegetable. Decide what youre going to do and move on. Either hand him over or look after him youve learned the ropes, havent you? I dont see any point hoping for a miracle or burying yourself in his playpen. He was the only person who ever spoke plainly. Emily placed Harry in a specialneeds nursery and went back to work.
A few months later she bought a motorbike a longstanding dream and began cruising the streets of Manchester and the country lanes with a gang of fellow riders. The roar of the engine washed away the anxiety. James paid maintenance on the bike; Emily spent the childsupport money on weekend caregivers Harrys care wasnt a mountain once you got used to his quirks. One of the bikers, Stuart, told Emily, Youve got something tragicyetcaptivating about you.
Come on, Ill show you, Emily said. He grinned, thinking she was inviting him home. She led him to Harry, who was awake, squeaking a modulated chirp probably recognising his mother or reacting to a stranger.
Bloody hell, thats something! Stuart blurted.
And what did you think it was, a ghost? Emily snapped back.
Soon they were not just riding together but living together. Stuart and Emily agreed that Stuart would never try to get too close to Harry (theyd discussed it in advance), and Emily wasnt about to force it either. Then Stuart, halfserious, suggested they have a baby. Emily shot back, What if we get another one like him? He fell silent for almost a year before finally saying, No, actually, lets try.
Ben was born, perfectly healthy. Stuart, ever the joker, asked, Shall we send Harry to a boarding school now that weve got a proper lad? Emily retorted, Ill hand you over first. He quickly backtracked, I was only asking
When Ben was about nine months old, he spotted Harry crawling for the first time and took a sudden, fierce interest. Stuart got jittery, warning Emily, Dont let the little monster near him, its dangerous. Yet Stuart was usually on the bike or at work, while Emily let Ben sit with Harry. When Ben crawled over, Harry didnt squeal. It seemed he was listening, waiting. Ben would bring toys, demonstrate how to play, even clench and release Harrys tiny fingers.
One weekend Stuart fell ill and stayed home. He saw Ben wobbling around the flat, babbling something like a request, with Harry trailing like a shadow that had never left his corner. Stuart threw a fit, demanding A fence around my son from your idiot, or constant surveillance! Emily simply pointed him toward the door. He took a step back, they patched things up and Stuart left.
Emily came to see me later, sighing, Hes a lump of wood, but I love him.
Thats natural, I replied. Loving your child, no matter what
She clarified, I was talking about Stuart. Harry is dangerous for Ben what do you think?
I said the data made Ben the stronger partner, but supervision was still required. We agreed on that.
At eighteen months Ben taught Harry to stack blocks by size. Ben himself was already speaking in short sentences, singing simple songs and reciting rhymes like The crow boiled porridge.
Is he some sort of prodigy? Emily asked.
Stuart wanted to find out, I said. A blokes pride will burst if the neighbours kids start outtalking his.
I think its because of Harry, I suggested. Not every toddler becomes the locomotive for someone elses development.
Bravo! Emily cheered. Ill tell that wooden block with eyes.
I thought, what a family a walking vegetable, a wooden block, a biker mum and a little prodigy. After learning to use the potty, Ben spent half a year coaxing Harry into it. He also taught Harry to eat, drink from a cup, dress and undress a task Emily set for Ben herself.
When Ben was three and a half, he asked straight, Whats wrong with Harry?
First off, he cant see, Ben answered.
He does see, Ben retorted. Just poorly. It depends on the light. The best is the bathroom lamp over the mirror thats where he sees the most.
The ophthalmologist was amazed when they brought a threeyearold to explain Harrys vision, but he listened, ordered another scan and prescribed special glasses.
Harry never quite fit in at the nursery. He should be in a proper school, the caretaker snapped. Hes a smartaleck, not a sweetie. I argued strongly against an early start, insisting Ben should stick to clubs and keep working on Harrys development. To my surprise, Stuart agreed and told Emily, Sit with them until school, whats he doing in that silly nursery anyway? And have you noticed hes stopped wailing for a year?
Six months later Harry announced, Mum, dad, Ben, give me drink and meowmeow. The boys started school together. Ben fretted, How will he cope without me? Will the special school understand him? In Year5 he still does the first lessons with Harry, then moves on to his own work.
Harry now speaks in simple sentences, reads, uses a computer, enjoys cooking and tidying (under Bens or Emilys direction), loves sitting on the garden bench watching, listening and sniffing everything. He knows all the neighbours and always says hello. He loves molding plasticine, building and dismantling LEGO sets.
But above all, he adores the family rides on their motorbikes down the country lanes him on Emilys bike, Ben on Stuarts, all of them shouting into the wind as if the world were their playground.
