Watching You: A Novel

Freddie felt a bit bad about barging in to his mum’s bedroom and talking to her about horrible things while she was supposedly ill. But there was too much stuff surging and lurching around in his head. It needed to go somewhere otherwise he was going to drown in it all.

He brought her an old-looking banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen and a cup of cranberry and raspberry tea. The curtains were closed and the room smelled of thick breath and used sheets. He placed the tea carefully on her bedside table and offered her the banana. She shook her head and groaned slightly.

‘I’ve got loads I need to talk to you about, Mum,’ he began, lowering himself on to the edge of the bed. He couldn’t see any reason to pussyfoot about. It was nearly seven and his dad might be home any minute.

‘Oh, love. I’m not sure I’m up for a big chat.’

He put the palm of his hand to her forehead and then to his own and then back to hers again. ‘You’re not hot,’ he said, ‘so you’re probably not as ill as you think you are.’

‘I just took some paracetamols,’ she said. ‘They’ve brought my temperature down. I promise you, I feel awful.’

‘Well, I’m not asking you to do anything difficult. ‘

She groaned again. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘Number one,’ he began, ‘do I or do I not have Asperger’s?’

‘What?’

‘Asperger’s. Do I have it? Because I met someone today who does have it and they said they thought I might too and it reminded me of something that happened when I was at infant school. That teacher, Miss Morrison or whatever her name was, who thought there might be something wrong with me. And you took me out for tea after and Dad said I mustn’t ever accept a label, that I must just focus on being clever and not worry about what other people said I was or wasn’t. And I’m sure he said the word Asperger’s. And I’ve been googling it and it makes sense and I just think that maybe you and Dad didn’t think I should have a label, but that maybe it would be good if I did. Because Max at school thinks I’m like him, and I am not like him. Because he’s not special. He’s not an Aspie. And I think I probably am.’

His mother edged her way up the bed as he spoke, and then sat straight and gazed at him. He saw the fog lifting behind her eyes, the pretence at ‘being ill’ falling away. ‘Who told you this?’

‘A girl. I asked her to be my date for the dance tomorrow. I think she’s going to say yes.’

‘And she’s got Asperger’s?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘And she’s not scared of having a label.’

She sighed. ‘Well, that’s good for her. But for me and your father—’

He cut across her. ‘Not you,’ he said firmly. ‘It was Dad who said I shouldn’t have a label. You just went along with it. Like you go along with everything Dad says.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is true. You know it’s true. I mean, look at you. You’re lying here in this cold room. Pretending to be ill. Because of whatever the hell it was that happened last week. Something he did.’

‘I am n—’

‘You are. And your whole life is all about Dad. Dad, Dad, Dad. And you act like he’s the only person in the whole world who matters. Like he’s the only person who hurts or the only person who gets sad. Or hungry. Or hot. Or cold. Like everyone else is just … peripheral. But yet – he doesn’t seem to make you happy. He doesn’t make you laugh. He never does anything nice for you. Or takes you out. He just leaves you here in this big, cold house, and I saw you when that Alfie guy was here and he made you laugh and he made you happy. And I never see you like that. Ever. So it’s not as if you can’t have fun. It’s more like you wake up every morning and choose not to.’

‘God, Freddie! I really have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You do, though, I know you do. Mum, you know – you know that Dad’s not a good man. You know that he’s done bad things. He hurts you.’

‘Hurts me?’

‘Yes. And he hurts other people. He made that girl kill herself.’

‘What girl? Freddie? What girl?’

‘You know what girl. Viva. That girl. I’ve seen the news articles about it. In black and white. And you always told me that that woman at the Lakes was just a loony. But she wasn’t a loony. She was Viva’s mum. And Viva was at the school where Dad taught when he was in Burton upon Trent. Where he met you, Mum. I mean, God. You probably even knew her! She might even have been in your class. You were probably there when it was all happening. When it was in the papers. When Dad got taken in for questioning. Everyone must have been talking about it. So don’t say you don’t know what girl I’m talking about because you totally, a million and ten per cent, know.’

His mother sighed and grimaced. ‘Yes. I was at school with her. But I didn’t know her. She didn’t know me. And it was nothing, literally nothing whatsoever to do with your father. Because, you know, everyone knew. Everyone knew what was going on. That Viva had a huge crush on your dad. Followed him about. Stalked him virtually. But he wasn’t interested. And that was probably why she killed herself. But nobody would want to admit that.’ His mum drew in her breath, long and deep. She massaged her forehead with her fingertips and then she said, ‘Her suicide was nothing to do with your dad. Nothing.’

‘Mum,’ Freddie said, feeling redness hurtling through his gut and his head and his chest. ‘Why are you protecting him? Why are you so obsessed with him? Why is everyone so obsessed with him?’

‘They are not—’

‘They are, Mum! That Viva girl was; you are. And there’s that woman at number fourteen. Joey. She’s always hanging about with big moon eyes.’

‘Oh, that’s ridiculous.’

‘No it’s not! I’ve got photos of her, Mum, standing outside our door staring up. Dad gives her lifts in his car. She went to the pub with him once. And I’ve seen her sometimes standing at the end of her garden staring up at our house. I’ve even seen her touching Dad’s car when she walks past it. And everywhere we’ve ever lived there’s been something going on in the background. And you know, people with Asperger’s find it really hard to deal with change and making friends and yet, because of Dad saying I shouldn’t have a label and because of his stupid career, I’ve been moved around all over the country all the time and I shouldn’t have been. I should have been allowed to stay in one place. But no. Because of Dad. Everything is because of fucking Dad.’

He paused for a moment. He’d already said ten times more than he’d expected to say. But his mum was still listening, and he might never feel able to talk to her like this again. He sucked in his cheeks and let them go. ‘You were really young when you got together with Dad. He’d been your teacher. That’s quite bad, when you think about it, even though it ended up fine. But it shows, it shows that he’s prepared to do things that are quite bad, things that a responsible adult shouldn’t do. And there’s a girl down in the village, Mum, she’s fifteen and she’s in love with him too and Dad meets up with her at night sometimes, he has special meetings with her in his office at school. She’s the whole reason he went on that trip to Seville! And my friend told me that this girl might even be pregnant by him!’

He saw her flinch, as though he’d just flicked water at her face. ‘Please, Freddie,’ she said. ‘That’s enough. Stop it. Just stop it.’

‘I don’t want to stop, though. I can’t stop. It’s all just coming out of me and I can’t stop it.’

‘Freddie. Please. Just go. I’m ill and you are being vile and I absolutely cannot take it.’

‘I’m not being vile, Mum. I’m being real. And truthful. It’s you and Dad who are being vile. By lying all the time. About me. About everything.’

‘Get out, Freddie!’

‘No! I won’t.’

‘Yes! You will! Now!’

‘No.’ He folded his arms hard across his chest. ‘I won’t.’

Suddenly she sat bolt upright and she leaned right into his face and screamed, ‘Get out now, you fucking little shit! Now!’ And then she pushed him, hard, right in his gut, so that he could feel all the air he’d just breathed in turn into a hard ball and smash into the base of his spine and he fell backwards and then he looked at his mum, waiting for her face to turn soft, for her to look shocked at what had just happened.

But she didn’t; she just stared at him and then in a really calm, really hard voice, she said, ‘Get off the floor and get the fuck out of my room.’

This time he did. He scrambled to his feet, strode to the door and ran up to his bedroom, three stairs at a time.