The Rosie Result Page 27

  ‘Don, don’t,’ said Allannah.

  I had never used my martial-arts skills in a genuine fight. I had once prevented two bouncers from assaulting me, but that had been the result of a misunderstanding. Nobody was hurt, and we shook hands after they realised that I had not taken advantage of the situation to inflict injury. There had been a low-impact encounter with police in a New York playground, also as a result of a misunderstanding, and no charges were laid. On the occasion that I had broken Phil’s nose, we were using boxing gloves, so it was a formal contest—technically, sport.

  The first rule of martial arts is to avoid physical conflict whenever possible. I did not know how competent a fighter Gary was. If he had once been a professional kickboxer, he was likely to be superior to me. His disabling of Phil had been swift and expert. Rosie was kneeling beside her father, making a phone call.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Rabbit. ‘I’m going to have to ask you all to go home.’ Ewan Harle was standing beside him.

  There was no visible reaction from anyone. We were not planning to go home but had pizza scheduled, which Rabbit would not have been aware of.

  Gary looked at me. ‘You want to have a go, do you? That your mate on the ground?’ He dropped his arms loosely to his sides, a transparent attempt to appear helpless and entice me to engage in combat. He smiled. ‘Didn’t think so. You’re going to run away like Rain Man. He’s watching you, you gutless piece of shit.’

  I was familiar with the Rain Man reference and pointed out the problem with using it as an insult. ‘Your daughter also considers herself autistic.’

  ‘Piece of shit.’ He took a step towards me and I stepped back.

  ‘Don,’ said Allannah, ‘walk away. Please. He’s a kickboxer.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ said Gary to her, and took another step towards me. I stepped back again.

  ‘If you touch him, I’m leaving you,’ said Allannah, presumably to Gary, as Allannah and I were not in a relationship.

  If I did not follow Allannah’s recommendation to walk away, I would be implicitly agreeing to a fight. Any injuries I sustained would be my own fault.

  In my role of martial-arts teacher, if a fight was unavoidable, I would have counselled myself to use a leg sweep, at which I was highly proficient, to defuse the situation. It would be unlikely to cause serious injury and had the advantage that it would be illegal in most forms of kickboxing—hence my opponent might not be expecting it and would not have a practised defence.

  Kickboxing skills are of minimal use on the ground, and the humiliation of being dumped would probably resolve the situation. I would win the fight, and the next day I would have the satisfaction of knowing that I had not taken advantage of a person who was agitated and would likely regret his actions.

  Unfortunately, the optimum leg for the sweep manoeuvre, given the geometry of our positions, had been injured in the Oyster Knife Incident, and would be at some risk of re-injury. It was always better to walk away.

  Gary was positioning himself for the knee kick, carelessly telegraphing his move. Then a male voice behind me said, ‘Smack the bastard.’ It was probably the use of the word ‘bastard’, but I was reminded of George and the bully at school who had put him in hospital and not suffered any consequences. I had always trusted the advice of my friends in difficult social situations and, though the real George was in New York, my response was instinctive.

  I stepped forward to confine the kick, which Gary would not have expected, as I had previously retreated. I took advantage of his momentary surprise to hit him in the left eye as hard as I could. He was strong and experienced enough not to go down but did not react in time to block my other fist, which I used to deliver an equivalent blow to his right eye. While he was disoriented, I executed the sweep with my uncompromised leg to put him on the ground.

  At that point, Rabbit and Ewan Harle intervened, and I indicated that I had no intention of causing further injury. I was shaking, and my hands were hurting, but I did not think I had broken any bones—at least, none of mine.

  ‘You okay, buddy?’ said Dave. He put his arm around me, and, oddly, it didn’t feel too uncomfortable. Standing beside him was George. The real George, smiling.

  ‘Flew in this morning,’ he said. ‘Fell asleep in the hotel and almost missed it.’

  Dave was laughing. ‘I gotta say, I was wrong. You guys had the bigger graduation night.’

  45

  ‘You agreed we would get pizza.’

  An ambulance had taken Phil to hospital. He was pleased that I had not walked away from the fight and pointed out that his knee was due for a reconstruction in any case. He had given me the keys to the Porsche.

  ‘Please don’t let Rosie drive it,’ he said.

  Gary had accepted mainstream medical attention from the woman who had identified herself as a surgeon at the sex-education night.

  ‘He’ll have to tell people he fell over twice,’ said Rosie. Her mood had improved since I explained that nobody—including Allannah—was pregnant with my child.

  My right hand was wrapped in a handkerchief to prevent blood leaking onto my clothes, but Rosie had confirmed that neither hand was broken.

  Rabbit had assured me that if the police or school authorities investigated, he would state, correctly, that Gary had been abusive and had approached me with the intention of committing an assault. Apparently there were multiple video recordings.

  But now the uninjured members of our party were standing outside the school fence, and Sonia had suggested that we should go home. Immediately. Without pizza. After all that had happened, she wanted to add further disruption!

  ‘Pizza is unaffected,’ I replied to Hudson.

  I had made a reservation at our preferred pizzeria and elected to drive there alone in Phil’s car to allow time for reflection. I was still shaking from the violence, which I knew had been excessive. It was a terrible example for Hudson and any other children watching, except in terms of the symbolic triumph of science over pseudo-science. Fortunately, I could blame George. It was not surprising, given the stress, that I forgot to take into account the unusual dimensions of the Porsche.

  The remaining members of our party were seated in the restaurant with drinks on the table by the time I had given Phil’s contact details to the driver of the other vehicle.

  ‘Was the speech okay?’ said Hudson.

  ‘I’ve already told him it was great,’ said Rosie. ‘So have Dave and Sonia and George and your mother, and I’ve told him that Phil thought it was worth going to hospital for. Your son got virtually a standing ovation, but he’d like to hear from his father as well.’

  I had time to prepare my answer, as the waiter arrived to take orders.

  ‘Disaster,’ I said, when the waiter had completed her task. ‘You failed to mention altruism.’

  Hudson looked surprised, then smiled. ‘Ha ha.’

  ‘You recognised I was joking?’

  ‘Der, Dad.’

  ‘So how can you be autistic? Autistic people don’t get jokes.’

  ‘That’s a stereotype. People think that because someone’s autistic, they have to have every—’

  ‘Hold on, Don,’ said Rosie. ‘You haven’t answered the question. Properly.’

  ‘World’s best primary-school graduation speech,’ I said. ‘Vast amounts of information considering the two-minute limit, logical, transparent structure…and succeeded in engaging the millennial mind. Mine also.’

  Hudson looked incredibly pleased, which was strange, as he had apparently already had six positive responses.

  ‘I got a lot of help.’

  ‘From Eugenie?’

  ‘Uh-huh…her whole family. Not just with the speech. With all the stuff I did this term. Would it be okay to invite them to have pizza? I told Eugenie I’d ask, so they haven’t eaten. She’s waiting for a text.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Rosie to Hudson.

  Hudson looked at Rosie and Rosie looked at Hudson. Then Hudson lo
oked at me. ‘Eugenie and Carl’s dad helped me. A lot. I checked with Mum and she said it was okay.’

  It took me several seconds to process the information. ‘Eugenie and Carl’s dad’ was Gene. My son was in contact with him. With Rosie’s permission.

  Rosie must have seen my confusion. ‘Eugenie thought that Hudson had a big challenge and that her father knew more than anyone about…playing the system.’

  She refilled my wine glass. ‘He coached you, didn’t he? I wouldn’t be getting lace-up runners for our wedding anniversary if it wasn’t for him, would I? I wouldn’t be married to you. There would be no Hudson.’

  ‘Correct. But—’

  ‘But you still can’t forgive him after eleven years, because “nothing has changed”. Well, now it has.’

  ‘You’ve held onto a grudge for eleven years?’ said my mother. ‘Donald.’

  ‘Can I text them?’ said Hudson.

  I nodded.

  When Hudson had finished texting, I asked him, ‘What did Gene teach you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Lots of stuff.’

  Rosie looked at him for a while. ‘When you held Blanche’s hand in the cross-country, was that Gene’s idea?’

  Hudson nodded.

  ‘That’s why you didn’t want to explain it in your speech.’

  Another nod.

  ‘So, was it to look good?’ said Rosie. ‘To impress everyone that you cared about her?’

  ‘Hey,’ said Dave, ‘what does it matter? Sounds like Hudson did a good thing…’

  ‘But,’ said Sonia, ‘I think Rosie’s concerned that he didn’t do it for the right reasons.’

  I was becoming annoyed, not at Gene, but at Hudson’s motivation being questioned. For some people, it mattered not only that an initiative was effective, but that the feelings behind it met with their approval. These were the people who considered Mother Teresa’s contribution to addressing poverty more important than that of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

  ‘I got into senior school,’ said Hudson. ‘If I hadn’t held Blanche’s hand, it wouldn’t have happened. I had to show I cared about other people.’

  Rosie nodded, slowly, and Hudson continued.

  ‘Blanche wanted to run, but she was scared of falling over. She was in Blue House, and I was the captain of Green, but she was my friend, so I wanted to help her. I was going to just get Dov to hold her hand, which he wanted to do because he likes her, and that was why he agreed to run. He was Green, so that made up for the extra Blue, but Gene said I should do the hand thing myself, even if it slowed me down, and then everyone would know that it was my idea. Because we couldn’t lose sight of the big goal, which was getting into senior school. So, I said, maybe I could run faster at the end, because Grandpa—’

  I interrupted. ‘Incredibly complex problem. Involving assumptions about how multiple people would respond. Obviously, Hudson needed input. And the solution was highly successful.’

  ‘We made a list of factors,’ said Hudson.

  I could see that Sonia was going to speak again and did the cut sign to indicate that the subject was closed. I had many criticisms of Gene, but zero doubt about his expertise at self-aggrandisement, which he had successfully transferred to Hudson in a situation where it was needed to counterbalance prejudice. In any case, there was a more important question.

  ‘Are you sure you’re autistic?’ I asked Hudson.

  He did not get a chance to answer, as food arrived, and then Gene, Claudia, Eugenie and Carl—the entire Barrow family, reconstituted—walked in. Dave and George, who knew Gene from our New York men’s group, immediately embraced him, which was incredible after so long. Carl and Hudson high-fived.

  Rosie took advantage of the confusion to whisper to me: ‘You were right. About Blanche and the run.’

  Claudia approached me. ‘What are you doing with Gene?’ I asked. ‘Has there been some reconciliation?’

  Claudia laughed, which did not answer the question. ‘I gather the talk went well.’

  ‘How did you gather? You haven’t spoken to anyone who was there except me and we’ve exchanged zero information.’

  ‘Hudson texted Eugenie as soon as he finished. So, how are you feeling? I gather there was an…altercation.’

  This was becoming ridiculous. Vast numbers of questions were unanswered, vast amounts of information needed to be exchanged and now Claudia was introducing further topics. It was fortunate that I was among friends and family, or I would have had some sort of brain-overload-related breakdown. We needed to prioritise the issues and deal with them one by one.

  I began with the most urgent. ‘What variety of pizza do you want?’

  Rosie instructed the waiter to extend the table to create places for a total of fourteen customers. There were only twelve of us, but two further people appeared at the door: Merlin and Tazza, Hudson’s friends from the bar. There was a risk that they had brought further subjects for discussion. And everyone was beginning at different levels of knowledge.

  Rosie had a solution. ‘Don, I’m going to bring everyone up to speed while you and Gene sort yourselves out. Over there.’ She pointed to a table in the corner.

  ‘What about our pizza?’

  ‘I’ll send it over.’

  ‘Who’s going to bring Gene up to speed?’

  ‘Give him a summary. Second thoughts: Claudia can tell him later.’

  ‘But Claudia and Gene…’

  ‘Don: table. Gene. Go.’

  ‘You’re looking well,’ said Gene.

  ‘My appearance is a poor indicator of how I’m feeling. I’ve been in a fight that I should have avoided.’

  Gene laughed. ‘Don, thank you for letting me be here and share in Hudson’s big moment. He’s a terrific kid and I’ve missed watching him grow up. I did get him to check with Rosie, but…I wanted to do something to make up.’

  ‘Make up for what?’ I said. ‘I was the one at fault.’

  ‘Hardly. You spoke the truth. As you’ve always done.’

  ‘I destroyed your relationship.’

  ‘I sowed the seeds myself. If Lydia couldn’t accept my past…And before that, I manipulated you into lying for me. All I can say about that is that it gave me some breathing space to be accepted by Carl while he needed a father.’

  My mind was drifting back to Hudson’s self-diagnosis as Gene continued.

  ‘You know, I encouraged Hudson to make peace with his friend Blanche, even though it didn’t particularly advance his cause with the school, which was notionally my brief. A bit of projection, Claudia would say.’

  ‘Have you two made up yet?’ It was my mother. She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You’re always over-thinking things. Just shake hands and come back to the table.’

  Gene smiled. I had no choice but to do what my mother told me.

  Pizza consumption was in progress. Rosie explained that (1) all guests were now familiar with the events of the evening, (2) everybody was very happy for Hudson, and (3) nobody was discussing definitions of autism. It seemed that they had waited for me.

  ‘How can you be sure you’re autistic?’ I asked Hudson.

  ‘I did the test, online. I’m definitely on the spectrum.’

  ‘The Autism Spectrum Quotient is only one of numerous instruments. And not intended for self-administration by an eleven-year-old…’

  I stopped, because Hudson had adopted an expression that I had not seen since the evening I told him Rosie would be returning to work and I would be his primary carer. And prior to that, when we had announced we would be leaving New York. Even before he spoke, I had worked out the problem. There were multiple tests for autism. But I knew which one he’d used.

  ‘You hacked my computer. Dad.’ He put his head in his hands.

  I had no answer. I could blame Rosie, but that would only alienate Hudson from both of us.

  Rosie began to speak. ‘Hudson…’

  ‘I don’t want you to speak to me.’

  ‘Wait.’ It
was Gene. ‘It wasn’t your dad, Hudson. It was me. The night you had dinner with us. You left your computer on when you went to the bathroom and…’

  ‘What? Why?’ said Hudson.

  ‘Are you surprised? You should know me well enough by now. You think I wouldn’t check your computer if I thought you were holding out on me? And you think I wouldn’t tell your mother what I found to win me a few points?’

  ‘Pleased to see you haven’t changed,’ said George.

  As Gene continued his lie, Rosie and I looked at each other. Ethically, I had no choice but to stop him. My brain was wired for honesty. But…tonight was a night of celebration. If I corrected Gene, Hudson’s trust in me would be destroyed.

  I stood up and walked out to the street. A few seconds later, Rosie joined me.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I really screwed up…’

  ‘I agreed to do it. But then we failed to act on the information.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That he was considering the possibility of autism.’

  ‘The school had brought it up already, remember? Don, you’re not really happy about what he said tonight, are you?’

  ‘Eugenie, Carl, Phil and I, and George and Dave—and Claudia and Gene—worked to assist him in developing the skills to…’

  ‘Fit in?’

  ‘Correct. We thought we’d achieved success. He had multiple friends, succeeded in conventional school activities, overcame rejection from the senior school…’

  ‘I was part of that too.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m not upset with what he said tonight. I’m still taking it in, but everyone’s so proud of him. We should be too. Did we want him to be like Trevor, pretending for half his life?’

  What Rosie said made sense, not only logically but in explaining my emotional reaction to Hudson’s declaration that he had succeeded in passing for ‘normal’. I mentally reviewed the last six months, when I had walked away from my job in the hope of assisting Hudson to fit in—by conforming to neurotypical norms of behaviour.

  ‘We were working against what Hudson really wanted,’ I said. ‘All our efforts made it harder for him.’