Chapter One
Anne felt like she had just been hit with a sledgehammer. Her head was pounding. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. This was turning out to be the worst day of her life, and it was only twelve midday. She steadied herself against the wall of the tall, grey, two story, social healthcare building, from where she had been on ‘trial’ for the last forty minutes. Anne’s throat felt dry. Where was the water bottle she had stuffed into her bag before she had left the house that morning? She rummaged deep in the dark crevices of her multi-coloured, hand embroidered ‘Mary Poppins’ handbag. That was what her husband, Peter, liked to call it. He was constantly amazed at what came out of it.
“You’re like Mary Poppins, you have something for every occasion in there,” he would jest. Tears began to trickle down Anne’s face. This wasn’t how her life was supposed to turn out. She had everything meticulously planned before she decided to give up her high profile job as a criminal lawyer at MacCarthy and de Wijs. It was all Brian’s fault. She felt terrible for blaming him; he was only three, but she just didn’t know what to do with him anymore. He had single-handedly ruined her life.
She could forget about returning to work and making partner. All those years of law school, the late nights spent preparing for court, working her way up the firm, all wasted. It was one of the hardest decisions Anne ever had to make. She consoled herself with the fact that it was a temporary measure. She’d return to work when Brian was four, and old enough to start school. Anne knew she was an asset to the firm. She also knew they were considering her for partner. She was a quick thinker. She was good in court. She prided herself in perfection, and always met her deadlines at least two weeks before her work was due to be handed in.
It was her methodical ethos and her competence that had gained her the right to be considered for partner. Unfortunately however, her sleepless nights began to take their toll. She was becoming more irritable with her work colleagues and with Peter. She was just barely meeting her deadlines, something which was totally unacceptable for Anne. So exactly one year after Brian, her third and last child was born, Anne decided to quit her job.
“Ah, there it is,” she said, grabbing hold of her water bottle. It was securely snuggled in a corner at the bottom of her handbag. She opened the lid and took a drink. She immediately felt refreshed as the cool sparkling bubbles glided slowly down the back of her throat. She was glad she had remembered to bring it.
In all her years as a criminal lawyer she had never fully understood what it felt like to be accused of a crime. Well now she knew and it felt horrible, and even worse, it was compounded by the fact that it was Brian - her three year old - who had taken centre stage. She cursed the day she had picked up the phone and called Helen, her social worker. She thought she was doing the right thing. Now she was terrified that they were going to take Brian away from her; just because her perfect little boy was different than all the other little boys his age, and no one knew how to deal with him. Anne took another sip from her bottle. She shivered, as she vividly recalled being led down the long grey walled corridor by Helen, just one hour earlier.
Ah yes, Helen, the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Anne took another sip. Helen had turned up on Anne’s doorstep three months earlier, pretending she wanted to help Anne and her family. A middle aged lady, dressed casually in jeans, trainers and a light flowery blouse. Her short bob haircut accented her pear shaped face, and her glasses seemed to give her a certain air of authority. She was not at all what Anne had envisaged a social worker to be. She had told Anne then, that she was there to help. Anne had taken to her, and was glad she could contact her when she was at her wit’s end - trying to cope with Brian’s tantrums. Anne was annoyed with herself for trusting Helen. She should have known better.
“Don’t forget about your daughters Anne, they need you too, you know,” Anne muttered to herself mimicking Helen. She took another drink. “Well I’ll show you, Helen. Who do you think you are?” All Anne wanted to do was go back to bed and get some sleep. She had been up most of the night. Brian had developed a fever from the nasal surgery he had had the day before. If Anne knew what she was letting herself in for, she would never have bothered getting out of bed.
The ‘trial’ had taken its toll on Anne, both mentally and physically. Anne sensed there was something wrong - the minute the door of the interview room opened - she was greeted by a sea of faces, none of whom she recognised. They were seated behind one of the longest tables Anne had ever seen. It extended the whole length of its dimly lit environment. Most of her unfamiliar adjudicators were busy shuffling papers and jotting things down. The remainder seemed to be engaged in idle chit chat. The deep purple carpet covering the floor smelt musty, as if it hadn’t been washed since the building was built over thirty years ago. The curtains had been fully drawn to block out what little sunlight was trying to push its way through the clouds. The room itself was completely bare, with the exception of an isolated chair positioned in the middle of it - for her, Anne presumed. The grey walls were barren, apart from a single painting of some migrant birds flying south for the winter. Anne wished she could join them.
“Ah, Good morning, Mrs Williams,” said Helen, as she breezed past her carrying a tray of tea and coffee. She was promptly followed by Brian’s paediatrician.
“Eh… Good morning,” said Anne.
“Please have a seat Mrs. Williams,” said someone, from the table, gesturing at the vacant chair in the centre of the room. Anne moved forward, slowly, she felt the heels of her red Jimmy Choo shoes dig hard into the threadbare carpet, as she made her way to the chair which had been perfectly positioned in front of her jurors. She could feel her fear starting to get the better of her, her hands began to shake.
“You look rather pale Mrs. Williams,” said a voice, from the top table. “Would you like some tea or coffee, or a glass of water perhaps?”
“No thanks,” said Anne, “I’m fine,” secretly wishing she had taken a sip from her water bottle while she was in the bathroom.
“We’re delighted you’re here, considering Brian just had surgery yesterday,” said Helen.
Anne stared blankly in front of her. Best to say nothing for now, until she could figure out what this was all about. Helen promptly stood up, pulled her glasses from the top of her grey haired head
“Well, Mrs. Williams,” she said, “let me introduce everyone,” and she began ranting off a list of names, which to this day, Anne had no recollection of who they were.
“We also have a child psychology student attending today,” said Helen, nodding her head in the direction of a stick insect undergraduate, who really needed to get a better sense of style. Someone should have told her that her butterfly blouse, worn under her short pink sleeved cotton jumper, just didn’t go together no matter what decade you were living in.
“If that’s alright with you Mrs. Williams?” she said. Anne didn’t reply, she hated rhetorical questions. What was the point in asking a question when you never expected to get an answer?
Helen put down the list she was reading from, lowered her head and stared at Anne over the thick black rim of her reading glasses. Anne felt Helen’s deep brown eyes stab her heart. And no it was not all right, Helen, but what do you expect me to do about that now? Anne was furious. And why are you calling me Mrs. Williams when you know perfectly well my name is Anne. You’ve been to my house often enough. Anne’s mind was racing. She clutched the side of her chair tightly with her white knuckled hands and gritted her teeth.
After everyone at the table had introduced themselves, Helen proceeded to explain to the rest of the board members how Brian had come to her attention.
“Everything is clearly outlined in my report which I mailed you all last week,” said Helen. What bloody report? Anne thought to herself, she was seething.
“Maybe, we should start by asking Mrs. Williams if she could describe what kind of child Brian is,” she said. Helen removed her glasses and sat down.
“Yes, well,” said Anne, clearing her throat. She repositioned herself so that she was now sitting completely upright. She crossed her legs, it gave her the sensation of feeling a little taller than she actually was. A trick she had learned over the years when attending court.
“Brian is just a busy little boy,” she said, “he’s only doing what every little boy his age does, climbing walls, throwing things, testing his limits.”
Then she stopped for a moment, she could feel the intense pressure of everyone’s glare focused directly on her. An eerie silence filled the room. Anne began to feel uncomfortable.
“He’s a very considerate little boy, he hugs me a lot, he hugs his sisters, his father, his teachers.” Anne stopped talking, she knew she was babbling. She lowered her head for a moment trying to collect her thoughts. What am I doing here? I’m insane to have thought Brian was any different from any other boys his age. Please don’t take Brian away from me. Irrational as she knew that sounded, Anne feared the worst.
“Oh,” she added, quickly remembering how clever he was. “He can even do a fifty piece puzzle and likes to watch movies in five different languages. He’s quite clever, he can count to one hundred forwards and backwards. I think he just gets a little bored at preschool. He’s just acting out.”
When she’d finished she raised her head slowly and saw all eleven faces nodding in recognition, as if they were members of some secret society that Anne was not yet privy to, and probably never would be.
“It’s a pity he couldn’t be here today,” said someone from the top table. “How is he doing?”
“He’s fine, a little sore, but that’s to be expected,” said Anne, remembering how he had woken up from his surgery, blood all over the pristine white hospital sheets from his nose bleed. He was crying, and she remembered the first thing he had asked her,
“why did you do this to me Mammy?” Anne lowered her head into her clasped hands. I don’t know, she thought. I don’t know anything anymore. Why did I do any of this? What have I started? I’m so sorry Brian. She tried her best not to cry. She was delighted Brian wasn’t there. You’ve done enough observing, she thought, all of you. He’s not a showpiece, he’s not a clown.
Anne looked over at Helen. She felt a searing pain jab her heart. Soon it had extended all the way to her facial muscles, even her eyes hurt. Can you feel that, Helen? That’s what you’ve done to me. That’s what it feels like to be sitting here in this room, being berated with questions about how I’m not a fit mother. Anne could feel the rage welling up inside her, like a volcano about to erupt. She willed herself to remain calm. Then someone asked her if she had a photo of Brian. Her hands started to tremble as she reached for her phone inside her handbag. She began zapping through her photos; her last one taken right before his surgery yesterday, was of a little boy in a hospital bed. Anne sighed heavily, desperately trying to camouflage her emotion by coughing loudly. She selected a photo from the week before, when he had asked her to paint his face, like Woody, the cowboy from Toy Story. He had the biggest smile, he looked so happy. She handed them her phone. As the board members were passing the photo of Brian around the room, Anne could feel her mascara running down her face, so much for her mascara being water proof.
“He’s a beautiful little boy,” she heard someone say.
Yes he is, she thought, removing a tissue from her handbag. She blew her nose and then dried her tears with the soggy Kleenex.
“We realise how difficult this must be for you Anne, but we’re all here to help.”
“We commend you for looking for help for him, you really are a wonderful mother,” said Helen.
Oh no I’m not, Anne thought to herself, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. I’d know how to manage him, I wouldn’t have done this to him. Anne wanted nothing more than to get out of there, to run away and keep running, to dive into the ocean and be swallowed body and soul by the relentless unforgiving power of the mighty sea, but there was no escape. It all became a daze to her, as she was continuously questioned about how she dealt with Brian when he had a tantrum. Had she any insight as to why he got so frustrated?
“He prefers to play alone,” said Helen, standing up and repositioning her glasses. She was reading from a manuscript, his report from preschool.
“If he’s doing an activity with other children he suddenly gets frustrated and throws all the toys on the floor,” she said.
Anne was familiar with the text. Helen was reading from the report that Brian’s preschool teacher had submitted three months earlier. She had already been summoned by Orla, Brian’s preschool teacher, to try to comprehend why Brian got so frustrated for no apparent reason. Orla had a busy class and couldn’t manage Brian anymore. She advised Anne that his behaviour idealy should be discussed with a child psychiatrist. So here she was, sitting in front of a jury who - according to Anne’s absurd reasoning - were going to decide whether or not they should take her son away from her. She tried to think of something significant to say. She couldn’t. She was too tired. Her mind went blank.
“His teacher is primarily concerned that his lack of social interaction will interfere with his development when he attends primary school,” said someone, from the panel.
“Oh, right,” said Anne, wiping the tears from her face, “but he’s only three.”
Anne wanted nothing more than for Brian to be like all the other kids his age. Now she was sitting in a roomful of people telling her that perhaps he wasn’t. She realised in that moment that not only was she crying for Brian, but also for herself, and for the fact that deep down she had already known - perhaps from the moment he was born - that Brian was different. It was the worst moment of Anne’s entire life.
