Chapter 13

Baxter’s step-father Jack Steggle arrives at the cottage on Sunday morning. Baxter is with him but teen and pooch take off for a walk while Jack and I talk.

“Meet us along the Estuary path when you’re finished,” Baxter calls to me. “I’ll catch the bus home later.”

Jack could be Baxter’s father. He’s a similar physique – tall and slim – with sandy hair in an unruly cut. I suppose Dinah is attracted to the same kind of looks as her first husband but hopefully Jack is going to stick around to help bring up his children. Baxter never mentions his real father and I don’t think they’re in touch.

While I put the kettle on, Jack sits down at the table and brings out the hush agreement and a nice pen. He insists I sign it before he’ll tell me what the project is.

“A lot of prison inmates are on the autism spectrum,” he begins. “Many of them are young with limited social skills. They struggled at school and have trouble making friends inside because they had trouble making friends outside. This is a pilot project to link them up with pen-friends who are also on the spectrum but are higher functioning and living in the community. Other studies show that the support from pen-friends makes a huge difference to the self-confidence and sense of identity of inmates. This study will add its findings regarding those who are neurodiverse.”

This seems like a good idea that might be a nightmare in practice.

“What kind of crimes are they in for?” I ask.

“Nothing violent. We weeded out the dangerous ones, although often the violence was minor and provoked by severe bullying. The inmates in the study are all male and under 25. Their crimes are mainly minor theft and property damage.”

And that put them behind bars? What about community service and good behaviour bonds?

“How often do they write to each other?”

“We surveyed both groups and they all wanted to write weekly,” he says. “We’re using snail-mail to a central mailbox to keep the identities of all parties as secure as possible.”

Over tea – and the packet biscuits I prepared earlier – he goes on to tell me that the pen-friends on the outside meet weekly and share their letters. Otherwise the project doesn’t have the resources to read every word back and forth so they’ve teamed up with a pen-friend charity where experienced volunteers do random checks.

I want to know how they paired up each inmate with a suitable pen-friend but Baxter’s version will be full of insider gossip so I’ll ask him.

“What happens if either party has some kind of issue? Who can they talk to about it?”

“The inmates are from a range of prisons all over the UK,” Jack says. “Depending on the facility, they have access to social workers or liaison officers, sometimes chaplains. Our little group of neurodiverse ‘pals’ all live locally in Exeter and surrounds. We discuss issues at the weekly meetings and they can contact me directly.”

He looks at me. Waiting for me to mention Baxter?

“And Baxter?” I oblige.

“Thank you for offering to be his backup buddy. He and I still struggle with our relationship. And the family connection gets in the way in the group, like having your mum for your teacher at school. It would have been easier for both of us if I’d left Baxter out but most of the group came through his contacts. I couldn’t exclude him.”

“And he’ll make a great pen-friend,” I say. “But I’ve sensed he might be having a problem with something. Now that he can tell me, do I need his permission to discuss it with you? Or do you and I make that decision?”

He frowns. “Good question. I think we should get his general permission straight away. Anything you’re concerned about that isn’t something minor that you two can sort out, like a spelling problem,” – we both laugh because we know there’ll be spelling problems – “you can bring straight to me. Or the three of us can meet. With you supporting him, he’ll feel more comfortable opening up to me.”

He’s aware of the problem but he either hasn’t found a way to improve it, or he hasn’t tried.

“I’ve noticed he never calls you by name when he mentions you. It’s always ‘my step-dad’. Not ‘Jack’.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really?”

I recount my own experience with Judy and Max.

“What if you encourage him to call me Jack when he’s with you?” he says. “And that will help him when I do the same at home.”

I agree, pleased he’s been so open to my suggestion. I notice he’s a little formal and awkward. Just a tad neurodiverse himself?

We discuss a few more things. Then Jack phones Baxter and gets his permission for me to share any big problems with him. When he leaves, I head towards the estuary path to catch up with the walkers.

“Tiggy, Tiggy. My pen-friend’s codename is Tom-Tom, like the drum.”

“I forgot to ask Jack about names. Are you all using aliases?”

“To keep everyone’s identity hush-hush. I’m Spectre. And now I can tell you about my problem with Tom-Tom.”

I was right. And a problem this early in the project needs to be sorted quickly.

“I’m listening, but start by telling me how you and Tom-Tom were put together.”

“We wrote down our interests to see who’s a good match. Like online dating. Tom-Tom and I both like codes and spy movies and art. I like words. And Tom-Tom needs help with spelling.”

That sounds like a fairly tenuous connection and didn’t anyone wonder about the risk of their shared interest in codes? A prison inmate sending coded messages to a newly trained and fairly naive PI? Perhaps the spelling issues will make any coding hard to decipher, though.

“OK. What’s the problem?”

“He’s writing his letters by hand. And the spelling is so bad I can’t read them.”

“Does Jack know?”

“He said to do my best and keep writing back.”

Is this why Jack jumped at the chance for me to be Baxter’s backup buddy? To deal with the next six months of indecipherable organic spelling from Tom-Tom. Jack should have come clean and not just referred to it obliquely. I feel exploited.

“How are you feeling about it?” I ask.

“I’m not allowed to swear but I’m pretty urinated-off about it.”

Poor Baxter, the lover of complicated words spelled correctly, paired up with someone who’s essentially illiterate.

“Is there any chance they’re in code?”

“I don’t think they can be,” he says. “It’s pretty hard to write a whole letter in code.”

“And it’s pretty hard to write a whole letter if you can’t actually write in readable English. I wonder if he has his own written language and he’s excited to share it with you.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. But how could I read it? And can he read my letters?”

Definitely has some similarities to online dating. Especially the date not matching the description promised.

“It’s an intriguing problem, Baxter. Have you thought about how can I help?”

He brightens. “Look at the first three letters from Tom-Tom. You might see something you can understand.”

“Do you happen to have them with you?”

He pulls a flash drive out of his pocket. “I scanned them so I could make his writing bigger. It’s password protected.” It’s why he came over with Jack then waited till he left.

“Let’s go back to the cottage,” I say. “You can feed yourself and Raider while I take a look.”

The first thing I notice is the handwriting. Poor Tom-Tom is struggling to form letters. They’re very long and jerky. This painstaking process might explain why letters are missing, perhaps left out accidentally or because they’re just too hard to make. I might be able to decipher some words but it would be a very slow process with a lot of guesswork. And how does this fit with his ‘dating form’ that said he’s interested in codes?

“I know some people on the spectrum find it really hard to write,” Baxter says. “I just thought the people running a project that’s based on writing letters would have checked that.”

He means Jack. Added to the awkwardness between them, I sense a lack of respect for his step-father. He feels like he’s been sidelined with a pen-friend who can’t hold the requisite tool.

“Time for some lateral thinking,” I say. “Your handwriting is pretty good and you’re also good at drawing. Did you say Tom-Tom likes art? Let’s suggest to Jack that the project gives him a brand new set of art pens and a pad of art paper and you write your next letter in cartoons and drawings.”

“I like the way your mind works, Tiggy!”

It’s what I say to him. He’s getting good at quirky jokes.

Since it’s Sunday, he agrees to ring Jack himself. And before Baxter makes the call, I tell him my story about dropping the Aunty and Uncle labels with Judy and Max.

“The first word you need to say whenever you’re about to speak to Jack is …”

“Jack!”

“Do it.”

He dials. “Jack. Baxter Stone here, your step-son.”

“Hello, Baxter. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been consulting with my backup buddy Tiggy Jones and my canine collaborator Raider. We need the project to give my pen-friend Tom-Tom some art materials so he can use drawings to write his letters. Then we won’t need to worry about spelling.”

I’m in tears.