Unless it’d come from her late mother, Jess Beaumont had always struggled to tolerate touch. She’d always needed space. Autistic individuals varied massively on their needs regarding sensory input. Some of her autistic friends preferred the hugging, squeezing and the firm touching. She didn’t envy them this trait, simply because she didn’t want touch, but that didn’t stop her considering what it may have been like, and beaten herself up over the absence of it, because beating herself up over things was one of her many specific traits.
It was surprising then when she threw her arms around Laura Wilson at the front door.
And a pleasant surprise.
It must have been the first instance in which she’d sought warmth and comfort from another since her mother had passed away almost four years ago now.
The tight squeeze must have lasted almost half a minute, before discomfort set in, and she had to break the embrace and back away into the hallway, lowering her eyes to the floor as was her default.
‘Sorry for invading your space.’ She touched her forehead but restrained herself from tapping it. ‘Inconsiderate. Please—’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Laura said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. She stooped slightly and craned her neck so she could catch Jess’s eyes.
It encouraged Jess to raise her eyes and make eye contact.
Laura showed the palms of her hands and moved them closer to Jess. ‘May I?’
Jess nodded. Strangely, she felt no anxiety over being touched by Laura.
Laura’s hands settled on Jess’s shoulders. ‘Please look at me.’
Jess tried and managed more than usual before succumbing to discomfort again. ‘Sorry—’
‘Enough with the apologies,’ Laura said. ‘Now, tell me, what’s happened?’
After Jess had explained how awful the evening had been with her father, she felt the weight lifting. She also realised that it wasn’t the mere act of sharing her troubles that unburdened her, but who she was sharing them with.
As they drank tea, Jess desperately wanted to give Laura more than just a thank you. A comment or two on how gracious and giving she was with her time would suffice; or maybe a reference to how at ease she made her feel, not unlike her own mother had for so many years.
But she remained at ‘thank you’ and realised that would have to do.
‘You shouldn’t have to listen to those things your father says,’ Laura said.
‘I know he doesn’t think those things… not really… I know he loves me. Or loved me before. More than anything. But… if he can say such things… call me such horrendous names… then…’ She broke off to wipe a tear away. ‘Are they signs of the person he really was before the illness? The person who I never saw. Was my father really like that?’
Laura reached over and put her hand on her leg. ‘You can’t think like that, Jess. Let him be what he was to you. Alzheimer’s is cruel. The changes in his brain will be confusing him. My father was wonderful, and I know that from countless, countless people; yet the things he said were often horrendous, too. But deep down he was still the kind man whom I loved, and your father will be too.’
Jess nodded. ‘I know this… thank you… and you’re right… or at least you were right earlier. It’s time. He must go somewhere. I won’t be able to manage much longer. I replaced all his cups and plates as you suggested with paper ones, but he still throws them. And sometimes when I try to get him into his chair, so I can change his sheets, he resists. I’m worried he’ll start lashing out.’
‘Yes,’ Laura said. ‘It may come. Probably will come.’
Jess wiped at her eyes again. ‘Will you help me? Find him a home? I’m clueless. I’m clueless about everything.’ She tapped her head. ‘You might as well lay me down in a bed beside him for how much help I am to anyone.’ She tapped harder. ‘I’m sure it’s my fault he’s deteriorated.’
Laura took Jess’s wrist to stop the tapping. Normally, her instinct would be to yank her arm away when someone interrupted her stimming, but not this time. This time, she felt safe, somehow. ‘Sorry. It’s a stim.’
‘I need a promise now,’ Laura said.
‘Yes. I’ll try. No guarantees when you’re dealing with someone like me, but I’ll try to, and just apologise when I mess it up…’
Laura smiled. ‘And that’s exactly what I want you to promise! I want you to promise to stop apologising to me!’
Jess looked up at her briefly, smiling, then lowered her eyes. ‘Can I promise to try?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Will you help me with a new car, too?’
‘Of course. So, back to the other thing. Are you ready?’
‘I don’t know… He’s… look, I…’
‘This won’t end in an apology again, will it?’
Jess laughed and then mimed zipping her mouth closed.
Laura released Jess’s wrist and stood. She looked down and held out her hand. ‘Come on, then.’
‘Laura…’
‘Take me upstairs, Jess, to meet your father, Nigel, and once I’ve met him, we can get everything in order.’
* * *
Jess was the first to step into a room that was never dark.
A small night lamp forever glowed by her father’s bedside. He was already disorientated, and the thought of him waking up and not being able to see was inconceivable.
The angry, frustrated man from earlier was gone; instead, the peaceful looking sixty-two-year-old father she adored lay in his place. His features softened by slumber.
Jess looked back at Laura and beckoned her into the room before turning and moving closer to her sick father.
The bed cover had fallen from him slightly, revealing his faded blue pyjamas, his favourite set. The worn fabric marked the passing of almost fifteen years. He needed new ones, but she’d wanted to leave him with items he may recognise.
She sat beside him and took his hand. Opposite her, Laura took the single sofa chair in the corner. She smiled and nodded at Jess, suggesting that she continued her moment of affection with Nigel.
The lines on his face, which had deepened since the onset of Alzheimer’s, offered a glimpse of his former self. A man who’d worked twelve hours a day for most of his life, but had always been there to tuck Jess in at nighttime. He’d never believed in autism. Jess had heard him arguing with her mother about it, claiming it to be an excuse for quirkiness and awkwardness. She recalled his words to her mother: ‘She’s got a unique personality. That’s the only definition she needs.’ Despite his denial, he never voiced his concerns to Jess. He only ever treated her with love and adoration.
She moved her fingers to the thin, grey hair resting on the pillow, and a tear came to her eye when she recalled the fullness and vitality of it when she’d been a child.
She looked up at Laura. ‘I shouldn’t wake him.’
Laura leaned forward in the chair. ‘Then don’t. I’ll come again tomorrow and meet him then. We don’t need to rush this. Meanwhile, I’ll start speaking to the local homes.’
‘Sorry…’ Jess said. ‘I meant thank you… just thank you. I’m sorry… I promised.’
‘You promised to try. You’re trying.’
Jess leaned over and kissed her father’s forehead and stood. She released his hand.
‘The photos are beautiful,’ Laura said, gesturing around the room at the many framed images that decorated the dressing table, the side tables, the wall and the windowsills. ‘They’ll help. What you’ve done for him, Jess, is wonderful. He may struggle with his memories, but he’s got them all around him. There’ll be moments… moments when you’re not in the room… in which he’ll fall back into them because of these pictures.’
‘I hope so,’ Jess said, stroking the frame of one of the pictures on his bedside table. A picture of her sitting on his shoulders.
‘Sleep well, Dad,’ Jess said.
Laura rose from the chair and wandered over. She looked down at Nigel. ‘You’ve done well with this one here. You must be so proud of her.’ She stroked his hand. ‘God bless Nigel, sleep well, and I hope we can meet tomorrow.’