clear that he and Marilyn could not be expected to take over the care of his brother, nor could Scott (with or without his wife) be expected to give up his very well - paid job, move from the city and take up residence in his parentsâ home as a sort of unpaid babysitter and mental health nurse. If the consequence of this was that Aaron went into residential care then so be it, it wasnât his problem, he had his own life to lead.
Essentially Scott thought that the health workers and Mrs Patel in particular were blowing the whole thing up out of all proportion. His parents looked after Aaron with the minimum of financial support from the government, and they did this not only out of a sense of duty, but also because, despite his terrible problems, they deeply loved their youngest son. It did not make sense for those in control of social services, who were already overloaded with clients and underfunded, to tear a young man away from the bosom of his family, place him in an institution and wreak havoc amongst all those concerned at enormous cost to the public purse.
The whole situation reinvigorated all the suspicion, paranoia and unease which Scott had suffered through his school years when he had been stigmatised, not only by his peer group, but also those who were older and should have known better. Many of his friends and later girlfriends found it unpleasant and disquieting to come to his house because of Aaron, and their parents had on occasion forbidden it. He used to take Aaron out to play with him â back then when he was seven or eight and Aaron was only a preternaturally quiet and drooling toddler he had been more manageable, but as they got older and Aaron grew stronger and louder and more wilful, and as Scottâs peer group began to understand that there was something seriously wrong with Scottâs baby brother, it became increasingly difficult. And Scott felt contaminated by association. He was ashamed of having this damaged kid for a brother. And he hated the interviews with social workers, the way his parents always insisted he be there with them, the way he was paraded before these strangers as the good brother, the little helper, the damn golden boy who was somehow the final proof that everything in the Clement family was just hunky dory.
At the beginning of the trip this year, on the first night when Aaron had pointed at the door and begun his endless chant of âplay, play, play!â Scott suggested they shouldnât let him out as they had for the previous two years. Marilyn had argued the point.
âYou know heâll be fine. He just stands there. Weâll take it in turns to watch him. If anything happens â and it wonât â weâll be out there in two seconds flat. And you know we wonât get any peace unless we let himâ¦â
Marilyn was so good. So understanding. Few women would sacrifice two weeks of precious holiday to spend them cooking meatloaf and pot roast for a human being who demanded so much and gave no sign of even the minimum of affection or appreciation in return.
So understandably when Scott noticed this young woman attempting to talk to Aaron it set off alarm signals, and raised his defences even before heâd spoken to her. And then when heâd confronted her heâd been disarmed by her beauty. She was so pretty and so seemingly innocent that it had made him bristle with emotion. Men, he knew, often felt rage towards women who stirred up unwanted desire in them, and thatâs what sheâd done.
Heâd been surprised too, to discover that she spoke English. He hadnât expected it, and that too threw him off course. For a second (though it was only a second) he imagined she was a spy sent by the Canadian health department to further their case for hospitalising Aaron.
It reminded him, he supposed, that Aaronâs condition was a sort of door left ajar; a gaping entrance through which countless bureaucrats
Essentially Scott thought that the health workers and Mrs Patel in particular were blowing the whole thing up out of all proportion. His parents looked after Aaron with the minimum of financial support from the government, and they did this not only out of a sense of duty, but also because, despite his terrible problems, they deeply loved their youngest son. It did not make sense for those in control of social services, who were already overloaded with clients and underfunded, to tear a young man away from the bosom of his family, place him in an institution and wreak havoc amongst all those concerned at enormous cost to the public purse.
The whole situation reinvigorated all the suspicion, paranoia and unease which Scott had suffered through his school years when he had been stigmatised, not only by his peer group, but also those who were older and should have known better. Many of his friends and later girlfriends found it unpleasant and disquieting to come to his house because of Aaron, and their parents had on occasion forbidden it. He used to take Aaron out to play with him â back then when he was seven or eight and Aaron was only a preternaturally quiet and drooling toddler he had been more manageable, but as they got older and Aaron grew stronger and louder and more wilful, and as Scottâs peer group began to understand that there was something seriously wrong with Scottâs baby brother, it became increasingly difficult. And Scott felt contaminated by association. He was ashamed of having this damaged kid for a brother. And he hated the interviews with social workers, the way his parents always insisted he be there with them, the way he was paraded before these strangers as the good brother, the little helper, the damn golden boy who was somehow the final proof that everything in the Clement family was just hunky dory.
At the beginning of the trip this year, on the first night when Aaron had pointed at the door and begun his endless chant of âplay, play, play!â Scott suggested they shouldnât let him out as they had for the previous two years. Marilyn had argued the point.
âYou know heâll be fine. He just stands there. Weâll take it in turns to watch him. If anything happens â and it wonât â weâll be out there in two seconds flat. And you know we wonât get any peace unless we let himâ¦â
Marilyn was so good. So understanding. Few women would sacrifice two weeks of precious holiday to spend them cooking meatloaf and pot roast for a human being who demanded so much and gave no sign of even the minimum of affection or appreciation in return.
So understandably when Scott noticed this young woman attempting to talk to Aaron it set off alarm signals, and raised his defences even before heâd spoken to her. And then when heâd confronted her heâd been disarmed by her beauty. She was so pretty and so seemingly innocent that it had made him bristle with emotion. Men, he knew, often felt rage towards women who stirred up unwanted desire in them, and thatâs what sheâd done.
Heâd been surprised too, to discover that she spoke English. He hadnât expected it, and that too threw him off course. For a second (though it was only a second) he imagined she was a spy sent by the Canadian health department to further their case for hospitalising Aaron.
It reminded him, he supposed, that Aaronâs condition was a sort of door left ajar; a gaping entrance through which countless bureaucrats
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