a few things’.
Willow, in a panic, had rung her mother in New York.
‘What do you mean he’s not talking yet?’ Janis had screamed down the phone.
‘Mom, you knew this,’ she said, in an equally high-pitched tone.
‘I didn’t, I mean I did, but still,’ said Janis.
‘Janis, you never see them, you never come over; I offer all the time but you say you don’t want to leave your practice,’ said Willow tearfully. ‘I have had the worst time in my life and you haven’t bothered to help me. Didn’t you think I might need some help? I know you’re all about this being my journey and my independence but I need some help here,’ said Willow, her voice breaking.
Janis was quiet on the end of the phone.
‘Mom?’ cried Willow.
‘We’re on our way,’ said Janis and she hung up the phone.
Willow wasn’t quite expecting that to be the outcome. It was true that Janis and Alan were avoiders when it came to their daughter and her problems. They were so proud of her successes and her glory, but they refused to see she might not be coping, for that would mean they had failed in their alternative style of parenting that they had written books about.
Willow had no idea where she was going to put them if they decided to stay with her. She was half hoping they wouldn’t come, although she could do with the help.
She could only afford the nanny when she was actually working, not full time. Just last night she had been up twice to Jinty, who was restless with the new sounds from the street outside. Poppy had refused to dress that morning and was now at the park with the nanny and Jinty, wearing her pyjama bottoms, a ballet skirt and a bikini top.
The women walked back into the room with another younger girl and Lucian.
‘Can we have a chat with Mummy while Penny stays with you?’ asked the speech therapist. Willow felt the knot of fear tighten in her stomach. It had been there for almost two years, since Kerr had left. It had disappeared at Middlemist but it had found her again in London, she thought as she followed the women into an office and sat down facing them.
‘How is he?’ asked Willow anxiously.
‘We think Lucian has a disorder known as dyspraxia,’ said the speech therapist slowly.
‘Is it terminal?’ asked Willow, tears filling her eyes.
‘It’s not a disease,’ said the woman gently. ‘It’s a neurological speech development issue.’
Willow took the tissues that one of them set out before her and she wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m having a tough time at the moment,’ she said.
‘It’s a very stressful time when a child is diagnosed with something like this, but please take heart that this is treatable,’ said the speech therapist.
‘Really?’ asked Willow doubtfully.
‘Really. I think the main issue with Lucian is anxiety, as well as a significant development delay,’ said the psychologist.
‘Anxiety?’ asked Willow, her mind racing.
‘Yes, it’s obviously become an issue for him between the ages of two and five; that’s really when he should have had intervention. Children teasing him often makes it worse. How has he coped at school?’ asked the speech therapist.
‘He’s not at school,’ said Willow, looking down. ‘I was going to have him homeschooled.’
‘By you?’ asked the psychologist with interest. How on earth was a celebrity mother planning on homeschooling her child? she wondered.
Willow was silent and then told the truth. ‘By my nanny,’ she said, leaving out the part that her nanny, now ex-, was illiterate. There was no way she wanted to bring that up.
‘If homeschooling is something you want to do still, then I suggest you work with a therapist to ensure he is getting everything he needs. But I think he would do well in school with intensive work,’ said the psychologist, looking to the speech therapist for agreement. The speech therapist nodded.
‘I agree. Children are the best way to get other children talking. He’s only five, so you can hold him back this year. I suggest kindergarten, where he can have a carer. Start him as soon as you can. We can give you a list of names.’
Willow nodded.
The psychologist looked at her and leaned forward. ‘How is Lucian’s relationship with his father?’ she asked.
Willow put her head back, hoping the tears would go back into her tear ducts. She looked at the white ceiling. ‘He doesn’t have one,’ she said. ‘Kerr thinks he’s retarded. I have tried to tell him he’s