when you squeezed a bulb. A sparking wheel that spat real sparks when you pumped it. It was like a Montessori teacher’s worst nightmare.
“What’ll he like?” he said calmly.
You picked out Toby the Tram Engine. “He loves all the engines. But Toby’s his favorite. I don’t know why.”
“Because Toby’s different, of course.”
Julian went over to where Danny was sitting on the floor, idly staring at his own fingers as he twirled them in front of his eyes.
“Hi, Danny!” he said engagingly. Without waiting for a response, he sat down on the floor next to him and started pushing Toby around, making little “wheesh” sounds as he did so.
“Toby is always careful on the road,” he said conversationally. “The cars, buses, and lorries often have accidents. Toby hasn’t had an accident in years.”
You stared at him, amazed. This man actually knew the words to Toby the Tram Engine by heart!
Danny ignored him. Undeterred, Julian continued. “ ‘Is it electric?’ asked Bridget. ‘Whoosh!’ hissed Toby crossly.” Julian gave “whoosh” the full theatrical effect, Toby’s indignation propelling the tram engine into the air like a rocket.
Julian turned and looked at you expectantly. After a moment, you realized he wanted you to supply Bridget’s next line.
“But trams are electric, aren’t they?” you said dutifully.
Julian nodded. “They are mostly. But this…this…this is a…” Julian lifted Toby into the air and held him next to his ear as if listening carefully, waiting. There was a long, expectant silence.
“Steam tram,” Danny mumbled.
“Steam! Tram!” Julian echoed triumphantly. He pressed something underneath Toby. There was a little pop, and a plume of cordite-scented smoke drifted out of Toby’s funnel.
Danny laughed.
Danny laughed. The first time you’d heard him laugh in months.
* * *
—
Five minutes later the toys had been swept away again, and Julian was drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
“No point in pushing it,” he said airily. “That’s mission accomplished for today.”
As far as you were concerned, you’d just witnessed a miracle, not a mission. “What was the mission?”
“Today was all about pairing. Making my presence here a reinforcer. So that when we start work for real, Danny will associate me with fun.”
It was the first time you’d heard words like pairing and reinforcer, and you had to get him to explain. Basically, the toys would be used to motivate Danny to learn skills that other kids picked up automatically. The quicker the gratification, the better, since they’d be used as rewards for as little as three seconds of work.
“As you’ll discover soon enough, Mrs. Cullen-Scott, we ABA types do like our jargon. It’s to make what we do sound serious, when actually we’re just having fun.” Julian spoke lightly, but you got a sense that this was someone who knew exactly what he was about.
“Well, whatever you were doing, I liked it. And please, I’m Abbie.”
64
When you get home you email Dr. Laurence to ask for an appointment, using a false name and saying he was recommended by a previous client, Abbie Cullen-Scott. The answer comes back within an hour.
I would be happy to offer you a consultation. My waiting list is five months. However, I should inform you I have no record of a client named Abbie Cullen-Scott.
Strange, you think. Strange and frustrating. But perhaps Abbie just heard him speak at a convention.
Or are you chasing up the wrong path altogether? The fact remains that, for whatever reason, Abbie ended up leaving Danny behind.
You spend the rest of the time until Tim gets home making pasta. The repetitive movements are strangely soothing. A simple sauce of anchovies, capers, chili flakes, and tomatoes simmers in the pan while you knead and fold and push. Puttanesca sauce, it’s called, from puttana, meaning “whore.” Nobody knows why it’s called that, the cloud whispers to you silently, though you’re betting it was a man who named it.
Tim arrives, crackling with energy.
“We’ve been given a time for our court hearing. Or at least, our initial appearance before a judge.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Don’t worry, it’s only a formality. The judge will read the depositions to make sure they’re acceptable. Then he’ll tell us to go away and try to reach a settlement.”
“Will we? Settle, I mean?”
“In the end, sure. Why not? It’s money for nothing as far as the Cullens are concerned.”
You still doubt that’s how Lisa sees it, but you don’t say so. “Do I need to be there?”
Tim nods vigorously. “Definitely. We should show the judge we’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
You’d rather spend the time looking for Abbie, but of