Finn
The Old Lady smells of lavender, flowery but not too sweet – I like it because it’s like the drops Mum puts on my pillow to help me sleep and it doesn’t make me want to vomit like some ladies’ perfumes do.
She wears bright-red lipstick that bleeds into the lines around her mouth.
Her false leg is pretty cool, and her eyes are bright and wise like a bird’s.
She told me to call her Philly. ‘But your name is Mrs Ophelia Delaney,’ I said.
‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘But my friends call me Philly.’
At supper, my Mum and Dad made Polite Conversation, talking about the sailing camp.
It was Dad’s idea. He’s been teaching me to sail a dinghy, which I quite like because when I sail it single-handed it feels like a place where I’m in charge and I can be on my own.
Then he read something online about an organisation called Autism Afloat, which tries to get people like me who have an Autistic Spectrum Disorder interested in sailing bigger boats.
Before I could point out all the reasons why it was a really bad idea, he’d got in touch with them and suggested they run a summer camp here on the island.
He’s found some dinghies and a bigger boat, and helped organise accommodation and they are bringing some kids to have this Amazing Experience.
And I’ll be on that boat too, having the Amazing Experience with all the others.
Only I know it’s going to be awful. I’ve been stressing out about it for months.
People say things like that a lot. As if we would be in their hair in the first place. It would be impossible. The Old Lady’s hair is straight and white and it’s cut short so it fits the shape of her head, just like a kittiwake’s feathers.
‘The timing’s worked out so well,’ said Mum. ‘And it’s good that I can fly back with you, too, on my way to the creative writing course.’
The Old Lady smiled and nodded, but I could see the brightness had gone out of her eyes a little.
Maybe she can’t be bothered with making Polite Conversation either.
I think she was tired, and she kept shifting her weight on her chair, so perhaps her leg was hurting her.
After supper, I went straight upstairs to my room and I heard her coming up too, just a few minutes afterwards.
Her false leg makes her steps a bit uneven.
Next morning, she looked a bit brighter again when she came downstairs to sit at the breakfast table.
She didn’t eat much, but she seemed glad to accept the cup of coffee Mum made for her.
Then Dad went off to do some of the final arrangements for the sailing camp.
He asked me to join him. ‘We could get the bikes out of the shed,’ he said. ‘Cycle over to the harbour?’
I said no thank you, I’d prefer to stay at home and read the book he gave me about sailing.
I find making Polite Conversation can sometimes be a good way to get out of doing things you don’t want to do.
It’s a lot less tiring than having a meltdown, anyway.
I don’t really need to read the book. I know how to sail from using the dinghy, which is just for one or two people.
Exactly the same principles apply to sailing the bigger boat, only you need more people.
You have to Work As A Team and each member of the crew has to Play Their Part.
Exactly the characteristics that autistic people aren’t exactly known for, in case Dad hadn’t noticed.
I sat on the sofa in the sitting room with the book on my knees while Mum and the Old Lady went into the study so Mum could start listening to her story. ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ I heard Mum say. And I was actually quite interested to hear the story too, so I left off my ear defenders.