\u2018I had a dream about you last night.\u2019<\/p>\n
Sarah, stuffing wet tuna into pitta pockets and wondering if she could just put the same tangerine, uneaten from yesterday, back into Noah\u2019s lunchbox, stiffened. The now-familiar tightening of her neck, shoulders and arms at the sound of Juliette\u2019s voice went through her like one of those lock-and-load scenes in shoot-em-up movies; a rippling of \u2018click, click, click\u2019, on and on until everything tensed.<\/p>\n
\u2018Me?\u2019 Noah said. He put down his spoon. \u2018What dream?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I dreamed first of a snow fox, then of a snow wolf.\u2019<\/p>\n
Sarah could hear Juliette settling into herself, into her dream and her visions. She leaned closer to the little boy. Her voice dropped; mysterious, revelatory<\/em>. \u2018The snow fox was running and leaping through deep, white snow, glad to be alive. Then the snow wolf appeared and at first it hunted the fox, but then they became one and together they were more powerful than before.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Where was I?\u2019 Noah asked. \u2018In the dream.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You were the snow fox, but then, when the wolf came, you were the wolf too. So I know now \u2013 a snow wolf is your spirit animal.\u2019 She paused, for drama. \u2018And Noah, it\u2019s an incredibly powerful spirit animal. It means you have an appetite for freedom.\u2019<\/p>\n Sarah wished there was a polite way to tell someone who sat in your kitchen, lived in your house, to shut up. Not someone <\/em>though, Juliette. Juliette, who had the word \u2018fearless\u2019 tattooed on the inside of her arm, and \u2018I was not built to break\u2019 in curly script under her hipbone. Juliette, who marked herself before life could do it for her. As if that could stop anything.<\/p>\n Juliette. She had been christened Juliet, had added the final \u2018t\u2019 and the \u2018e\u2019 herself, \u2018because it sounds better,\u2019 she had once explained to Sarah.<\/p>\n \u2018But they\u2019re silent,\u2019 Sarah had protested.<\/p>\n \u2018Not entirely,\u2019 Juliette had said, smugly. \u2018They draw the sound out at the end, just enough.\u2019<\/p>\n Enough for what Sarah had wondered? Enough to be incredibly annoying?<\/p>\n That was before Juliette, after yet another failed relationship, another failed attempt to live \u2018a meaningful life\u2019 \u2013 meaning she seemed to find only in weird diets and crystals, Sarah noted, never in work or anything useful \u2013 had come to live with them. Now, Sarah tried not to remark on anything she said, in case doing so prolonged conversations she didn’t want to have.<\/p>\n Are you finished in the bathroom? Can I change the channel? <\/em>Those were the realms where she wanted conversation with Juliette to stay.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2018What is a spirit animal?\u2019 Noah asked, not unreasonably Sarah thought. She closed the lunchbox with a snap.<\/p>\n \u2018Noah, finish up. You need to hurry,\u2019 she said.<\/p>\n \u2018Your spirit animal is the shape of your soul,\u2019 Juliette said, ignoring the urgency in Sarah\u2019s voice, the urgency of a Wednesday morning, with school and work and time-pressure \u2013 all the things Juliette had decided not to bother with. \u2018It\u2019s your guide and helper, in this world but also in the other world.\u2019 She dropped her voice low on \u2018other\u2019, drawing it out long.<\/p>\n \u2018Noah, come on.\u2019 The irritation Sarah felt seeped into her voice, making it sharp, so that Noah looked up too fast and said \u2018What\u2019s wrong?\u2019 too loudly.<\/p>\n \u2018Nothing. Nothing\u2019s wrong. Just that we\u2019re going to be late.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Ok.\u2019 Then, \u2018what\u2019s your spirit animal,\u2019 he asked Juliette.<\/p>\n \u2018A black panther,\u2019 Juliette said.<\/p>\n \u2018Of course it is,\u2019 muttered Sarah to herself as she grabbed Noah\u2019s coat. Of course it bloody is. Funny the way no one ever had a mouse or a rat as a spirit animal. Or remembered past lives in which they were filthy, flea-ridden serfs; always Egyptian pharaohs or high-born ladies. Was it only the very powerful who reincarnated, or did every crackpot suffer pathetic delusions of second-hand grandeur?<\/p>\n \u2018We\u2019re off,\u2019 she called from the front door. \u2018See you later.\u2019 She wondered would Juliette clear away the breakfast things, or leave them there for Sarah to do when she got back from work. It could go either way, she knew.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2018She\u2019s supposed to be looking for a job,\u2019 Sarah had complained to Brian only the day before. \u2018But all she ever does is meditate and cook horrible desserts made with barley malt and cocoa powder.<\/p>\n \u2018I know,\u2019 he had said, rueful, but not angry, \u2018I buy the ingredients. They cost a fortune.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018So stop buying them. Say we can\u2019t afford it. She can buy her own. We\u2019re already not making her pay rent, because she\u2019s your sister and you feel sorry for her.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Sarah, she can\u2019t afford to. You know she can\u2019t,\u2019 Brian had said gently. \u2018That\u2019s why she\u2019s here. I know it\u2019s hard, but it\u2019s only for a while, until she gets herself sorted out.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s been months, and she doesn\u2019t show any signs of ever leaving.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Just give her time. She\u2019s good with Noah. He loves having her here.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018That\u2019s the worst of it. She fills his head with nonsense. She talks to him about such rubbish \u2013 his aura, the healing power of the mind, how he can do anything if he visualises it.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018But he likes it.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Maybe, but it\u2019s not good for him. He pays it too much attention. You know he does.\u2019 They didn\u2019t talk about Noah that way, so she veered off. \u2018He should be outside, playing with other kids, not in with her painting pictures of his aura.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It won\u2019t be for much longer,\u2019 Brian had said.<\/p>\n \u2018You keep saying that.\u2019<\/p>\n <\/p>\n In the car on the way to school, Sarah tried to do what the teacher had suggested to her at their last talk: prepare Noah for the day ahead so that he understood what he would be doing. In its own way, she saw, this wasn\u2019t unlike Juliette and her \u2018visualising.\u2019 Except that this was practical. Had purpose. And so it was nothing like Juliette.<\/p>\n \u2018You\u2019ve got your hurl and helmet,\u2019 she said. \u2018It\u2019s hurling practice today.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Yes.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018And you\u2019ve got reading in the morning, before Little Break. You\u2019ve done your book report for that.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Ok.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018And I\u2019ll pick you up, same as usual.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Ok\u2019<\/p>\n Every day, his resignation hurt her more. She felt she was driving a small, scared prisoner who had learned not to thrash or fuss. Had learned that no help was coming. She imagined him counting hours the way prisoners counted days in the old films; vertical lines scratched on a wall: one-two-three-four-five-six then a diagonal line through them for seven; another week gone. Noah, counting hours until she came to pick him up: first the morning session, then Little Break, then the middle bit, then lunchtime where the trouble might come, then the last bit, then home.<\/p>\n Every day, he was waiting for her, bag hoisted on his shoulders. Around him, other kids played, wrestled, jeered each other cheerfully, begging for five more minutes to play. Not Noah.<\/p>\n \u2018Let\u2019s go,\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2018Juliette says my spirit animal is a snow wolf,\u2019 he said now, proudly. \u2018And hers is a black panther. What\u2019s yours?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I have no idea,\u2019 Sarah said airily. \u2018I don\u2019t really believe in that stuff. It\u2019s just stories.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018But if they\u2019re true?\u2019 he persisted. \u2018What would you be?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I don\u2019t know, maybe a chicken.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You wouldn\u2019t be a chicken,\u2019 he said, offended on her behalf. \u2018Maybe Juliette knows what you are.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s just stories,\u2019 she said. \u2018Juliette doesn\u2019t know.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Juliette has pink hair,\u2019 he said then.<\/p>\n \u2018She dyes the front of it pink, yes,\u2019 Sarah said. Then \u2018You have art today as well. You like that.\u2019 Even though she knew he didn\u2019t. Not in school anyway. It was one of the \u2018relaxed\u2019 classes where children were free to wander around the classroom. Wander and linger and question and prod. \u2018Your smock is in your bag.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Ok.\u2019<\/p>\n At the gates, she slowed down. \u2018Do you want me to park and come in with you?\u2019 she asked. \u2018Carry your helmet?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018No thanks,\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n \u2018I love you, darling, see you later. Have a good day.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018See you later.\u2019 He never said he loved her at the drop-offs, although he was vocal about it at other times, especially before he went to sleep. \u2018I love you so much mummy. You\u2019re the best mummy in the world.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018And you\u2019re the best son in the world,\u2019 she would answer, rubbing his nose with her nose.<\/p>\n But in the mornings, he wouldn\u2019t play that game. Instead, he started shutting down as soon as they left the house, so that by the time they got to school he was the silent, reluctant child his teacher described.<\/p>\n She watched him now, squaring his thin shoulders beneath the heavy bag as he walked across the playground. She wanted to run after him, grab the bag from his back and say \u2018not today! Let\u2019s not go today. Let\u2019s go somewhere else, just us.\u2019 She wanted to hold him tight; be the person who protected him, instead of the person who abandoned him every morning to a fate she pretended she didn\u2019t understand. How much longer would they give it, she wondered as she drove on to work, lurching from red light to red light, speeding up, slowing down, stopping, going. Another month? A year? Til he was in First Class? And then what?<\/p>\n \u2018He\u2019ll settle,\u2019 Brian had said, after that first awful meeting in junior infants, where the school suggested they have Noah \u201cassessed\u201d so they could \u201cgive him the support he needs\u201d. \u2018He just needs time,\u2019 Brian had said. \u2018He\u2019s young for his age.\u2019<\/p>\n Sarah had agreed \u2018Of course he will. He\u2019s nearly the youngest in the class\u2026\u2019 even though she knew that Brian didn\u2019t understand that it wasn\u2019t just being babyish that set Noah apart. It was something else, something that was in him. A weakness the other children sensed through smell or instinct, that made them turn and want to hurt him, not help him.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2018Let\u2019s go,\u2019 Noah said that afternoon. He was, as she had known he would be, waiting. But before they could escape, Ms Ryan was upon them.<\/p>\n \u2018Can I speak to you quickly before you go,\u2019 she asked, a hand out towards Sarah\u2019s arm.<\/p>\n \u2018Yes, of course.\u2019 Sarah\u2019s heart sank. \u2018Noah, wait here for me, I won\u2019t be long.\u2019<\/p>\n The classroom smelled of chalk and feet and cheap disinfectant. The smells of Sarah\u2019s childhood. More and more, the smells of Noah\u2019s childhood.<\/p>\n \u2018There was an incident during hurling practice,\u2019 Ms Ryan began quickly. She looked shifty, so that Sarah decided that this one would be complicated. Sometimes they were, sometimes they weren\u2019t. \u2018I didn\u2019t see how it started,\u2019 Ms Ryan said, \u2018But Noah hit another boy with his hurl.\u2019<\/p>\n Complicated.<\/p>\n \u2018I see.\u2019 Sarah waited. Experience had taught her that it was better to wait. Let them fill in some of their own blanks.<\/p>\n \u2018As I say, I didn\u2019t see what happened first, and Noah did say that the other boy started it, but I asked the other children, those who did see\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n The officious little girls, Sarah was willing to bet. The ones who brimmed over with \u2018Miss Ryan, Miss Ryan, Noah spat his lunch at me.\u2019 \u2018Miss Ryan, Noah said Johnny was a pig.\u2019 \u2018Miss Ryan, Noah isn\u2019t doing his work, he\u2019s just drawing pictures on his copybook.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018\u2014and they said that the other boy didn\u2019t do anything physical.\u2019 No, Sarah thought, he wouldn\u2019t have to. Not at this stage. The groundwork had been so effectively laid.<\/p>\n \u2018Noah wouldn\u2019t hit anyone without provocation,\u2019 Sarah said. \u2018Even then, there would have to be considerable provocation.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m sure that\u2019s true,\u2019 Ms Ryan said, \u2018but at this school we have a policy of no tolerance for hitting.\u2019 Of course you do<\/em>, thought Sarah. Anything easy, you have a policy for. Where is your policy for protecting a child for whom every day in your care is confusing and lonely, and now dangerous?<\/em><\/p>\n \u2018I was wondering,\u2019 Ms Ryan continued, \u2018if you had thought any more about an assessment?<\/p>\n \u2018I haven\u2019t.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Perhaps you should. At the moment, I am left with no choice except to take action in accordance with the school\u2019s code.\u2019 Give me an out<\/em>, she was clearly saying. Give me an excuse, a piece of paper that says \u2018spectrum\u2019 or \u2018disorder\u2019 so that I can use it and spare us all from this.<\/em><\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019ll think about it,\u2019 Sarah said.<\/p>\n And she would have to, she knew. Even though she didn\u2019t believe that whatever it was about Noah could be pinpointed by an \u2018assessment,\u2019 or helped by bending the school\u2019s policies in the light of it.<\/p>\n Whatever it was about Noah, it was more, and less, than could be detected by the kind of process they described.<\/p>\n \u2018Let\u2019s go.\u2019 She took his hand on the way to the car because the playground was empty now, and he let her. She led him to the car, hand held tight, wondering would he ask what Ms Ryan had wanted. He didn\u2019t but he was more silent than usual on the drive home. Normally, the self that he put away on the journey to school \u2013 the funny, curious boy who chatted to her about what he saw and thought \u2013 would slowly re-emerge on the trip back. But today he stared out the window and said nothing until they reached the house. Then \u2018what day is it today?\u2019 he asked.<\/p>\n \u2018Tuesday,\u2019 Sarah said. \u2018Why?\u2019<\/p>\n He didn\u2019t answer, but she knew he was calculating in his head: if it\u2019s Tuesday then tomorrow is Wednesday, then it\u2019s Thursday and then Friday, and then the weekend.<\/em><\/p>\n It was what he did. Broke his week into bits so that he could manage it, always striving forward towards weekends and holidays.<\/p>\n They went into the kitchen where Juliette was baking. She had cleared the breakfast bowls but there was cocoa powder on the pale wooden countertop and some of those red goji berries that she ate. They stuck in her teeth, like she\u2019d been gnawing on raw meat.<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m making chia brownies,\u2019 she said, to both of them. Then \u2018do you want to help?\u2019 to Noah.<\/p>\n \u2018Yes please,\u2019 he said. \u2018Can I stir the bowl?\u2019 She pulled a stool out for him and lifted him onto it.<\/p>\n \u2018Of course you can stir. It\u2019s hard work, because of the chia seeds but they\u2019re incredibly good for you. They have loads of protein to make you strong.\u2019<\/p>\n Sarah watched them, the boy\u2019s head bent over the bowl, wooden spoon in his hand as he stirred the thick mixture. It looked disgusting, she thought, with bits of black in it like flecks of soot, and was clearly thick as mud because he could hardly get the spoon round. But Juliette put her hand over his, to help him, and together they stirred the sludgy mixture.<\/p>\n \u2018That\u2019s good, Noah,\u2019 Juliette said. \u2018You\u2019re getting so strong.\u2019 And Sarah, just as she had known that the concern in Ms Ryan’s voice was fake, heard that the love in Juliette’s voice was real.<\/p>\n \u2018Tell me more about Noah\u2019s spirit animal,\u2019 she said suddenly. \u2018It\u2019s a snow wolf, right? So what does that mean?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s a really powerful sign,\u2019 Juliette said. Noah stopped stirring and turned his head to look at her.<\/p>\n \u2018Go on,\u2019 Sarah said, pulling out a stool.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Emily Hourican is a journalist and bestselling author. She has written features for The Sunday Independent for 15 years, as well as for Image magazine, Conde Nast Traveler, Time Out and Woman and Home. Her first book, How To Really Be A\u00a0 Mother was published in 2013, followed by The Privileged in 2016 and White Villa in 2017. Her latest novel, The Blamed, is out in June 2018. Emily grew up in Brussels, where she went to the European School, then studied at UCD. She lives in Dublin with her husband and three children.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u2018I had a dream about you last night.\u2019 Sarah, stuffing wet tuna into pitta pockets and wondering if she could just put the same tangerine, uneaten from yesterday, back into Noah\u2019s lunchbox, stiffened. The now-familiar tightening of her neck, shoulders and arms at the sound of Juliette\u2019s voice went through her like one of those […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":63,"featured_media":2140,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[26,1],"tags":[191],"class_list":["post-2032","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-uncategorized","tag-2018june"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2032","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/63"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2032"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2032\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2032"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2032"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2032"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}