Page 31 of Tainted Reasoning

“You ok?” I check with William.

“Yes. You know I did the same thing once. My father had a guest he was trying to con out of money, and the man had on these velvet looking trousers. I really wanted to know what they felt like. The only problem was I’d been painting with my nanny. When they entered the nursery, my hands were covered in bright green paint, and I smeared it all over his trousers when I touched him. My father didn’t get the money he wanted, and I got a hiding and relegated to my room for a few days. We were never allowed paints in the house again.” He looks down at his hands as though remembering the green paint that was once on them. “Maybe, I should ask Nicholas if we can get some?”

“Why ask? If you want something just get it.”

William turns his head to look at me as though he can’t quite understand what I’m saying.

“It’s Nicholas’ house. I have to obey his rules.”

“Has he told you that?” I question.

“No, but it’s just what happens.”

I fall silent and make a mental note to tell Nicholas of this revelation when I return to the house. I’m pretty certain he’d prefer William to have whatever he wanted and not have to ask for it.

“Tamara…Earl Lullington.” One of the doctor’s steps forward and presents a little bow to William who shakes his hand. “My name is Dr. Brown. It’s lovely to have you both here. The children have been very excited since Tamara’s call earlier. Tamara is very popular with them, and I’m sure you will be loved as well, My Lord.”

“Please. Call me William. ‘My Lord’ is for my slightly more formal and stubborn brother.”

“Of course. Has Tamara told you details of our facilities?”

William looks toward me.

“I’ve given him a brief tour and overview,” I offer by way of an explanation.

“Not a problem. Our facilities here are for children and adults with formal diagnosis on the spectrum. We don’t turn anyone away, though. We simply help them liaise with the appropriate doctors to find a solution. We currently have ten long-term residents, varying in age and range of diagnosis.” The doctor starts to walk through the rooms, showing everything to William as he goes. I stand back and observe him as he takes it all in. He asks many sensible questions, and I can see he’s finally relaxing after the initial shock.

“I’m not sure if Tamara has told you, but I’m on the spectrum myself.” William tells the doctor.

“She hasn’t, but I’ve seen in your mannerisms and lack of eye contact that you might be. I’ve worked most of my life with children and adults, having all levels of diagnosis, so I recognize the traits straight away.”

“I’m that obvious.” William laughs nervously.

“Not at all. For someone with different social behaviors to the norm, you are doing extremely well.”

“Thank you,” William offers, and I gently take his hand. He allows me to do so and wraps his fingers around mine.

“Can I ask you something?” William says as he steps aside to let a little child go running past with headphones on to shield against the noise.

“Of course, please, if I can help in anyway?”

“How much does having autism shape who you are? Can it cause a darkness within you?”

The doctor opens and shuts his eyes rapidly, shocked at the question.

“That’s a difficult question. There have been people who’ve committed crimes and have either had issues before or are subsequently diagnosed to be on the spectrum, but autism doesn’t make someone inherently evil. It’s just a question of different wiring. In relation to the nature versus nurture debate, I believe any darkness comes from the way someone is raised and their life experiences rather than innately from birth. I don’t think you have to worry about an evil side though. I’ve found over the years that Tamara is an excellent judge of character, and so are some of these children. They’ve warmed to you already, which demonstrates to me the make-up of the person you are.” The doctor smiles at William and I know inside his head his thoughts must be going a mile a minute. The doctor lowers his head in a bow again before returning to a nearby mum, trying to calm a distressed child whose jigsaw piece is missing.

“Do you want to go?” I look up at William. We are still holding hands.

He shakes his head.

“No. I like it here. It’s calming.”

“They do wonders. I’m so glad I found it.”

William gazes out across the people in the room, and I see his stare focus in on a father and son. They are cuddling up together on a chair, reading a book about space together. His face goes blank, and I can no longer read his emotions.

“It was him all along. It was never me.” He bends down and presses a kiss to my head. “I wasn’t the one who was wrong.”

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