Painkillers by Simon Ings Page B

his head off, unable to tell us why he was so afraid. Eva, feeling excluded, got up and walked round the room. The walls were painted a muted orange - a warm, restful colour. Justin's latest pictures were blu-tacked above the bed. A tree, a house, and a picture of Francis. You could tell it was Francis because the head was dark brown. The face was a blank: tiny white dots for eyes, another dot for the mouth, no nose. Faces meant nothing to him, and besides, being autistic means you look more at the edges of objects than at their surfaces - the same, they say, is true of cats.
    Mobiles hung from the ceiling: planes, clowns, five-pointed stars, and some dough decorations we had brought him last Christmas. The more glittery ones were hung low enough for him to stir with an upraised hand.
    Eva rarely visited Justin. It was her fear of him that had put him in residential care in the first place. Now that he was older - now that he wasn't smashing light bulbs or poking his finger in and out of his anus - a more complex feeling was holding her back. Embarrassment, and an uneasy and mistaken idea that, in her absence, Justin and I had formed an exclusive bond.
    Justin loved Eva's gold wrapping paper. While I assembled the machine he tore the sheet into confetti and threw handfuls into the air. I plugged the lead into the aerial socket of the TV and left Francis to sort out the tuning. I sat on the floor and gathered the scraps up. Eva came and joined me. Justin held out his hands. Eva poured the rubbish into his palms. He threw it straight away into the air. Eva laughed, shaking it out of her hair.
    Francis turned the PlayStation on. Sony's fanfare blasted across the room. Justin stuffed his fingers into his ears and screamed.
    'Nice one, Francis.'
    'Fuck. Shit.' Francis fumbled with the remote and killed the sound. Justin rocked back and forward - an old stereotypy.
    'Oh dear,' Eva sighed, deflated by the sight. Justin did outgrow things, but so slowly, it was hard sometimes to believe in his progress.
    'Hey, Justin,' said Francis, 'show Daddy and Mummy your present?'
    Justin blinked at him.
    'Your other present?'
    He still had his fingers in his ears.
    Francis extended his hand. Justin gripped his forearm and stood up. They walked round the far side of the bed together.
    'We got another present,' Francis explained, as Justin disappeared under the bed.
    'A present?' said Eva. 'From whom?'
    'I can't read the card.'
    'Your present!' Justin shouted. He turned to Eva. 'Your birthday! Your present!' He waved a thick red plastic cylinder over his head. There were diamond patterns transferred onto the barrel: white and blue and green.
    'It came this morning,' said Francis, ushering Justin back into the centre of the room. 'Show mummy your present.'
    Justin hoofed the carpet, a temperamental foal. 'I'll get you Jews!'
    'Do you want a drink?' said Francis.
    'I'll get you Jews!'
    'Show mummy your present. I'll get you a juice from the fridge.'
    I touched the cylinder in Justin's hand. He whipped it away from me.
    'Was there a card?' Eva asked.
    Francis had it in his back pocket to show us. He handed it to Eva on his way out to the fridge.
    'I'll get you Jews!' Justin chanted, waving the cylinder in the air.
    'Soon, Jessie, soon,' I soothed - not that "soon" meant anything to him, any more than the niceties of
    "you" and "I".
    Justin thrust the cylinder at my face. I took it. Justin stood back and watched. It was a kaleidoscope. I held it up to my eye.
    Justin clapped his hands, laughing.
    'It's from Money,' said Eva. She crumpled the card in her fist.
    I let the kaleidoscope drop from my eye. Justin pushed it back in my face; it cracked against my cheekbone. 'Fuck.'
    'There.' She threw the card at me. 'Look.'
    I laid the kaleidoscope on the floor and flattened out the card. 'Now you are SEVEN,' it said. I opened it. Underneath the doggerel, Money had written a message in Cantonese. 'What does it say?'
    'Oh, it's terribly nice,' Eva spat - but