A Very Special Need

‘Dad, he’s a dweeb—’

‘And you’re a disappointment to me, Martin.’

The boy shot out of the settee and glowered mutinously down at Hugh. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said sarcastically, and flounced out of the room, banging the door shut so hard the frame shook.

‘Martin!’

There was a pregnant pause, then the door opened again a crack.

‘Slam that door once more and you’re grounded for a month. Now go and do your homework, please.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Martin growled sarcastically. The door shut with a little less force, and Hugh closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the chair.

Where had he gone wrong? Had Martin always been like this? He didn’t know. He’d been too busy working to notice. Had it been too much to expect that just knowing his father worked with disabled children would give Martin the same compassion and understanding?

Clearly.

Oh, damn. Hugh got up and rummaged in his CD collection, found something soothing and put it on. The lights were low, the music was soft and he found his thoughts turning yet again to Judith.

How difficult was it, bringing up a disabled child in this unforgiving world—never mind alone? He couldn’t even manage a healthy, normal teenager. How Judith coped with Edward was a mystery. She must have to deal with all his frustration and disappointment, and probably her own guilt at her part in his disablement if it was due to a birth injury. Even if she hadn’t been to blame, she would still blame herself. Parents always did, at least until they worked through that.

He wondered when she had found out there was something wrong. Had she known straight away? Unlikely, he thought, with that fairly low level of disability. Often CP was undiagnosed for months or even years. Had she had the support of her parents? A partner? Who was Edward’s father? Did they see him?

So many questions—and none of the answers really any of his business. Only those relevant to his treatment of the child could possibly be considered justified, and yet he found the others clamoured at him.

Those questions and others—like how she would feel in his arms, and if her lips were really as soft as they looked, and if her body was as lush as it appeared or if the fullness of her breasts was just an illusion created by clever underwear.

He didn’t think so. She didn’t have the money for clever underwear. So, real, then. Full and soft and womanly.