The only piece of colour in the room was a Liverpool flag above the bed.
‘Well, we had to have a bit of Liverpool in the room,’ smiledMrs McCoy, ‘but we were advised to keep the busy-ness to a minimum. Minimal is key in general, really.’
‘Need to start applying that minimalism to the rest of the house, Emma,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘She’s a hoarder that one, Brendan.’
‘I don’t even deny it, Brendan,’ she said. ‘We do need to get the rest of the house sorted, though, after we get the bathroom finished. We had a whole new special bath and shower put in. Thank God, because the weeks of bed bathing were some of the toughest.’
I was staring at Ronan, trying to imagine what a bed bath from your parents might mean. I didn’t want to think about it so I diverted my attention back to the Liverpool flag.
‘I take it you’re a Liverpool fan, too, then?’ said Mr McCoy.
‘Man U,’ I said automatically. ‘Actually, no, I only say that when really I don’t follow football, I’ve no interest in it.’
I’d never told anyone that before, I don’t know why I had the confidence to tell it then.
‘Ah we’ll soon change that,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘We had the match there at the weekend and what was Ronan like, Emma?’
‘Oh, Brendan,’ she laughed, ‘now, a bit like yourself I’m not into football and I was nervous about putting a match on TV in case it would upset Ronan like the athletics does but, my goodness, the complete opposite! Watching Ronan during the match and the antics of him – goodness, it was fantastic, you’ll honestly have to come round when a match is on, even if you’re not into football, you’ll have a ball; no pun intended.’
‘Alright then,’ I said, ‘I might just have to become a Liverpool fan in that case.’
Ronan awoke with a gasp and a groan. His eyes slowly cracked open as he began to take in the room.
‘Look who’s here, Ronan,’ said Mrs McCoy.
Ronan’s eyes seemed to ignite when they met mine andhis mouth stretched open and I knew that brilliant laugh was about to erupt and I joined in when it did. Ronan and me used to laugh together all the time and there was something about us doing it together again that just felt so normal. Laughter was now becoming our new way of saying ‘hello’. Our own laughter language.
‘Well, there they are now,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘the chuckle brothers.’
When the laughter died down and with Ronan wide awake, Mrs McCoy wheeled him over to the desk, speaking to him the whole time, explaining that he’d just woken up and reminding him that they’d tried to have dinner earlier but he got a bit upset and asking if he was hungry now, but Ronan was only focused on me and gave his mum no definite response. She explained that it was Buddy Time now and that I was here to start things off. Ronan was making agreeable, yet impatient, noises as if saying, ‘alright, Mum, I get it, stop embarrassing me in front of Brendan, just let us get on with it.’
‘Will I show Brendan what we were doing today, Ronan?’ Mr McCoy said, opening the blue folder on the desk and taking out a board that had the alphabet printed on it in large letters. There was a little coloured booklet inside a Polly Pocket that he took out too. Ronan made a grunt and then breathed heavily while Mr McCoy explained what the tutor had instructed them to try with Ronan outside of her lessons with him.
The idea was to pick a word from the booklet, show it to Ronan, and then point with your finger through the alphabet for him to signal each letter that spelled the word. I was looking at Ronan as his dad was explaining and Ronan was staring at me with what could almost be read as boredom. I felt slightly embarrassed that this was the level we were beginning at, especially when I thought about all the amazing stories he used to write in English class. I wondered if he felt embarrassed too.
‘It’s less about the actual spelling of the words,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘which is of course part of it, too; it’s really more about Ronan listening. The sounds need to be drilled so that Ronan’s mimicry skills can kick into gear again and start forming those shapes and sounds for himself.’
If these were the steps that needed to be taken to get Ronan’s speech back then I would do all I could to make it happen. I picked up the booklet.
‘I choose a word at random?’ I asked, flicking through and stopping at the word ‘garden’, which had a picture of flowers beside it – Mr McCoy propped the alphabet board onto a stand on the desk – ‘and just show it to you,’ I said to Ronan, turning the booklet to him and showing him the word, ‘then just point to each letter along the alphabet here?’
‘Exactly,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘OK,’ I said and began to point along, ‘A, B, C, D, E, F, G …’ I paused slightly and waited for something from Ronan but he just stared blankly at me, so I continued, ‘H, I, J, K, L …’ until I reached the end and Ronan didn’t make a single sound. In fact, it was as if he was actively trying to make as little noise as possible. I looked to Mr and Mrs McCoy.
‘You were doing it for Mrs Carberry yesterday, Ronan. Was she slipping you bribes or what?’ said Mr McCoy.
A slight grin appeared on Ronan’s face but it was like he was trying not to react, like he was forcing the corners of his mouth down. It was a strange, yet familiar expression. I half grinned, too, but did the same as him and tried not to, as if we were sharing a silent joke.
Mr McCoy told me to try another word. I did but Ronan kept still and unresponsive. It must have been taking a lot of effort because as he continued to stare at me with those defiant eyes, the lids began to droop until they closed completely and his head fell forward and he was asleep again.
‘You see,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘the fatigue hits him just like that.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, keeping my eyes on Ronan, ‘must be all the concentration.’
But what exactly the concentration was on, I couldn’t say; all I knew was that he wasn’t concentrating on spelling the word ‘garden’.
‘Sorry, Brendan,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘that’s him out for the next hour or more, I’d say. Fingers crossed things are a bit different on Thursday.’
