The Boy Who Has No Name

Nic Carey

Description

Imagine, if you can, being born with cerebral palsy and being abandoned by your parents who leave you in a cardboard box outside an unmanned police station, then to live out your life generally ignored and strapped to a medical trolley with little or no proper stimulation. This is the story of an acute mind masked by a crippled frame and hampered by a difficulty with communication. He is a human being who has never socialised with other people and shows signs of abject aggression in reality, hiding his frustrations. John lives in a children's home and is befriended quite by chance by a young visitor of his own age. As their relationship develops, it becomes quite clear that John has a great intellect and has not only taught himself to read, but has an affinity for foreign languages. The book charts his journey from that initial meeting through his improvement with mobility and communication aides, his desperate need to have his own identity and his varying and at times difficult relationship with the staff and residents of the home. For those that look away in embarrassment at disabled or disadvantaged people or worse, go to the opposite extreme and fuss over them, then this is the book you should read. It may make you laugh, it may even make you cry but it will hopefully make you think.

Sujets

• Humour

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 04 mai 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781788784542
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The Boy Who Has No Name
Nic Carey
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-05-04
The Boy Who Has No Name About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Prologue Chapter 1 A Strange Introduction Chapter 2 A Helping Hand Chapter 3 The Return Chapter 4 A Strange Result Chapter 5 New Object of Desire Chapter 6 A Different Object of Desire Chapter 7 A Question of Mobility Chapter 8 Being a Real Person Chapter 9 Nearly the Great Escape Chapter 10 The Residents are Revolting Chapter 11 The Trouble with Exams Chapter 12 We Have Created a Monster Chapter 13 Another Helping Hand Chapter 14 New-Fangled Stuff Chapter 15 Sex Rears Its Ugly Head Chapter 16 The Wilderness Years Chapter 17 An Almost Unwelcome End Epilogue
About The Author
Nic Carey is a retired architect who lives on the island of Gozo with his wife, Dolores, and three dogs. Born near Reading, Berkshire, he grew up in Torbay, Devon, before heading off to a university in Manchester. He has one daughter, Nikou, who is an interior designer, and lives and works in Harrogate, North Yorkshire.
Dedication
To my wife, Dolores, a very accomplished human being and my daughter, Nikou.
Copyright Information ©
Nic Carey (2020)
The right of Nic Carey to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788489942 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781788784542 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
Big thanks to Marita, who proofread this as she is a lot smarter than me.
Prologue
Now, in my 65 th year, I look back with some sort of wonder at those early years. Days before political correctness took over and we all had to start watching what we said or did in case we insulted someone or hurt their feelings. Society has a strange way of evolving and maybe sometimes not for the best.
Those were the days when anyone who was unable to control their muscles were known as “spastics”. Now we use the sensitised form and simply define their conditions with terms such as cerebral palsy in its various forms. Others with birth defects were known as Mongols or mongoloid. I never did work this one out as they look nothing like Mongolians. Anyway, this set of people suffer from Down’s syndrome but in reality, they do not suffer at all as they are the kindest, happiest souls I have ever met.
How many remember, Ian Dury, a self-confessed spastic who was able to overcome his deformity with courage and humour? Might that we could all be so brave and honest.
People often say, ‘if I knew then what I know now…’ This makes me laugh. The real fun is looking back at what you said and did; and those you came across with the wisdom or should we say, the experience, that the age brings, as each stage of life you pass through brings a different slant on those events. And, if you are really lucky, then the funnier and funnier they get.
One of the hardest bits about writing this book is trying to remember the language that we then used compared to what is used today. New words, new expressions, new idioms. In the end, struggling in vain against those distant memories, I thought, what the hell. Just get on with it and tell the story .
Chapter 1

A Strange Introduction
The stars were very pretty and had I been an astronomer, I may have appreciated them more. As it was, the stars were in my brain, revolving around my head at colossal speed. In a flash, I think I saw several constellations; the Big Dipper, Orion, Cassiopeia and many others I could not name.
That was just before the searing pain struck, followed by an overwhelming feeling of nausea.
Sitting in my wheelchair, the pain began to recede.
‘Are you Okay?’ asked a kindly lilting voice.
‘Yes, I think so. What on earth hit me?’
The woman before me, with a mop in hand, started to do a non-too-gentle examination of the ever-growing lump on the back of my head.
‘Did you fall and hit your head on something, boyo?’ she said.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I replied.
‘Well, you must have hit something or something hit you. If you think you are Okay, I’ve got things to do.’
As my head started clearing, I realised that this was what it was like to be knocked into semi-consciousness and I looked around to see what had hit me.
There on the floor was a stainless-steel bowl which was quite obviously the culprit. Where the hell had that come from? There was no shelf for it to fall off and the only thing near me was some poor creature strapped to a medical stretcher next to me.
‘Is that your bowl?’ I asked.
‘No, that belongs to John,’ she responded.
‘Who’s John?’
‘That’s John behind you.’ With that, she picked the bowl up and gave it a wipe with her none-too clean apron.
‘Sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘I’m Doris.’
‘I’m Toby, how do you do?’
‘Are you a new resident?’ asked Doris ignoring the Visitors badge pinned to my sweater.
‘No, I’m just visiting,’ I replied, fingering my badge.
‘What’s the bowl for, Doris?’
‘That belongs to John.’ With that she squeezed past me and pushed it under his chin. Looking at the bowl, I realise again how much things have changed. Not the grey, “cardboardy”, disposable things we have today but a very solid and weighty stainless-steel object. Put a couple of straps on it, stick it on your head and you would probably have been able to survive World War Two.
‘Doris, I think he hit me with it,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly, boyo, John couldn’t have done it. Can you John,’ she said looking at him.
‘Well someone threw it and I don’t see anyone else around.’
‘Anyway, if you’re Okay, I must get on with my cleaning. There’s no end to it,’ she said as she scurried away.
I moved my wheelchair around at an angle just in time to see a movement out of the corner of my eye followed by the same bowl flying past my head.
‘That was you. I saw you that time,’ I shouted.
My outburst produced a strange reaction from the creature she had called John, who started emitting strange noises whilst twitching and struggling violently.
‘Hrrrg…Hrrrg…gorra bggr,’ – it sounded like, ‘Hrrrg… Hrrrg Netime.’
I realised that the bowl was to catch the spittle and drool which seemed to come simultaneously out of his mouth and nose in enormous quantities.
‘Now, John,’ said a different voice and I turned to see a true vision in white looking kindly at him. ‘You are going to fall off there again if you carry on like that.’
‘He hit me with that bowl and tried to do it again,’ I said while she was replacing the bowl next to his mouth.
‘Couldn’t have,’ she said ‘John wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m Anthea by the way. I work here. Are you here to visit someone?’
‘Yes, in a way, I came with the Diamond Club and they couldn’t get me on the bus for the outing. Long story I’m to wait for them to come back.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said looking bemused. ‘Are you injured or do you always use a wheelchair? I see that chair is one of ours.’
All thoughts of reply went out of my head as I gazed at this lovely creature. I instantly decided that she was a bit older than me, probably 17 or 18. She had the most wonderful corn blue eyes and natural curly ash-blond hair. As I gazed at her all rational thought went out of my head and I went from infatuation to lust to love in a few nanoseconds.
‘Well? Cat got your tongue,’ she said shaking me out of my daydreams.
‘Sorry, it’s the bang on my head. I injured both my knees. Ligaments torn; cartilages ripped. That sort of thing. I’m out of action for a bit.’
‘Sounds painful – how did you do it?’
‘Playing rugby. I got tackled from the front; my studs held and my legs bent the wrong way.’
‘So how long have you got to be in plaster?’ she enquired.
‘I am not sure, but it’s been two months so far and I think it’s going to be about the same again until they remove them.’
‘Then what?’
‘Well, I think I am going to have to undergo some lengthy physio to build the muscles back up. After that, I’m not sure.’
Our conversation was interrupted by a new wave of gurgling and spluttering from the stretcher and I turned to see two baleful eyes glaring at me from a strange face caught in the throes of violent twitching. I had never seen a face have such a range of movements all at the same time and the effect was somewhat disturbing, particularly as the glare appeared to be aimed at me.
‘It’s Okay, John,’ said Anthea. ‘He’s a friend. What’s your name?’
‘Toby.’
‘John, this is Toby, Toby, this is John. Why don’t you just sit there and have a chat? Do you want any tea or coffee? I’m about to get John something.’
‘If it’s no trouble Anthea, coffee would be great.’
‘No trouble. How do you take it?’
‘Milk, one sugar, thanks.’
‘Back in a minute. Just talk to him and he’ll quieten down.’ With that, she walked away moving with effortless grace, away whilst I stared in adolescent delight at her legs and pert bottom.
My dangerous thoughts were interrupted again by a fresh outbreak of violent movement next to me and I turned once again to see the same pair of baleful eyes.
With Anthea gone, I now started to study the creature called John in more detail. It was hard to say how old