Read Another Night, Another Day for Free Online

under her breath. Taking Callum to the supermarket is far easier with two people, but she finished what little food was in the fridge making lunch. A proper stock-up
can wait, but she’ll have to go to the Co-op nearby to get supper.
    Thankfully the walk is a familiar journey through quiet residential streets, so Callum is compliant and contained. Yet as they approach the automatic door of the store he starts to tug urgently
at Abby’s jacket and before she can stop him, he’s on the pavement having a full-blown meltdown, banging his head on the ground, arms flailing.
    This was a mistake, she thinks, kneeling to hold him as best she can to prevent him coming to harm. I should have asked Glenn to pop into the shop on his way home from work. But her husband is
quick to gripe at her these days, and can’t be relied upon to be back at a reasonable hour. She tries to serve Callum’s meals at set times – even if he won’t eat properly,
routine is important. Tempted as she is to go home, she can’t. She has no choice but to ride this out.
    ‘Hey, darling, hey, hey,’ she soothes. Still Callum kicks and thrashes.
    It’s a scenario Abby weathers often: taking her son into crowded spaces has long proved an exhausting mix, as her energies are divided between looking after him and managing the distress
of other people.
    He has autism!
she’s tempted to declare loudly to the elderly lady who walks past them with an expression that looks like horror. Abby can imagine she’s thinking that Callum
shouldn’t be having a tantrum at his age, and on such a filthy pavement too. She longs to explain that the Co-op might seem like a relatively small, ordinary supermarket to her, but for her
son it’s an assault on his senses.
He can’t process so much information,
she wants to tell her,
and his brain is in overload. It’s as if my little boy is being gunned
down – bullets fire from every direction, showering him with messages. Wouldn’t you be scared, too?
    To the mother with a pushchair whose heavy sigh seems directed at Abby for letting Callum get in her way, Abby longs to retort,
think about him, why don’t you? I guess you’re
here with your perfectly ‘normal’ child, but imagine if while you were going round the aisles the chatter of customers, the clatter of trolleys and the beeping of tills actively hurt
your ears. That’s what it’s like for my son: his brain can’t properly filter what to you are just background noises. It’s why he’s wearing those things I expect you
think are headphones – they’re actually ear defenders, like people digging up the road use. Without them he’s in pain. Yes, pain.
    A young couple give Abby and Callum a wide berth as they stroll along the pavement. Abby yearns to make them understand that her son’s world is so visually overwhelming he often jerks his
head from side to side so as to block too much stimulation at any one time.
He’s not some freak show. The lit-up signage on the storefront is so bright for my boy it’s
blinding.
    But there is no chance to say any of this because she’s too preoccupied trying to stop Callum hurting himself. Instead she must put up with the unspoken condemnation of her mothering
abilities, whilst ensuring Callum stops blocking access to a public thoroughfare as soon as possible. She’s still struggling to soothe him, keeping her voice low and placatory whilst holding
his wrists, when there is a cough behind her.
    ‘Excuse me. Can I help?’
    She turns her head to see a woman of roughly her own age with spiked hair and wearing a parka. The woman is pregnant, yet in spite of her large belly crouches down beside them, not so close as
to be threatening.
    ‘Looks like you could do with a hand.’
    Abby would
love
a hand, but how can she explain to someone who’s never met Callum how to manage him?
    The woman says, ‘Or maybe it would be better if I got your shopping – if that’s why you’re here – and you stay with