Later, on the way to the Owl — actually the Tawny Owl — I am in the back with the kids. In the front, Ramon and Louise are talking away to each other. For the whole day, they have included me — not just included me, it has really been about me, and everything they have done has been directed toward me. This is probably the first time all day that they have had the chance for a little chat between themselves. And guess what? I feel left out, excluded — especially like this, with their backs to me. They are laughing, too. Maybe they are laughing at me. And saying how much they hate me, and what a nightmare it has been having me there. Oi! Hello? Hearing people like to know what’s going on too.
It is a pathetic comparison to make, really, but perhaps, in those few minutes, I get just the tiniest hint of what it is like for the deaf among the hearing, all of the time.
In the pub, we are all seated round the table, and I am the center of attention once again. As I should be. Sam the photographer is with us now, and I feel strangely resentful that there is another hearing person around. Louise, Ramon and their kids have been so nice and welcoming and inclusive to me — maybe that is why I feel cross that there is someone else around to share it. Encroaching on my territory.
The kids are getting a bit tired now. Time to go home and bed for them. How do they know if Spencer or either of the others is crying, I want to know. Louise shows me an electronic device she has pinned to her. It will vibrate if someone rings the doorbell, if the house is on fire, or if one of the children is crying. During the day they do not really bother with it, because the kids are always around and they just know if one of them needs something. But at night they put it on.
We have a cup of tea and Louise watches EastEnders, with the subtitles switched on, while Ramon watches a film on his laptop, one that he is going to do BSL interpretation for. They can do this at the same time, in the same room, which is nice. At one point the sound on the TV comes on — I don’t know why, perhaps someone hit a button or something. It is probably at the same volume as I would normally have EastEnders on in my house, but it feels incredibly loud and intrusive, and it ruins the atmosphere in the house. It is not bothering them, of course, but I ask Ramon to turn the sound off.
Even after one day, I am really appreciating the silence that had worried me only this morning.
Right, that is me done for the day. It is hard work, being at the deep end, both metaphorically and literally. At least I will sleep well in this lovely, silent house.
In the morning, Louise asks me if I was woken up by Spencer crying. No, I didn’t hear a thing.
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