“He calls all the Cents boys uncle because it’s just easier that way,” Eggo explains in a whisper.
“Hi, Logan,” I say, smiling and waving. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I understand you like Pokémon. Who’s your favourite?”
Logan doesn’t answer my question. “You talk funny. ‘I understand you like Pokémon,’” he repeats in an almost exact replication of my accent, including the intonations.
“Aiden’s from Australia,” Eggo says before I can react.
“What did we say about making fun of the way people talk?” Jody says. I can’t see her, but Logan looks off to the right.
“I’m not making fun of him.”
“He has echolalia,” Eggo explains to me, whispering again.
“What’s that?” I ask, but Jody’s talking now.
“Right, Logan, babes, you said five minutes, and it’s been way longer than that. So wish Daddy and Uncle Aiden good luck for their match tomorrow, and we’ll call him afterwards, okay?”
“Good night, Dad. I love you. Good night, Uncle Aiden. Wait, are there black widows in Australia? How many times have you been bitten by one?”
“Yes, there are. They’re called redbacks, but they don’t bite people very often, and there are antivenoms in case you actually get bitten and are allergic to the venom,” I say.
“How many people do they kill every day? A hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand?” Logan squeaks.
“Good night, Spider-Man,” Eggo says, loud enough to let his son know the conversation is over. “Night, Jo, speak later.”
The screen flashes and a very pretty blonde woman now fills the space. “Night, Finn. Good luck tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Aiden. You were great against Bristol last week.”
“Thank you,” I say. Because other than, “You’re a lot prettier than I imagined you’d be,” there’s nothing else in my brain. “What’s echolalia?” I ask Eggo as soon as he hangs up.
He moves back to his own bed. “It’s when they repeat sounds or words or sentences. When Logan was younger, he would literally copy everything you said. You couldn’t ask him if he wanted a drink. He’d just say, ‘Logan, do you want a drink?’ back to you. So you’d have to phrase it like a statement, like ‘I’mthirsty,’ or ‘I would like a milkshake,’ so that he’d learn how to ask for one. He’s a lot better now. Actually, you can’t shut him up sometimes. He doesn’t repeat so much these days, only things that sound weird to him.”
“Oh, so I sound weird?”
Eggo barks out a laugh. Any other person would take it back, apologise, explain they didn’t mean it to cause offense. Not Eggs, he simply shrugs instead, then puts on a bogan Australian accent. “Come on guys, we’re not here to fuck spiders.”
“So . . . is echolalia a common trait of autism?” I ask.
“Probably, but I’m not too sure to be honest. Like, I think it was one of Logan’s key indicators. His nursery picked up on it and told us to get him tested, but I’m not sure if it’s a universal thing. Why?”
“No reason.”
But my mind is racing. I’d always just thought of it as an earworm. You hear an out-of-place sound or something said in an usual way, or with an interesting accent, and you repeat it over and over in your thoughts and sometimes out loud until it drives you screwy.
Names are a big one. People’s names, actors’ names, news presenters’ names, the botanical names of plants, or constellations, or medicines.
Was that echolalia?
Was it echolalia when I spent a solid month parroting the words “Saxifraga stolonifera” inside my mind? Was that the same thing? Or was it simply another one of those quirks that solely belonged to Aiden Campbell’s brain?
“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” Eggo says, observing me. “Like kissing or . . . hand stuff.” He wags his eyebrows. “We could just watch telly?”
Before I can even begin to formulate an answer, he’s flicked the TV on, switched it to Channel 4, and lined up an old episode ofTaskmaster.
Even though I want to make out with him until my face goes numb, I have an almost overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude. I realise I’m nervous.
I want this, but I’m terrified.
My phone buzzes on the bed next to me. I check the screen and it’s a text message from Abs.
