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At least the court case gave me the beginning of my new novel, Best Laid Plans, in which a middle-aged, middle-class mum is arrested picking up a prostitute for her boy.

It is based not just on me, but on shared experiences with parents in the autistic community.

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Even though we were sitting safely at our kitchen table, he looked as though he was being buffeted by the fiercest winds.‘If you’d known I’d be autistic, would you have aborted me? ‘I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment as a son.’After he’d gone to bed, I slumped down on the couch, buried my head in the cushions and cried my eyes out. I found myself confiding to other parents of autistic children and teenagers and realised they were going through the same angst.

The one thing every parent wants is for their child to find love and companionship. Then came what I know must seem a quite astonishing suggestion.

The endless rejection, it’s breaking me down,’ he said finally.

‘I struggle, Mum,’ misery rising off him like steam.‘Maybe women will forever find me freakish and geekish?

Blessed with the photographic memory of a savant, he knows the result of every major tennis game ever played. I so wanted the world to welcome my boy, to respect and value his quirky qualities, but it was clearly never going to happen.

But the one thing Julius, who is now 26, doesn’t know is how to read social situations, which is why he so often finds himself exiled into Social Siberia. Aged nine, he came home with a sign sticky-taped to his back saying: ‘Kick me, I’m a retard.’ You might as well have ripped my heart out of my chest and stamped on it.‘What does it mean when people call you a ’tard, Mum? Cold-shouldered, excluded, belittled, bullied, lost and lonely – this was to be his life.It also crossed my addled brain that I was contemplating an illegal act. Other mothers are over the moon when their sons get into Harvard or climb Mount Everest.Kerb crawling for your child would prove a pretty hard concept to explain to a judge. But I have never been happier than the day my son got his first girlfriend.On and on they came, the endless everyday put-downs. Another took him to a party simply so her friends could make fun of his colourful vernacular.Years of endless rejections meant that, by 20, my son’s confidence was so diminished, you’d need a Hubble Telescope to detect it.‘What can I do, Mum?And so we asked our male friends how to go about it – only to be met with blanket non-co-operation till one pal replied facetiously, ‘Great idea. Besides, even if I did pick up a prostitute, how would I negotiate the transaction? I waved my hand back and forth like a windshield wiper to shoo the women away. Then, miraculously, on the eve of his 21st birthday, my son met a beautiful young woman who appreciated his wit and warmth and individualism.

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