by Annie Murray
‘I thought I’d better get over to Hay Mills and see your nan later,’ his mother said as she drifted into the kitchen. ‘D’you want to come with me? You could go on your Invacar thing now.’ She peered at him. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Making a sandwich.’ He was bent over, the loaf pinned with his left arm, sawing erratically at it.
‘Here – let me.’ She came over to him; her nylon dressing gown swished a faint smell of sweat and sandalwood talc. On her feet were little slippers with a strip of pink fluff across to keep them on.
‘No – s’all right. I can – do it.’
‘Well, what d’you want a sandwich for this time in the morning?’
‘I’m going – for a picnic.’ He explained about the ITA, the social. As he spoke, she immediately looked worried.
‘But, love – Cannock? That’s miles away, up Wolver-hampton way, isn’t it?’ She had never been there. She scarcely knew. ‘I mean, it’s one thing going over to work in that thing, but all the way out there? Look – just let me do that.’ She elbowed him out of the way. Spreading the marge was harder than cutting a slice.
Tommy gave in and asked her for cheese and pickle.
‘There’s a – group – going,’ he said, sitting by the table as she parcelled up his food. ‘All together. I want – to – go places.’
‘Course you do, bab.’ But she looked uncertain, her long habits of protectiveness warring with her longing for freedom – for both him and herself. ‘Here – I’ll cut you a piece of cake. And there’s some apples. Want a flask of tea?’
‘Yeah. Go on – then.’
‘I hope you’re going to be all right,’ she said, heating the Thermos, swirling it in her hands.
‘I’ll be – OK,’ he said. He smiled to reassure her.
He loved his three-wheeler, now he’d got the hang of it. Once he was inside this vehicle – built especially for him! – he felt equal to everyone else. He could roar along the roads – it was very noisy – the fact of his bad arm, his weakly functioning legs, for the moment irrelevant. He was part of the traffic, going places like anyone else.
And when he turned up at the meeting place for the social, half sick with nerves, he was amazed to see more and more invalid carriages arriving, of varying ages and styles. Driving them he could see people of varying ages and styles as well. An older man who he parked next to leaned over and called to him through his window.
‘All right, lad? New, are yer? Don’t you worry – just follow on. We’ll all stick together.’
Tommy nodded and smiled back. He kept looking to see if he could spot anyone of his age in the cars but it was hard to tell from where he was. He had not met many people for any kind of social life up until now, except at the clubs organized by Carlson House. He still had a couple of pals from the school, but now he wanted something new, to prove to himself that he could do things outside just the Spastic Association.
No friendships had come out of being at work. No one was interested in waiting long enough for him to get out of the building, let alone to do anything else like help him go to the pictures with them. He was too slow. He didn’t fit in. It made him feel as though he wanted to hide away again, away from people’s harsh staring eyes and unkind comments, like, Why don’t you go to Remploy, hopalong?
For years he had not let himself want any more, the things that able-bodied people took for granted like friends and social lives and love affairs. It hurt too much to want and know you were never going to get anything. It was better not to feel anything.
But now, even just being here felt exciting – with a whole new set of people who were something like him. He didn’t care how young or old people were really. It was just nice to have a chat, do things with other people who knew what it was like. And – he allowed himself the thought – surely somewhere in all this lot there might be someone he could call a friend? That was his biggest dream. If only he could have a true friend.
They headed north, the sun out, the warm air coming in through his open windows; he thought he might burst with excitement. As they set off the man in the next car called to him again, ‘Just follow me, son, if you don’t know the way.’
So that was what he was doing, not needing to worry about reading a map or whether he might get lost and instead feeling as proud of his little vehicle as he might have been of the fastest racing car. He had wheels! He was off to see the world. He was amazed by the open space of Cannock Chase, the gently rolling hills, the woods all around and all the three-wheelers arriving. He looked round as all the little vehicles parked on a flat area, in a semicircle.
As he was getting ready to haul himself out, he saw that as well as the invalid cars, quite a number of ordinary cars had rolled up which must have been behind them. There were people with no disabilities walking about: friends or family of others in the three-wheelers. He saw wheelchairs being taken out of cars, people spreading rugs and carrying picnic baskets.
Tommy felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped it was just going to be other disabled drivers. He had no one with him. Now he was going to face a day sitting on the edge of things again, all on his own as everyone met up with their families in tow. He felt like starting up the engine and driving home again, only he didn’t know the way. And he had wanted something of today, of joining the ITA. Wanted it so much.
He sat for a moment, his right hand gripping the steering bar.
Oh, well, he thought. Better get on with it. At least I’ve got a rug to sit on. A little rug that had come with the car.
He climbed out, put the strap of his canvas bag with his sandwiches and flask in over his head, reached down for his stick and tucked the rug under his right arm. This made walking very awkward. He could not hold the stick properly as he had to keep his arm clenched close to his body. He shuffled along a few steps feeling hungry and defeated and fed up before he had even started. The place where everyone was gathering for the picnic was about twenty yards away. It seemed like miles. He put his head down and resigned himself to shuffling along.
‘All right, lad?’ a voice said, approaching behind him. Tommy bristled for a second but the voice sounded friendly enough. ‘Need a hand?’
A balding, middle-aged man had come up behind him, a wicker basket in one hand and a cloth draped over one shoulder. He was wearing sporty brown tweed trousers, a putty-coloured shirt and spectacles clamped on his bulbous pink nose.
‘Let me carry the rug for you,’ he said. ‘It’s cramping your style, I can see.’
Tommy allowed him to take the rug and the man walked slowly, as if keeping Tommy company.
‘I’ve not seen you on one of these outings before, young man. Is this your first?’
‘Yes,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ve just joined.’
‘Good, very good.’ The man spoke in the brisk way that Tommy often found people did to him. He expected him to stop talking and move away as soon as he could, but he said. ‘We’ve been to a few – just over the last year, since my daughter had her car.’
They talked cars: the man’s daughter’s was a Tippen Delta, made in Coventry. Tommy told the man his was an Invacar.
‘Marvellous, aren’t they?’ the man said. ‘I’d never’ve thought there could be such a thing. Course there used to be the old bath chairs but these – marvellous.’
As they approached the place where everyone was laying out their rugs and food, the man said, ‘Right – where d’you want to be?’ He looked at Tommy and then back behind him. ‘Isn’t there anyone with you?’
‘No,’ Tommy had to admit.
‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, well, that won’t do. Can’t have you sitting all on your own. I’m sure you’ve already done far too much of that if I know anything about it – eh?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Come and sit with us – over there, look, that’s my wife and family.’ Tommy saw a small group of people sitting together, one, a dark-haired woman, had her arm raised, waving in her husband’s direction.
‘All right. Thank –
you.’ Tommy felt relieved but also a bit silly, like a charity case and a nuisance. It was still better than just sitting there on his own, but then he had to worry about eating in front of strangers. He tensed up, wondering what he was in for.
When they reached the spot, the woman got to her feet. Beside her was someone in a wheelchair, her back to Tommy, and a boy who looked a few years younger than he was.
‘Hello,’ the woman said, a kind but enquiring look on her face.
‘This is Tommy,’ her husband told her. ‘This is his first time – and he’s come all on his own.’
‘Oh, dear – well, we can’t have that,’ she said. Her dark hair was shoulder length and curled under at the ends. She had a fresh complexion and a smiley way of talking. ‘Come and join us. Here we are, Jo-Ann,’ she added to the person in the wheelchair. ‘We’ve got some company!’
The boy, who must have been about fourteen and looked obviously very like his mother, got to his feet.
‘This is Tommy,’ his mother said. And to Tommy, ‘This is Philip.’
‘’Lo,’ Philip said. He seemed shy, but not unfriendly.
‘And this is our daughter Jo-Ann.’
She was trying to turn in the chair to see who was there and her mother went to help. Tommy saw a girl of about his own age with long, straight brown hair and a shy smile which brought a deep dimple into her right cheek.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Tommy smiled back, squirming inwardly with shyness. The girl was lovely. Lovely in a way that made something cartwheel inside him.
‘Come on – let’s have something to eat,’ the mother was saying. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Come and sit here, Tommy – are you all right down on the ground? Good – sit by Jo-Ann, she’d love to talk to you. Oh, I forgot to say, I’m Mrs Halstead – Marjorie. And this is my husband Roy. You’ve brought something to eat? Oh, good – but there’s plenty here as well.’
Tommy sank to the ground, close to Jo-Ann’s wheelchair. He made a to-do about getting settled and getting out his sandwiches, because he was overcome with shyness and had no idea what to say. Just because Jo-Ann’s mother said she would want to talk to him did not mean it was true.
But he had only just reached in his bag for his brown paper bag of sandwiches, when her voice came to him:
‘What’s the matter with you, Tommy?’
He looked up, startled.
‘I mean – sorry,’ she laughed, ‘I wondered if you had polio like me. I could walk before that. Now my legs are hopeless. Arms are all right though, luckily.’
‘No,’ he said. He liked her frankness. He hoped she wouldn’t mind the halting way he talked since she spoke normally, with the smiling speed of her mother. ‘I was – born – like this. Cerebral – palsy. They didn’t think I’d – walk – or talk. I had – help . . .’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘D’you have a wheelchair?’
‘Some – times. I can – walk – a short – way.’
‘I was all right before I had polio. It was when I was eight – ten years ago. I went swimming one hot day and –’ She shrugged. ‘One afternoon splashing in the pool . . . The next, months in hospital. Once they realized what it was.’
She was the same age as him, he realized.
‘That sounds – very frighten – ing,’ he said.
‘Yes, it was. But when you’re quite young you just . . .’ She thought about it. ‘I’d be more frightened now. I didn’t know what was going on then. I just knew I felt poorly. It was worse for Mom and Dad.’
‘And me,’ Philip said. He flashed a grin at his sister. ‘No one took any notice of me – not for ages.’
‘Why would anyone take any notice of you, tadpole?’ his sister retorted.
‘Where do you live, Tommy?’ Mr Halstead said, halfway through a sausage roll.
‘Harborne,’ he said. ‘There’s a – special – school. Called – Carlson – House.’
‘Ah,’ Mr Halstead said. ‘Yes, very good, very good.’ Tommy could tell he did not know how to talk to him. He kept up a breezy tone all the time.
‘I went to a special school as well,’ Jo-Ann said. ‘They tried to get my legs working. I had physiotherapy and exercises and everything for ages.’ Her face clouded for a second. ‘But they just wouldn’t.’
‘Are you working, lad?’ Mr Halstead said. ‘Remploy or somewhere take you on?’
‘Not Remploy,’ Tommy said. He wanted them to know he was in a place that was not for disabled people only. ‘At Lucas’s.’
‘Lucas’s? Ah – in Hockley?’ Mr Halstead sounded surprised. ‘Good firm that. What have they put you on then?’ Tommy didn’t miss the stress Mr Halstead put on the word ‘you’.
He told them. He didn’t say he didn’t like it but Jo-Ann said:
‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’
‘No.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘It’s boring.’
‘I work for Dad,’ Jo-Ann said. ‘We live in Wolver-hampton – he sells furniture. Halstead’s? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s quite a big store.’ Tommy hadn’t. ‘So I work as his secretary. Mom helped me.’
‘I was a secretary before I married, you see,’ Mrs Halstead said.
‘Everything’s all right with my hands,’ Jo-Ann said. ‘So I learned to type and do that sort of thing in an office.’
‘That sounds – nice,’ Tommy said. ‘Not being – treated – like an – idiot.’
He saw Mr Halstead look startled at this and Mrs Halstead sad and faintly embarrassed.
Tommy decided he didn’t care.
Jo-Ann put her head on one side; her eyes were sympathetic. ‘Is it because of how you talk? I suppose it is.’
‘There’s nothing – wrong – with – my – mind,’ he said, crossly.
‘Oh, no – I can tell that. But people don’t know – think all sorts of silly things.’
He frowned. ‘I’ve – got five – O-levels. By the – way.’
Mr Halstead made a surprised noise as he bit into an apple.
‘Golly – have you? That’s more than I have. You’re a brainy one.’ Jo-Ann laughed.
Tommy looked up at her. She seemed to him like a goddess.
Fifty-Four
Melly didn’t say a word to anyone about Reggie’s proposal. But she told Reggie she could not see him the next day. She could tell he was bitterly disappointed.
‘I promised I’d help Auntie move,’ she said. And before Reggie could offer to bring his car to help as well, she added firmly, ‘Dad and me have got it all organized, thanks.’
Gladys, having made up her mind, decreed that Danny was to drive her over to Aston to fetch as many things of hers as they could fit into the car. Reggie could have helped, of course, but Melly knew she wanted time to think, to take in the enormity of what had happened. She sat in the car behind Gladys who was bundled up in her coat although it was a warm day.
Driving there felt, once again, like going back in time. All the streets around were almost as familiar as her own skin, but each time she went back, it seemed more cramped, shabby and poor. And, people knew, it would only be so much longer before the bulldozers moved in. The city engineer, Herbert Manzoni, was working his way round the ‘slums’ as their neighbourhoods were now called. Development areas being razed to build new roads and blocks of flats.
Gladys had been one of the ones trying not to face up to it. But now she had reached the end of the line.
They parked in Alma Street. As they walked along the entry, all the smells hit Melly again – the frowsty stink of the houses, the lavs at the end shared by eight families, the whiff from the bins. The yard seemed smaller and filthier even than last time she had come. Number four, the Davies’s place, had the downstairs window boarded up. Gladys said the children there ran wild. They must have smashed the window while they were at it, Melly thought.
A girl with straggly red hair and a mucky little frock stood near the lamp, forcing a yo-yo up and down
on a frayed string. Melly had never seen her before. She looked at them warily and ran into number five – Lil and Stanley’s old house. Lil had moved out, unable to stand the place now Stanley was gone. She had a couple of rooms in Erdington.
The child must be one of the O’Hallorans. Gladys had mentioned them taking over the house. ‘More Irish,’ was all she said. Irish to Gladys – in most cases – meant foreign feckless Catholics breeding like rabbits. It was just another of the things changing and shifting about her ears.
When they walked into the house, Melly saw Gladys finally admit defeat. Perhaps she had hoped the place was not as bad as she remembered, but the stink of it hit them as soon as they got through the door.
‘Look, you sit down, Auntie,’ Danny said. ‘You’re not up to this. Melly and I’ll bring out everything we can.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she said stubbornly.
It felt very sad, carrying Gladys’s possessions – very few really – out of the house. None of the furniture was worth salvaging and Melly was relieved that Gladys said nothing about it. The neighbours nosed as they took the wireless and its accumulator, her clothes and personal bits. She possessed nothing in the way of a suitcase – they had to drape everything over their arms. There were a few items from the kitchen, trinkets from the mantelpiece above the range, her photographs and mementos. A life with very little, soon transferred.
They were finished within an hour. Melly walked back to the house with her father, after carrying the last load. Gladys was still sitting at the table as if waiting to go to a funeral.
‘You ready, Auntie?’ Danny asked. The gentleness in his voice brought tears to Melly’s eyes. They all owed Auntie everything – but Dad especially. ‘You all right?’
‘I’ll do,’ Gladys said.
When Danny suggested she go and say her goodbyes, Gladys struggled to her feet, coughing. She had to lean on Danny to walk outside.
‘You’re feverish still!’ Danny exclaimed. ‘I’ll get you back in the car.’
‘Oh, stop keeping on,’ Gladys said. ‘Let’s get it over with. There’s only the Jackmans to see anyway.’