By My Side

by Alice Peterson

  ‘I don’t mean that. I don’t want to go home.’

  Charlie looks at me as if he’s had a brainwave. ‘Why don’t you move in with me?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Move in with me.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘Yes! I have a spare room. Why not? I’m on the ground floor, it’s a garden flat in Barons Court. There’s one pretty shallow step up to the front door, a few steps inside,’ he says as if trying to visualize the layout, ‘but nothing we couldn’t sort out. There’s a good pub round the corner, an off-licence, a highly suspicious kebab shop—’

  ‘Slow down!’ But I’m enjoying the pace. ‘You really want a flatmate?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want a stranger, but … Come up and take a look at the room. If you hate it or think you can’t manage or share a bathroom with me, I won’t be offended.’

  ‘We’d have to do it on a business basis. I’d pay for the room.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And I come with Ticket.’

  He glances at him. ‘If he could work on the breath front.’

  I punch his arm, playfully. ‘In that case, we’d love to give it a go, wouldn’t we, Ticket?’

  ‘That’s a yes?’

  ‘It’s a yes. Yes!’

  Both of us laugh, nervously, knowing this is a big step. We hold each other’s gaze, he edges towards me, but pulls away abruptly when Ticket barks and we hear a car driving into the courtyard.

  Next I hear two car doors slam, footsteps on gravel and a woman’s voice, though it’s hard to make out what she’s saying.

  ‘Why are they back so early?’ Charlie mutters, jumping up and dusting the grass off his jeans. ‘Stay here a sec.’ As if I can move. He walks towards the side gate that leads to the back of the house. ‘Hi, Mum!’

  Mum! Mrs Bell? Fuck.

  ‘We tried to call,’ she says to Charlie, looking over his shoulder. She must be wondering who I am, sitting here on their lawn. Do I wave? Smile? I feel so stupid. There’s no sign of Charlie’s dad. He must have taken the luggage inside.

  ‘The beef was too tough last night,’ she says to Charlie as they walk towards me. ‘You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend down?’

  I smile, trying to remain calm and natural. Where’s Ticket? I see him sniffing around in the shed.

  ‘Sorry, it was a last-minute thing,’ Charlie says.

  They now stand over me.

  ‘Mum, this is Cass.’

  ‘Hello!’ I say too brightly, overcompensating for the fact that I can’t get up. She waits for me to stand but when she sees that I’m clearly not going to she holds out a hand instead. ‘How do you do, Cass.’

  She has a pretty but gaunt face. Her hair is silvery grey and her eyes as blue as the sky. ‘Cass came down for the weekend, she’s been keeping me company,’ he tells her. ‘Shall I give you a hand?’

  I register the confusion on Mrs Bell’s face. ‘You have a beautiful home,’ I tell her.

  ‘Thank you. Oh! Who’s this now?’ she says, as Ticket bounds towards us. She dodges out of his way.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, I brought my dog.’

  ‘Er, no.’ She doesn’t stroke him. ‘He’s lovely.’ Ticket wags his tail, but I can see she’s anxious not to get muddy paw prints on to her smart skirt. She continues to look at me expectantly, unable to decide whether I’m rude or just odd with my legs outstretched in front of me, making no attempt to move.

  ‘Ticket, chair.’ I point to the shed and he trots off. I hardly dare look at Charlie’s mother now. When I do, she’s staring down at me, puzzled.

  ‘Ticket is Cass’s assistant dog,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Cass was on the Back Up course,’ he continues, hoping that might put her more in the picture. ‘Remember?’

  ‘Ah, right.’ She twists her sapphire and diamond ring around her finger, slowly.

  Ticket pulls the wheelchair across the lawn. I’m praying Mrs Bell will go on ahead, but she stands rooted to the spot, watching.

  ‘Thank you, Ticket,’ I say, when the chair’s in front of me.

  ‘Here, let me help.’ Carefully Charlie places one hand under my knees, the other round my waist.

  ‘Your son is great!’ I say, putting my arms around his neck self-consciously. ‘Did he tell you how many times I fell over skiing? He saved my life a few times.’

  ‘Well now, how about some lunch?’ Mrs Bell suggests when I’m finally in my wheelchair. ‘I hope you’ve left some food in the fridge.’

  All I can think about, as we head inside, is the mess Charlie and I had left in the kitchen after our fry-up.

  *

  We eat lunch in the dining room. The wallpaper is dark red and the curtains have decorative tiebacks. Charlie’s father clamps a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I faked a headache. All I wanted to do was be at home in my old cords and plant a tree this afternoon.’

  ‘Henry, you’re an old curmudgeon,’ Mrs Bell protests.

  Henry is fair, with thinning grey hair and an attractive crookedness to his face, as if one half has been slightly altered so nothing quite lines up. So far, he hasn’t commented on my wheelchair, which is a relief.

  ‘Please help yourself,’ Mrs Bell says to me.

  Charlie catches me looking over to the tall sideboard. ‘Why don’t I serve everyone?’ he suggests.

  Mrs Bell stands up. ‘Sorry, of course.’

  ‘Mum, don’t worry. You sit down. This looks delicious.’

  Charlie hands me a plate of ham with coleslaw and knobbly potatoes. There’s a silver jug of homemade mayonnaise in the middle of the table, along with various mustards and chutneys.

  ‘Please don’t wait,’ Mrs Bell says. I gaze at my food, unsure if it’s rude to tuck in when no one else has been served yet, even if someone has told you to start. I pick up my knife and fork, but then rest them gently against my plate.

  ‘Where do your parents live, Cass?’ Mrs Bell asks.

  I tell her about Mum and Dad and what they do, my voice gaining strength when I realise how proud I am of them. ‘I considered architecture,’ Henry tells me, before going on to say that he used to publish wildlife and nature books but retired three years ago. He now loves painting, but it’s just a hobby. ‘I’m not very good.’

  ‘Yes you are!’ I say. ‘There’s one of your paintings in Charlie’s bedroom, isn’t there?’

  I’m aware of Mrs Bell staring at me like a hawk. What have I said? ‘Of the trees,’ I say, trailing off when I realise exactly why she’s looking at me.

  ‘Dad has planted almost three thousand trees on the estate in the last thirty years,’ Charlie says.

  ‘Did Charlie show you the Wallemi Pine?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Charlie, how could you not show Cass the Wallemi Pine? How about the Wollemia nobilis?’

  Charlie rolls his eyes. ‘No, Dad.’

  He shrugs. ‘My children aren’t the slightest bit interested, Cass. The Wallemi Pine is the botanical equivalent of finding a living dinosaur. It was discovered in Australia, in a chasm that no one had been down. It’s so romantic, Cass, dark with these rich purple-tinged leaves. It was given to me for my sixtieth.’

  ‘That must beat cufflinks,’ I say, beginning to relax.

  He smiles a wonderful lopsided smile. ‘You bet! Did you see the tulip trees?’

  ‘Henry, leave the poor girl alone,’ Mrs Bell says, wiping the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. I think she’s still picturing me in her son’s bedroom.

  I turn to him. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘They have the most extraordinary shaped leaves with these square tops. I tell you what. Why don’t we go for a walk after lunch and I can show you?’ he suggests, with warmth and charm, and for a split second I see Charlie in him, thirty years later.

  *

  ‘Careful,’ Mrs Bell says, as she stands in front of the squatting Buddha, watching Charlie carrying me upstairs. ‘Don’t hurt y
ourself.’

  ‘It’s fine, Mum,’ Charlie says, as if he’s now well practised at heaving me around.

  Soon he’s bringing down my luggage and then carrying me back downstairs, and I’m aware it’s hard work. Henry offers to help lift me. ‘No, Henry!’ Mrs Bell jumps in. ‘You’re not a spring chicken any more.’

  Mrs Bell wants me to sign the visitors’ book. ‘Oh dear,’ she says as she finds the right page. ‘We’re so antisocial, Cass. We haven’t had anyone to stay since January.’

  In the left-hand margin I write 1st–3rd April, distracted by the entry above. ‘Lovely stay as always! With all my love, Jo.’

  I write my name and address. ‘You live in Dorset?’ she says. ‘With your parents?’

  ‘Actually, Cass might move in with me,’ Charlie says.

  ‘With you?’

  ‘I have a spare room, so why not?’ He sounds defensive, or am I imagining it?

  ‘Yes, you do,’ she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

  *

  Charlie drives Ticket and me to the station. ‘I don’t think your mum’s too keen about me moving in,’ I tell him, after an unusually long silence between us.

  ‘She’ll come round. It’s got nothing to do with her anyway. It’s not about you either,’ he adds. Ah. So he read that reaction too. ‘I’m sorry if she was a bit—you know— frosty …’

  Frosty? I’ll say!

  ‘It’s not about you,’ he repeats. ‘It’s Jo. She probably thinks that if you move in that rules out any kind of chance of us getting back together. She can’t understand why it’s over. All she wants is for me to marry and have children. She’s longing for grandchildren. Anna’s never going to settle down, she’s wild, always has been. She often tells Mum she’ll never tie herself down, she’s a free spirit. In many ways Jo became her surrogate daughter.’

  ‘Why did you two break up?’

  ‘I knew it was wrong.’

  ‘Why?’ To me, Jo feels like a shadow that follows me down a dark corridor. She is Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca. I decide that Mrs Bell isn’t too far off the brooding Mrs Danvers either.

  ‘I remember this one time,’ Charlie says, ‘when I was in the garden with Dad. He’d shown me this tree that he and Mum had planted for their silver anniversary. “Twenty-five years of marriage,”’ Charlie says in a deep gruff voice, ‘“and I love your mother more than when I first met her.” I loved Jo, but when she talked about marriage and kids, settling down and all that, I knew I wasn’t ready. She was seven years older than me, it didn’t seem a big deal at the time, but … maybe I didn’t love her enough,’ he reflects. ‘I know this sounds stupid, but my best friend, Rich, asked me if I could go to the top of a hill and scream how much I loved her in front of all my friends and family. I couldn’t do it, so I knew I couldn’t be in that church, saying those vows.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound stupid, not at all.’ I tell Charlie what Mum had said to me on one of our Friday afternoon drives. ‘When Dad proposed on a beach in Norfolk, Mum had jumped up and down with joy.’

  I hear her saying to me, ‘I shouted “yes” over and over again, Cass. I wanted the whole world to know how much I loved your father.’

  *

  We park outside the station and sit quietly for a minute because we’re early. ‘You haven’t changed your mind, about moving in?’ Charlie asks.

  ‘No, but …’ I stop, look out of the window. Is it a really bad idea, me moving in with someone I’m falling for? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Was Charlie about to kiss me, before his parents arrived?

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, twisting a strand of hair between my fingers.

  ‘Cass?’

  ‘I was thinking about money and work, that’s all.’

  ‘We can sort that out.’

  ‘I want to pay rent, no charity.’

  ‘Good.’ He grins, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. ‘I need a new lens for my camera.’

  After Charlie has helped Ticket and me on to the train, he digs into his pocket and hands me a small box. The conductor blows his whistle. ‘Quick, take it,’ he says. ‘Don’t panic, it’s not a ring,’ he adds, kissing me lightly on the cheek.

  I wave as the train pulls away, and soon Charlie is out of sight. I open the box. Inside are rolled-up joints, lined up like the neat little pencils Mum’s boss Troy had presented her when she was working for him. On a scrap piece of paper he’s written, ‘To have with your bath tonight, love CB. PS Did you notice we have the same initials?’

  21

  ‘I’m moving,’ I tell Dom on the phone later that evening when I’m back at home, smoking one of Charlie’s joints before I have a bath.

  ‘Cass! That’s great! Where are you going to live?’

  I tell him about Charlie’s flat in Barons Court.

  ‘The website designer guy? Your skiing buddy?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘The one you fancy?’

  I can feel my cheeks burning. Thank God we’re not on Skype.

  ‘Come on, Cass, you can tell me.’

  ‘All right, maybe a little.’ I laugh. I think I’m stoned. ‘Is that crazy, Dom? Me moving in with someone I really like? Am I asking for trouble?’

  ‘Miranda and I were flatmates.’ He pauses. ‘All I’d say is don’t rush things, but you’ve got to give London a go.’

  ‘We’ll meet up all the time?’

  ‘Try and stop me! We’re only round the corner. And if it all goes tits up with Charlie, which it won’t, there’s always a bed here.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not sure what Miranda would have to say about us turning your home into a spinal cord injury unit.’

  I hear Mum’s footsteps coming towards my bedroom. Quickly I stub out my half-smoked joint. ‘Got to go! Call you later. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  Mum opens the door, comes into my bedroom and wrinkles her nose.

  Knowing I can’t disguise the smell, ‘It’s just a joint, Mum.’ I use the spinal cord injury trump card now. ‘Helps me relax.’

  She sits down next to me. ‘Your father and I wondered if we should get you some pot. Can I?’

  ‘Sure.’ I relight it, and watch Mum press it to her lips. I never thought I’d be sharing a joint with my mother but then again nothing surprises me any more. ‘You haven’t told me about your weekend,’ she says, waving the smoke away. ‘Oh, this is good,’ she adds, ‘reminds me of being back in the bedsit with your father.’

  ‘What would you say if I told you I was moving out?’

  She hands the joint back to me. ‘Are you?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Well, it depends on where and who with.’

  ‘Charlie’s offered to rent out his spare bedroom. It’s on the ground floor and he thinks I’d manage. I need to find a job, I can do that …’

  ‘But? Has something happened between you?’

  ‘No, no, Mum,’ I say, not wanting to have a chat about my love life. ‘I might need a couple of months’ rent in advance, which I promise to pay back.’

  She runs her tongue over her front teeth. ‘I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.’

  ‘So you think it’s a good idea?’

  ‘I’ll worry all the time, but I’d worry more if you stayed here with your old parents.’

  Dad comes in. ‘What’s going on?’ He stares at us. ‘Are you smoking pot, Brenda?’

  She smiles radiantly, the drug clearly working. ‘Don’t call me Brenda.’

  Dad sits down and asks if he can have a puff. I tell him I’m thinking of moving back to London.

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’ Dad asks. ‘Will he look after you?’ is the next question, followed by, ‘Are there steps? Is it easy access? What about your car?’

  Earlier in the year I applied for a Motability car. Motability is a national charity that runs a government-funded scheme to provide cars and scooters for people with disability, and I
applied for a Volkswagen Polo. They are specialised in adapting cars, and I’ll be using hand controls rather than foot pedals to accelerate and brake. The car replaces my monthly disability living allowance.

  ‘Don’t worry, Michael! Cass isn’t moving out tomorrow.’

  He laughs now. ‘You know what, Cass? I think it’s great.’

  ‘Well, that’s settled! You can stick that list back on to the wall, Mum.’

  When I was growing up there used to be a framed letter in Jamie’s and my bathroom that Mum had written to herself when she was pregnant with me.

  ‘Dear Me,’ Mum wrote.

  When I have children I will not stop wearing make-up. If exceptionally busy at least wear mascara.

  I’ll give them a bath at six and then it’s my time (glass of wine).

  If we take them to restaurants they can sleep under the table.

  When they’re eighteen they will be independent – flown from the nest and then life can go back to normal.

  ‘Life can sort of go back to normal now,’ I say to Mum.

  ‘As long as you and Ticket visit us, from time to time.’

  We all hold hands.

  I look at my parents, realising how much they have helped me reach this position. Six months ago I would have been too scared even to contemplate the idea of moving out. Yet, however much I want to move in with Charlie and build a new life, it’s going to take every ounce of strength in me to leave, even with Ticket by my side.

  *

  After my bath I dry myself, and then catch my reflection in the inside wardrobe mirror. Rub the chair out, Frankie had said. Tentatively I drop the towel on to the floor. I touch my bare skin, tracing a finger from my collarbone, over my breasts, down to the roundness of my stomach.

  As I think of him, I shut my eyes and take myself back to that moment when we were on the lawn, about to kiss.

  22

  I gaze up to a smart front door. It looks more like a private home than an office, but I’m sure I’m in the right place. ‘Have you let them know you’re in a chair?’ Charlie had asked me last night, over supper. I moved in with him at the beginning of June. It took some time for Charlie to adapt his flat and for one of the purple people at Canine Partners to visit and make sure Ticket was going to be happy in Barons Court. I also had to wait for my Motability car to be ready. The application process takes up to twelve weeks.