*
When Simon and I enter the hospital it brings back memories. I take in a deep breath, praying not to bump into any of the doctors or Georgina. The only person I miss and would like to see again is Paul.
As we wheel ourselves into the sports hall a couple of the patients are playing basketball in their chairs, one aiming and shooting a ball through the net. His arms are covered in tattoos and he’s wearing a solid gold chain and tweed cap. Simon tells me his name is Mike and that he was shot by mistake by his best friend. Weirdly it doesn’t shock me. It’s not easy to shock me these days. A young girl in school uniform wheels herself over to me, saying she was born with spina bifida and that her mum is ordering pizza tonight, because she’s allowed takeaway every Friday. It’s a treat night. Simon calls her over to join the group.
‘You need wheelchair skills,’ he says, placing a bottle of water on one side of his chair, wedging it between the spokes. ‘It’s a big wide world out there and after you’ve been discharged we don’t want any of you lot staying at home with no confidence to be out on the streets. Mounting kerbs, going down steps, it takes practice. No two kerbs are the same. I’m only good now because I’ve made loads of mistakes and fallen over a zillion times. But once you’ve mastered the skills it can be fun. You can whip round supermarkets, go up and down escalators, but that takes a lot of practice, so don’t do that just yet,’ he warns everyone.
As I watch them, it reminds me of my session with Dom. One of the main things we had to learn was back-wheel balancing in preparation for mounting kerbs. Simon had placed a wooden board in the middle of the room to act as one. ‘You need to measure the height mentally. Don’t use more energy than you have to,’ he’d said. ‘Timing and technique are more important than strength.’
I can remember the oldest man in our group, Morris, volunteering to go first. Face clenched with determination, he wheeled himself towards the kerb but his back wheels jammed against it with a thud. ‘Way too early,’ Simon had said. Deflated, Morris joined the back of the queue. Dom and I didn’t have much more luck than Morris either, first time round.
‘Hello?’ I hear someone saying quietly. ‘Whingeing Pom?’
I turn. ‘Paul! I was thinking about you.’
‘Cass! How are you?’ He glances at Ticket.
We move out of the hall so we can talk in private and not distract the class.
‘Who’s this handsome fellow?’ he asks, stroking Ticket. I tell him all about Canine Partners. ‘And you went skiing,’ he says. ‘Thanks for the postcard. So, what are you doing here?’
‘I work for Back Up.’
‘Ah, mate, seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s terrific. They’re a great team.’
‘And how are you? How’s work?’
‘Ah, look, I shouldn’t say this, but I will,’ he says, his guard finally slipping. ‘There are some patients we care about more than others; that’s just the way it is. I miss my whingeing Pom.’
‘I miss my sergeant major too.’
‘Good, glad we got that sorted. Can’t be professional all the time, can we?’ he says, stroking Ticket again.
I tell him that I keep in touch with Perky and Guy and that I’m living in a ground-floor flat with Charlie. ‘It’s funny being back here,’ I tell him. ‘My time here seems like a dream, and then it only feels like yesterday too.’
‘I can imagine. But look at you, you’re doing great.’
‘You did so much for me, Paul. Thank you.’
‘I’m glad I helped,’ he says with emotion he didn’t show at hospital. ‘Well, I’d better go. Got a new patient to get up and running, you know what it’s like.’
When I return to the sports hall I picture him going to the rehab ward and standing by the bed of the next patient. They won’t realise yet how lucky they are to have him on their side.
*
When Simon and I return to the office late Friday afternoon, I gather my files from my desk, thinking about the night ahead and what I’m going to wear on my first date with Edward. I’m beginning to feel both excited and anxious. We’re meeting in a restaurant along Kensington High Street.
As I’m about to leave, my telephone rings. Reluctantly I pick up, praying it’s not going to be a long conversation. I want to go home, run a bath and have a glass of wine. ‘Hi, Cass. It’s Samantha. We spoke earlier this week, about the skiing course in Colorado?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good. I thought about everything you said, and I want to go on this course.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ I’m nodding vigorously at Charlotte, who is approaching my desk.
‘You made me realise it’s time to live a little,’ she says. ‘I can’t sit cooped up at home forever wishing this had never happened.’
‘Well done,’ Charlotte says when I hang up. ‘It can be hard persuading people. They’re often scared.’ She touches my shoulder. ‘Cass, you have a gift. We saw that in the interview. Keep it up.’
*
When I return to Charlie’s flat, I head straight into the kitchen to feed Ticket, replaying with pride what Charlotte had said to me.
The flat is quiet. I’m relieved Charlie isn’t home yet. Normally he works late on a Friday or if Rich is around, they meet for a drink. Maybe he’s staying over with Libby tonight. He had asked me a couple of days ago if I’d mind him sleeping over the odd night at her flat in Battersea. ‘But if it worries you being in the flat on your own,’ he’d said, ‘Libby can easily come here.’ What could I say? Of course I pretended that I didn’t mind being on my own.
Don’t think about Charlie, I tell myself, heading into the bathroom to run a bath, before consulting my wardrobe to decide what to wear tonight. Will Edward be smart? Why doesn’t Charlie get it? Oh it’s so annoying. I pick out my scarlet top. Stop thinking about him! Celebrate the end of your first week and Samantha agreeing to go on a skiing course. Get excited about Edward. Oh why did Libby have to turn up and put a spanner in the works? Is he really falling for her?
*
As I have a bath, I think about Edward and our date and seeing Paul again today. I remember one evening in hospital, after a gruelling session in the gym, when I’d talked to him about Sean. ‘This has got to be a turn-off for guys, Paul, and don’t patronise me by saying they’ll fall in love with me and not the wheelchair. How am I ever going to meet someone? Go on dates? I mean, look at me.’
‘I am. I’m looking at a beautiful girl,’ he said.
I sighed, half touched and half dissatisfied. ‘I wish I could feel something, you know. It’s this numbness.’ I hit my legs. I felt nothing.
Paul placed one hand behind my neck and his fingers brushed against my skin. ‘Can you feel that?’
I nodded, heat rushing to my cheeks.
His fingers pressed against my hair. He was the only person who had dared to touch me since the accident. Jamie, who normally thumped my arm to say hello, would sit as far away from the bed as possible, as if I were a china doll. ‘I can feel that,’ I said, wanting him to carry on.
He lifted my face to his. ‘People come and go in here. Some make it, some don’t. I believe you’ll have a good life. I know it’s different to the one you’d imagined, but there’s no reason why you can’t fall in love, marry, have kids’—
‘Hello?’ I hear Charlie calling, jolting me back to the present. ‘Cass?’
‘I’m in the bath!’
I hear Libby saying hello to Ticket. ‘How was your day, you handsome young man?’
I close my eyes and sink deeper into the water.
*
When I’m dressed and about to leave, I make my way into the kitchen to say goodbye to Libby and Charlie, and to ask them if they can let Ticket out into the garden later. Edward had mentioned on the telephone that he wasn’t bringing Tinkerbell. She doesn’t relax in cafés or restaurants.
Charlie’s standing in front of the stove, frying somethin
g. The room smells of mince. Libby is drinking a glass of white wine and flicking through the television guide. ‘We felt like a quiet night in, didn’t we, sweetheart. Work’s been manic today,’ she says, before admiring my top. ‘Red really suits you, with your blonde hair. You look amazing, doesn’t she, Charlie?’
He turns. ‘You look good. I like your hair down,’ he says before carrying on cooking.
‘Where are you off to?’ Libby asks. ‘Hope you’ve got a hot date?’
‘It’s not really a date, it’s just supper.’
‘Cass, honey, it’s a date,’ says Libby. ‘Men don’t ask you out on a Friday night if they’re not interested, do they, Charlie?’
He doesn’t turn this time.
‘We’ll see,’ I say. ‘Can you look after Ticket for me? Let him out later?’
‘You’re not taking him?’
‘I think he’d be really bored in the restaurant.’
‘You don’t want to be a gooseberry, do you,’ Libby says to Ticket, tickling him under the chin. ‘So come on, who’s the lucky man?’
‘Libby!’ Charlie frowns. ‘Stop—’
‘I don’t mind,’ I interrupt him. ‘Edward.’
‘Where’s he taking you?’ she asks.
‘The Terrace.’
‘Blimey, I love that place!’ She reaches over to Charlie to stroke his arm. ‘Hint hint.’ He doesn’t react. ‘Pricey though.’ She rubs her thumb against her index finger. ‘I have a good feeling about this. I bet you he’ll be asking you home for a coffee.’
‘Anyway, I’d better go,’ I say, beginning to feel uncomfortable. ‘See you later.’
Libby smiles. ‘I doubt it.’
30
When a waiter escorts me to our table, Edward stands up, kissing me on both cheeks. He’s dressed in an open-necked striped shirt and casual jacket, his thick brown hair swept away from his forehead, and his faint line of stubble squares his jawline and makes him look edgy and masculine. I don’t normally go for that look, preferring the more clean-shaven appearance, like Charlie, but it looks surprisingly good on Edward.
‘Wow, this is great,’ I say, gesturing to the disappointingly empty restaurant.
‘I wasn’t sure what kind of food you’re into,’ he says, ‘but I read a couple of decent reviews so thought what the hell! Let’s spoil ourselves.’
The Terrace is a smart restaurant with white linen tablecloths and on each table are gleaming silver cutlery and glass vases filled with fresh lilies and roses. It’s old-fashioned in many ways, the waiters dressed in uniform. It’s a bit over the top, I decide, and pretty soulless, the atmosphere dead with only two other solitary couples sitting at tables widely spaced apart. But I’m touched that Edward’s made such an effort to impress me. ‘Shall we order some wine?’ he suggests.
‘Cool.’ I scan the five-page wine list, unable to see any bottles that are under twenty quid. Fuck me. There’s a bottle of champagne for two hundred! An awful thought runs through my mind. Is Edward paying for this? I can’t assume he is. ‘Why don’t we go for the house white?’ I say, noticing that ordering a bottle is cheaper than buying three glasses. ‘It’s on page five. The bottom one?’ It’s still expensive at twenty-eight pounds, but at least it’s not a week’s salary.
‘Sounds good,’ he replies, evident relief in his voice.
*
‘So …’ we both say at the same time, after the waiter has shown us the label on the bottle, uncorked the wine and asked if Edward or I would like to taste, and finally poured us both a glass.
‘I was going to say,’ Edward begins, ‘it feels odd being here, seeing you without our partners in crime.’ We talk briefly about the Canine Partner course, both of us wondering how Alex and Cilla are, along with Jenny and Captain. ‘How’s Ticket?’
‘He’s grand.’
Grand? Cass, where did that word come from? ‘How’s Tinkerbell?’ I move on quickly, hoping he hasn’t registered how nervous I am.
‘She’s the best. The guys love her at work.’ Edward tells me about his job in the security industry. ‘Big companies are always terrified of terrorist attacks, so they get in loads of ex-military to advise. Basically I do a lot of consultation work for them.’ As he’s talking I’m wondering if I can imagine kissing him. He’s tall and broad shouldered and I like his thick dark hair and the way a few wayward strands flick across his eyes. There’s also a weight to his presence. Maybe that’s because I know he’s been in the Marines and fought in Afghanistan, but as he talks he appears comfortable in his own skin. He’s a different man to the Edward I met on the Canine Partner course; the Edward who had kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
I take a sip of wine, pacing myself since I’m driving. ‘Do your friends tease you about her name?’
He laughs, an open easy laugh that reminds me of Charlie. ‘Oh yes. I was hoping at the assessment days that there might have been a dog called Hercules …’
‘Or Goliath?’
He smiles and we catch each other’s eye. I’m the first to turn away, muttering how delicious the wine is as I take another sip.
‘Tinkerbell’s my beautiful girl,’ he says. ‘I wouldn’t trade her for a million Herculeses or Goliaths.’
Over our main course (I suggested we skip starters) Edward tells me he always wanted to be a soldier, ever since he was a child. In the same way that I don’t know where my love of medicine came from, he doesn’t know why he wanted to be in the forces. His father, who had died when Edward was in his early twenties, was an accountant by trade but had worked in the oil business. His mum was a housewife. ‘I joined the Marines when I was eighteen, signed up to the training course. Dad always encouraged me but Mum never liked the idea of it. I’m an only child, you see. Mum hated it even more when my father died. She wanted me to be in an office, safe behind a desk.’
‘Nothing is ever safe,’ I say. ‘And perhaps the more safe we play it, the more dangerous it becomes?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve never thought about it in that way. We only get one life, Cass. Despite this –’ he gestures to his crutches – ‘I don’t regret a single moment.’
*
The dessert trolley rattles towards us, the two couples in the restaurant still not talking.
‘Sorry, it’s a little dead in here, isn’t it?’ He’s almost smiling.
‘It’s not the most lively of places,’ I reply, before both of us laugh, fully relaxed now.
‘Why don’t they talk?’ Edward whispers. ‘I don’t get it, do you? Why come out to a fancy place and then say nothing?’
‘Exactly, and how can you go home and ignore the fact that you’ve just had dinner and it wasn’t exactly a bundle of fun? It’s weird. Makes me feel uncomfortable.’
‘Sorry, Cass,’ he says again, running a hand through his hair. ‘We could do a runner?’
That makes me laugh even more. ‘I’d like to see you and me making a quick exit.’
‘We wouldn’t get very far,’ he admits.
‘Nope. We’re staying put I’m afraid. I’ve just seen the tiramisu.’
As we share a tiramisu, Edward complaining that I gave myself the bigger half, he asks me about my first week at Back Up. As I talk, I’m aware of his intense gaze and all I can think about is what happens after the meal. Will he be inviting me back to his flat for a coffee? Edward lives in a ground floor flat in Richmond. What will I say if he asks me? I can’t leave Ticket overnight. But if I say no, I’ll be giving him the wrong signals, won’t I? Can I see him as more than a friend? Maybe it’s too early to tell, I should stop worrying. I never used to worry. Is Edward asking himself the same questions?
‘Can we have the bill, please,’ he asks, fishing his wallet out of the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘No, Cass, this is on me,’ he insists when I produce my debit card.
‘But it’s so expensive.’
‘Costs an arm and a leg,’ Edward jokes. I’m attracted to his dark humour. ‘No arguments,’ he says, before exc
using himself to go to the bathroom.
When he’s left our table I catch a glimpse of a black and white photograph in one of the compartments in his wallet. Tentatively I take a peep. It’s a picture of a woman in her twenties, thick wavy hair and heart-shaped mouth. Quickly I place the wallet back on his side of the table, telling myself to stop being nosy. Could she be his sister? No, he said he was an only child.
When Edward returns the bill is presented to us on a small silver platter, accompanied by some dark chocolate mints. I daren’t look at his face as he assesses the damage. He swallows hard, as if to say ‘ouch’.
‘Next time it’s on me,’ I say when he hands his credit card to the waiter.
‘Next time?’ He taps his pin number into the machine.
‘Yeah, next time, but I’m not sure I can compete with this place,’ I say, tucking into a mint. ‘It might have to be McDonald’s.’
Edward raises an eyebrow.
‘Or Pizza Hut,’ I say.
‘With screaming kids?’
‘If you’re lucky.’
He grins. ‘Cass, I’m going away tomorrow, for two weeks, to Cornwall.’
Oh. That’s bad timing. ‘How lovely.’
‘I was wondering if we could meet up again, when I get back?’
*
The traffic is busy on a Friday night, lots of people hailing cabs and groups of friends coming out or going into bars. Edward walks me slowly to my car. The closer we get, the more I sense both of us thinking, ‘What happens now?’
We’re right outside my car. ‘Well, this is me. Thanks so much, that was great.’ I wrap my arms around myself, shivering in the cold night air. ‘Don’t hang about, it takes me ages to sort myself out, you know, to get my chair into the car and—’
Edward leans down to kiss me, possibly just to shut me up. It’s a soft, slow kiss. I kiss him back, loving the closeness and warmth of his face, his stubble grazing my cheeks. When finally we pull apart and he says goodnight, I’m disappointed that this is where our evening ends, but when I see the flirtatious look in his eyes, I realise that maybe this is only the beginning.
By My Side Page 16