By My Side

by Alice Peterson

  ‘I’ve had a great time tonight.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he says, before kissing me goodnight once more. ‘Until next time.’

  ‘Next time,’ I say, watching him walk slowly away.

  31

  Charlie and I are racing along the Kings Road. We’re going to Peter Jones to look for a sofa. Charlie has decided the one in the sitting room has to go. It sinks in the middle like a soufflé gone wrong. I left Ticket behind today; he doesn’t like department stores. I’m taking him for a long walk later this afternoon with Edward and Tinkerbell. Edward returned from Cornwall a week ago, and I’m surprised by how much I’m looking forward to seeing him again.

  ‘Slow down, Cass!’ Charlie insists, only making me go faster.

  ‘Come on, Grandpa,’ I call out to him. ‘Keep up.’ I lift the front wheels up on to the kerb in one fluid movement and push forward. Charlie has tried doing wheelies in my chair in the sitting room – lifting the front wheels and balancing on the back ones – but was unable to understand why he couldn’t do it. I told him that it took me two weeks to master the skill. ‘Two whole weeks,’ I reiterated. ‘It took Dom a week. It would seriously annoy me if you, Mr Perfect, could pick it up in two seconds.’

  We enter through a set of double doors and I’m hit by a blast of warm air. ‘Sofas are at the top,’ Charlie tells me, heading for the lifts.

  I think of Dom’s latest email. ‘Miranda gets cross with me for going on the escalators. She says I deliberately want to scare the general public.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Charlie says as I position myself at the foot of the escalator, near the cushions and rolls of fabric. If Ticket were here he’d hate me for doing this. He’d plant himself on my lap to protect me.

  ‘Cass, don’t risk it,’ he says.

  ‘Dom does it.’

  ‘He was a professional biker. You might hurt yourself.’

  I shake my head. Why is it that people fail to realise that I’m broken already? In many ways it makes me want to take more risks. What have I got to lose?

  ‘Fine.’ Charlie crosses his arms. ‘But I’m not taking you to hospital.’

  ‘There’s a lift,’ a man beside me points out, ‘over there.’ Then he has the audacity to push me towards it like a baby in a pram. ‘Excuse me?’ I say, turning to face him and noticing Charlie is trying not to laugh. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mutters.

  ‘I’m taking the lift,’ Charlie says, expecting me to follow him. There’s a group of women talking by the escalator and I ask them politely if they could move. A few members of staff walk past, along with a mother and a pair of ginger-haired twins wearing identical football jumpers. One of them stops to watch. ‘Come on, Max!’ the mother says. ‘But, Mummy! I want to watch that girl in the chair!’

  Charlie is still waiting by the lift, pretending to ignore me. I have to get my front castors on to the step first, then quickly get the back wheels on, grab both rails and … OH MY GOD. I’m moving!

  ‘Look, Mum!’ I hear Max crying out. ‘Wow!’

  I’m balancing. Can’t look at him. Keep straight ahead. Hold on tight. When I reach the top I turn to Max, still clapping.

  ‘Thank you!’ I call down to him.

  ‘Go, dude!’ Max dances, before his mother pulls him off towards the exit doors.

  Charlie joins me upstairs. ‘There’s no way you’re going down in that. No way,’ he says.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  *

  We test out what seems like the twentieth sofa. ‘Make your mind up,’ I urge him.

  ‘It needs to be comfortable.’

  My mind drifts to Libby and Charlie kissing on the sofa last night. I saw them on my way to the bathroom.

  ‘We’ve been ages, Charlie.’

  ‘Ticket will be fine.’

  It drives me mad that he knows what I’m thinking.

  ‘Let’s go for this one.’ I’m in front of a modern cream one. ‘That’ll do.’

  ‘That’ll do?’

  I let out a sigh.

  ‘He’s just a dog, Cass.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘He’s just a dog?’ I repeat like a mother scorned.

  ‘Sorry.’ A small smile surfaces.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ I say. ‘Let’s get some lunch, order a sofa and then go.’

  *

  After a quick lunch Charlie and I wait for a cab outside. I did think about bringing my car but it’s hard to park on a Saturday, even in a disabled slot, and the tube station has no disabled access.

  ‘Come on!’ I shout, stretching out my arm towards a taxi with its amber light on. It races past us.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Charlie is covering me with his jacket. ‘Charlie!’ Next I hear an engine stopping and he’s saying that we want to go to Barons Court and then: TA-DAH! The jacket is whisked off and out I come like a rabbit out of a hat. ‘Is she coming too?’ the driver asks.

  I’m about to say something but Charlie doesn’t allow me. ‘Yes.’

  The driver gets out the ramp, huffing and puffing as if he’s doing me an enormous favour.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ I ask when we are finally seated in the cab and moving.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hide me under your jacket?’

  ‘It did the trick, didn’t it?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You didn’t mind, did you?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  I stare out of the window.

  ‘You were the one so anxious to get home, back to Ticket.’

  ‘Who’s just a dog. Oh look, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Clearly it does.’

  ‘Well done, Charlie! You saved the day getting me into a taxi because I could never have done it on my own! You’re my hero. Happy now?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘You and the driver were talking as if I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Fine. Sorry. I won’t do it again.’

  We sit in stony silence for the next five minutes before glancing at one another at exactly the same time and then quickly looking away, annoyed we’ve been caught out.

  ‘Cass?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is our first lovers’ tiff.’

  ‘We’re not lovers.’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Just shut up.’

  ‘Won’t say another word.’ He pretends to zip up his mouth. ‘I wasn’t trying to be a hero,’ he says, only seconds later. ‘Look, it could have taken forever and we both wanted to get home. I’m meeting Libby this afternoon and you’re … well … you’re anxious about Ticket, who I know isn’t just a dog, I really didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘It’s not just about Ticket.’

  ‘Right,’ he says, sounding irritatingly like my father.

  ‘I’m meeting Edward.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Just out,’ I say.

  He waits for more information.

  ‘We’re meeting for a dog walk. He has a chocolate Lab, Tinkerbell.’

  ‘Is it like a double date? You and Edward, Ticket and Tinkerbell?’

  ‘Maybe. Ticket’s bought some flowers. And brushed his teeth.’

  Charlie smiles.

  ‘Then I think we might see a film or something, maybe go out for a meal. What about you?’

  ‘I think we’re playing tennis or something.’ He downplays it, like he always downplays any sport he takes part in. ‘Then we’re meeting a few of Libby’s friends in Soho. Tell me more about this Edward guy.’

  Charlie must sense my reluctance.

  ‘Do you think it could be serious?’ he continues.

  ‘I don’t know, maybe. Who knows?’ I hesitate. ‘How about you and Libby?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s great. Good fun.’
<
br />   We fall silent once more.

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he says. ‘I was patronising and I promise it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Forget it.’ We shake hands. ‘Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Cass?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Wear that red top tonight. It really suits you.’

  32

  Edward and I are out with our dogs in Kensington Gardens, close to the Serpentine Gallery. After returning from Cornwall, he’d called to ask me on another date. ‘You don’t like swanky restaurants, and nor do I,’ he said, ‘so how about a dog walk?’

  Ticket and I love this park; it gives me a feeling of space and peace, and the straight pathways are easy to navigate in my chair. It’s a beautiful day today. The autumn leaves are beginning to change colour.

  Edward’s in his wheelchair this afternoon since long walks cause him too much pain. As we’re talking about his holiday, people can’t help but notice us. Some walk on by but then glance over their shoulder. London does throw up a strange mix of people but I guess you don’t often see two people in wheelchairs side by side, both with purple-coated dogs. Some smile as they watch Ticket and Tinkerbell playing with one another and chasing the squirrels. Others throw us that ‘poor wee things’ look. Others simply stare.

  ‘Just wave back,’ I say, waving at the woman with a camera round her neck. ‘Always throws them off guard.’

  ‘Or do this.’ Edward leans over and kisses me, hard on the mouth.

  I push him away. ‘Edward!’ I say, then we both laugh, watching her tentatively wave at us before walking as fast as she can in the opposite direction.

  Some people approach us, unafraid of asking questions. ‘I feel like I’m with a celeb,’ I whisper, when an elderly gentleman tells Edward he’s proud of him and what our lads do for this country. ‘So often the press only focus on those that have lost their lives, but it’s important we support fine young men like you. God bless you.’

  *

  Early in the evening, after our walk, Edward is at the bar, ordering drinks. We decided to give the cinema a miss, instead choosing to go to the Curtains Up, round the corner from Charlie’s flat. It’s a cosy pub with a little theatre in the basement. What I like about it is it’s normally busy, people sitting on stools around the bar or relaxing on the comfy leather sofas. There’s no sign of couples not talking to one another. Charlie and I occasionally come here if they’re playing live music. We often have a drink on Sunday night too, to beat the Sunday night blues. He and Libby rarely spend Sunday night together. I like those nights, just the two of us.

  My mobile rings. It’s Sarah. ‘Take it,’ Edward says, returning with the drinks.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say, rejecting the call.

  ‘Who was it?’ he asks. ‘But don’t tell me, if it’s private.’ I sense Edward thinks it could be another man, maybe competition. To put him at his ease I tell him about her. ‘She’s too tangled up with my old life,’ I confess. Sarah is now working at St Mary’s Hospital in Marylebone. She wants to specialise in paediatrics. ‘I feel guilty shutting her out,’ I admit. ‘But equally I know she finds it hard, she doesn’t know what to say, so we’re stuck.’

  ‘Maybe it will take time,’ Edward suggests. ‘If your friendship is strong enough, you’ll find one another again.’

  ‘That’s what Charlie says.’

  ‘You talk about him a lot, you know.’

  ‘Do I? Well, you get to know someone pretty well when you live with them.’

  ‘Sure. Anyway, he’s right.’

  I finish off my beer. ‘I don’t know, Edward, I feel bad, but the thing is, I’ve found so much more peace being with Charlie and Frankie, Guy and Dom.’ I pause. ‘And you. You didn’t know the old me.’

  Edward nods. ‘It can be the same with my friends from the Marines. It’s tough. They’re doing the job I used to love. But, Cass, you could go back to King’s?’

  ‘Shall we order another?’ I hold up my empty glass, dodging the question.

  At the end of the evening I ask Edward if he’d like to come back to Charlie’s flat for a coffee. I’m not sure what I mean by a coffee, but he kisses me softly on the lips, saying he needs to go home. ‘I like you, Cass, that’s why I want to take things slow.’

  33

  I’m in my bedroom getting ready for my evening with Edward. Charlie and Libby are next door, in the sitting room. They’re spending more and more time together, so much so that she might as well move in with us. As for Edward and me, since our walk in the park, we’ve continued to meet regularly over the past month. Last weekend we went to the O2 Arena. Edward had bought tickets to see Katy Perry. I smile, remembering us driving home late at night, me singing ‘Last Friday Night’ at the top of my voice.

  ‘Don’t give up the day job,’ Edward had said, glancing at me, humour in his eyes.

  I pick up my mobile, in need of advice. ‘Nothing’s happened yet,’ I tell Frankie.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Well, you know we’ve kissed, we’ve kissed a lot, but we’re taking things slow.’

  ‘Still? I know it’s romantic and all that, but can’t you speed it up?’

  ‘He’s asked me to his place tonight, for dinner.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  Silence.

  ‘Isn’t it? Cass?’

  ‘Yep. Great.’

  ‘You can’t be getting cold feet? He sounds perfect. In a way it’s quite romantic.’

  Through the crack in my door I see Charlie walking past my bedroom.

  ‘This is totally normal,’ Frankie reassures me. ‘You’re bound to be nervous first time.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Charlie pokes his head round the door.

  ‘Frankie, I have to go,’ I say, before she insists I take a toothbrush just in case. I hang up quickly.

  ‘Everything OK?’ he asks, perching on the end of my bed.

  ‘Fine. What are you up to tonight?’

  Charlie tells me he and Libby are going to a birthday party in Tooting. ‘To be honest I don’t fancy it, I won’t know many people but … How about you?’

  Suddenly I wish we could forget Libby and Edward and spend the evening together. I miss him. I miss us. ‘I’m seeing Edward,’ I say. ‘He’s cooking for me, at his place.’

  ‘It’s going really well, isn’t it?’

  I nod. ‘I might stay over.’ I watch his reaction.

  ‘If you do, will you let me know,’ he says, giving nothing away.

  *

  ‘What was the food like, when you were out in Afghanistan?’ I ask, over supper, a mushroom risotto. We’re in his small kitchen, painted a pistachio green. I take another mouthful. At least I think it’s mushroom.

  ‘Ration packs,’ he says. ‘Boil-in-the-bag. I lost two stone. I looked dreadful, but then we all did, Cass. Our stomachs shrank. On Christmas Day they flew over a chef and we had Christmas dinner, though not many of us could eat the meat, it was too rich, and a can of beer. That can of beer was the best I’ve ever tasted. Amelia sent out parcels too,’ he continues. ‘Coffee, chocolate, pork scratchings.’ He smiles, as if he’s thinking about her.

  ‘Who’s Amelia?’

  ‘My ex-girlfriend,’ he says, in a tone that implies he doesn’t want to talk about her.

  ‘Tell me more, about Afghanistan.’

  ‘It was the worst experience of my life and strangely the best too, if that makes sense.’

  I ask him to describe it to me. I want to be able to picture his old life.

  ‘Oh, Cass, it’s hard. You see the images on the news, the kids with missing limbs, the dusty tracks, you hear reports about the mines and the soldiers and civilians that have died.’ He inhales deeply. ‘When you’re out there, it’s terrifying and exhausting, but also nothing has ever made me feel more alive. If I was pointing a gun at the enemy it was to save my troop and myself. So if you can imagine that, and then coming home, it’s been tricky. The adrenali
n got me through at first. I was working so hard to recover I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. But when I was back home, reality sunk in. That’s why I got so low.’ He stops. ‘Do you really want to hear all this?’

  I nod. ‘It’s good to talk about it.’

  ‘I had some counselling, had to get my shit into one sock.’

  ‘Shit into one sock?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He almost smiles. ‘Means I had to sort my life out. A lot of soldiers do mad things after they return from Afghanistan.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He refills my glass of wine. I realise I’m well over the limit to drive home, that I’ll have to call a cab, but neither one of us mentions it.

  ‘Speeding, crashing their motorbike, hijacking a car on a motorway. Some turn violent. A lot of us suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I wanted to hurt myself,’ he admits quietly. He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I’d walk down a street and expect to be attacked. Any unexpected noise or bang set me off. Mum had to be careful waking me up. If she jolted me, I’d freak out. I never thought I’d be able to go outside and feel safe or live on my own again. When I was in Headley Court there were people worse off than me, double-leg amputees, so I kept on thinking I should be feeling lucky, that I’d got off lightly. Lucky seems such a weird word, but you know what I mean.’

  I tell him how Georgina, the abrupt nurse on our ward, had told me, only days after my accident, that I was lucky to have a low-level injury. ‘I know what she means now, but back then it didn’t make any sense. Was it your idea to get a dog?’

  ‘Mum’s. Funny thing is, I’ve never liked animals much. Got nipped when I was a young boy by some horrible sausage dog called Spike.’

  Edward asks me how I found out about Canine Partners. I tell him about Mum and our Friday afternoon drives.

  ‘This isn’t lucky,’ he says, gesturing to my wheelchair, ‘but we are lucky to have support. So many of the lads come from foster or broken homes. If they’re injured they have nothing. It’s their whole life, and then it’s taken away from them in seconds by an IED blast. They have no family at home waiting to pick up the pieces.’