‘Handy,’ he said, dryly.
‘You asked. I’m not really a hobby person.’ My voice had become strangely defensive. ‘I don’t do much, okay? I work and then I go home.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘On the other side of the castle. Renfrew Road.’
He looked blank. Of course he did. There was little human traffic between the two sides of the castle. ‘It’s off the dual carriageway. Near the McDonald’s.’
He nodded, although I’m not sure he really knew where I was talking about.
‘Holidays?’
‘I’ve been to Spain, with Patrick. My boyfriend,’ I added. ‘When I was a kid we only really went to Dorset. Or Tenby. My aunt lives in Tenby.’
‘And what do you want?’
‘What do I want what?’
‘From your life?’
I blinked. ‘That’s a bit deep, isn’t it?’
‘Only generally. I’m not asking you to psychoanalyse yourself. I’m just asking, what do you want? Get married? Pop out some ankle biters? Dream career? Travel the world?’
There was a long pause.
I think I knew my answer would disappoint him even before I said the words aloud. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’
On Friday we went to the hospital. I’m glad I hadn’t known about Will’s appointment before I arrived that morning, as I would have lain awake all night fretting about having to drive him there. I can drive, yes. But I say I can drive in the same way that I say I can speak French. Yes, I took the relevant exam and passed. But I haven’t used that particular skill more than once a year since I did so. The thought of loading Will and his chair into the adapted minivan and carting him safely to and from the next town filled me with utter terror.
For weeks I had wished that my working day involved some escape from that house. Now I would have done anything just to stay indoors. I located his hospital card amongst the folders of stuff to do with his health – great fat binders divided into ‘transport’, ‘insurance’, ‘living with disability’ and ‘appointments’. I grabbed the card and checked that it had today’s date. A little bit of me was hoping that Will had been wrong.
‘Is your mother coming?’
‘No. She doesn’t come to my appointments.’
I couldn’t hide my surprise. I had thought she would want to oversee every aspect of his treatment.
‘She used to,’ Will said. ‘Now we have an agreement.’
‘Is Nathan coming?’
I was kneeling in front of him. I had been so nervous that I had dropped some of his lunch down his lap and was now trying in vain to mop it up, so that a good patch of his trousers was sopping wet. Will hadn’t said anything, except to tell me to please stop apologizing, but it hadn’t helped my general sense of jitteriness.
‘Why?’
‘No reason.’ I didn’t want him to know how fearful I felt. I had spent much of that morning – time I usually spent cleaning – reading and rereading the instruction manual for the chairlift but I was still dreading the moment when I was solely responsible for lifting him two feet into the air.
‘Come on, Clark. What’s the problem?’
‘Okay. I just … I just thought it would be easier first time if there was someone else there who knew the ropes.’
‘As opposed to me,’ he said.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Because I can’t possibly be expected to know anything about my own care?’
‘Do you operate the chairlift?’ I said, baldly. ‘You can tell me exactly what to do, can you?’
He watched me, his gaze level. If he had been spoiling for a fight, he appeared to change his mind. ‘Fair point. Yes, he’s coming. He’s a useful extra pair of hands. Plus I thought you’d work yourself into less of a state if you had him there.’
‘I’m not in a state,’ I protested.
‘Evidently.’ He glanced down at his lap, which I was still mopping with a cloth. I had got the pasta sauce off, but he was soaked. ‘So, am I going as an incontinent?’
‘I’m not finished.’ I plugged in the hairdryer and directed the nozzle towards his crotch.
As the hot air blasted on to his trousers he raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, well,’ I said. ‘It’s not exactly what I expected to be doing on a Friday afternoon either.’
‘You really are tense, aren’t you?’
I could feel him studying me.
‘Oh, lighten up, Clark. I’m the one having scalding hot air directed at my genitals.’
I didn’t respond. I heard his voice over the roar of the hairdryer.
‘Come on, what’s the worst that could happen – I end up in a wheelchair?’
It may sound stupid, but I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the closest Will had come to actually trying to make me feel better.
The car looked like a normal people carrier from outside, but when the rear passenger door was unlocked a ramp descended from the side and lowered to the ground. With Nathan looking on, I guided Will’s outside chair (he had a separate one for travelling) squarely on to the ramp, checked the electrical lock-down brake, and programmed it to slowly lift him up into the car. Nathan slid into the other passenger seat, belted him and secured the wheels. Trying to stop my hands from trembling, I released the handbrake and drove slowly down the drive towards the hospital.
‘You asked. I’m not really a hobby person.’ My voice had become strangely defensive. ‘I don’t do much, okay? I work and then I go home.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘On the other side of the castle. Renfrew Road.’
He looked blank. Of course he did. There was little human traffic between the two sides of the castle. ‘It’s off the dual carriageway. Near the McDonald’s.’
He nodded, although I’m not sure he really knew where I was talking about.
‘Holidays?’
‘I’ve been to Spain, with Patrick. My boyfriend,’ I added. ‘When I was a kid we only really went to Dorset. Or Tenby. My aunt lives in Tenby.’
‘And what do you want?’
‘What do I want what?’
‘From your life?’
I blinked. ‘That’s a bit deep, isn’t it?’
‘Only generally. I’m not asking you to psychoanalyse yourself. I’m just asking, what do you want? Get married? Pop out some ankle biters? Dream career? Travel the world?’
There was a long pause.
I think I knew my answer would disappoint him even before I said the words aloud. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’
On Friday we went to the hospital. I’m glad I hadn’t known about Will’s appointment before I arrived that morning, as I would have lain awake all night fretting about having to drive him there. I can drive, yes. But I say I can drive in the same way that I say I can speak French. Yes, I took the relevant exam and passed. But I haven’t used that particular skill more than once a year since I did so. The thought of loading Will and his chair into the adapted minivan and carting him safely to and from the next town filled me with utter terror.
For weeks I had wished that my working day involved some escape from that house. Now I would have done anything just to stay indoors. I located his hospital card amongst the folders of stuff to do with his health – great fat binders divided into ‘transport’, ‘insurance’, ‘living with disability’ and ‘appointments’. I grabbed the card and checked that it had today’s date. A little bit of me was hoping that Will had been wrong.
‘Is your mother coming?’
‘No. She doesn’t come to my appointments.’
I couldn’t hide my surprise. I had thought she would want to oversee every aspect of his treatment.
‘She used to,’ Will said. ‘Now we have an agreement.’
‘Is Nathan coming?’
I was kneeling in front of him. I had been so nervous that I had dropped some of his lunch down his lap and was now trying in vain to mop it up, so that a good patch of his trousers was sopping wet. Will hadn’t said anything, except to tell me to please stop apologizing, but it hadn’t helped my general sense of jitteriness.
‘Why?’
‘No reason.’ I didn’t want him to know how fearful I felt. I had spent much of that morning – time I usually spent cleaning – reading and rereading the instruction manual for the chairlift but I was still dreading the moment when I was solely responsible for lifting him two feet into the air.
‘Come on, Clark. What’s the problem?’
‘Okay. I just … I just thought it would be easier first time if there was someone else there who knew the ropes.’
‘As opposed to me,’ he said.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Because I can’t possibly be expected to know anything about my own care?’
‘Do you operate the chairlift?’ I said, baldly. ‘You can tell me exactly what to do, can you?’
He watched me, his gaze level. If he had been spoiling for a fight, he appeared to change his mind. ‘Fair point. Yes, he’s coming. He’s a useful extra pair of hands. Plus I thought you’d work yourself into less of a state if you had him there.’
‘I’m not in a state,’ I protested.
‘Evidently.’ He glanced down at his lap, which I was still mopping with a cloth. I had got the pasta sauce off, but he was soaked. ‘So, am I going as an incontinent?’
‘I’m not finished.’ I plugged in the hairdryer and directed the nozzle towards his crotch.
As the hot air blasted on to his trousers he raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, well,’ I said. ‘It’s not exactly what I expected to be doing on a Friday afternoon either.’
‘You really are tense, aren’t you?’
I could feel him studying me.
‘Oh, lighten up, Clark. I’m the one having scalding hot air directed at my genitals.’
I didn’t respond. I heard his voice over the roar of the hairdryer.
‘Come on, what’s the worst that could happen – I end up in a wheelchair?’
It may sound stupid, but I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the closest Will had come to actually trying to make me feel better.
The car looked like a normal people carrier from outside, but when the rear passenger door was unlocked a ramp descended from the side and lowered to the ground. With Nathan looking on, I guided Will’s outside chair (he had a separate one for travelling) squarely on to the ramp, checked the electrical lock-down brake, and programmed it to slowly lift him up into the car. Nathan slid into the other passenger seat, belted him and secured the wheels. Trying to stop my hands from trembling, I released the handbrake and drove slowly down the drive towards the hospital.
