But when I get there I realize I don’t know how to transfer him from the chair to the carriage. I hadn’t really considered that before now. I thought there would be a special carriage for wheelchairs and – like the van – I’d push him on and lock down the wheels. But every carriage looks the same – and there is nowhere for feet. The carriages are simply seats, in rows of two, where the rider is suspended over the track with their legs dangling. How is Jack supposed to ride this? But I definitely asked about the accessible rides and was told this was one. Wasn’t it? I wrote it down on my orange Post-it note; it must be right. Okay, here goes.
Jack looks up at me, small creases forming in his forehead. ‘Um, Alice—’
‘Don’t worry, I got this.’ The attendant is busy talking to a mom who’s trying to pass her son off as meeting the 1.4m height restriction when he clearly doesn’t, so I walk up to the main queue. ‘Excuse me,’ I ask two guys a lot taller than me (and who look like they frequent the gym), ‘are you able to help me transfer my friend from his chair to one of these seats at the back?’
The guys look at each other. ‘I’m not sure if he’ll be allowed to ride this,’ one says.
‘Yeah, he can. I asked ahead.’
They nod and follow me back to Jack.
‘Alice, no. I’m fine. I don’t need help. Let’s just leave,’ Jack protests. But I don’t listen. This is our fun day out, we just need to make it more, well, fun. And it will be. This ride will be amazing. I just read on the sign that there’s fire. Well, volcanic special effects but that’s what I’m talking about. There are water cannons too. Can’t beat that.
Before Jack can speak again he’s hoisted out of his seat, the bottom of his collared shirt slipping out from the waist of his jeans. His thigh stumps dangle in the air, as he’s dragged through the air in one swift motion, and slid into the back carriage. He immediately slumps to the side.
‘Excuse me.’ I look up and see the attendant rush over, having just refused entry to the under-1.4m boy. ‘Sorry, but he can’t ride.’
The guys bend down and slide their hands under Jack’s thighs again, heaving him up. ‘No, he’s fine there,’ I say to them and turn back to the attendant who’s now standing in front of me. ‘No, he can ride. I called ahead and asked the person on the phone specifically what rides he’ll be able to go on.’
‘Well, I don’t know what you were told but he can’t go on this one.’
‘Alice, can we leave?’ Jack asks quietly, his limp body still suspended in the air by the two guys.
‘Look, it says here on my note that he can go on Flying Fish, Storm in a Teacup, Nemesis—’
‘He can’t ride Nemesis. Look at the sign, it says a height restriction of 1.4m—’
‘Well, he’s taller than that, obviously, look at him. I mean, not now maybe, now that he’s in the chair but when he wasn’t in the chair he was much taller than 1.4m.’
‘He has to have function in his lower body, which is also a criterion. Look.’ He points to the lettering under the health and safety heading: Riders must have full functionality in at least three limbs, minimum of one functioning hand.
‘Well, he has that. I mean, look – two arms, two hands, that’s four.’
‘No, it means minimum two arms and one leg or two legs and one arm.’
‘A hand is a limb,’ I argue.
‘Alice, please,’ pleads Jack from beside me. I didn’t realize he was still lifted in the air. Those guys really are strong.
‘Fine. Then why do you have a fast-track accessible entrance if you can’t accommodate wheelchair-users on the ride?’
‘That entrance is also for spectators. Your friend is welcome to watch you ride the Nemesis.’
‘Why would he want to watch me ride it? He obviously wants to ride it himself.’
‘Alice, just leave it!’ he shouts, sounding so frustrated.
We all turn to Jack, still hanging in the air. Now the whole shirt is hanging outside the jeans, and somehow in the chaos, his phone has fallen out his pocket onto the ground. I gesture to the guys to return him to the chair as I bend down to grab the cracked iPhone from the ground. I hear Jack’s startled cry before I hear the chair fall. When I look up I see the chair tipped onto its side and one of the guys trying to move it back to upright with his foot, while his friend balances Jack. I grab Jack’s hips to steady him as the guy stumbles backwards. ‘Careful!’ I shout.
He regains his balance, his face going as beetroot red as Jack’s, and soon the chair is back on two wheels and he’s safely returned to it. He doesn’t wait for me, he turns the chair around and thrusts himself towards the exit. I weakly thank the guys, give the good old middle finger to the attendant, and hurry after Jack. I follow him down the exit route, back around the pillars, and out to the sunshine. The glare penetrates my eyes and I put one hand up to my face while the other fumbles for my sunglasses which are on the top of my head, pinning back my wavy hair. My mom always says this is why I need the arms refitted and tightened so often. She says I’m stretching them on my head. She’s probably right.
When I catch up to Jack he’s somehow veered off the paved path and has found himself on the recently watered gardens surrounding the water rides. I watch him push away at the dirt trapped under his wheels, fresh clumps of grass and mud scattered around him. He’s stuck, just like in the community garden – why do I keep picking places with wet grass?
I slowly walk over, hands in pocket. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter.
He breathes heavily as he wrestles with his chair, panting with the effort. ‘It’s fine. It’s not your fault.’
‘I promise someone told me you could ride that—’
‘Alice, it’s okay.’ He stops wrestling the wheels and leans back. ‘It’ll all be different when I get the prostheses. This won’t happen again.’
‘What? Getting stuck?’
‘Getting turned away from things because they’re not wheelchair-accessible.’ He looks away. ‘It’s just not fair.’ Sweat beads on his forehead and his chest heaves in and out heavily. I don’t know what to say, how to make him feel better about the Alex-and-Lauren situation, so I sit down beside his left wheel. The grass feels wet beneath me and scratches at the small patch of skin below the bottom of my leggings. We both stare at the big rollercoaster that carries screaming kids up a ridiculously high level, only to drop them into a pit of water. Looks stupid now, really. I can’t believe I momentarily wanted to be one of those kids in tiny plastic carts being hauled over an edge to plummet down, just for the fun of it.
‘I hate rollercoasters,’ I finally say.
‘Me too.’
A young boy on my right catches my eye and I watch him run with a pink ice cream over to his mom. The double-scoop cone is piled high, and is already dripping on one side, running down his arm. He stops momentarily to lick his arm, tilting his hand a little too much. The top scoop slides off and drops to the ground at his feet. He stares at it for a second, then screams engulf the air around us, drowning out the shrieks from the big, stupid rollercoasters Jack’s not allowed to ride on. I scoff, feeling a large smile stretch tight across my face.
Jack looks at me, smiling. ‘Are you laughing at that kid dropping his ice cream?’
I shrug and start plucking daisies from the ground. ‘Do you blame me?’ My cheeks relax as the smile fades from my face.
‘For laughing at the kid?’
‘No, I mean for what happened that day.’
‘Alice, I can’t talk about it—’
But I don’t let him cut me off, not this time. ‘We’ve never talked about my letter to you. I’ve never asked you anything about that day. But we did collide, and argued for a few minutes at least. That would have been enough time for you to have run further, to have got further away from Leicester Square.’
The streets, the rain, Jack, the books as they tumbled to the ground. I close my eyes and feel the heat—
‘Alice!’
I slowly open my eyes and sud
denly become aware of my heavy breathing and the twisted, groaning sounds I’m making. Jack’s hand is on my shoulder, and he’s squeezing. He’s counting again, softly whispering numbers as my breathing slows and begins to regulate again. I swallow hard and wipe the sweat from my forehead.
‘Better?’ he asks, still squeezing my shoulder.
I nod, desperately trying to simmer down the emotions building inside me. I want to ask him again because he didn’t answer my question. But the words don’t come out. They’re stuck inside me, just like Jack’s wheels in the grass. So I say no more about it. I look up at the sky-high rollercoasters and drop towers filling the park’s skyline, hearing screams of excitement, screams of – I don’t know. Those aren’t the same screams I still hear in my head at night, that’s all I know.
‘You okay?’ he asks me.
I suddenly imagine Jack, tall, standing over me with his prostheses, his broad shoulders above my head. That’s where he belongs. Not below me, but above me, above all this. I don’t want to say anything, but I’m scared. I’m terrified once he has his legs fitted that he’ll go back to who he was before all this. Because I can’t go back to who I was. I’m not the same person and new legs can’t help me. I don’t recognize anything about myself when I look in the mirror.
‘Yeah,’ I smile weakly. ‘Let’s get you back, eh?’ I stand up and reach for his chair’s handles. First, I ease the front wheels off the grass, balancing the weight at the back, then slowly drag him onto the paved walkway.
‘Thanks for today, really,’ he says, looking up at me.
‘I’m sorry it got ruined because of that stupid ride.’
‘If it makes you feel better, I bet there was no “burning inferno”.’
‘Yeah, it would have been one single candle and a dumb sound effect,’ I mutter. ‘Let’s go get ice creams instead.’
Fall Backwards
Part 3
Autumn’s cries can be heard through summer,
Red, orange, yellow and brown,
Stain the leaves and dry the tips,
They crust,
They crumble,
They fall,
Like the bricks on the building and the glass windows,
They break, and float down towards the ground,
They land around our feet,
Like the dead, the leaves turn to dust,
Like my nightmares, they burn to ash,
We close our eyes and fall back,
And hope someone’s there to catch us.
Alice Winters
Jack
I awake slowly, harsh light piercing my eyes as I force them open. For a moment I don’t know where I am. Then flashes of the bombing come rushing back, filling my head until it pounds and throbs. I see a girl standing at the other side of the road staring at me. I see Alice. She’s mouthing something to me, but I can’t make out exactly what she’s saying. She’s angry, she’s waving her hands. I walk closer to the edge of the pavement to hear her better. A loud explosion erupts in my ears. Smoke and fire pull me into a thick cloud and I can no longer see Alice.
‘Jack?’
My fingers grasp and find soft blanket as bile rushes to my throat. Hands are on my shoulders, pulling me up to a sitting position, then leaning over the side of the bed. When I’m finished vomiting, the same hands return me to the pillows.
‘Is this normal, doctor?’
I recognise my mum’s voice and suddenly remember where I am. I’m in the hospital. Again. But why am I back in the hospital?
‘Yes, Mrs Addington. It’s very common to get nauseous when coming out of surgery. It’s just the anaesthesia wearing off. He’ll probably feel nauseous for a couple of days after but then he should be fine.’
Gentle hands touch my forehead, stroking my hair back. ‘Jack, it’s Mum. How are you feeling?’
I try to talk but no words come out. I’m being pulled up again, this time a cold cup is placed to my lips. When I try to drink, half of it spills down my chin. They’re rubbing my mouth now, like I’m an infant feeding for the first time. I guess this is something I should get used to. Hospitals seem to be a part of my life now.
My whole body aches as I stifle a cough so I let it out. It scratches my throat and tears at my trachea. My lips sting like they’re cracked and bleeding. I get this a lot when skiing or mountaineering in colder climates … I mean, I used to get this. But maybe I will again – yes, I remember now. I’m here in the hospital for hopefully my last surgery …
I grasp at the bed covers again and try to pull myself up.
‘It’s OK, relax. You’re in the hospital, honey.’
I nod and rest my head back on the pillows. ‘How did it go?’ I mutter. My head is pounding.
‘It went really well, the doctor said. They removed a lot of scar tissue from around your thighs which was causing you the nerve pain.’ She squeezes my arm. ‘Oh Jack, it couldn’t have gone any better.’
A deep sigh escapes my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut. Finally. I’m starting to see some light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.
‘How long will I be in here for this time?’
‘Just a few days then some rest at home.’
‘Then physio?’ I ask.
‘Then you can start physio,’ she says. When I open my eyes I see Mum brushing tears off her cheeks.
‘Mum, it’s OK. I’m fine. I’m not in any pain. I’m on some pretty hardcore pain relief,’ I smile.
She smiles back but it’s not real. ‘I know. It’s just seeing you back here in this place … it just reminds me of before.’
‘I know, me too.’
‘Of course,’ she says as she rests her hand on my shoulder. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about myself here. This must be harder for you.’
A knock on the door startles both of us and when I turn I see Alice in the doorway, a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers in hand and a stupid balloon floating above her head that says GET WELL SOON. She’s wearing thick yellow woven tights and a skirt; she’s probably not even aware it’s bunched up on one side. Her red curly hair is tucked into a navy scarf. She waves awkwardly from the door. ‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey,’ I say, gesturing for her to come inside.
‘I can come back later if that’s better?’
‘No, Alice. You stay,’ says my mum. ‘I’ll pop downstairs and grab a coffee.’ She turns to me. ‘Your dad will be back this afternoon.’
‘He was here?’ I ask.
‘He was here all night. For the surgery too. I had to force him to go home to get some sleep. I didn’t know you were going to wake an hour later. Now I feel bad for sending him away.’
Alice and my mum exchange polite air kisses, with me wondering if Alice has seen that on a movie or something. She waves goodbye one last time then drops her bag heavily on the floor. The balloon escapes her hand and floats up to the ceiling, bouncing off the lights. ‘So.’
‘So.’
‘And we’re back here again.’
‘I should just get a room named after me.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if your whole family has the hospital named after you,’ she says, falling into the armchair beside the bed. She drops the flowers on the floor by her feet. ‘Sorry, more flowers. The hospital gift shop is very limited in its range. Balloons, flowers, chocolates. And I didn’t trust myself to not eat the chocolates in the hallway so flowers it is. Anyway, I heard the surgery went well?’
‘Yeah, it went OK.’
‘Did they say when you can start physio?’
‘Probably by next month.’
‘Great.’
‘Didn’t fancy starting back at school this term?’ I know she’ll hate this question.
‘Nah,’ she shrugs, pretending to be more nonchalant about school than she actually is. ‘My mom and dad have finally decided that home-schooling’s better for me. I’ve always learned more through my own research and home studies. School is just a formality.’
‘Spok
en like a true home-schooler,’ I smile. ‘How do you feel about not going back at all this year? It’s your last year. You’ll never get this high school experience back.’
She plays with a hole in her tights, pulling at the fabric. ‘It’s not like I’d be going to prom or anything. I’m sure I’ll have a better time learning at home. What about you?’
‘I’m actually excited to get back to school, get back to my old routine. And I’ve missed my friends.’ I wince as soon as I say it. ‘I mean, you’re my friend, of course, but I just meant my old friends.’ I run my fingers through my hair nervously. ‘So what subjects will you be focusing on this year at home?’
‘Well, I’ve already created my own schedule and managed to fit in daily Math, Physics, Chemistry, French—’
‘Ah, Française. Ma langue préférée. Comment ça se passe pour toi?’
She stares at me, blinking fast. ‘Um … I haven’t started French yet. I’m not really a languages person so I don’t know how that’s going to go. I tried Mandarin once but my tutor conveniently quit. Besides, I can barely understand English cues let alone ones from a different language.’
‘Then why are you studying it?’
‘Because apparently it’s a desirable skill for universities here.’
‘Oh, you think you’ll stay in London?’
‘I wasn’t sure, but I think I’d like to now,’ she smiles.
The door opens and Will and Euan now stand awkwardly in the doorway waving, also holding bouquets of flowers. ‘Hey, man,’ says Euan.
‘Hey, I’m Will,’ he says, holding his hand out to Alice to shake.
‘Yeah, we’ve met before,’ she mumbles, taking the hand anyway.
‘Right,’ he says, nodding. ‘Annie, right?’
‘Nope, it’s Alice.’ She scrunches up her mouth and half smiles at me. ‘I’ll leave you all to it.’
After the Rain Page 16
