by Nina Kaye
‘That won’t be necessary.’ I laugh weakly. ‘I’m OK. Plus, I don’t think we’re quite there yet, do you?’
‘Didn’t know there were qualifying criteria for that. Seriously, Alex. I know people fall about laughing because of my incredible sense of humour, but I think you took it too far.’
‘Not sure that’s so helpful right now, Dhruv.’ Emmanuel swoops in from behind him. ‘Alex, are you really all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ I assure her. ‘Really. It was one of those falls where it’s far more painful in the moment.’
Helped up by Dhruv and Emmanuel, I dust myself down and spot Danielle standing with Felix and Aadesh. To say she is enjoying my unfortunate accident would be an understatement. Thankfully, the guys are not wearing similar expressions; they look as concerned as Dhruv and Emmanuel, but they’ve clearly decided I’m in good hands.
‘Can you walk all right?’ Emmanuel asks.
I put weight on my leg and automatically flinch as my injured knee protests about the movement. But there’s no way this is ruining my evening – especially as I’m painfully aware of why it happened in the first place. This time there’s no disputing it’s an unfortunate by-product of my MS. Every now and again, I seem to misjudge things spatially or my body doesn’t quite do what I expect it to. Not badly, but enough to bump my leg on a cabinet or have a minor trip of some kind. Normally I can cover it up, and no one notices. Today’s unfortunate incident obviously doesn’t fall into that category; this time I’ve gone down in style and I’m going to have a hell of a bruise to remind me of it. It’s a stark and grim reminder of my illness. However, I’m determined to rescue whatever pride I can from this situation.
‘I’m fine. Honestly.’ I bend and straighten my knee a few times to loosen it up. ‘Now let’s go before they give our table away.’
I don’t need to tell Emmanuel twice. She instinctively trusts me to handle this situation myself. If this had happened back home, my mother-slash-sister-slash-colleagues would be carting me off home in a taxi faster than Usain Bolt could reach the hundred-metre finish line.
We amble across the remainder of the plaza into the cluster of food and drink establishments on the canal-side of Brindley Place. Reaching the team’s regular drinking haunt, I quickly forget my hot, throbbing knee and soak up the ‘gateway to the weekend’ celebrations.
* * *
An hour later, we’re sat at a picnic-style table in the outdoor section of a trendy hipster cocktail bar, bathing in the remnants of the warmth from the day. The sun has sneaked behind the roof of the restaurant opposite, leaving us in no doubt that we’ll be heading indoors before long.
It turns out my colleagues are a lively bunch and quite different to how they are in the office. Either that or they’ve been on their best behaviour with me, and now they’re letting their true personalities filter through. Dhruv is very much the leader in this social context, using his humour to bring everyone together. Emmanuel is a solid figure within the group whom everyone clearly respects (even Danielle to a certain extent). She joins in the banter, giving the team space to enjoy themselves and forget they’re in the presence of their manager. Felix and Aadesh are less dominant characters, but they still get involved in the jokes and the laughter. It’s a really pleasant social dynamic and I find myself grinning like a new moon, happy to have found such positivity in my new life already.
‘I’ll get the next round in,’ Emmanuel announces. ‘Same again?’
We nod or confirm verbally as she gets up from her seat, her braided hair swishing around her shoulders, having been released from her ‘work bun’ as soon as we left the office.
‘Alex, are you going to have a proper drink this time?’ Dhruv teases me in a friendly manner. ‘We need to get you drunk so you don’t remember what we get up to this evening.’
‘I’d remember it regardless.’ I flash him a mischievous smirk. ‘Alcohol doesn’t affect my memory. I’ve got loads of drunken escapade collateral saved up over the years, ready to be wheeled out at any time – big birthdays, weddings, leaving speeches…’
He considers this with a glint of humour in his eyes. ‘Looks like you’re one to watch out for.’
‘Don’t worry. I only do it to people I don’t like.’
‘So, if you ever “red-neck” me publicly, I’ll know it’s because you secretly want to off me.’
‘Not at all. If I want to off you, no one will find you. You know I’m from Glasgow, right?’ I give him a cheeky wink as his face turns to one of white shock, then amusement.
‘You’re good.’ He hoots. ‘I know you’re just joking, but now I’m wondering if that’s a double bluff. I’ll be careful not to get on the wrong side of you.’
I start to laugh myself, then glance across at Danielle, who looks less than happy that I’m engaging in such easy banter with Dhruv.
‘I’ll go and help Emmanuel with the drinks.’ I climb out of my seat and head for the bar.
As I walk inside, I’m engulfed by upbeat music, loud voices and the sweaty humidity from a bar packed with people who’ve been stuck in the office all day. I carefully pick my way across to where Emmanuel is patiently waiting to be served. It’s so busy, the queue is three people deep and she’s still at the back. I touch her on the arm and she turns and gives me a little wave.
‘I thought I’d come and give you a hand.’ I have to raise my voice to be heard over the noise.
‘Thanks.’ She does the same in return. ‘This might take a while.’
‘In that case, I’ll just nip to the loo. Back soon.’
Emmanuel signals her understanding as I turn in the direction of the ladies’ toilets. Weaving my way across the busy bar, I feel a tap on my own shoulder. Assuming I’ve inadvertently stood on someone or knocked their drink, I turn round ready to apologise. But instead of an angry punter, I find myself face to face with Matt from the train. Gorgeous Matt, who, despite being someone I can’t date, gives me a heartstopping moment the second we make eye contact.
‘Oh… hi.’ I smile at him awkwardly. ‘Fancy meeting you here. Wouldn’t have thought this would be your regular after-work haunt.’
‘It’s not.’ His dark chocolate eyes feel like they’re boring through to my soul, searching for answers as to why I didn’t get in touch. ‘But my factory’s local is full of old men talking about horse racing and playing card games. Not really my scene. We – the younger crowd – prefer to come into the city centre. Plenty of good places around.’
‘Fair enough.’
He watches me for a moment. ‘You never called.’
‘No, I didn’t, did I.’ I cringe a little.
‘Find yourself another tour guide?’
He looks a mixture of curious and slightly hurt. I’m unsure whether this is just a joke, or whether he’s asking if I’ve met someone else. He’s certainly a bit more forthcoming today than he was on the train platform. I eye the pint in his hand, wondering how many he’s had.
‘I… err… no. Just found my own way around.’ I look around me uncomfortably. ‘It’s been a busy few weeks with getting settled, you know how it is.’
‘I guess I do.’ He seems to read an unintentional hidden message in my response. ‘Well, I won’t keep you.’
‘OK, sure. See you around.’
I feel guilty but also mildly relieved that I can continue on my way. I glance at him as I move away. He simply shrugs, a defeated look on his face, and turns back to his workmates. By the time I reach the toilets, I feel a bit flustered. How did that even happen? I’d assumed I’d never see Matt again – Birmingham is supposed to be enormous, after all.
I lean on the sink, gazing at my reflection in the mirror, as I try to calm myself. So I bumped into a guy I dissed. So what? It’s not like that hasn’t happened before. What’s wrong with me? Actually, I know what’s wrong with me. If this had been before I got ill, I would have called him. We would’ve gone out on a date and who knows what might have happened next. What’
s wrong with me is that I didn’t call Matt, not because I didn’t like him or because of my recent break-up, but because of my MS. Because it would have ended badly. Again. If he knew the truth, he’d be glad of that fact. My fall outside earlier is proof of that. Much as it tears me in pieces to admit it, my body just can’t keep up with my aspirations and desires. I may have found a good enough compromise with my career, but men and dating, that’s a different playing field altogether.
I stare at my reflection for a few moments longer, as if challenging it to disagree with me, then I let out an exasperated cry at the injustice of it all and head for one of the cubicles.
Returning to the main bar, I weave my way back through the groups of punters, this time taking a different route so I don’t bump into Matt again. Reaching Emmanuel, I can see that she’s now being served, so I excuse myself to the other people queueing as I slide my way through towards her.
‘Can you grab these?’ She hands me my drink and two bottles of beer, which I take by their necks in my other hand.
As we manoeuvre our way back out from the bar, I involuntarily stop and glance over to where Matt and his workmates are standing, immediately picking him out from the group. Sensing my eyes on him, he looks over and his eyes lock on mine, causing my stomach to perform a double backflip.
‘Is that someone you know?’ Emmanuel’s eyes follow my gaze. ‘He’s very handsome.’
‘Oh… err, yeah. Sort of.’ I drag my eyes away from Matt and focus my attention on her. ‘Just someone I met on the train.’
‘He looks like someone I’d be more than happy to meet on a train. Or any form of public transport, though don’t tell my husband I said that. Are you going to meet him again in any other circumstances?’
‘No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘All right… sure. That’s your prerogative.’
Emmanuel’s eyes narrow slightly and it’s clear she’s trying to read what’s really going on. Uncomfortable about taking the conversation any further, I look away and start making my way through the crowded bar again.
Chapter 15
The next couple of weeks pass uneventfully. In my new world of living with a life-changing illness, this is definitely a good thing. I get into a nice rhythm at work and my social life is quiet – it turns out my team only go out once a month, straight after payday – so I have plenty of downtime to rest and recuperate in the evenings and at weekends. This takes a bit of getting used to, my natural preference being to burn the candle pretty much anywhere it will burn.
So that I don’t expire from boredom or become a semi-permanent sofa accessory, I take up a membership at a leisure club just a ten-minute walk from my apartment. I’m still not able to pound the treadmill, so I start with some gentle swimming, having read online that it can be a good way of reducing MS-related fatigue. I also do some more exploring, so I’m knowledgeable enough as to what Birmingham has to offer in time for Sasha’s visit.
On the day of her arrival, I walk to work with what could almost be described as a spring in my step – or as close as I can get given that whenever I attempt a gradient beyond the pace of a tortoise, my body feels like it’s been hijacked by a ten-ton weight. The silver lining to that being, in the well-loved fable, the tortoise did eventually beat the hare. This appeals to my go-getter instinct.
It turns out to be a long day. For the first time since my day-one experience with the excruciatingly boring introductory e-learning modules, I find myself watching the clock. Because having realised that Sasha is still as important a part of my life as she always was, I’ve also realised how much I miss her. As the clock hits five past five, I decide it’s safe to make my bid for freedom, so I shut down my laptop and pack up my stuff.
‘That you off to meet your friend?’ Emmanuel looks up at me from the desk opposite.
‘Yeah, her train gets in just after half past.’ I throw the last of my things in my handbag, then lock my laptop, notebook and papers in my desk pedestal.
‘I hope you have a lovely long weekend together.’
‘Thanks, Emmanuel. And thanks for giving me tomorrow off at late notice. It won’t be a big weekend. More just a nice quiet catch-up.’
As I say this, I feel a twinge of annoyance at myself. With Emmanuel, I’ve gotten into the habit of permeating all conversations relating to my social life with the message that I’m behaving sensibly – just in case I end up off unwell at some point. Though Emmanuel never says anything directly, she has quickly become attuned to this.
‘Go have fun.’ She gives me a pointed look that I read as I-know-you’re-far-from-irresponsible-and-you-need-to-have-a-life-without-constantly-looking-over-your-shoulder.
‘OK, thanks.’ I nod my understanding, then say my goodbyes to everyone.
Heading for the lifts, I see Danielle flouncing in my direction, her laptop tucked under her arm. She makes eye contact with me, and I immediately know she’s going to make some kind of unwelcome remark.
‘Heading home already?’ Her tone is breezy, deliberately so: the cruise missile within her statement a stealth one.
Having just found myself justifying my social life to Emmanuel, it hits its intended target square on: exploding in my gut, irritation rushing through me like shrapnel. Even more so because this is the first time I’ve left the office before 5:45 p.m. – and Danielle regularly disappears off home before me. She really is a piece of work, but I refuse to show any weakness.
‘First time for everything, I guess.’ I mirror her false smile to see if she even picks up on it, which she doesn’t.
Once outside, I leave Brindley Place via the canal bridge, walk through the ICC, and pass the leaping fountains of Centenary Square, enjoying the fresh autumnal breeze that’s whipping around me as I go. As I make my way through Victoria Square, past the magnificent columns of the town hall and the late nineteenth century Council House, standing proud and full of grandeur, I feel a swell of excitement: not just for my weekend with Sasha, but also for how at home I already feel here. Halfway down New Street, I’m drawn to a busker singing a tuneful and energetic rendition of ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I’m quickly sucked into his music and singing along.
After a couple of minutes of musical escapism I realise I’m going to be late for Sasha, so I throw some money into his hat and continue on my way to the station.
Minutes after I arrive, I see Sasha wheeling her purple weekend case along the busy rush hour concourse. She looks unsure, navigating her way towards the exit barriers, commuters whizzing past and dodging in front of her, keen to get home as quickly as possible. It doesn’t help that she hasn’t got her ticket ready and inadvertently causes a jam in front of the automatic barriers, earning a few looks of irritation. I smile at her affectionately, wondering if this experience alone will be enough to put her off living here, but now hoping that won’t be the case.
Sasha hesitantly makes her way through the barrier, almost getting her case caught as she wrestles with it and her hand luggage. She continues to look exasperated and overwhelmed as I step forward to greet her, then she spots me and her face lights up like the Edinburgh sky at Hogmanay.
‘Lex. Oh, my goodness, I’m so happy to see you.’ She ditches her case and dives into my arms.
‘Is that because you’re having a total mare navigating your way round this station?’ I joke.
‘No. Obviously not. But this place is bonkers.’
‘It’s great to see you too.’ I give her a big squeezy hug in return.
She pulls back and looks at me properly. ‘If I may say, you look really well, Lex.’
‘You may indeed.’ I reach out and grab the handle of her case, pulling it towards us as someone almost falls over it.
Sasha’s eyes pass over my face searchingly. ‘This place is obviously working for you.’
‘It really is, Sash. I love it here already. I feel so anonymous and free.’
‘Well, here’s hoping
I fall in love with it too, eh?’ She grins at me.
For a moment all I see is fourteen-year-old Sasha, with her long tumbling red waves, train-track braces and a face full of innocence and hope for the future. Excitement bubbles inside of me at the thought of showing my best friend in the world my new home – and exploring it properly together.
‘Absolutely. Are you hungry?’
‘I’m starving. Was so paranoid about someone stealing my stuff, I didn’t leave my seat at all.’
‘You’re a numpty, Sash.’ I laugh. ‘I’m sure your case would have been fine.’
We take the escalator up to Grand Central, bickering good-naturedly about where to eat before deciding on a Vietnamese restaurant that I’ve been keen to try. Once we’ve ordered, we settle properly into catching up.
‘So, how are things with your mum?’ I’m keen to get this out in the open quickly, so we can chip away at it gradually over the weekend.
Sasha’s face tells me this might not have been such a good idea. Practical, yes. But not necessarily a relaxing start to her weekend away.
‘Sorry, Sash. That’s the last thing I should have led with. You know me, always the problem solver.’
‘No, it’s fine. As much as it’s the most mortifying thing that’s ever happened to me, and I feel utterly betrayed by my own mother, I want to talk about it. Means I can get it off my chest and just enjoy myself.’
We’re interrupted momentarily by the waiter bringing our drinks. We thank him, then continue our conversation.
‘So how are things then?’ I repeat my original question.
‘They’re… weird. She has no idea I saw her. She’s just acting the same, but now I know she’s putting it on, I’m starting to see that she’s a blinking good actress. She could have gotten a role on River City.’
‘It’s all a bit ironic really. She’s putting an incredible amount of effort into making sure she doesn’t have to do anything.’
‘Exactly. Now every time I’m in her flat, I’m getting flashbacks to that day. I want to have it out with her, but every time I get close to forming the words, my legs turn to jelly and it’s like I’m going to hyperventilate.’
