By My Side

by Alice Peterson

  Edward is next and as he talks, Tinkerbell gazes up at him, as if there’s no one else in the room. They make a handsome couple. Edward is dressed in a stylish grey suit and a striped Royal Marine tie; Tinkerbell is wearing a red-spotted collar and her coat is now adorned with an embroidered black and red Royal Marines Commando badge.

  ‘In 2007 I returned home, injured, from Afghanistan. As you can see –’ he coughs – ‘I lost my right leg, just above the knee. I knew the risks going into the Marines, but you still don’t think it’s going to happen to you.’ Tinkerbell rubs her nose against his thigh. ‘After life in the forces it was tough moving back home and trying to fit into civilian life. I felt boxed in. I’d get up, work on my laptop, take my meds, sleep, have physio. I didn’t see much daylight, and it got me down. But thanks to my girl …’ Tinkerbell can’t help jumping on to his lap now, making everyone in the room smile. ‘I can’t believe how much I love her. She’s changed my life,’ he says, tears in his eyes. ‘I’m not half as scared of my future any more.’

  I whisper to Ticket that it’s our turn now, looking at the image of him on the screen as a puppy, playing with a tennis ball. Lindsey tells the audience that he was friendly, charming and renowned for his good looks. ‘And when I saw him with Cass I knew it was a match made in heaven.’ As Ticket and I make our way down the aisle, towards the front, I hear a loud sob, the kind you hear in a cinema when there’s one person who can’t hold it in any more as the Titanic sinks or the hero gasps his last breath in his lover’s arms.

  It’s coming from Mum.

  Ticket rests his head against my knee, as I begin, ‘I’m not alone any more, am I?’ Ticket now jumps up, trying to hug me, wagging his tail. I stroke him fondly. ‘I feel stronger day by day, and ready to face the world again. Ticket is so bouncy.’ Everyone laughs. ‘And he’s so loving. He’s everything …’ I pause, trying to compose myself. ‘He’s everything I could want. I couldn’t ask—’ I look down at him, wagging his tail, and feel a tidal wave of affection overcoming me ‘—for a better dog.’

  Holding back my tears, I thank everyone who gave him to me. ‘But most of all, I need to thank one person. Mum drove us down the bumpy track to Canine Partners, pretending she didn’t know where we were.’ A silence descends across the hall. No one understands what I mean, except for Stuart. ‘I was sworn to secrecy,’ he says to the audience.

  ‘It’s a long story, but all I’ll say is I’m glad you took a risk, Mum. You’ve taught me that life is about taking chances.’ I notice Dad reaching out to grab her hand and whispering something into her ear. Jamie and Dad stand up to clap. And before I know it, most of the audience are on their feet, clapping and cheering for Ticket and me.

  14

  It’s a week after Ticket’s graduation day, and Dad and I are chatting in the kitchen as I cook the supper. Ticket is asleep in his basket by the fire. We must have covered a good five miles today. There was a cold wind, the sky overcast, but that didn’t stop us. I wore a thousand layers, along with a pair of fluffy blue earmuffs that Alex gave to me as a gift from Cilla. ‘When I go down the shops, it’s dangerous, ’cos Cilla has expensive taste,’ she’d said during the lunch that had followed the speeches.

  Edward and I also exchanged contact numbers and addresses, suggesting we meet up. He lives in London, in Richmond.

  Mum enters the room and kicks her heels off by the fireplace. ‘I’ve had such a shitty day,’ she tells us, collapsing on to a chair and rubbing her aching feet together. ‘Spoilt tenant’s wife is tired of the house that she’s renting for only five thousand quid a month and wants to move. So she drags her husband from a meeting to another house that she says she likes more. He agrees, reluctantly. I show them round the new house and she then says, “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Let’s stay put.”’

  Dad unscrews the vodka bottle and fetches some ice from the freezer to make Mum a vodka tonic. ‘I remember that story about the Japanese man years ago. He was letting one of your properties and was scared by all the frogs in the pond.’

  ‘Oh yes! “I been seeing many big frog,”’ she says in a bad Japanese accent, ‘“maybe more than fifty in pond, and it’s kind of fun seeing them jump up and down but we afraid in short time they come out of pond and into house!” Oh thank you,’ she says gratefully when Dad hands her the vodka tonic. She asks how my day was, watching as I crack an egg against the side of the bowl. I’m making omelettes with ham and salad for supper.

  ‘When I was a child I had these weird psychosomatic illnesses,’ she says. ‘I went through this phase, every time I walked I’d kick my right leg out to the side, like a soldier with a leg twitch.’ With her drink in one hand she does an impersonation across the kitchen floor. ‘I couldn’t stop. I did it in the shops, at school, going to church. The only reason Mum did something about it was because she was embarrassed. She had this friend who was into witch doctors and all that crap, and I can remember her doing this strange voodoo dance around me whilst cracking eggs over my head.’

  ‘Weird, Mum. Did it work?’

  ‘’Course not! Mum took me to the doctor. He asked me where this strange habit came from and I told him my address.’

  ‘That’s a fine answer,’ Dad says, raising his glass.

  ‘Anyway, how’s your day been?’ Mum asks me, glancing at Ticket lying on his back, paws in the air, snoring. ‘Clearly busy.’ She smiles.

  ‘Good. Actually there’s something I want to tell you.’

  *

  Mum and Dad are still patiently waiting for my news when Jamie enters the room. Recently he was made redundant, so, unable to afford London rent without a job, he’s home making plans to travel back to Madrid this spring, to teach English to businessmen abroad again. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks, sensing the expectant atmosphere. He joins us at the table, where supper has just been laid out.

  ‘I’m going skiing,’ I announce.

  Dad drops his knife. ‘Skiing? But—’

  Mum talks over him. ‘Where?’

  ‘Colorado.’

  ‘Colorado!’ Dad says.

  ‘When?’ Mum asks.

  ‘In a couple of weeks.’

  ‘A couple of weeks!’

  ‘Dad, are you going to repeat everything I say?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘Sorry to be thick, right, but how are you going to ski, Cass?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘Remember my physio Paul at hospital?’

  ‘’Course I remember.’

  ‘Well, he told me about Back Up, and they called me a few months ago to see if I was interested in signing up for a course. I’ve been doing a lot of research online, it’s a spinal cord injury charity, they go canoeing, camping, skiing, kayaking—’

  ‘Hang on! How?’ Jamie scratches his head. ‘Do they, like, put you on a sledge or something and roll you down the hill?’

  ‘Isn’t it dangerous?’ Dad asks.

  ‘I was thinking that, Dad.’ Dad and Jamie nod in appreciation of one another. They’re like two old men sometimes. All they need are their dressing gowns, pipes and slippers.

  ‘It can’t be dangerous. It’s at the NSCD.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘National Sports Center for the …’ I stop. ‘Disabled,’ I mutter. ‘Anyway, Back Up run these trips all the time, Dad. They told me the NSCD provide professional instructors, they have state-of-the-art equipment, plus we’ll have a medical team and buddies with us.’

  ‘Buddies?’ Dad says.

  ‘They’re volunteers for Back Up.’ Emma, the CEO, explained to me that they get their course volunteers or buddies mainly from companies. ‘They’re staff from RBS, Waitrose, Azzuri, that kind of workplace,’ she’d said. ‘Their HR department basically pay for key staff to come on a course. Others are Back Up staff or family members, not of someone on the course, but perhaps a family member who has seen how much difference it’s made to their brother or father, so in turn they want to give something back.’


  ‘Right, volunteers,’ Dad repeats.

  This conversation isn’t flowing the way I’d hoped. I turn my attention to Mum, strangely quiet. ‘Back Up was started in nineteen eighty, eighty-six I think, by this guy called Mike Nemesvary. He’d been a professional skier and after his accident his one dream was to get back up the mountain.’

  ‘Um,’ mutters Dad.

  ‘You don’t need to worry, I promise.’

  No one says a word.

  ‘I’m broken already,’ I say quietly. ‘What more damage can be done?’

  Mum, Dad and Jamie don’t have an answer to that.

  ‘How about insurance?’ Dad asks.

  ‘All sorted.’

  ‘Is it expensive?’

  ‘I’ve been working for Mrs Henderson, writing her memoirs. I’ve been saving up for months.’

  ‘Go for it,’ Mum finally says. ‘I think it’s a great idea.’

  ‘Dad?’ I turn to him but he’s looking at her with a new admiration across his face. We’ve both seen a side to her that we now depend on. She has this eternal optimism, something I hadn’t been aware of before my accident. Mum throws tantrums and argues much of the time, but she puts one hundred per cent into everything she does, and expects other people to do the same. I’m relieved she makes no allowances for me.

  ‘When did you say you were going?’

  ‘Beginning of March, for a week.’

  Mum nods. ‘Why didn’t you tell us about this before?’

  ‘It was something I had to do on my own,’ I confide. ‘Ticket and I went to the Back Up office and met the team.’ Their office is in London, along Wandsworth High Street in East Putney. I remember that day, returning home on the train, full of information. The Back Up Trust is passionate about transforming lives, wanting to help people with spinal cord injury get the most out of life again. It gives career advice, runs mentoring schemes, organises courses throughout the year, and Paul had strongly encouraged Dom and me to attend one of their wheelchair skill classes when we were at Stoke Mandeville. Back Up supports people like me to become independent again. When I tried to persuade Guy and Dom to come skiing, Dom said he couldn’t take time off work so close to Easter. Guy said he was a good skier before his accident; it would kill him doing it on some seat. ‘But don’t let me stop you,’ he’d added. I’ve never skied before, so this feels like a new challenge.

  ‘I guess I didn’t tell you, Mum, in case I lost my nerve and pulled out at the last minute. But I do have a favour to ask. Will you come shopping with me? I need to buy all the right kit.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  Dad and Jamie nod. Jamie says he’s broke so he’ll buy me the smallest item of clothing. Maybe some pink goggles.

  ‘You’ll be the best-looking girl on the slopes,’ Dad says, finally warming up to the idea.

  ‘Oh … there’s just one more thing.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Dad says, as if he can’t take any more.

  ‘Can you sponsor my bungee jump off Niagara Falls?’

  Dad throws his napkin at me.

  ‘What other thing, Cass?’ Mum asks.

  He’s lying under the table now, his face close to my feet, as if almost sensing my imminent departure. ‘Will you look after Ticket for me?’

  15

  We head for the departure lounge, Mum pulling the luggage trolley and muttering how much she detests airports, almost as much as level crossings. I say nothing. It feels strange not having Ticket by my side. I feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself. I keep on glancing over my shoulder, as if he might show up any minute. It’s odd not hearing the reassuring patter of his paws or seeing that wag of his tail that makes my day first thing in the morning. I wish I could have packed him in my suitcase.

  ‘You promise to call me if anything’s wrong?’ I say to Mum.

  ‘Promise,’ she replies, walking determinedly through the crowds.

  ‘Remember fresh water every day.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And he’s due for his worming tablet. I’ve written it all down.’

  ‘Right. Good.’

  ‘I know this is hard, right, but you have to remain as neutral as you can towards him, Mum. Don’t give him too many cuddles.’

  ‘Right,’ she repeats, tight-lipped. Mum still coughs and sneezes thanks to Ticket but I can tell she’s fallen in love with him too. I see it in her eyes when she watches in awe as he brings me my wheelchair or tugs opens a door for me. She calls him the ‘perfect gent’. ‘He’d never leave the loo seat up,’ she says.

  ‘I mean, you must be nice to him but don’t talk or play too much.’

  ‘Unless it has escaped your notice, Cass, I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time to play games with Ticket.’

  ‘He likes the veggie biscuits, you know, the parsnip ones, and you will take him out for walks, won’t you?’

  ‘No, Cass, I’ll lock him in the loft and throw away the key.’ Mum gives the wheelchair a kick from behind.

  ‘Did you see that woman?’ we overhear an old woman say to her companion. ‘As if the poor child isn’t going through enough.’

  Mum and I burst out laughing as we head for Zone F.

  I see a group at the check-in desk and a couple are in wheelchairs so I assume we must be in the right place. Who do I approach first? Thankfully one of the organisers walks over to me. ‘Hi,’ she says loudly over the sound of an announcement that passengers on flight BA3047 need to go to Gate 4. ‘Are you with Back Up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cool. Name?’

  ‘Cass. Cass Brooks.’

  ‘Great.’ She ticks it off as if it were the school register. ‘I’m Susi, Group Leader. Nice to have you on board.’

  ‘I’ll be off,’ Mum says, crouching down to give me a quick kiss. ‘Have a wonderful time.’

  And she disappears back into the crowd. Don’t look back. Don’t cry or think about Ticket. I am going to enjoy this. You want to go skiing, Cass. I want to experience new things. Yes I do. I really do. No I don’t! Come back, Mum! Oh shit … I glance to my left. There are a group of able-bodied young guys standing in a cluster, one of them wearing a cap and hiking boots. He looks as though he’s about to climb a mountain. I return his smile before promptly looking away. I never used to be this shy.

  ‘Join the queue here, Cass,’ Susi instructs. ‘This is Andrew.’ Andrew wheels himself towards me. I can tell he is extremely tall, even in a wheelchair. He has fair to reddish hair and is wearing a fleece with baggy combats. As more people in wheelchairs arrive he says, ‘I always wonder how the hell we’re going to get on to the plane. It’s madness.’

  One of the flight attendants is pacing up and down, counting us as though we’re a flock of sheep. Susi manages to assemble us into some sort of line and we begin to check in, in pairs, like animals going two by two on Noah’s Ark. ‘They stay in their own chairs until they reach the gates,’ she says to the woman in a navy and red uniform, sitting behind the desk, tapping frantically into a keyboard. ‘No, none of them can walk,’ she says impatiently.

  Andrew laughs. ‘They always think we can shuffle a few steps. Honestly, Cass, we’re never too popular round here.’

  ‘We’re trouble on wheels,’ I suggest as we edge forward in the queue.

  He considers this. ‘Trouble on wheels. I like that.’

  *

  ‘Charlie Bell,’ says the man sitting next to me, holding out his hand. ‘I’m one of the buddies.’

  I’m so relieved finally to be sitting in my seat that I don’t register his face, only a deep voice, firm handshake and glasses. ‘Cass Brooks.’

  The flight attendant runs through the safety procedures. The captain apologises for being delayed.

  No prizes for guessing why, I think to myself.

  ‘Have you ever been to Colorado?’ Charlie asks, twenty minutes after we’ve taken off.

  I turn to face him fully this time, and notice a man with thick, light brown hair and hazel eyes, wearing a pale
blue shirt. ‘No, never,’ I say.

  ‘Have you skied before?’ He has a warm, open face.

  ‘No. Have you?’

  ‘Yep. Since I was six. I’m a qualified instructor.’

  ‘Sorry. That was a dumb thing to say. You wouldn’t be here, would you, helping us!’ I flick the pages of my duty-free magazine, realising I can’t talk to men any more. Except for Guy and Dom, but they don’t count. They’re more like my brothers. ‘Why aren’t you just skiing? I mean, with friends or something?’

  I don’t know why, but Charlie finds that funny.

  ‘Last year I made a couple of New Year resolutions,’ he confides. ‘One of them was to do some volunteer work. I was on one of the Back Up courses last winter, in Sweden.’

  I’m impressed.

  ‘Don’t be too impressed,’ he warns me. ‘I wasn’t about to do something as altruistic as picking up cigarette butts off the streets. Anyway, I heard about Back Up through one of my best mates, Rich. He knew someone who’d been a buddy and had loved it, and seeing as I can ski, I thought, why not?’

  ‘My summer holidays used to be at a donkey sanctuary,’ I tell him.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A donkey sanctuary, in Spain.’ I tell him it was voluntary work too. It involved falling out of bed at eight in the morning to feed and muck out the donkeys, before the sanctuary was open to tourists until about two. ‘I helped out with the medical rounds, things like checking their hooves and dealing with any skin problems, and then during siesta time I’d head down to the beach.’ I shut my eyes, remembering lying on the golden sand in my bikini and shades. I can almost feel the soft breeze against my skin and hair; hear the comforting sound of waves and children playing.