I’m aware of Charlie watching me try to decipher what I’d originally typed.
‘Look, sometimes it helps giving it a rest, you know, coming back fresh? You’ve been cooped up in here for hours.’
He makes me sound like a battery hen. ‘Charlie, I’ve got to get this job.’
‘I know. Just take a break. We can brainstorm it over a glass of wine.’
‘No!’ I say feeling pressured. ‘Look, can you go? I don’t always need your help.’
Ticket barks when I raise my voice.
He heads for the door. ‘Fine. Sorry. I’ll leave you to it.’
Immediately I regret snapping.
He turns. ‘“What does independence mean?”’ he says. ‘Isn’t it about sometimes allowing people to help you out, rather than always turning them away?’
*
I clear my throat to read the final paragraph of my presentation. ‘Sometimes we think being independent is about doing it on our own. We let pride prevent us from seeing that, with help, we’re not giving up.’ I pause. ‘Oh God, do I sound like the Queen, Charlie?’
He tries not to smile. ‘Carry on. And stop fiddling with your hair.’
‘Without Ticket, I wouldn’t have moved to London. Without Charlie’s help, I wouldn’t have skied down a mountain, or ever believed I could live in London again. Until I came across Back Up, I thought spinal cord injury meant the end. There will always be things I need to do on my own. I won’t hide behind my injury and expect everything to be done for me. But I do now understand that it’s stupid being too stubborn. Asking for help when you need it is the key to enabling you to remain independent.’ I pause. ‘Well?’
He claps. ‘You’re hired,’ he says, impersonating Lord Sugar. ‘I particularly liked the Charlie part.’
Charlie and I stay up for a while, chatting and drinking tea in his sitting room. It’s a small room with wooden floors, silvery-grey painted walls and two ancient red sofas; his old boarding school trunk is used as a coffee table and the shelves are crammed with design books and old CDs. Charlie’s style is the opposite of minimalism. Throughout the flat are photographs, camera equipment, tennis rackets, furniture he’s either found on eBay or in antique markets, and pictures – lots of them, some modern, some not. In his bedroom he has a drawing of a nude woman lying on a bed. In the bathroom are prints of birds his father gave to him. Both of them have a love of wild life. When we’re out dog walking, he’s always stopping to take photographs.
I glance at my presentation, thinking about the stress it caused. ‘I don’t know how I ever took an exam, Charlie,’ I say, sipping my tea. I tell Charlie about our OSCEs.
‘Your what skis?’
I laugh. ‘Objective Structured Clinical Exams. At the end of each year we had a twenty-station OSCE, each station seven minutes, where we’d be tested on some kind of practical skill.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh I don’t know. It could be something like, “Take a genito-urinary medicine history”.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
Or, “Examine his knee”, “Suture a wound” …’
‘Ouch.’
‘Or “Carry out advanced life support with a defibrillator”.’
‘Fucking hell.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You don’t miss it, Cass?’
‘Sometimes,’ I admit. I miss Sarah. I tell Charlie about our friendship at King’s, Charlie curious as to why he hasn’t met her yet. I explain that I didn’t see her over the summer. ‘She was revising for her finals and then she went travelling with friends,’ I say. I sent her a congratulations card after she’d called with the news that she had passed with a 2:1. I could hear her toning down her excitement. I miss our carefree friendship. Perhaps things can never be the same between us.
‘I don’t know. Maybe it takes time,’ he says.
‘What about you, Charlie? Do you love your job?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘Love is a strong word. It pays my mortgage. I’ve always been interested in branding and design but work and bills and demanding clients knock the charm out of it. Still –’ he shrugs – ‘I do enjoy it, though it can be a little soulless at times.’
‘Soulless? What do you mean?’
He takes off his glasses. ‘Clients don’t understand it’s important to market and invest in proper communications and branding. They don’t get that if you put the money into your business, you’ll get it back. If you do a website on the cheap, you’re chucking money down the drain. Your website is the shop window of your business. No one’s going to come in if … Oh, listen to me. It’s boring.’
‘No it’s not.’
He looks at me. ‘You’re going to blow them away tomorrow, Cass.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
‘Charlie?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Thank you, and I’m really sorry for snapping earlier.’
‘Listen, it’s my fault too.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Sometimes I don’t know when to back off. What?’ he asks, noticing me gazing at him.
‘Why didn’t you get a normal flatmate?’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘Normal? Just because they can walk they’re normal? Christ, Cass, you talk a load of bollocks sometimes.’ Without thinking, Charlie lifts my legs and swings them across his lap. ‘My last flatmate was called Euan, right. He was Scottish,’ Charlie warns me, in a heavy Scots accent. ‘“Charlie, the rolls you put in the bin the other day are perfectly all right if you just put a wee bit of water on them.” Cass, even the ducks would have turned up their noses at them.’
I smile.
‘I love having you around,’ he says, reinforcing that message by tapping my legs.
‘Well, I love being here.’
I don’t notice Ticket coming into the room until he drops a pair of knickers on to my lap. ‘Ticket!’ I grab them, secretly delighted that they are my new lacy pink ones. Ticket jumps up now and nuzzles into my arm. I give him a kiss. ‘I love you too,’ I reassure him. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no need to be jealous, I love you too.’
‘Too?’
Oh fuck. ‘You know what I mean.’
Charlie coughs. ‘Cass?’
‘Yes?’
I wait.
‘What? Charlie?’
He leans towards me, grabs my hand to stop me playing with my hair. ‘Don’t be nervous, tomorrow. Whoever interviews you, think of them naked, and if you don’t get the job, set Ticket on them.’ I laugh, saying that’s not such a bad idea. There’s a further pause. ‘Right. Bedtime. I’m tired,’ he says.
‘Me too.’ I orchestrate a yawn. ‘Ticket and I need an early night.’ Reluctantly I transfer myself from the sofa into my chair. As Ticket pulls open the door for me, I look over my shoulder and see Charlie hasn’t budged an inch. He’s looking right at me. ‘If I get this job, I’m cooking you a special meal,’ I promise. ‘My treat. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ he says.
25
As I drive to my interview, I think about Frankie’s advice. She told me that they’re bound to ask what my motivation is in applying for this role. ‘They might also ask you how you’ll cope health-wise,’ she’d continued, ‘with a full-time job. Just say you’ll be fine.’
I arrive at their office off Wandsworth High Street. I park outside the main entrance to their building, a four-storey tower block, in one of the dedicated bays for wheelchair users. I look at my watch. It’s nine thirty a.m. My interview is at ten. I was so nervous about being late this morning, and paranoid about rush-hour traffic, that I left way too much time. I open my door, lift my wheelchair off the passenger front seat and across my lap before positioning it on the ground right in front of me. As I reach behind for my wheels, I take in a deep calming breath. ‘Wish me luck,’ I say to Ticket. ‘This is our big chance.’
When Ticket and I approach the reception desk Joe, the security guard
, greets us with a friendly smile, remembering us from my visit last year when I was researching the idea of going to Colorado. ‘You must be here to see Back Up again,’ he says. ‘How are you, handsome boy,’ he adds, stroking Ticket.
Back Up is on the third floor, and Joe presses a button to call for the lift. Inside the lift, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a navy blazer with a white fitted shirt and trousers. As the lift goes up I tell myself not to be nervous. I can do this. If I get the job, I’m staying in London with Charlie. If I don’t … Don’t even think about it. But the truth is I can’t afford to live in London without a job. I can’t borrow any more money from Mum and Dad. Keep positive, Cass. Remember what Charlie had said last night. I’m going to blow them away. This could be it – a new life for Ticket and me. I want this so badly. I want to tell Charlie I got the job. I don’t want to fail.
*
‘Cassandra,’ says a tall elegant woman in her late thirties, shaking my hand. I recognise her from my previous trip to Back Up. She’s wearing a cream linen dress and pale pink cardigan ‘I’m Charlotte Lamont, the Course Manager. Come this way.’
The office walls are painted white with orange pillars. Charlotte points out two banks of desks either side of us. ‘This is where services and fundraising sit,’ she says. It’s busy and noisy, telephones ringing and people chatting. We head past one group having a meeting on a small round table in the middle of the room. Many look up and turn to admire Ticket, but I sense Ticket knows he’s here for an interview and there’s no time to play.
Charlotte leads Ticket and me into a meeting room, a bare space with only a table, chairs and a jug of water with glasses and a large window that looks out on to the back of some residential apartments with their double windows. ‘It can get quite chilly in here,’ Charlotte warns me, making space for my wheelchair on one side of the table, ‘so just say if you’re not warm enough.’
Seconds later, a woman enters the room. She looks older than Charlotte with fairish to grey hair and glasses, dressed more formally in a grey suit and high heels. She comments on Ticket and the dreary weather considering it’s supposed to be our summer, clearly trying to put me at ease. They sit opposite me and open their files. The woman in the suit introduces herself as Sophie. ‘I’m the Services Manager and I’ve been at Back Up for thirteen years.’
‘The interview will last an hour,’ Charlotte tells me.
I nod. Stop fidgeting. Look them in the eye.
‘So, shall we begin?’ Charlotte continues.
Before I can answer, my stomach does a giant rumble. I was too nervous to eat a thing for breakfast.
‘Why do you think you will be good at this role?’ asks Charlotte, ten minutes into the interview.
‘I’m organised and efficient. I’m passionate about what Back Up stands for.’ I hesitate, unsure what to say next. ‘I believe I could make a real difference.’
‘Right,’ Charlotte says, and it’s hard to tell if she’s impressed so far or not. I glance at Sophie taking notes. There’s an awkward pause. Do they want me to go on? ‘I want to tell as many people as I can about Back Up and why they should give your courses a go because I enjoyed Colorado so much. I think my having spinal cord injury is an advantage too. I’d have an insight into what people are going through, how frightening it is to do anything new.’
Sophie puts down her pen and takes off her glasses. ‘Back Up attracts people from all walks of life,’ she says. ‘Whether spinally injured or volunteers. Will you be comfortable dealing with people from all sections of society?’
Shit. What do I say to that?
‘Well, um, when I was at King’s, working in hospitals I came across people from all different backgrounds and cultures. When I was in Stoke Mandeville for four months I met people I’d never normally meet but we all had our injuries in common. We were in it together, if that makes sense?’ Don’t gabble. Slow down. ‘Spinal cord injury doesn’t discriminate.’ I catch Sophie and Charlotte glancing at one another. ‘SCI can happen to anyone,’ I continue, ‘the way an illness can. It doesn’t matter what your background is.’
It’s Charlotte’s turn again. ‘This role requires supporting people new to their injury to overcome fears related to being away from home or travelling independently. How have you supported someone in their past to overcome their fears?’
‘I haven’t,’ I say. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t,’ I stress when I see the look on their faces. ‘Going to Colorado was a turning point for me, doing something I felt I could never achieve. It opened my eyes about what my life could be despite what’s happened. I want to help others have that same opportunity. Medicine is my background. I care for people. I know now I can’t fix things, but …’ I stammer, unsure where I’m heading to on this question. ‘I made some good friends in hospital last year. We supported one another, but that probably doesn’t count,’ I say, registering that neither one of them is taking notes.
‘You’re newly injured, Cass. Do you think you’re ready for this role?’ Sophie asks, her voice more gentle.
‘Yes,’ I say, looking her in the eye. ‘I’m ready. Please give me the chance.’
*
‘They asked me why I’d left King’s,’ I tell Charlie when I call him in the car, before setting off home.
‘What did you say?’
‘I told them I wanted to go in a new direction, that things had changed since my injury. Oh God, Charlie, I could have done so much better. The other applicants will have way more experience than me.’
‘Don’t panic. I’m sure you did better than you think,’ he says, but I can hear the concern in his voice. ‘How did the presentation go?’
‘Good, I think.’ Ironically that was the easy part.
‘When will they let you know?’
‘Sophie said they’re interviewing until the end of the week. I should know by next Monday.’
As I drive home, I wish I could rewind to this morning and have the interview all over again.
26
The following Monday morning Ticket drops the mail on to my lap. It’s half past nine and I’m still in my pyjamas, eating breakfast. Amongst the catalogues is an official-looking letter with the Back Up Trust logo stamped in ink. I delay opening it, gearing myself up for rejection.
‘Here goes,’ I tell Ticket, unfolding the letter.
Dear Cass. Thank you for applying for the role of Course Coordinator. We enjoyed meeting you … I’m waiting for the ‘but’. I carry on, … and are delighted to offer …
I scream, waving the letter in the air. ‘They’re delighted to offer me the job, Ticket!’ He jumps on to my lap and licks my face.
I carry on. Going for a job interview when newly injured shows character in itself and is highly unusual. We admired your honesty and courage.
‘We did it, Ticket! We did it!’
I pick up my mobile and call Charlie.
‘I’m guessing you got the job!’ he says when he hears me screaming down the telephone.
‘Are you in tonight?’ I ask him.
‘I am now.’
‘I’m cooking us a special meal, to celebrate.’
‘Can’t wait. I’ll get the champagne.’
*
‘Time to get dressed,’ I tell Ticket, putting on his coat after calling virtually my entire address book to tell them the news. Guy wasn’t picking up, so I left him a message. Mum picked up the telephone immediately, as if she’d been waiting all morning for me to call, and she’d screamed, just like me.
‘We’re off to Sainsbury’s to buy some food for tonight. We love going to Sainsbury’s, don’t we! It’s where we meet Big Issue man.’
Ticket wags his tail.
Ticket and I first met Big Issue man a week after I’d moved in with Charlie. We’d come out of the supermarket and into the pelting rain. I pushed my chair past a man holding up a magazine. ‘God bless you,’ he called out, when I hadn’t given him as much as a smile. Something made
me turn round, and when I did, I saw a large man in his forties, rugby build, black, with a shaven head and the kindest brown eyes. I ended up buying a copy, trying not to gasp at the price, and thinking no more of it until I saw him again the following week. This time it wasn’t pouring with rain so we had time to talk. I discovered he owned a white cat called Snowy and had two children, but no wife. ‘We all sleep in one room, one bed. I kip on the floor. It’s important that they get a good night’s sleep, not me, but it’s quite snug as a bug if you know what I mean.’ He laughed, but I could see guilt behind those eyes. I bought another magazine immediately. In fact I bought two, one for me and one for Charlie.
We enter the double doors of the supermarket. Ticket wags his tail as he picks up a wire basket, dropping it eagerly into my lap. I steer us towards the fruit and vegetable aisle.
‘Up, Ticket, get!’ I point to the pot of double cream, on a shelf beyond my reach. Ticket jumps up, paws against the refrigerator and picks up a small pot of fromage frais, turning to me with hope in his eyes. ‘No,’ I say gently, ‘not that one.’ I nod my head towards the double cream again. People watch us. ‘Look, Mama,’ says a fair-haired boy helping his mum push the trolley, ‘that doggie’s shopping! Look, Mama!’
Being here makes me think of the friends I met on the Canine Partner training course, and the many role-plays we performed in pretend supermarkets. Alex and I send emails occasionally. ‘Cilla and I cuddle the whole time, she’s like me guardian angel.’ Jenny, the one with the softest voice, who lived in hospital for twenty years, wrote to me recently saying how she still gets a thrill from seeing the small things like washing blowing in the wind and hearing the rain outside her bedroom window. Then there’s Edward and Tinkerbell. I wonder how he is? I often think of him. In fact, I’m going to call him. I’d like to see him again.
When I reach the checkout the shop assistant seems to find us funny. A lot of people find Ticket and me funny. Maybe I should charge for the entertainment.
‘Can he tap in your pin number too?’ the assistant asks, breaking into a wide smile.
By My Side Page 14
