One Step At A Time

by Caroline Anderson

  Tears slid down her cheeks, tears of frustration and sadness and disappointment in her life. Her needs were very simple. Food, drink, sleep—and Dominic.

  She reached out a hand and stroked the cat, and he purred contentedly and allowed her to scratch his ears. She snuggled him closer, drawing comfort from the soft warmth and affectionate sounds, and finally she fell asleep with her arm across him and a loud purring in her ear.

  So-and-So woke her at dawn, miaowing at the French doors that opened out to the garden.

  Kate slipped out of bed, let the cat out and remade the bed, then took her cup back into the kitchen and made some fresh tea. She could see the cat stalking down the garden, sneaking up on some unsuspecting anima, his tail all a-quiver as he snaked over the grass.

  He reminded her of Dominic. He had certainly sneaked up on her sixteen years ago. Lord, she had been so innocent. Innocent, naive and ripe for the picking.

  And oh, how sweetly he had picked her!

  She buried her nose in the mug, refusing to think about the man and his lovemaking any more. She had dreamed about him all night, and this morning she was restless and frustrated.

  She crept upstairs and peeked into Stephie’s room. The girl was fast asleep, sprawled on her back, long fair hair tangled across the pillows, arms flung above her head, vulnerable and innocent and on the verge of discovering her womanhood.

  Please, God, don’t let her meet a man like her father, Kate thought protectively. She was too sweet, too innocent to deal with it.

  Defenceless, as Kate had been.

  She closed the door softly, went into her room and rooted out a pair of cycling shorts and a T-shirt, her swimsuit and a towel.

  She scribbled a note to Stephie, went out into the garden and crossed the courtyard to the fitness club.

  It was open, and she found a young man in there in black shorts and a green polo shirt with the slogan ‘Heywood Hall Fitness Club’ emblazoned across it in bold black script. The words were repeated in green on the side of the shorts, and he looked keen, fit and every inch a fitness instructor.

  ‘Morning!’ he called cheerfully. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She walked over to him. ‘I’m Kate Heywood—I’m covering for Dominic while he’s in hospital. I wondered if I could use the equipment.’

  ‘Sure thing—can I assess you first, though? No one’s allowed to use the gear without a fitness check.’

  Kate wasn’t surprised. It was yet another aspect of Dominic’s thoroughness, that extended to every part of this vast enterprise.

  ‘I’m Jason, by the way,’ the young man told her, sticking out his hand.

  She shook it, pleased by the welcome and the firm warmth of his hand, the open smile and genuine friendliness on his face.

  He led her into a room with an exercise bike, and after asking her a few questions he weighed her, measured her height and took her pulse. Then he worked her on the bike for a while and checked her pulse again.

  From a chart he calculated what percentage of her aerobic capacity she was working at for her age, and then, satisfied that she was fit enough to proceed, he led her back into the gym and showed her how the equipment worked. Then he left her to it.

  Twenty minutes later she was hot, sweaty and had burned off some of the frustration of a night in Dominic’s sheets. She went to change, showered, and dived into the crystal-clear water of the pool.

  She swam twenty lengths, still pushing herself, then she allowed herself the luxury of ten minutes in the huge round spa bath, floating on the pummelling bubbles and feeling the tension drain out of her in the piping hot water.

  Then the bubbles subsided, the jets slowed and she sank gently to the bottom. Time to get back to reality.

  She crawled out of the deliciously hot water and dived back into the pool for a quick, bracing splash before changing. As she came up on the far side she saw John Whitelaw in his wheelchair, talking to Jason.

  She pulled herself out and plopped onto the side, flicking her hair out of her eyes and squeezing the water out of it. ‘Hi, John,’ she called. ‘Coming for a swim?’

  Jason walked over to her. ‘Is that OK? Really he should have a member of staff with him at all times, but there’s only me on.’

  ‘I’ll stay with him.’

  ‘Sure?’ Jason checked, and then went back to John’s wheelchair. ‘Mrs Heywood’ll look after you, if you want to swim now.’

  John looked up at her. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  She grinned and got to her feet. ‘It’s no trouble. If Jason can help you change I’m quite happy to stay in the water with you. Can you swim?’

  He gave a wry, bitter smile. ‘Do birds fly? I used to be good, when I had something to swim with.’

  She arched her brows and looked pointedly at his arms. ‘Suddenly paralysed overnight, are you?’

  He laughed shortly. ‘I don’t tend to count my arms. I suppose I should.’

  She grinned. ‘Yes, I think you should—you’ll find they’re awfully useful things. You add up what you do with your arms and what you do with your legs and work out which you’re better off without—but don’t be too long doing it, because I’m getting hungry and I fancy some of that breakfast they have in the dining room. I’ve heard it’s excellent.’

  This time the laugh was more natural. ‘Give me two minutes,’ he said, and turned the wheelchair competently and headed for the changing rooms.

  Jason went with him, and five minutes later the wheelchair emerged complete with John in swimming trunks. Jason helped him across onto the hydraulic chair, and then lowered it down to water level.

  ‘There you go—I’ll leave it there ready for you to come out. Press this button to lift it.’

  John sat there, looking at the water with distrust, as if he was expecting that this, too, would defeat him. He was thin, his abdomen criss-crossed with fine red scars from his surgery, the stumps of his legs sad reminders of his accident. He badly needed an ego boost, and there was only one thing Kate could think of. She just hoped that he was up to it.

  ‘I’ll race you to the end—arms only,’ she challenged.

  Something glittered in John’s eyes, and then he launched himself off the seat and stroked powerfully down the pool away from her.

  She followed, trying desperately hard not to use her legs, and arrived at the end seconds after him.

  She glared at him. ‘You are good, aren’t you? I’m going to have to cheat to beat you.’

  He laughed. He threw back his head and shook the water from it, then grinned at her with real enjoyment. ‘God, it feels good.’

  Kate returned the grin, then threw down the gauntlet. ‘How about a real race—in a week, say? When you’ve had time to build up your fitness again and had some practice, and I’ve been working my socks off and I’m worn out?’

  He met the challenge head-on. ‘How about now?’

  ‘Now? You haven’t warmed up.’

  ‘Five minutes, then.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he taunted. ‘Afraid I’ll beat you—or that you’ll beat me?’

  His eyes were glittering with determination, and Kate suddenly realised just how important this was to him. He wasn’t ready, but it wouldn’t kill him—and it was his choice, his body. So be it, she thought. ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘Done.’

  He swam away from her, easing gently into an effortless crawl, then turning on his back and sculling for a moment, then disappearing below the surface and giving her heart failure for a moment before he shot to the top like a cork and threw back his head to clear the water from his eyes.

  ‘Ready?’ he called.

  ‘When you are.’

  He swam over to her. ‘One length only, starting from the side with a sitting dive. And I’ll let you use your legs, as you’re only a feeble woman.’

  She returned the cheeky grin. ‘OK.’

  She pulled herself out and sat on the edge,
watching as he hauled himself up. He was going to have to do quite a bit of upper body work to prepare himself for his new lifestyle, but she knew already that he would tackle it with grit. It was his wife she was less sure about, and his personal confidence.

  ‘On three,’ he said. ‘One, two—’

  They dived in, and Kate was conscious of the churning beside her and of John’s flailing arms slicing through the water just feet away from her.

  Should she let him win? No. That would leave no challenge, and she sensed that he needed a challenge, even if it was only slight and trivial.

  She put all her strength into the last few strokes, and looked up as she hit the end to see John touch just a fraction later.

  ‘Damn,’ he said with a glitter in his eyes. ‘You wait. I’ll get you, Dr Heywood.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it. I really tried.’

  ‘You’re unfit too, though, aren’t you? You’re puffing.’

  ‘I’ve also been working out for half an hour before you appeared, sunshine.’

  He shrugged. ‘So? We’ll both work on getting fit, and we’ll have a rematch.’

  She grinned. ‘Fine. Now, how about some breakfast?’

  ‘What a good idea.’ He hauled himself onto the seat, pressed the control Jason had shown him and winched himself back up beside his wheelchair. Jason came and helped him shift across, and then wheeled him off to the changing room.

  Kate came out the easy way, up the wide, curving steps, and went to change herself. She was pleased with John Whitelaw. He had risen well to the challenge, and hopefully would take his grit and determination with him into physio. He had the rest of that day off, and then work would start in earnest.

  She hoped it wouldn’t defeat him.

  There were other patients in the clinic, of course, and Kate spent that Sunday getting to know them, both in person and from their medical notes, which Jenny Harvey showed her.

  She settled to read the notes in Dominic’s study, spreading them on the huge old desk. There was a pair of glasses lying on a book, and she picked them up and looked through them. Black-wire-framed, they were reading glasses. She hadn’t realised that he used reading glasses.

  In fact, she reflected pensively, she knew precious little about him any more.

  She turned to the notes.

  Brian Pooley, a roofer, had fallen from some scaffolding and injured his back a year before. He was still off work, and his firm were paying for his stay in the clinic. He had had spinal surgery, but was left now with intractable leg pain. The only option left to him was a dorsal column stimulator, a little device that sent electrical impulses through the lower part of the back and confused the nerves.

  Like all painkillers, it worked on the ‘gate’ theory—the principle being that if a gate in a nerve pathway could be closed, either by drugs, electrical stimulus or some other factor which interrupted the impulses, then the pain didn’t get through to the brain and therefore wasn’t felt.

  However, the stimulators didn’t work for everyone, and to test its efficiency in his particular case Brian Pooley had had an electrode implanted in his back by epidural the previous Monday, before Dominic’s accident. According to Jeremy, who was supervising the test, he had responded well, and the permanent implant had been due on Friday.

  The difficulty was that Dominic was the only person who could implant the device, and so Brian’s firm had been faced with leaving him there at great expense until Dominic was better, or finding some other clinic to do the job—unless a locum anaesthetist could be found to do it.

  In the end they had decided to leave him there, and he was to continue with the temporary implant and do some gentle upper body work to recover some level of fitness. Then as soon as an anaesthetist was able to do it, Mr Pooley would have the stimulator implanted.

  However, he wanted Dominic, and Kate wondered if he realised that it would be four or five weeks at least before Dominic could do it. Perhaps he thought it was just a minor break, and that he would be up and about in a week. She debated telling Mr Pooley, and then decided against it. Surely there was another anaesthetist who could do it? Dominic had mentioned one himself—perhaps the patient would agree for his own sake? She made a mental note to check, and moved on to the next patient.

  Susie Elmswell, whom she had met in the physio department the day before, was twenty-five, getting married and trying to learn to walk again. Kate had had a long chat to her after breakfast, and had found her cheerful, determined and pleased with her progress.

  Her fiancé came in during the afternoon, and Kate met him and was instantly impressed. Warm, funny, and very supportive, Richard Price was just what Susie needed, and if Kate could have found a wife with his attitude for John Whitelaw, she thought she could have solved that man’s problems at a stroke.

  There were several other patients—some recovering from joint replacement surgery, a man who had had arterial bypass surgery and wanted to recover some fitness, another with whiplash injuries and back pain, a diabetic amputee—the list was varied, but with one common element. They all needed what Dominic’s clinic had to offer, and couldn’t get the facilities on the National Health Service.

  It was a shame, Kate reflected, that the NHS wasn’t able to offer such facilities to everyone, but realistically it was frighteningly expensive to do so, and with limited resources they were forced to spend in such a way as to achieve the widest spread benefit and do the greatest good. It was no use rehabilitating one man at the cost of eight others with more short-term recoveries, for instance.

  In fact, Kate had been surprised that the clinic was accepted by many medical insurers, but she wasn’t any longer. The results spoke for themselves, and rehabilitated and working members of the community were less of a drain on their insurers than those who were languishing on sick leave. So the insurers paid up, and firms offering insurance as part of the pay structure were able to offer the facility to their workforce.

  Hence Brian Pooley and Susie Elmswell.

  Kate wanted to discuss the clinic with Dominic, but she resisted the urge to go and see him again that afternoon.

  She didn’t need any further disturbance of her peace of mind, and that night she fed the cat and put him out, then locked the cat-flap before going firmly upstairs to her own room and forcing herself to spend the night in there instead of in Dominic’s big, comfortable and very tempting bed.

  On Monday morning, just after dropping Stephie off for the school bus, she went into the meeting room for the case conference she had been told was held every morning at eight o’clock, and as she arrived she was introduced to Martin Gray.

  The clinic psychologist was in his late forties, and short and dark. His hair was energetically curly and his eyebrows met in a thick black line above sparkling eyes that were full of humour and compassion. He looked enormously kind, and Kate was sure just from her first glance that he would be able to help John Whitelaw immeasurably.

  A moment later Angela, who was one of the physiotherapists, arrived, with Eddie Saville the limb-fitter, and Jeremy called the meeting to order.

  John Whitelaw was on the agenda, and Jeremy ran through his notes, outlining John’s recent surgical history and the point he had reached in his physiotherapy prior to his transfer to Heywood Hall.

  ‘He’s severely depressed, and there seems to be a massive communication breakdown between him and his wife. She was driving the car at the time of the accident. Obviously she’s racked with guilt, and that’s interfering with her ability to help him. He’s also somewhat angry with her, which obviously doesn’t help. There’s a court case pending, following the accident, and she seems to have been to blame. I think you’ve got a lot to do there, Martin.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I’ll see her today—is she around?’

  ‘I can get her in. She’s been warned to be available.’

  Martin nodded again. ‘How’s his general outlook been over the past couple of days?’

  ‘I went swimming
with him yesterday morning,’ Kate told them. ‘I challenged him to a race, and he beat me. I tried harder the next time, using my legs as well, and I just beat him by a whisker. He’s challenged me to a rematch in a week.’

  ‘How did he take defeat?’ Martin asked thoughtfully.

  ‘Not well—actually, that’s silly; he took it very well. He responded just right. Indignation, determination—I was thrilled to bits. He’s got guts, I’ll tell you that. If he was single I don’t think he’d have any problems.’

  ‘But he isn’t,’ Martin said.

  ‘No—and he doesn’t seem convinced that his wife will stay,’ Jeremy put in.

  Martin sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Oh, dear. I’ll see what I can find out from her this morning. What treatment is he having?’

  They discussed a programme of physiotherapy, and Kate realised just how hard he was going to have to work. The first thing, though, was going to be getting him up on a set of pneumatic legs, or PPAM aids, short for pneumatic post-amputation mobility aids.

  ‘I want to get him vertical as quickly as possible. Three months is too long,’ Angela said firmly. ‘I want him up, where he ought to be, standing straight and tall and in his rightful place in the world. Then he can look down on us all and feel himself again. Then I want him walking, and that’ll knock his confidence for six all over again. If we get the casts made for his legs today, while Eddie’s here, he can have the first ones by the end of the week and we can go from there, but it’ll be slow and painful and humiliating. He’s going to need support.’

  ‘I’m around,’ Martin assured her. ‘Is he having aromatherapy?’

  ‘He can,’ Jeremy said. ‘Jason’s working out a fitness programme with Angela for upper body work for him, and if he likes swimming he can do that. He’ll be having plenty of hydrotherapy. Shall I leave it to you and Angela to work out a timetable?’

  Martin nodded. ‘I’ll see his wife this morning, while he’s busy with Angela and Eddie, then maybe later today I’ll go and introduce myself to him and have a chat.’