By My Side (16 page)

Edward and I are out with our dogs in Kensington Gardens, close to the Serpentine Gallery. After returning from Cornwall, he’d called to ask me on another date. ‘You don’t like swanky restaurants, and nor do I,’ he said, ‘so how about a dog walk?’

Ticket and I love this park; it gives me a feeling of space and peace, and the straight pathways are easy to navigate in my chair. It’s a beautiful day today. The autumn leaves are beginning to change colour.

Edward’s in his wheelchair this afternoon since long walks cause him too much pain. As we’re talking about his holiday, people can’t help but notice us. Some walk on by but then glance over their shoulder. London does throw up a strange mix of people but I guess you don’t often see two people in wheelchairs side by side, both with purple-coated dogs. Some smile as they watch Ticket and Tinkerbell playing with one another and chasing the squirrels. Others throw us that ‘poor wee things’ look. Others simply stare.

‘Just wave back,’ I say, waving at the woman with a camera round her neck. ‘Always throws them off guard.’

‘Or do this.’ Edward leans over and kisses me, hard on the mouth.

I push him away. ‘Edward!’ I say, then we both laugh, watching her tentatively wave at us before walking as fast as she can in the opposite direction.

Some people approach us, unafraid of asking questions. ‘I feel like I’m with a celeb,’ I whisper, when an elderly gentleman tells Edward he’s proud of him and what our lads do for this country. ‘So often the press only focus on those that have lost their lives, but it’s important we support fine young men like you. God bless you.’

*

Early in the evening, after our walk, Edward is at the bar, ordering drinks. We decided to give the cinema a miss, instead choosing to go to the Curtains Up, round the corner from Charlie’s flat. It’s a cosy pub with a little theatre in the basement. What I like about it is it’s normally busy, people sitting on stools around the bar or relaxing on the comfy leather sofas. There’s no sign of couples not talking to one another. Charlie and I occasionally come here if they’re playing live music. We often have a drink on Sunday night too, to beat the Sunday night blues. He and Libby rarely spend Sunday night together. I like those nights, just the two of us.

My mobile rings. It’s Sarah. ‘Take it,’ Edward says, returning with the drinks.

‘It’s fine,’ I say, rejecting the call.

‘Who was it?’ he asks. ‘But don’t tell me, if it’s private.’ I sense Edward thinks it could be another man, maybe competition. To put him at his ease I tell him about her. ‘She’s too tangled up with my old life,’ I confess. Sarah is now working at St Mary’s Hospital in Marylebone. She wants to specialise in paediatrics. ‘I feel guilty shutting her out,’ I admit. ‘But equally I know she finds it hard, she doesn’t know what to say, so we’re stuck.’

‘Maybe it will take time,’ Edward suggests. ‘If your friendship is strong enough, you’ll find one another again.’

‘That’s what Charlie says.’

‘You talk about him a lot, you know.’

‘Do I? Well, you get to know someone pretty well when you live with them.’

‘Sure. Anyway, he’s right.’

I finish off my beer. ‘I don’t know, Edward, I feel bad, but the thing is, I’ve found so much more peace being with Charlie and Frankie, Guy and Dom.’ I pause. ‘And you. You didn’t know the old me.’

Edward nods. ‘It can be the same with my friends from the Marines. It’s tough. They’re doing the job I used to love. But, Cass, you could go back to King’s?’

‘Shall we order another?’ I hold up my empty glass, dodging the question.

At the end of the evening I ask Edward if he’d like to come back to Charlie’s flat for a coffee. I’m not sure what I mean by a coffee, but he kisses me softly on the lips, saying he needs to go home. ‘I like you, Cass, that’s why I want to take things slow.’

I’m in my bedroom getting ready for my evening with Edward. Charlie and Libby are next door, in the sitting room. They’re spending more and more time together, so much so that she might as well move in with us. As for Edward and me, since our walk in the park, we’ve continued to meet regularly over the past month. Last weekend we went to the O2 Arena. Edward had bought tickets to see Katy Perry. I smile, remembering us driving home late at night, me singing ‘Last Friday Night’ at the top of my voice.

‘Don’t give up the day job,’ Edward had said, glancing at me, humour in his eyes.

I pick up my mobile, in need of advice. ‘Nothing’s happened yet,’ I tell Frankie.

‘Nothing?’

‘Well, you know we’ve kissed, we’ve kissed a lot, but we’re taking things slow.’

‘Still? I know it’s romantic and all that, but can’t you speed it up?’

‘He’s asked me to his place tonight, for dinner.’

‘That’s great!’

Silence.

‘Isn’t it? Cass?’

‘Yep. Great.’

‘You can’t be getting cold feet? He sounds perfect. In a way it’s quite romantic.’

Through the crack in my door I see Charlie walking past my bedroom.

‘This is totally normal,’ Frankie reassures me. ‘You’re bound to be nervous first time.’

‘Maybe.’

Charlie pokes his head round the door.

‘Frankie, I have to go,’ I say, before she insists I take a toothbrush just in case. I hang up quickly.

‘Everything OK?’ he asks, perching on the end of my bed.

‘Fine. What are you up to tonight?’

Charlie tells me he and Libby are going to a birthday party in Tooting. ‘To be honest I don’t fancy it, I won’t know many people but … How about you?’

Suddenly I wish we could forget Libby and Edward and spend the evening together. I miss him. I miss us. ‘I’m seeing Edward,’ I say. ‘He’s cooking for me, at his place.’

‘It’s going really well, isn’t it?’

I nod. ‘I might stay over.’ I watch his reaction.

‘If you do, will you let me know,’ he says, giving nothing away.

*

‘What was the food like, when you were out in Afghanistan?’ I ask, over supper, a mushroom risotto. We’re in his small kitchen, painted a pistachio green. I take another mouthful. At least I think it’s mushroom.

‘Ration packs,’ he says. ‘Boil-in-the-bag. I lost two stone. I looked dreadful, but then we all did, Cass. Our stomachs shrank. On Christmas Day they flew over a chef and we had Christmas dinner, though not many of us could eat the meat, it was too rich, and a can of beer. That can of beer was the best I’ve ever tasted. Amelia sent out parcels too,’ he continues. ‘Coffee, chocolate, pork scratchings.’ He smiles, as if he’s thinking about her.

‘Who’s Amelia?’

‘My ex-girlfriend,’ he says, in a tone that implies he doesn’t want to talk about her.

‘Tell me more, about Afghanistan.’

‘It was the worst experience of my life and strangely the best too, if that makes sense.’

I ask him to describe it to me. I want to be able to picture his old life.

‘Oh, Cass, it’s hard. You see the images on the news, the kids with missing limbs, the dusty tracks, you hear reports about the mines and the soldiers and civilians that have died.’ He inhales deeply. ‘When you’re out there, it’s terrifying and exhausting, but also nothing has ever made me feel more alive. If I was pointing a gun at the enemy it was to save my troop and myself. So if you can imagine that, and then coming home, it’s been tricky. The adrenalin got me through at first. I was working so hard to recover I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. But when I was back home, reality sunk in. That’s why I got so low.’ He stops. ‘Do you really want to hear all this?’

I nod. ‘It’s good to talk about it.’

‘I had some counselling, had to get my shit into one sock.’

‘Shit into one sock?’

‘Sorry.’ He almost smiles. ‘Means I had to sort my life out. A lot of soldiers do mad things after they return from Afghanistan.’

‘Like what?’

He refills my glass of wine. I realise I’m well over the limit to drive home, that I’ll have to call a cab, but neither one of us mentions it.

‘Speeding, crashing their motorbike, hijacking a car on a motorway. Some turn violent. A lot of us suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I wanted to hurt myself,’ he admits quietly. He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I’d walk down a street and expect to be attacked. Any unexpected noise or bang set me off. Mum had to be careful waking me up. If she jolted me, I’d freak out. I never thought I’d be able to go outside and feel safe or live on my own again. When I was in Headley Court there were people worse off than me, double-leg amputees, so I kept on thinking I should be feeling lucky, that I’d got off lightly. Lucky seems such a weird word, but you know what I mean.’

I tell him how Georgina, the abrupt nurse on our ward, had told me, only days after my accident, that I was lucky to have a low-level injury. ‘I know what she means now, but back then it didn’t make any sense. Was it your idea to get a dog?’

‘Mum’s. Funny thing is, I’ve never liked animals much. Got nipped when I was a young boy by some horrible sausage dog called Spike.’

Edward asks me how I found out about Canine Partners. I tell him about Mum and our Friday afternoon drives.

‘This isn’t lucky,’ he says, gesturing to my wheelchair, ‘but we are lucky to have support. So many of the lads come from foster or broken homes. If they’re injured they have nothing. It’s their whole life, and then it’s taken away from them in seconds by an IED blast. They have no family at home waiting to pick up the pieces.’

‘What happened to you … out there?’ I ask.

He tells me he was in a WMIK, a Weapons Mounted Installation Kit, explaining that they’re basically a stripped-down Landrover with a heavy weapon mounted on the back and a machinegun mounted for the person in the passenger seat. ‘We used to drive in and out of contacts in them, often as fire support for the troops on foot who entered and cleared compounds. Our vehicle went over a mine.’

‘What happened next? Were you unconscious?’

He nods. ‘I don’t remember much, Cass. They did the amputation in Camp Bastion and then I was flown back home. All I remember is waking up in a hospital bed, unsure where I was. It was terrifying.’

‘When I was at King’s, I was in my own bubble,’ I say, ashamed. ‘I didn’t think about brave guys like you.’

‘We’re not brave, Cass, we’re just doing our job.’

*

After supper Edward gives me a guided tour of his flat. ‘It won’t take long,’ he says. He leaves his bedroom until last.

‘So, this is my room,’ he says, Ticket and Tinkerbell following behind us. Edward tells them to settle down in the corner. In front of me is a double bed and beside the window is a desk on which sit a computer, books and files.

‘What are these for?’ I ask, pointing to some miniature medals on a small wooden table. Edward tells me he was in South Armagh, Northern Ireland, in 2002 and Iraq in 2003. I look at some framed photographs, including a picture of the same woman I had seen in the photograph in his wallet.

‘Who’s this?’ I ask, but I think I know.

‘Amelia.’

‘She’s beautiful.’

He doesn’t say anything.

‘Are you still in touch?’

‘No. She left me last year,’ he says, a tremor in his voice.

‘How long had you been together?’

‘Four years.’ He bends down to stroke Tinkerbell. ‘She’s met someone else. The ironic thing is we got through the hard times. She stuck by me through rehab, but then … Maybe she left when she thought I was strong enough to cope alone, but I still loved her. I didn’t think …’ he trails off. ‘Anyway, I’m over her now.’

‘Right,’ I say, far from convinced. The last person I’d want in a photograph frame is Sean. ‘Do you miss her?’

‘No. Cass, do you want to sit …’

‘Hang on,’ I say, picking up another framed photograph, realising I want to delay whatever it is that might happen tonight. Why do I feel this way? Edward is handsome and charming; he’s good company and we have so much in common … what’s stopping me?

‘Where are you?’ I scan the picture of young lads lined up in rows, wearing green berets.

‘There,’ he points. ‘And that’s Dan, next to me. We trained together, at Lympstone. We were so young, about nineteen.’

‘And this?’ I point to a coloured, hand-drawn map.

‘Helmand Province.’ Inside the map are signed messages from his friends.

He picks up the photograph of him and Dan standing next to one another in their green berets, two fit young guys with a bright future ahead of them. ‘Are you still in touch with him?’ I ask.

There’s a painful silence and I realise the answer. ‘Oh, Edward, I’m so sorry.’

‘He was the brother I never had,’ he says sadly. ‘We always thought we’d be big and strong and yomp up mountains until we were eighty.’ He turns away. ‘Let’s not talk about this any more. Why don’t we move …’ He gestures to the bed.

‘Yes,’ I say, my heart thumping as I head towards him.

‘OUCH!’ Edward cries out when I run over his foot.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘Oh shit, does it hurt?’ Stupid question.

‘A bit,’ he pretends, his face puckered in pain.

‘Shall I take a look at it?’

‘No, I’m fine, really,’ he says. He laughs and I find myself laughing too with relief, watching as he heaves himself on to the bed. It’s my turn next, transferring myself from my wheelchair on to the bed. Tinkerbell rests a paw against the side of the mattress.

‘I have competition,’ I say. Edward orders Tinkerbell and Ticket to settle down on the fleece rug by the window. When he turns to me, I look away. ‘How’s your foot?’ I ask.

‘I’ll survive.’

‘Oh God, sorry,’ I say nervously again, when I can’t stop laughing. ‘I know it’s not funny.’

‘It is kind of funny.’ He grins.

There’s a long silence. Edward lifts my face to his. He kisses me, his arm around my waist, his hand now inside my top. I don’t mean to pull away so abruptly. ‘Edward, I’m not sure …’

‘What?’

‘I like you, so much.’

‘There’s a but, isn’t there?’

I nod, wishing there weren’t. ‘I’m sorry.’ There’s a long silence. ‘Maybe I should go?’

‘Don’t.’

‘But …’

‘Cass, stay.’

When I look at him, I see how much he has lost, especially his best friend, Dan. I see the loneliness in his eyes. I think he’s still in love with Amelia. I see a young boy who wanted to be a soldier, a son who has come back home, a son who would have made his dad proud, someone who is braver than I will ever be, and I edge closer to him, noticing tears in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘What a twit, I’m not normally like this. It’s being with you, Cass, I can talk to you and …’

‘Shh.’

I touch his face, wishing I could take all that pain away.

‘I still miss her,’ finally he admits, quietly.

‘I know. Sean and me, we were always together, and then suddenly he wasn’t around any more. It’s like losing a limb,’ I say, before realising that wasn’t perhaps the best word to use, but Edward doesn’t take offence.

‘You know, most of us lads, after waking up in the hospital, were much more concerned that we still had our balls.’

We both laugh.

‘Stay, Cass. I don’t want to be alone tonight.’

‘Nor do I,’ I say, holding him in my arms.