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.
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.
‘Yes,’ I reply, just to see his face.
As Ticket and I leave Sainsbury’s we notice the
Big Issue
man back in his post, standing close to the entrance and flower stall, wearing faded jeans and a Che Guevara T-shirt. I hand him some of my spare change, but tell him I don’t need a
Big Issue
today.
‘God bless you and Ticket,’ he says, tickling Ticket under his chin.
Big Issue
man is the only man who doesn’t pay any attention to the ‘Don’t distract me, I’m working’ message on Ticket’s coat. In such a good mood, I decide to tell him about my job.
‘That’s grand! I hope you’re painting the town red tonight?’
I find myself telling him about Charlie and that I’m cooking him a special meal to thank him for his support. Immediately I feel guilty, wondering what
Big Issue
man will feed his kids tonight, so am relieved when he smiles and says, ‘Food is the way to a man’s heart.’
‘Oh no, he’s just a friend.’
Big Issue
man examines me, stroking his chin. ‘Let me ask you one question, right. Was he the first person you wanted to tell about the job?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You’re in love, girl. Oh, I remember that feeling,’ he sighs, before singing Louis Armstrong’s ‘What A Wonderful World’.
‘Charlie, there’s something I need to tell you,’ I say.
‘Me too.’
‘You go first,’ we both say at the same time, before laughing.
We gaze at one another from across the kitchen table, our plates of food barely touched. Charlie encourages me to start.
‘You see, the thing is,’ I begin.
‘I think I know what you’re about to say.’
‘I’ve been having these
feelings
—’
‘Cass, stop.’ He takes my hand. ‘I feel the same.’
‘You do?’
‘I do.’ He’s now sitting by my side as he takes a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. ‘I’ve loved you since the moment we first met.’
I lean towards him; press a finger over his lips.
We kiss. It’s a soft kiss at first, but soon it becomes more intense and then …
I feel a nudge against my knee and the vague sound of ringing. I open my eyes, only to see Ticket in front of me, with the mobile in his mouth. It’s Charlie. ‘I’m on my way home,’ he says, ‘be with you soon.’
*
It’s eight o’clock. I glance at the kitchen table again. Napkins, steak knives. I’ve used the best wine glasses. He’s bound to be here any minute. Candles? I chew my lip. Is it too obvious? Oh, why not. The wine is chilling and I decide to have a glass while I wait.
I turn on some music. All I need to do when he arrives is cook the steaks. Charlie loves his steak rare. Just as I look at my watch I hear a click in the lock and the familiar sound of his voice.
*
‘To Cass,’ Charlie says, raising his glass of champagne towards mine. ‘Congratulations.’
Over supper we talk about our day. I tell him half of mine was taken up on the telephone calling friends and Charlotte to accept the job offer. Charlie says he can’t compete with my exciting news. ‘But I’m always relieved when Monday is over.’
After supper Charlie and I collapse on to the sofa. He smiles when he sees his copy of the
Big Issue
on the coffee table. ‘Cass, you’re such a softie,’ he says.
‘I know, I can’t help it.’ I think of what
Big Issue
man said again.
You’re in love, girl.
How do I tell him?
‘Can I see the letter? From Back Up?’ Charlie asks.
‘Really?’
He nods. ‘You need to frame it. We should stick it in the bathroom.’
I laugh. ‘It’s in my bedroom. Hang on.’
‘I’m hanging.’
As I wheel myself out of the room, I decide that I’m going to tell him tonight that I love him. I feel so happy. I have a job and the most supportive and wonderful Charlie. I grab the letter off my bedside table. When I return, I hand it to him, watching his every expression as he reads it slowly. ‘Oh wow, Cass, that’s incredible … and very true.’ He looks at me. ‘You are brave. You haven’t hung around feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve got on with it.’
‘I don’t have much choice,’ I say quietly.
‘Yes you do. We make choices all the time. “
Despite your nerves
,”’
Charlie reads out,
‘“
your empathy and strength of character shone through
”.’ He puts the letter down. ‘Cass, I’m really proud of you. You did it.’
Glowing inside, I say, ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘Yes you could.’ He takes my hand. ‘You can do anything.’
‘Charlie?’
‘Yes?’
Tell him, Cass. Be brave. ‘Charlie,’ I repeat. The buzzer rings.
‘Shit,’ he says, jumping up and rushing out of the room. ‘That’ll be Libby.’
Libby? Who’s Libby?
*
Libby looks to be in her late twenties, wearing a pale grey mini skirt and a cream close-fitting jumper that shows off her slender frame. Her long brown hair is sleek; she has a perfect middle parting.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ she says, shaking my hand in the kitchen. She glances at the empty bottle of champagne on the table. ‘I gather you had good news today. Congratulations!’
I want to say, ‘Yes, but who the hell are you?’ Instead I say, ‘Thanks.’
Ticket jumps up to say hello to her.
‘Ah, so cute! Aren’t you a handsome—’ she bends down to take a look at his undercarriage ‘—boy!’
Charlie opens the fridge and asks if she’d like a drink. ‘White wine would be great, honey. So …’ She turns to me and looks down. ‘You’re the famous flatmate that Charlie stood me up for tonight! Only joking!’ she adds when she sees my face. ‘Didn’t he tell you? I called to see what he was up to tonight and he told me
all
about you. It’s so sweet you wanted to cook him a special meal.’
‘Here you go,’ Charlie says, handing her a glass of wine.
‘Thanks, honey. Can I quickly use your bathroom?’
‘Sure. Down the hallway, on the right.’
When she’s out of the room Charlie says, ‘Sorry, Cass, I meant to tell you she was coming over later,’ he whispers, ‘but I was so caught up with you and the good news. Fancy another drink?’
‘I didn’t know … didn’t know you were seeing someone,’ I say, trying to disguise my disappointment.
‘It’s early days.’
The buzzer rings again. Charlie tells me that will be Rich, who had also called earlier to see if he could come round. Rich is Charlie’s best friend from home. He works in film and advertising, and is often abroad, which is why I haven’t met him yet. ‘He’s just got back from the States,’ says Charlie, letting him in.
Sitting round the kitchen table, Rich tucks into the leftovers of supper. Charlie, Libby, Rich and I talk briefly about my job that starts in ten days. Rich goes on to describe his trip to Washington and Vancouver. He has returned from filming a documentary about the Second World War, where he was lucky enough to visit some incredible war veterans, men well into their nineties who all had stories to tell. ‘What they did … well, it makes our lives seem pretty mundane,’ he says.
Libby works in Leicester Square for a recruitment company that specialises in media. ‘We recruit for the BBC, trade shows, exhibitions, things like that.’ I discover Charlie met her a couple of weeks ago; he’s designing a new website for their company. Libby explains that her job is all about getting ‘hits’, in other words, placing people. ‘The more people I can find work for—’
‘The more commission,’ Rich finishes, a note of cynicism in his voice.
‘Exactly. Have to earn the pennies. I visit loads of companies to meet the staff, see if I have anyone on my books who would fit in. It’s dead in August, though. Roll on September.’
‘Tell them what happens when you get a hit,’ Charlie says.
Libby laughs. ‘Charlie thinks this is so weird! Friday afternoons we have our weekly meeting, OK. If I’ve placed someone our team manager rings this bell and everyone in the boardroom sings round the table, “Hey, Libby, you’re so fine, you’re so fine”’ – Libby does this little dance, jigging her arms in a circle, and somehow she makes even
that
look sexy – ‘“You blow my mind, hey, Libby!”’
Why hasn’t Charlie mentioned her before? Rich catches me noticing the way his hand brushes across hers.
*
Charlie and Libby head outside into the garden for a cigarette, leaving Rich and me alone in the kitchen. Rich brings his dirty plate to the sink, thanking me for supper.
They stand close as Charlie lights her cigarette. Libby is clearly into Charlie just as much as he’s into her.
‘Uh-oh,’ Rich says.
‘Sorry?’ I edge myself away from the French door.
‘I’ve seen that look before.’
‘What look? Sorry, Rich. I was admiring … um … Libby’s top.’
‘Right. And I was looking at that flying pig.’
‘Do you fancy a coffee?’ I ask, desperate for him to change the subject.
‘Listen, Cass, I love Charlie. I’ve known him all my life, since I was this high.’ He places his hand a couple of feet from the floor. ‘His family are like my family.’ He pauses. ‘But he’s complicated.’
‘Complicated?’
‘He gets close to women and then bottles out. Who knows how long this one will last.’
Maybe he hasn’t met the right one, I want to say.
‘Jo was lovely. It ended badly, the moment she wanted more. He has a commitment problem. His whole family do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you met his sister, Anna?’
‘No.’
‘Long story.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I can’t.’ He glances at Charlie through the window. ‘Not now, but one day,’ he promises. ‘Cass, all I’m saying is don’t place your bets on him. I know he thinks the world of you but …’
‘Listen, Rich, I like him,’ I say, partly touched by his concern, but also annoyed with myself that I can’t hide my feelings. I stop when I see Charlie kissing her. She has one hand resting against his back jean pocket.
‘I didn’t even know he’d met someone,’ I murmur.
‘He can be pretty private. I didn’t meet Jo for months.’
‘Please don’t tell Charlie,’ I whisper.
He touches my shoulder in understanding, before walking over to Ticket. Ticket rolls over, allowing Rich to tickle him. I watch them playing; half Rich’s white shirt hangs out of his trousers and he has ink on his freckled cheek.
‘I don’t understand your dog, Cass,’ Charlie says, when he enters the kitchen. ‘He doesn’t let me near him.’
Rich ruffles Ticket’s ears. ‘Have you been giving my friend a hard time? Well, very wise to be wary of Charlie. I was when I first met him.’
Ticket wags his tail even more, in on the conspiracy.
‘Should I be wary?’ Libby says, nudging Charlie’s arm.
The telephone rings. Libby is in awe when Ticket brings it to me. It’s Guy. Never before have I been so relieved to leave the room; Ticket follows me and I shut my bedroom door firmly behind us. ‘Sorry I missed your call earlier,’ he says. ‘That’s great about the job! Cass?’
I hear music playing, voices in the kitchen and Libby laughing again.
‘Cass? What’s wrong?’
‘Can I drive over?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘No. Right now?’