Open Writing

“Can I help you, sir?”

A smartly dressed young man wearing a badge which identified him as Colin bore down on Kevin immediately he came in.

“Wheelchairs?” asked Kevin.

“Of course, sir. Would you like to follow me?”

The man set off for the back of The Mobility Shop. Shop, thought Kevin, was rather an understatement. The whole place recalled a supermarket or a D-I-Y store: cavernous, with goods piled from floor to ceiling, aisle after aisle. Disability was apparently big business. He stopped under a sign Manual and Powered Specialist Chairs.

Kevin forestalled any sales patter.

“Actually,” he said, “I know exactly what I want.”

He took a piece of paper from his pocket and spread it on the counter. The assistant studied the glossy coloured photograph and frowned. It showed in the foreground a wheelchair in what appeared to be a badly-lit hospital corridor. Behind it was an exit sign above open double doors beyond which stretched another corridor, this time brightly lit.

“I don’t recognise this particular model, sir.”

“I’ve been told it’s called the XP101.”

“New to me, sir. But I haven’t been here very long. I’ll just check with my manager.”

He whisked the photograph away and went off to confer with an older colleague, whose status, it seemed, exempted him from wearing a badge.

Kevin reflected on his recent conversation with Belinda at the hospital his father would shortly be leaving.

“Ask for the XP101,” she said. “That’s the one for your dad. Insist on it. Believe me, anything else would just not meet his needs.”

From the moment he first clapped eyes on her he knew that Belinda was something special. She was in her early thirties, beautiful, with tight dark curls framing an always smiling face. She came across as professional and authoritative. He had noticed how often other nurses deferred to her. She was always so sympathetic and understanding when dealing with tearful, confused, frightened visitors. Kevin had never had a regular girlfriend, never found anyone he could warm to. But Belinda was different. It had taken him some time and courage for him to invite her out to dinner. And he had been genuinely surprised at her response.

“I’d love to,” she said. “Let me just check my roster.”

Now he was suddenly aware of the older man at his side.

“You were asking about the XP101, sir. This is rather a special model. Could I ask who recommended it?”

Kevin explained about the accident which had left his father with both legs broken. He was expected to leave hospital shortly, so there was some urgency.

Belinda on that first date had shown a great deal of interest in his father’s life-style, his background, even his family. She said she might be able to point Kevin in the right direction if there were financial problems, if, for instance, his father got to the stage of needing long-term care.

“Good gracious, no,” he said. “When he retired he had no trouble buying the large house in the country where we live now. He’s a mean bastard, but he doesn’t lack for a bob or two.” Kevin thought that calling your sick father a mean bastard might seem odd to Belinda, so he decided to tell her more.

“I’m his only child, Belinda. And - I’ll be honest with you - we’ve never really got on. I’m afraid I turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. I’ve never been an ambitious man or a great achiever. I’m an easy-going, middle-of-the-road sort of guy - the sort of guy, in fact, my father despises. Things got worse after my mother died. She always tried to stick up for me, both when I was little and when I should really have been sticking up for myself. Living with him isn’t easy, I can tell you. In fact, although it sounds a terrible thing to say, I was glad when he had the accident. It got him off my back for a few weeks.”

Belinda said that he could ‘a bit difficult sometimes’ in the ward. What a generous spirit she was! The truth was he was more like a permanent pain in the neck.

The manager interrupted his thoughts.

“Which hospital, sir?”

“The Royal Middlesex. Why do you ask?

“We have a lot of satisfied customers from there. Your father is probably under the care of Belinda.”

“He certainly is. Do you know her then?”

“Yes indeed. Now about the XP101, sir. May I explain this store’s unique cost-saving scheme? We don’t sell you this chair, we loan it to you for a modest weekly rental and when it’s no longer needed, just give us a call and we pick it up. Let me explain its main features …. ”

That evening Kevin rang Belinda.

“The manager was extremely helpful. I just have to let him know when dad is due to come out of hospital and they whiz the chair along there, make any adjustments necessary and then bring him home in their specially adapted car. By the way, he said he knew you. I forgot to get his name. He wasn‘t wearing a badge.”

“That would be Stanley, Kev. He used to be a nurse himself. We were together at St Thomas’s, but he left because of the hours. He’s pretty good at hospital equipment of any kind. Bit of an engineer, too. Special gear for special needs, that sort of thing.”

The next week Belinda accepted his proposal of marriage. He was over the moon.

“Just one thing,” she said. “We’d better keep this a secret from your father for the time being.”

“Gosh! I’d never thought of that. I can tell you now he’d certainly not approve.”

“I thought he mightn’t, but we can get him used to the possibility.”

Mr Carruther’s return home went like clockwork, but he showed no appreciation.

“I suppose I’m going to be dumped here and then forgotten.”

He was a large man, grossly overweight, and sat in the chair like a huge toad. Belinda had tried to do something about the excess in the hospital, but with no obvious results.

“At his age, Kev, even when his legs are working properly again, he can’t afford to put them under strain. That’s one of the reasons why he should be discouraged from trying to do too much too soon.”

Kevin looked at his great lump of a father and sighed.

“Now, dad, you know that’s not going to happen. I have put you on the first floor because there is more room there for you to move around in the chair. Later, when you’re on your feet again, well, of course, you’ll have the run of the house. That nice nurse Belinda will be calling in over the first few weeks to see you are OK.”

“That Belinda is the only one who cares for me, you know.”

The old man’s habit of criticising, complaining and generally being unpleasant did not continue for long, however. Kevin returned home one evening to find him in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. With shaking hand he telephoned Belinda’s mobile.

“Something terrible has happened to Dad,” he stammered. “I don’t know what to do. He’s lying at the bottom of the stairs and … ”

“Call an ambulance now,” said Belinda firmly. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

As the door slammed behind her she was already taking charge.

“He’s dead,” she pronounced briskly after a rapid check. She looked up to the top of the stairs from where the XP101 was silently surveying the scene. “He must have tried to get down and slipped. Silly man. Leave everything where it is. Put the kettle on, will you? I’ll deal with all this.”

She bundled him into the kitchen and closed the door. Then she ran up the stairs, skipping down again just before the ambulance screeched to a halt in the drive.

Thomas Carruthers, said the coroner a couple of weeks later, died from a broken neck caused by a fall. There were no witnesses to the accident. Mr Carruthers had clearly attempted to leave his wheelchair before his legs were ready to take his weight. He expressed his condolences.

The way was now clear for the wedding and for Belinda to move into the large house.

Six months later, however, a detective inspector and his sergeant called on Kevin when Belinda was on duty during her final week at the hospital. Kevin had agreed with her that, given their very comfortable circumstances, there was no longer any need for her to put up with the stress and poor pay that is the lot of nurses.

The visitors asked to see the old man’s wheelchair. Kevin explained that it had been picked up by The Mobility Shop.

The police officers exchanged glances.

“Ah, The Mobility Shop," said the inspector. "Strange how often that place keeps cropping up in our inquiries. Do you happen to know the name of the person you dealt with there?”

“Stan something, I believe,” said Kevin. “Look, what’s all this about?”

“Well, I can tell you that Stan doesn’t work there any more, but we’d like a few words with him when we find him. He’s a bit of an inventor is our Stan. We believe he specialises in remote radio-controlled wheelchairs fitted with ejector seats. Not something you will find in every shop selling aids for the disabled, I think you’ll agree. We may have to call on you again. And would you mind not mentioning our visit to Mrs Carruthers, sir?. Women tend to get upset when they hear about ‘the police making enquiries’. No need to worry her unduly. Have a nice day, sir.”