Chapter 3

Emily didn't pester or tease me about Hazel, she just let me stew. Over the next few days, we went out – to the local, to see a film, or an exhibition at the Millennium Galleries; she wanted to visit Kelham Island industrial museum. A few times she went to visit old friends, but there weren't many left in the city; most were scattered all over the country, in a few cases, all over the world. Some were dead; I was shocked to hear a couple of her closest school friends, bright people with everything to live for, had committed suicide; a couple more dead thanks to 'recreational' drugs, but there were one or two left. She came back two evenings looking thoughtful, having spent the day in each case with a married couple and their kids.

On the days she was away and I was on my own, I took my laptop to the park; I felt like a teenage boy, hoping to 'accidentally bump into' a girl I liked. The third time I did it, I was lucky. Because of what Emily had said, I recognised the lift in my heart when I saw her, and the excitement when she came to share my table. When I said it was good to see her, she blushed and said it was lovely to see me. We finished our coffee and she asked me to walk with her further up the park; when we got to a bench, she asked me to sit, then unclipped the side of her 'chair and neatly transferred herself to the bench beside me.

"John..." she sounded nervous, "I could use a hug."

I could handle that. I lifted my arm and placed it round her. We fitted together ... like ... I don't know, a hand in a glove? As we sat there, the brook tinkling over a weir behind us, I glanced down at the stumps of her legs and experienced a surge of anger at the mutilation of this young woman thanks to one person's stupidity. She obviously sensed something in my mood, because she twisted toward me.

"Are you ... is this ... okay, John?"

"Very okay," I said, "I could get used to this."

She didn't say anything else and after maybe five minutes she eased away. It was really a bit too warm for cuddling.

"Thank you, John; I enjoyed that."

I took her hand and held it. "So did I," I admitted.

"I probably should go," she said quietly. "See you day after tomorrow?"

"Oh!" I'd forgotten about the hospital. "Yes, of course. We'll pick you up. What time do you need to be there?"

"We?"

"Em will drive, so I can come in with you. Parking is really bad."

"Oh ... okay. The appointment's at eleven."

"Fine! We'll collect you at ten-fifteen. That'll give us plenty of time to get you there, and get you up to the department."

She nodded, "thanks. Thanks ... for everything."

She slid herself back into the 'chair and slotted the side back into place, then looked at me and opened her mouth to speak. I quirked an eyebrow enquiringly, but she just shook her head and closed her mouth again, gave me a little wave and wheeled off.

I needed to think. I couldn't believe Hazel was interested in me; I couldn't get my head around the idea I was ... falling in love – there; I was admitting it – with a woman younger than my daughter. At the same time, she'd wanted me to hold her. I couldn't back away from the relationship we already had. So, I left the bench, walked up through the park and had sausage and chips for lunch in the Forge Dam café. For once, I didn't have my laptop open; I was living the story, not writing it.

I drive an old Austin FX4 – a 'black cab' – it's slow, and heavy, but there's loads of room in it. The doors are big enough to get a wheelchair through. We drew up near her flat, which was on the ground floor of one of the large, sprawling seventies blocks of Council properties. I walked round and tapped on the door; she was waiting inside and wheeled herself out straight away.

"Where's your car?"

"Out front," I said.

When I walked up to the old cab, she protested.

"I wasn't expecting you to get a cab!"

I just smiled, and opened the door. I had to pull the chair in backwards, but managed it; when I swung the chair round to face front, she caught sight of Emily in the driver's seat, only then looking around and realising that the partition and meter were missing from the vehicle, and there was a seat next to the driver where normally there'd be a space for luggage. As she looked at me, I smiled.

"Okay, Em, we're all set here."

Emily started up the old two-point-two litre BMC diesel, which rattled into life and we were off. The old taxi is a very good transport around a city. Tiny turning circle (less than twenty-five feet) though it's five turns of the wheel lock to lock, and relatively economical, with loads of space inside. It's rather crude, mechanically, being rather like a diesel Morris Minor on steroids.

Anyway, we swept (rather noisily) up to the hospital reception and I got Hazel, and her chair, out of the car and up to the prosthetics department. We were early, but unusually they took her in straight away and I settled down to wait. And wait. And wait. It was past mid-day when Hazel emerged, accompanied by a male physiotherapist. I suppose the first thing that caught my eye was the ... utilitarian character of the limbs; angular structures of metal and plastic which made no pretence of being 'normal'. She handed her crutches to him and there ensued a quiet, but intense discussion. At the end of which, he shrugged and stepped back.

Hazel, wearing a look of intense determination, lurched toward me, arriving just in front of me and swaying slightly as she sought her balance, then wrapping her arms round me in a warm embrace. It seemed strange to have her standing upright. Even stranger when she pulled my head down and kissed me on the lips.

"I'm hungry," she announced, "and I'd like to treat my friends Emily and John to lunch, if I can presume upon them for transport."

"I think we can cope with that ... where would you like to take us?"

"I thought ... either the Grouse Inn, or maybe the Ladybower Inn, though there's some steps up to that one..."

"How independent do you want to be? If you can't manage the steps alone, you could have one of us each side ... and I could always pick you up and carry you."

She looked at me speculatively. "Okay, then, the Ladybower it is."

We made our way to the entrance; she rested her hand on my arm, more, I think for reassurance than necessity. We weren't moving fast, but at that she certainly wasn't doing too badly. I called Em when we got there and she appeared within five minutes.

I opened the door for her; her lips tightened and by dint of pulling with her arms and pushing with her below-the-knee leg, she got herself in and ensconced on the back seat.

"The Ladybower, please, Em," I said, settling beside Hazel.

As we moved off, I remarked, "you seemed to manage really well."

"I've been practising practically every day. But that's the furthest I've managed in one go, so far."

Emily took the most direct route to the Manchester Road, and we arrived at the Ladybower a little after one. We stopped right outside and I stood by the door as Hazel got out; Emily then moved the car across to the car-park, while Hazel determinedly moved toward the pub. With my arm she managed the few steps up, we entered the pub which was moderately busy as you might expect in the Peak District on a nice day in Summer. Eyes followed us as we found a table shortly to be joined by Emily; I could not help but notice the same eyes following my daughter's progress to join us. It made me think about the young women whose company I was enjoying. I was in no doubt about the attractiveness of my daughter; but one thing I noticed was the movement of the eyes between Hazel's body – and her prosthetics. In turn, it made me think about my own perceptions of that young woman.

Emily had made me realise how important Hazel had become to me. The stares made me realise how attractive she was. In fact, for me, I think those prosthetic legs emphasised her beauty rather than detracting from it ... I sipped at my Barnsley Bitter and was rather quieter than usual.

A few days after, while I was still wondering and trying to get my head round my feelings, Emily broke in on my reflections.

"Daddy." When I didn't respond immediately, she cleared her throat, "DADDY!"

"What? Sorry, Kitten. I was thinking."

"Yes, you were. You've been lost in your thoughts since last Thursday. I kept hoping you'd finish whatever you were worrying about and pay me some attention."

I was instantly contrite. "Sorry, Kitten. I'm all ears, now. What were you wanting to say?"