Chapter 10

Reg was sitting at the kitchen table when Eleanor came dancing in on Monday morning. He rose to greet her.

"I missed you," they both said together which was a signal to hug and give each other a warm kiss. They smiled happily.

Eleanor dumped her things on the table. "How do you want to play it?" she asked. "You've got physio at eleven forty-five so we ought to leave at twenty-five past which means coffee not a moment later than eleven. Do you want to do your exercises now or later?"

"How about now and get them out of the way?"

"OK, when did you last wash your feet?"

"You did on Saturday."

"Right! That's first on the list before we start the exercises."

"Yes, miss."

She smiled at him and went to collect all the bits and pieces she would need. She washed his feet gently and painstakingly. Reg found it mildly disturbing.

"You've got long toes," Eleanor said as she dried them. That was done gently too.

"Prehensile."

She smiled up at him.

"Ape man. No, you've got long, slim fingers as well." She took his hand. "Yes, a strings player."

"I'm not really into guitar, even the classics."

"No. I was thinking of violin, cello, bass."

"Can't read music."

"Rubbish. You did for Elijah."

"I suppose but it took a long time."

"Not really. It took you longer to learn the words."

"Hmm."

"Don't worry, Reg. I'm not trying to push you into anything. To play an instrument you've really got to want to and I reckon your voice and your ability to harmonise are the big things."

Reg shrugged.

"I meant it when I said I wanted you to come to the old fashioned church service. Daddy'll love singing along with you."

"Hmm."

They went on to the exercises. Again Reg felt something from the gentle but firm way Eleanor held his foot. They were both also pleased at the greater flexibility his right leg was showing. His left leg was still tender but he could put some weight on it.

Anita was pleased with him too and congratulated them on the hard work they had both clearly put in over the last ten days.

"Your left leg is ready now to do a bit more work," she said, "so I want you to start using a stick. If your leg gets tired or painful go back to the crutches until it's had a rest; then try again."

She showed Reg how to use the stick.

"Well done, Reg," Eleanor said to him as they drove home. "You've shown a lot of guts. Don't think I haven't seen the pain and determination on your face when we do those knee flexions. You should be proud of yourself. I am, oh patient mine."

Reg gave her an almost shy smile and just looked bashful.

It was over lunch that Eleanor broached her dyslexia treatment scheme which she did slowly and gently.

"Reg, I'm supposed to finish the cost analysis in a fortnight's time. It won't be finished as such because all my figures will be hypothetical even though informed and there's no point in taking it further until Daddy, Uncle Edwin and Mummy agree to it. Ray Fuller too because Daddy won't go with it unless he does."

Reg nodded. This was the start of their pulling apart he thought to himself.

"So, I'll have to go back to work in the office although I'm sure I'll still be able to manage your exercises and trips to see Anita."

Reg nodded again but smiled this time, albeit slightly ruefully. "All good things come to an end," he said.

"Not our friendship though."

"I hope not."

"I know not."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He smiled back.

"So what are you going to do with yourself?"

"Oh, I'll be OK: music, telly, wheeling myself to the park."

"Reg, that'd be fine for a few weeks but it's going to be two or three months before you can get back to work properly and you'll be bored to sobs by then."

Reg shrugged. "Can't be helped. Perhaps Len would let me back on light duties."

"Reg, you're wasted as a warehouseman. You've got a good brain. You're inventive. You can argue your case."

Reg shrugged again. "So? I can't read or write to save my life. So I'm stuck as a warehouseman. When Len retires I might make foreman."

"But that's a long way off. Reg, tell me to shut up if I'm out of line but have you ever considered doing something about your dyslexia?"

"Mum and Dad did about the time I was beaten up but I wasn't having any of it."

"Why not?"

"Dad's a railwayman. Mum's a shop assistant. Why should I try to be any better? They're reasonably happy with their life and I am with mine. Why should I suck up their hard earned wages?"

"Would you consider it now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Same reasons."

"Reg, things have moved on in the last five years. Schools and companies are encouraged to help people with dyslexia and to help pay for their treatment."

"I'm not taking charity."

"Reg, you wouldn't be. You'd be an investment."

"Balls! Oops! Sorry, Eleanor!"

She smiled at him. "It isn't. They'd be able to use your brains to their advantage."

Reg snorted. "Rubbish! I'd be out of my depth. Would the company send me to university to get a degree in business studies? Would they hell!"

"You don't need a degree in business studies, Reg. You've already got a degree in shop floor studies. You've got the practical experience of what does and doesn't work without all the tripe about work ethics, intra-group politics, blah-blah-blah and all the financial wizardry which always struck me as common sense rather than wizardry."

That actually amused Reg and he gave the ghost of a smile. Eleanor sensed a slight softening of his resolve.

"So, Reg, would you agree to having an assessment?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because they'd say I'd respond to treatment whether I would or not. That's how they make their money."