Chapter Five

Next morning, Jenny's idyllic life was blasted. Later, much later, she could look back on that black day and wonder that such a little mistake could alter two lives so much.

It was a fine morning, Mike suggested that they take Sam for a walk in the park and give Sue a chance to catch up on housework. Jenny thought that a bit unfair—but Sue leapt at the idea.

So Jenny, Mike and Sam walked down the road, turned to where the park stretched in front of them. Sam, for once not slippery, walked between them, each of them holding one of his hands. He loved being swung, shouted with delight. With a catch in her throat Jenny wondered if, in not too many years, she and Mike might be swinging their own child between them. It was a thought that both frightened and fascinated her.

The shoelace of one of her sensible shoes came undone. She stopped to tie it and as she pulled, the lace broke.

'You tie a knot in it,' Mike said. 'Sam and I will go across the road and buy the usual weekend ice cream. What flavour would you like?'

Jenny settled for a simple vanilla. Then she sat on a bench to fasten her lace.

She saw it all happening. Mike and Sam were at the ice cream van, Mike feeling in his pocket for money. Just for a second he let go of Sam's hand. Sam turned, saw her on the bench and shouted, 'Auntie Jenny.' Then he ran to her. Straight across the road.

For Jenny, life suddenly seemed to be in slow motion. She saw Mike turn, see what was happening, saw the horror on his face as he realised it was too late to do anything. She saw a car coming towards Sam, even saw the panic on the old lady driver's face. She couldn't stop or swerve. She saw Sam realise that he had done something very wrong—and slip. The car would hit him.

At school Jenny had been a sprinter. She had been quite good, but had given it all up when she'd started nurse training. Now sheer terror made the adrenalin surge through her system and half-forgotten abilities came back.

She ran towards Sam. Quick, short, initial steps, arms thrust high in the air to pull her forward. Body inclined, almost parallel to the ground, to get all the drive from the thighs. Forget the car bearing down on her. She had to get to Sam.

She reached down, grabbed Sam's tiny body and threw it forward. Vaguely she heard the screech of brakes, but she knew it would be too late. Then there was a bang, a crunch as something hit her legs. No time for pain, just instant blackness.

Something was wrong, very, very wrong. Something broken? She wasn't sure where she was or what was happening, but something was very, very wrong. She didn't want to open her eyes, but perhaps she ought to. And why was she lying down and what was that noise—someone calling her name? Then she came back to full consciousness and wished she hadn't.

She was lying on her back, the ground was hard. Her head hurt, it hurt a lot. So did her arm. And her back and her legs were... funny.

'Jenny, Jenny, can you hear me?' A voice, hoarse with anxiety.

Mike's voice.

She remembered him. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with an expression of such desperation that she had to feel sorry for him. And there were other faces looking down, sympathetic, curious faces. Then she remembered. It took a while before she could make her mouth work.

'Sam? How's Sam?' she managed to croak.

'He's fine. There's a lady here holding him and she won't let go. Jenny, are you OK?' She could tell he knew it was a foolish question but he'd had to ask it.

'I have felt better,' she said.

It had always been easy to read his face—he couldn't keep his emotions from showing. And now she could see two sides of his character warring. He was the desperate lover, the man she loved. There was the gleam of tears in his eyes. And he was a doctor and she, for the moment, was his patient. And the doctor had to win. She saw the effort of will he made to hold back his emotions, to let his professional skills take over. She was a patient, he was a doctor.

'Don't try to move anything, just lie there. We've sent for an ambulance. It'll be here very soon and you'll be all right.'

 She could feel a trickle of warmth and damp on the side of her head, obviously it was bleeding. Someone offered him a handful of tissues and he pressed them to the side of her head. Then she saw him peering into her eyes. She knew what he was doing, looking for different-sized pupils to see if she was concussed. She didn't feel concussed. Not that she knew what being concussed felt like.

He turned away from her and she heard him say to someone, 'Get more of those tissues and hold them against that bleeding on the leg. Hold, don't press.'

Perhaps the person did as he was told. But Jenny couldn't feel anything.

He turned back to her. 'You've cut your head, but where else hurts, Jenny?'

She had to think about that. 'My head hurts most. And my arm. And my legs feel... funny.'

'Don't try to move! Don't move your head, any part of you.'

But, without thinking, she tried to turn to look at him—and shrieked with the pain.

'Jenny! Keep still! Now, where was the pain?'

'My arm hurts so much!'

She felt his fingers slide along her arm and then, very gently, lift it so it rested across her chest. It still hurt but the pain was bearable.

'It should be easier there,' he said. 'Now, keep still.'

He felt the side of her neck, gently probing the top of her spine. Then he touched the side of her head— that hurt too. But she heard his grunt of satisfaction.

'I doubt your skull is fractured,' he said. 'But keep your head still till we can get a cervical collar on you.'

Sometimes she just wanted to shut her eyes. Other times she opened them and stared at him. There was still that conflict of feelings on his face. He had to be the dispassionate doctor, doing what was best for an injured person. But he was also a lover, trying to grapple with the shock, the horror, the anxiety of seeing his loved one so suddenly thrown into danger.

She was fully conscious now, feeling the full pain of her injuries. And now there was something so bad that she didn't want to mention it. Perhaps if she kept silent it would go away. But she had to tell Mike. He was a doctor.

'Mike! What's wrong with my legs?'

'I'm not sure,' Mike said. 'You might have... might have injured your spine.' She knew what that could mean. She couldn't help it. She jerked and her arm slid down her chest. Then there was pain such as she had never experienced before. Jenny fainted.

There were voices, official sounding voices that seemed to carry authority. 'Please, stand back, everyone. We need to get the ambulance closer.'

Mike looked up. There were two policemen—no, a policeman and a policewoman. And behind them the white of an ambulance with the two green-coated paramedics climbing out. He hadn't even heard the siren.

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he stood back. He might be a doctor but these men were paramedics, trained specifically to deal with this kind of incident. One of them knelt by Jenny, the other looked at him neutrally.

'What can you tell us, sir?'

What did they really need to know? Mike forced himself to concentrate. What would he want to know if she had just come into A and E?

'The lady is aged thirty-two, in good health. No allergies. This morning she had a light breakfast. Her breathing appears to be patent, she doesn't appear to be concussed, she was speaking clearly a moment ago. I saw...' Mike swallowed. For a moment the words just wouldn't come. But they had to! 'I saw the accident. She was struck by a car at hip level and thrown several feet. She struck her head as she fell, the impact was not too great. There's a fractured arm... and... no feeling in her legs.'

He saw the paramedic's raised eyebrows and said, 'I'm a doctor.'

'Then you'll know what we have to do, Doctor. Do you know the lady?'

'Yes,' said Mike. 'I'll come in the ambulance with her.'

He stood back and watched carefully. Sterile dressings were applied to Jenny's head. A cervical collar was put on—always a good precaution. Then, with infinite care, she was lifted and placed onto a long spinal board. Her entire body was immobilised, the fractured arm strapped to her chest.

Jenny moaned as they lifted her and her pain-filled eyes flicked open.

'You'll be all right in a moment love,' one of the paramedics soothed. 'We've got gas and air in the ambulance, that'll take away the pain.'

'I want Mike.'

'The doctor? He'll come with us.'

'Were you with the young lady, sir? We'd like to take a statement from you when it's convenient.'

It was the policewoman. Mike realised that there were other things he had to see to. All he'd thought about so far had been Jenny.

'I saw everything,' he said. 'I'll give a statement later.' And being a fair and honest man, he had to add, 'It wasn't the car driver's fault. There's a little boy—Sam there. I brought him out and—'

'We'll take him home,' the policewoman said. 'And you'll wait for us at the hospital?'

'I'll be there,' said Mike.

It didn't seem right to go into her own hospital. But it was the nearest and it had an excellent A and E department—in fact, Sue worked there. Not today, though.

The ambulance crew had radioed ahead and she was met by a medical team, crashed straight through for immediate attention in the resus room. Mike remained by her side as long as he could—eventually he was told that he was to leave the room while they conducted the preliminary examination.

They put in an IV line as she'd lost some blood. There was the danger of internal bleeding from her fractured arm.

Mike was with her when the portable X-ray machine was brought through. The technician seemed to be taking far more pictures than was necessary.

'They want to check everything,' Mike told her. 'Just to make sure.'

She was in no great pain, she had been given morphine. She drifted in and out of consciousness, not really bothered about what was happening to her. Always, she was aware that Mike was with her. And that meant that everything would be all right.

'They've got you stabilised,' Mike said, in one of her periods of consciousness. 'For the moment you've just got to rest. But soon Mr Spenser is going to look at you. He'll put things right.'

'I want you with me,' said Jenny.

Everyone knew that Mr Spenser was an important man. Even Jenny, in her vague state, knew that he was very important. He was very tall, had a thin face and half-moon glasses. He was wearing a brilliant white shirt, a tightly knotted tie. Jenny had seen him, never spoken to him. He was one of the ablest neurosurgeons in the country. What no one had told her was that he was also a very kind man.

He bent over her later that day and said, 'I know you're one of our own, Jenny. You're a tutor and a midwife. I've heard of you. I'm going to see to you personally, see that you get the best we can offer.'

And she had burst into tears. Kindness was hard to take and she was terrified.

He patted her on the shoulder and said, 'We're arranging for you to be admitted onto one of my wards. First, I'm going to give you an injection of methylprednisone. There's a lot of inflammation around your sacral vertebrae and I want to get it down. We have your X-rays, CT and MRI scans and in a few minutes we'll be off to the theatre to see if we can stick you together again. And when we've had a good look we'll know better what we have to deal with. Happy with that?'

'Whatever you say, Mr Spenser. My legs are paralysed. How badly damaged is the spinal cord? Is it severed?'

It was a question she knew he hadn't wanted. But he gave her an honest answer.

'No, it isn't severed. There should be some possibility of movement—eventually. You're a young, healthy woman, and with care and luck we should be able to fit you together again. In a year or so, if all goes well, this all could be just an unhappy memory.'

'A year or so. And that's if things go well. Could they... could they go badly?'

'Nothing is certain in medicine, Jenny.'

'And you'll tell me honestly what you find?'

His eyes were full of pain. 'In these cases I'm always honest, Jenny, otherwise the torment is worse. Now, I understand you've been prepped. I'll see you in Theatre.' He left her little side room and she turned to Mike.

All this time she had been aware of Mike in the background. He knew better than to interfere, to ask questions. But he was there and she was glad. Whenever there was a pause in the attention she was getting he came to her side and held her hand. He brushed aside her hair, kissed her forehead.

'This is worse for you than it is for me,' she had whispered.

 'Hush, sweetheart. Just remember... I'm here for you.'

This was a new Mike. So far in every situation they had met together he had been competent, in charge, knowing what to do for the best. Now this wasn't the case. Decisions were out of his hands, he could only watch and hope. And he was terrified by that.

Jenny loved him more for it. He was human after all.

It was evening, she'd been sedated and was drifting in and out of sleep.

'What happened to Sam?' she asked drowsily.

'He's fine. A nice policewoman took him home. Sue has been phoning me and leaving messages every half-hour, she's distraught about you.'

'I'm going to be fine. Don't worry about me. Tell her not to worry.'

But she could see his face and knew that wasn't possible. He would worry and so would Sue.

A nurse came in, smiled at them both. 'The anaesthetist will be here in a minute,' she said. 'But first there are some consent forms to sign for the operation, and I've got to explain them to you.'

'I'm a nurse and a midwife here. I know what the forms mean. I've given them out myself. Just let me sign them.'

The nurse sighed. 'It's protocol. You don't have to listen, but I've got to explain.'

She turned to Mike and said with a kind smile, 'I know you're a doctor here but you're involved with the patient. It might be a good idea if you waited somewhere else until Mr Spenser's finished. You'll do no good to her or yourself just hanging round until then.' She paused a minute and then said, 'You know, in situations like this, often the best thing to do is work. If you can.'

Mike hesitated, then nodded. 'All right. If I leave you my bleeper number will you call me the minute she comes out of Theatre?'

'I'll do that. Now, off you go! You're interfering with patient care.'

Mike came over, kissed Jenny's forehead. On her bruised cheek she felt the drop of a tear. Then he was gone. She heard him exchange a couple of words with someone just outside. A woman walked in wearing scrubs.

'Hi, I'm Tina Land, your anaesthetist. A couple of words before we start...'

In a hospital, word got around fast. Mike walked over to the obs and gynae wards—and the minute he entered there was a barrage of anxious enquiries. Doctors, nurses, students, midwives, technicians—all wanted to know how Jenny was. Mike hadn't quite realised just how popular she was. And that only made him feel worse.

He went to the doctors' room, looked for the senior registrar who was on duty. It was Ellie Crane. She was in the antenatal ward, checking an unexplained rise in a mother-to-be's temperature. Mike waited till she had finished, answered all her questions about Jenny and then said, 'I'm waiting till Jenny comes out of surgery. Can you find me some work till then? I need to be occupied.'

Ellie studied him for a moment and asked bluntly, 'Are you up to it? We don't want mistakes made.'

'I'm up to it. I just want something simple—like an SHO's job. How about the one on the delivery suite?'

'Fine. Go and tell him you'll do his job for a while. He can study, he needs to. But he stays in the building so he can take over when you leave.'

'Thanks, Ellie.'

There were three women in advanced labour when he arrived at the delivery suite. For the next three hours he did the simple but important tasks that the junior doctors handled. There were the observations, the help when requested by the midwives, the notes to write up and the mums to smile at. Usually these days he was only called to the delivery suite when there was an emergency. But he found the work that he was doing, coping with simple, straightforward births, was satisfying. It even took his mind off Jenny. A bit.

After some time he was bleeped. Jenny had come out of Theatre.

Mike briefed the SHO. Then officially he handed his work over and went back to the neurological theatre.

Mr Spenser was sitting in his scrubs. He was drinking a cup of coffee and looked tired. 'You're not officially related to Miss Carson,' he told Mike, 'and to be perfectly proper, I shouldn't talk to you until I've spoken to her. But I will. Did you see the X-rays, the CT and the MRI scans?'

'I saw them. The sacral vertebrae were in a mess.'

Mr Spenser nodded. 'It was bad when we got inside. But the spinal cord isn't completely severed. We've done what we can, cleaned up the bone chips and seen to the inflammation. What I'm going to have to tell her is that... well, there's still hope. She'll be in a wheelchair for quite some time. We didn't try to see to her arm—that can wait a few days.'

'What's the worst possible prognosis?' Mike asked.

'Convalescence could take an awful long time. As I said, a long period in a wheelchair. And if things don't work the way we want them to... perhaps she'll never walk again.'

'You're not going to tell her that tomorrow!'

'No,' Mr Spenser said. 'That possibility is a bit of news that can wait. Now, do you want to see her?'

Of course, he had seen people coming out of surgery before, knew that the drawn white face was just the result of anaesthesia. But she didn't look like the Jenny he knew so well.

'She won't come really round now till morning,' the nurse there said. 'She may not even know you. Why not go home and get some rest? You look terrible yourself. You need to be strong for her tomorrow.'

So he kissed Jenny’s white cheek and decided that was the best thing to do.

Mike stood outside the hospital and stared at the dark sky. It was late. He didn't know what to do. For the past twelve hours he had thought solely of Jenny, had spent most of his time no more than a few feet from her. Now she was completely out of his care.

This morning now seemed so far away. He had walked out with Sam and Jenny, and the weekend had stretched in front of them, a time of happiness. They had been planning a trip to Wales, this time taking Sue and Sam on a picnic. How things had changed.

Where to go, what to do now? He may as well go home. There were always taxis outside the hospital.

He didn't feel any better when he walked into the house. There was his sister sitting in the kitchen, clutching a sleeping Sam. Her cheeks were tear-streaked.

'How is she? I've just phoned the hospital again. They say she's had an operation, is in no danger and she'll have a treatment assessment tomorrow.'

'That's about right. They'll tell you nothing because there's nothing to tell.'

'Right. How long since you had anything to eat?'

He stared at his sister as if he didn't understand the question. Then he thought about it—nothing since breakfast.

'I'm just not hungry,' he said.

'You're going to eat anyway. You need to. If you want, you can take Sam to bed. He got up and I just wanted to hold him, couldn't bear to take him back. But I'm better now.'

'Is Sam OK?'

Sue gave him a wan smile. 'He's fine. He enjoyed his trip in the police car with the policewoman. She was good, by the way, very reassuring.'

So Mike took his nephew in his arms and carried him up to bed. As he laid the little body in his bed, Sam stirred a little but he didn't wake. Mike looked down and relived the horror of the moment when he'd realised that Sam was out of reach, that the car was going to hit him and there was nothing whatsoever that he could do. Then he went down to the kitchen.

He tried to talk but Sue told him to keep quiet, to eat first. She had cooked him a lasagne. So he did as he was told and found that he was ravenous. Sue sat at the kitchen fable, looking at him.

When he had finished she fetched the brandy bottle and a glass, poured him a large drink. He sipped the fiery liquid. He didn't exactly feel better but the numbness and the feeling of inadequacy left him. Now he could cope.

'Right,' Sue said. 'I want you to tell me what happened. I've had a cautious version from the policewoman and a semi-coherent one from you over the phone. Now, you tell me properly.'

So he told her. And finished by saying that if he had held on to Sam, everything would have been all right.

Sue shook her head. 'No. He's Slippery Sam. It could have happened to anyone. Keep that in mind.'

She poured herself a glass of brandy and gave him a refill. 'After this we both go to bed,' she said.

He had a shower, went to his bedroom. Under the pillow on one side was Jenny's nightdress, she had spent last night with him. He took the nightdress, buried his head in it. It smelt of her, of the warmth of her body. He climbed into bed, still clutching the scrap of white silk.

He could have taken a sleeping pill; he had some locked up in his doctor's case. But he didn't. He knew he had to subdue his whirling thoughts himself, not with chemical assistance.

Had it been his fault? Was there any point in thinking about fault? Whatever, Jenny was in hospital. He kept on telling himself that it was foolish to anticipate what might not be, to suffer unnecessarily. But he was a doctor—he knew. He had seen the X-rays, the scans. She might be paralysed for life. No, he mustn't dwell on that. He must wait and see.

Then he thought of the woman who loved dancing, who loved walking. Again he made himself think of something else. Hope for the best.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, remembered the stolen kiss. He remembered their meetings since, wondered at how rapidly they had come to know each other.

Not just to know each other! To love each other! He had been foolish in saying they would take time to get to know each other. He had been content to live in the present, not realising that the future could never be foretold. He should have told her he loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

He thought that she loved him. Well, that was more than a start. Now he could go to sleep.

Mike was there when she woke next morning. Jenny saw him sitting by her bed, looking down at her.

It was hard, waking up. First there was the vague feeling that something was not quite right. Then there was the pain. She felt battered. Then there was the memory of yesterday, the sickening realisation that she was... well, she was in hospital. She couldn't help it, she moaned. And then he was taking her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss.

'It's all right, sweetheart. Everything will be all right. Just lie there, don't try to move. I'm with you.'

Then she didn't need to talk. She lay there perfectly still, her hand in his. Mostly she kept her eyes shut, but when she opened them there he was, still looking down at her. She took strength from his very presence.

There seemed to be more confidence in his smile, he was not the horrified man she had seen yesterday. And this too, gave her strength. If Mike was there, things couldn't be too bad.

A little later a nurse came in, said that in five minutes she was going to turn Mike out while she helped Jenny wash.

'You've got a job to go to,' Jenny told him. 'You'll be needed on the wards.'

'They know I'm likely to be late. John Bennet told me to take as much time off as I needed. He'll be in to see you later. And there's been all sorts of messages from the rest of the staff. You're popular. Everyone wants to come and visit.'

Jenny thought for a moment. 'Pass me that mirror from over there,' she said.

'What do you want a mirror for? You're fine and—'

'The mirror, Mike!'

So he passed it to her. She was a nurse, she knew what to expect. And her face felt bruised. But even so she winced as she saw the extent of the swelling on her face, the dressing on her head where the hair had been cut away.

'I don't want to see anyone,' she said. 'That is, I don't want anyone to see me.' She added, 'Apart from you and one or two others.'

'Fair enough. As I said, John Bennet said I could take as much time off—'

'I'm seeing Mr Spenser some time this morning. I can't think until then. I'll feel better if I know that you're working. I don't want you just hanging around. It'll upset me and it'll upset you.'

'But, sweetheart, I—'

'Off you go, Mike, the nurse is coming in to wash me now. You know you'll be told as soon as there's any news.' She smiled. 'I've got a confession to make. On the consent form they got me to fill in, I put you down as my next of kin. Hope you don't mind.'

'Consent form? I'm... I'm glad you did that.' Then the nurse came back in and he was gone.

But he was back when Mr Spenser came round to see Jenny. The nurse bleeped him, he had asked her to. He waited outside while Mr Spenser made his examination and then came in to hear what the man had to say.

The neurologist said he was reasonably happy with the result of the previous day's operation, but Jenny must realise that she had been very badly injured and the result was still uncertain. Time would tell. The arm he would see to in a few days' time. Jenny must try not to worry and he'd be in to see her tomorrow. Now he was going to prescribe analgesics. He wanted her to sleep.

Then he left.

Mike came over to hold her hand and kiss her cheek.

'I'm a nurse,' she said, 'I understand doctor-speak. Mr Spenser suspects that this operation won't be a success, doesn't he? I'm going to be paralysed?'

There was nothing Mike could say and she was sorry she had caused him to worry again.

'Now,' she said, 'I think I know what you've been through in the past couple of days so I'm giving you an order. I've been prescribed a tranquilliser. I don't want to see you till tomorrow. I'm going to sleep all day.'

'But I want to be here with you, for you!'

'You can't help me sleep. If anything, you'll make it harder. Mike, come and kiss me and then off you go.'

'But, Jenny, I—'

'I mean it! Look, I'm the ill one here; I'm the one who gets what she wants. So go!'

'I'll leave the nurse my number,' he said as he left. 'If you want me—any time of night or day.'

But she didn't phone.

Mike was there again when Jenny woke the next day, but was soon hustled out again by the nurses. They had things to do with Jenny, but suggested he come back at midmorning after the consultant's round and spend a little time with her. Jenny felt surprisingly calm. Perhaps it was the effect of the pills she was taking. Certainly the pain had been reduced to a vague discomfort. But whatever it was, she knew that her mind was clear.

He kissed her, as he always did, gently, so as not to hurt her face. Then he sat by her bed and took her hand.

'There are things that I've got to say to you,' she said, 'things to sort out now. First of all, we face up to the situation. My legs are paralysed. In a few weeks we'll know if they're ever going to mend properly. If they don't then I spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. Correct?'

He wasn't expecting this brutal summing-up and winced as he heard it. But he realised that this was the way she had to tackle things. 'Correct,' he said. 'But, Jenny, I—'

She had to make it clear what she wanted. 'We're dealing with facts now, not emotions,' she said. 'And we start with how you're feeling.'

'Me! You're the one who's been hurt.'

'Quite so. And I don't want you suffering for me. I can suffer on my own. The last thing I need from you is a long face. What I need is big smiles and confidence. Now, let's get something out of the way and then we can get on with life. Do you feel guilty at letting Sam go and then me getting hurt saving him?'

'Of course I do! I've been over that moment a thousand times and each time I feel sick at what I did. I knew what Sam was like, I knew there was a road behind us, I knew—'

'Mike! This is doing no good! It wasn't your fault, and I should know. Now, say to yourself that it wasn't your fault. If it's necessary, say it a hundred times. But say it until you believe it. Because you're no use to me if you're crippled with guilt.'

He stared at her in silence, and for a moment she wondered if she had gone too far. Then his white face broke into a reluctant smile.

'Jenny,' he said, 'you're a woman in a million.'

'Probably,' she agreed. 'Most women are. Now, say it. Say it out loud and believe it: It wasn't my fault.'

'It wasn't my fault,' he said.

'Good. That's settled and you should feel better. Now, come here and hug me.'

That afternoon she had several visitors, not only other members of staff but also the students she was teaching. Eventually the ward sister said she was going to ration the visitors.

'You're tiring my patient! Work out some kind of rota among yourselves. Or if you want, I'll find you some work to do on the ward.'

Sue came in the evening, Mike stayed at home to babysit Sam. Sue bent to kiss her and said, 'I'm not going to get emotional.' Then she laid her head on the bed and wept. 'I'm so sorry this happened,' she sobbed.

Jenny reached down and stroked her back. 'It's not that bad,' she said. 'I've got a fighting chance.'

'Mike told me all about it. I know that accidents happen. But one thing I'll never forget: but for you, Sam would be dead. Jenny, I'll never forget that.'

Jenny felt rather embarrassed. 'It wasn't really a decision on my part,' she said. 'I just did it. And I'm glad I did. Now, would you like a chocolate? I've been collecting all sorts of presents.'

When the day ended she felt exhausted. And when her light was put out and she was alone, she wept silently into her pillow. But she had to remain strong; she knew it was the only way she could cope. And there was Mike. The thought of him made her smile through her tears.

A week passed. She had an operation on her arm, a plate and screws fitted. It would be wrong to say that she got used to not being able to move her legs— but she learned to cope with it. Mike came to see her three or four times a day, kept up his promise to remain cheerful. And there were always other visitors—she hadn't realised just how many friends she had. Mr Spenser came to chat and check on her. And Jenny managed to keep her fear hidden from everyone.

Sue was a regular visitor and at the end of the week she said, 'I hear that they're talking about discharging you. Mike says that you live in a top-floor flat and that there's no lift. So that decides it, there's to be no argument. You're moving in with us. I'm a nurse, Mike's a doctor; we can cope easily. You're to come as soon as they let you out.'

Jenny smiled. 'I'd like that,' she said. 'It's a long time since I've been part of a family.'

A week later the occupational therapist came to teach Jenny how to deal with her life.

'This is not a disability, it is a condition,' Alice, the therapist, said. 'And I'm going to show you how to deal with your condition.'

The first lesson was showing Jenny how to wriggle out of bed and into a chair. It was surprising how weak she had become after her stay in bed. Of course, she knew about this—she had even lectured about it. But to experience it was something different.

Then she discovered what she could do—and not do—in a wheelchair. Most people, of course, had two arms to manage with. She had only one. Her first trip down the ward was a voyage of discovery. 'I'm going to spend the rest of my life going in circles,' she said.

Mike was behind her. 'While you're on a flat and polished floor like this,' he said, 'you can push yourself. I'm going to stroll along with my hands in my pockets. Outside and up hills, I don't mind lending a hand.'

Then there was her first solo visit to the specially constructed bathroom on the ward. It felt so good to be able to wash herself—and how she wished she could get in the shower.

For an awful lot of this time Mike was with her. She had made him promise that in no way would he neglect his patients—and she didn't think that he did. But he found occasion to visit her many times a day.

When she got a little stronger she knew there was something that she had to say to him. For a while their relationship had to alter slightly. Being in a wheelchair, having an uncertain future, made things different. And if he didn't realise that, she would have to make him.

'Listen, sweetheart,' she said to him, 'we were going places before this thing happened to me. I suspect you were making plans and I've a good idea what they were. But we had an agreement. It was your idea. We were going to take things easy for a while. Get to know each other, enjoy just being together. Well, that's the way I want things to continue.'

'But things aren't the same! They've changed and I want to—'

'Poor Mike! The man who has to do everything in a rush! I'll teach you how to wait, young man.'

'I don't want to wait,' he growled. 'I want to see you just a bit better than you are and then I—'

'Mike! No more talk of the future until I'm out of this wheelchair! And if I'm different... that is, if I—'

'It'll make no difference whatsoever to my feelings for you.'

'It might make a difference to my feelings for me! So promise! We take things easy, OK? I want no heavy emotional scenes, no mad promises about what you'll do for me. Even if they are true. Mike, I mean this! Don't make me argue with you now! I just need a period of calm.'

She knew he could tell that she was determined. And so, with bad grace, he said, 'Well just for now, then.' And she had to be content with that.

And finally she was discharged. Alice had been around to Sue's house to recommend what changes might be needed and the district nurse would come at regular intervals.

Mike had wheeled her out into the grounds several times already, but it gave her an extra thrill to be taken outside and know that she was leaving. She had worked in hospitals for years now, but for the first time she thought she fully understood how patients felt when they said that they were bored with their stay.

She blinked as he wheeled her outside. 'My new car,' Mike said. It was a people carrier.

'I thought you said you were going to get a little runabout,' she said. 'Just big enough for four.'

'Changed my mind.' He pushed her to the passenger side and opened a large sliding door. 'Now, see if you can climb out of the wheelchair and into the car.'

It was a bit of a struggle but she could. And it was far easier than she had expected. Mike beamed at her. 'There's a lot of room in the back for your wheelchair,' he said. 'No need to collapse it or anything.'

'Mike! Did you buy this monster just to suit me?'

'I've always wanted a really big car,' he said. 'And I've always wanted a red car. So now I've got both in one.'

'Seems like a bargain,' she muttered.

It was good to get to Sue's house. Mike had arranged for a wooden ramp to be placed down the front steps and for a similar ramp from the living room through the French windows into the garden so she could get out on her own.

 The ground floor had been rearranged. Jenny could wheel herself into the bathroom. A small room had been converted into a bedroom and a wardrobe and a chest of drawers put in.

Jenny looked at the single bed and whispered to Mike, 'I don't think much of that. Only big enough for one.'

Mike looked suitably disconcerted.

Jenny had written out a list for Mike and he had taken Sue round to her flat and fetched the clothes, books and papers that she needed. They were neatly set out in her new bedroom.

Jenny saw the thought and care that had been taken for her and bit her lip. She wasn't going to cry. But people were good to her.

Then Sue came in, having fetched Sam from the childminder's. Sam was fascinated by the wheelchair so Jenny sat him on her lap and took him for a ride. Then she climbed out of the chair, sat on the couch and let Sam have a ride on his own.

'It’s lovely,' he shouted. 'Mummy, can I have one of my own?'

Sue had to turn away to hide her tears.

But it was going to work. Jenny knew she would settle in. When she said that she was going to bed that night, Sue offered to come in and help her.

'No need, thanks, I've practised, I can manage. I'm independent.'

Mike tapped on her door later. He came in and hugged her, gave her a gentle goodnight kiss.

And that set a pattern.