Page 25 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
I go through a side door that leads out to a small corridor and then up a set of newly carpeted stairs. I can’t help wondering as I climb them how Jack copes with them.
When I get to the top I realise that Jack’s flat is not too dissimilar to mine and Molly’s. Through open doors I see a neat and tidy lounge area, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen, which is orderly and functional with newly fitted units, and as I run the water I think:Why would Jack choose to live somewhere so difficult for him to get around?
Yes, the flat obviously came with the shop, but surely he could have rented it out and lived somewhere more accessible? Perhaps he could only afford to do it like this? I mean it suited Molly and me to live above our shop, but Jack was different. How on earth did he cope?
I fill the dog bowl, realising for the first time that everything is much lower than I’m used to – the sink, the units, the cooker. Jack has had his kitchen designed to make it easier for him to access everything from his chair.
I carry the full bowl of water carefully to the top of the stairs, and notice for the first time a second wheelchair folded up next to the banister at the top.
Does Jack leave his other chair at the bottom and somehow make his way up here and use this one? I wonder, as I make my way slowly back down the stairs being careful not to spill the water.
‘Here we go,’ I announce brightly, carrying the bowl through the now empty shop towards Barney. I place it on the floor beside him and he laps thirstily from it.
‘Thanks for doing that,’ Jack says, watching Barney. ‘As you can imagine it’s quite the trek for me to get up there.’
‘Howdoyou get up and down the stairs?’ I try to ask as casually as I can so as not to offend him again. ‘It must be … difficult.’
‘With these,’ Jack lifts up his arms and flexes his well-defined biceps.
I must look puzzled because Jack continues, ‘I sit on my behind and pull myself up and down.’ He demonstrates in the chair by holding on to the sides and lifting his whole body up and down several times.
‘You must be very strong.’
‘In the upper body – yes. Not so much down below though.’ He gazes regretfully at his legs. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of either using or seeing them in years.’
I realise for the first time that the legs under Jack’s loose trousers aren’t real – they’re prosthetics.
‘Gosh, what happened?’ I ask, my politeness evaporating. ‘Oh sorry … I mean, you don’t have to tell me. I don’t mean to pry.’
Jack studies me for a moment; his chocolate brown eyes feel like they’re scrutinising my every flaw. ‘Landmine,’ he eventually says matter-of-factly.
‘You stepped on one?’ I ask naively.
‘You don’t know much about landmines, do you?’ Jack asks, quizzically tipping his head to one side. ‘If I’d stepped on one I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Yes, of course … sorry. So what did happen?’
‘One of my mates caught a trip-wire. Two of them took the full brunt of the explosion. Blown to pieces, they were. Not to be too graphic but they found bits of them all over the place afterwards.’
‘Oh God,’ I shudder. This was terrible. Poor Jack.
‘I was actually the lucky one,’ he continues calmly. ‘I was far enough away it only took my legs off. Most of this one’ – he points to where his left leg should be – ‘and this one just below the knee.’
‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’ I deliberately don’t look at his legs but directly into his eyes. ‘Really I am. It’s just …’ I struggle to find the right word as they all seem pretty useless. ‘… it’s just awful,’ I settle on eventually.
Jack shrugs, ‘No need for you to be sorry. Used to it now, aren’t I?’
‘Couldn’t you get prosthetic legs fitted to help you walk? Sorry,’ I say again. ‘That’s none of my business.’
‘Stop apologising, Kate! We went through all that the other day.’
‘Sor—’ I begin, and then I stop myself.
‘The prosthetics thing is a fair question, and one I get asked quite a lot. What you see here’ – he pokes at one of his legs – ‘are cosmetic limbs. They don’t work like functional prosthetics so I can’t walk on them – they’re simply for show. The nature of my injuries meant I wasn’t suitable for functional ones. I’m not all that bothered about wearing these really, but people react better to me than when they see no legs at all. Plus functional prosthetics can be a right pain, or should I sayeven moreof a pain than this thing.’ He taps his wheelchair. ‘It took a while to get used to my wheels, but I think I’m pretty damn slick in them now.’
I smile. ‘I think you are too.’
A customer pops his head through the open shop door. ‘Sorry to disturb, but do you have any Prussian blue? I thought I’d brought plenty with me but I’ve run out.’
