A road traffic accident forces Alan Taylor to retire early. As a result of his injuries he uses crutches and a mobility scooter. He loves meeting people and jumps at the chance to join a welcome team at the new Health Centre. One of the people that he helps has much more to offer than he could ever suspect.

DISCLAIMER AND COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This is a work of adult fiction. There are no references to anyone who has ever lived, is alive now or has passed on. Licence has been taken with the way UK charities that provide assistance dogs to disabled people actually work: offence is definitely not intended.

This work is copyright: no reproduction in any form, except for personal perusal, is permitted without express permission of the author.
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“Hello, Alan,” a cheerful voice called from the doorway.

I dourly sat in my scooter chair wondering what I had let myself in for as a volunteer member of the welcome team for the new Health Centre.

By the look of the place, someone had obviously found a lot of money. Lots of glass and fancy new bricks, plenty of stainless steel and electric doors told you, even before you got inside, that a lot of your Income Tax had been spent. When you did get inside, it was huge; you could almost fit half a football pitch into the ground floor reception area alone. My first thought when I saw it was that they could have done so much more with the space. But, hey, what do I know about designing buildings?

I love the smell of new paint — when it’s dry of course — and someone had obviously used gallons of the stuff just on the woodwork alone. A well-chosen collection of prints adorned the walls, breaking up a potentially stark emulsion finish. Their interior designers clearly knew their stuff and had made the place as bright and cheerful, but warm and welcoming, as any modern building could be.

I glanced up to see two of my neighbours, Liz and Bernie Harris, looking decidedly lost -- not surprising really in that cavern. Twenty years ago Beccy and I moved in next door to them as newly-weds and we became and remained firm friends. They’d been absolutely wonderful to us during Beccy’s last couple of years.

Newly-weds? Well, that’s what we had told everyone — it was easier that way and no one questioned it.

“Hello.” I greeted them warmly, both as friends and in my official capacity. “Where are you headed?”

“We’re both here to see Doctor Fowler,” Liz said smiling down at me, “but we seem to be about half an hour early.” She looked around, as if she had misplaced something. “Do you have any idea where we go?”

I felt my back straighten a bit as I puffed myself up to respond. I was there to help ease the transition from the old surgery to the large, sparkling new building, to act as a human signpost and to generally be the smiling, helpful face of the Health Trust. “When you’re ready, just go up in the lift, turn right, and check in at the desk.” I pointed towards the lift doors. “Well, since you’re so early it looks like you get to sample our new café then. You’ll get a good cup of tea over there.” I indicated in the direction of the Health Centre’s refreshment area.

“It’s good to see you out and about, Alan Taylor,” Bernie said patting my shoulder. “You’ve had a bit of a go lately.”

I shrugged. “It’s my first day on the job, coming out of retirement, but so far I like it. There’s no pay involved, but it gets me out of the house and I get to do something useful. I’ve really missed that.”

Liz brightened her already sunny face. “It should be fun helping the patients.”

“Patients,” I scoffed, “that’s a funny name for someone waiting to see a doctor or nurse. Many of them aren’t very patient; and I’m very sure that they’d all rather be somewhere else, doing something other than sitting and waiting their turn.”

“How long has it been since your accident?” Bernie asked, seemingly uninterested in the cafe and determined to pass their waiting time chatting with me.

“Not long enough, evidently.” I went on to explain that the insurance issues still hadn’t been settled, if they ever would be. “You’d think when some nutcase in a white van hurtles out of a side road and broadsides your car into the path of an oncoming cement lorry masquerading as a concrete wall, the cause of the accident would be easy to determine. That should be especially true when that driver wasn’t concentrating on what he was doing. The police told me that he reeked of booze and had been talking on his mobile phone.”

Liz sighed to commiserate with me. Bernie checked his watch.

“So here I am,” I went on, “at the ripe old age of fifty-two and with two legs that no longer work properly. My career and my own business are over. No more running all over the South of England sorting out other people’s computer problems. No legs, no car, no job.” I slapped the handle of my scooter. “If you haven’t got a job when you’re forty, you struggle. If you’re legless and over fifty, forget it.”

“You had it pretty good,” Liz agreed. “Your own business . . . doing something you enjoyed and were good enough at to make a pretty penny. That was sweet.”

“Sweet and gone,” I said with a frown. “Like Beccy.”

Their faces dropped at the sound of her name. Three years after her death from cancer, it seemed enough time had finally gone by so I could safely talk about her. That didn’t stop me thinking about her every day.

Suddenly Liz’s face lit up. “When I think of Beccy and you I always have a picture in my mind of the two of you dancing.”

I nodded. “That’s how we met, you know. I couldn’t believe my luck when someone as gorgeous as Beccy accepted my invitation to dance at the club. Imagine a swan like Beccy with an ugly duckling like me.”

Bernie laughed. “We all get lucky now and then.” He hugged Liz, who grinned like she’d just been given a Christmas present.

Forty-two years married, two successful children, five lovely grandchildren and a decent pension: to me, they really did have it all. Liz interrupted my train of envious thought.

“You and Beccy made such a lovely couple,” she bubbled. “It’s a shame you never had children.”

- It wasn’t possible. Despite all that, I had loved her and looked after her -

“She was a dream come true and I considered myself very fortunate indeed. After she died, I threw myself into my work; there was nothing else. Then the crash took even that away.”

They both nodded. Bernie patted my shoulder again, as he checked his watch once more. “We’d better move on to see Dr. Fowler, but it’s wonderful to see you out and about.”

They waved as the lift doors closed.

I studied my map of the place, wanting to be prepared for any question.

- I’ve always been a people person and this volunteer work looks very promising -

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone else heave into view. “Can I help?” I enquired, smiling.

I directed the young mother-to-be to the antenatal clinic which, miraculously, some bright spark had put on the ground floor. I smiled ruefully to myself.

- “Heave” is right; she must be near her time; she looks all in, poor love - I thought again, wistfully, of Beccy and our childless relationship. - Still, we’d had each other -

Half-way through the morning I gratefully took a cup of coffee from Heather, another of the welcome team, and almost immediately ended up nearly wearing it when something cold and wet shoved its way under my other elbow. I looked around and was confronted by a large black head with two huge eyes, behind which was a substantial black dog. I was just about to call for someone to escort the animal to the exit when I noticed the bright yellow harness. The dog wagged its tail like a small wind pump and continued to regard this odd creature who insisted upon sitting in its strange chair. My gaze roved upwards to meet the unseeing eyes of the dog’s owner — and my heart missed a beat.

The woman was of medium height, looked to be about forty and had a lovely smile. Her shoulder-length auburn hair framed an oval face. I still missed my Beccy and this woman looked uncannily like her — before cancer destroyed my world. I tried to compose myself and be more ‘with it’ -- but this was just like seeing a ghost.

“Hello, I’m…I’m Alan, one of the welcome team,” I eventually managed to say, albeit somewhat shakily. “Can I help you? I’d be quite happy to guide you where you need to go.”

“Hello Alan, yes please,” she said with a lovely Welsh lilt. That accent again.

“Can you please direct me to Doctor Johnson? As this is our first visit, Honey here hasn’t yet got her route worked out in her mind, but I’m sure that she’ll be okay after we’ve been a few times. Mind you, she retires in a few months, so I’ll have to go through the same routine with a new dog.”

Her clothes and jewellery showed good taste. - She’s wearing a wedding ring and I can’t quite understand why I feel sad about that -

“All the doctors’ rooms are on the first floor; I’ll take you up if you like,” I offered.

“Thanks. That would be a great help.”

I arranged for someone else to watch the front door for me, and then invited her to hold onto the back of the scooter while I rode slowly over to the lift. Honey padded along beside me, nudging me with her nose from time to time as if to keep me on task; the woman followed, gliding gracefully with a familiar stride. I kept up a running commentary; which lift buttons to push, which way to turn and so on. After helping them to check in with Dr. Johnson’s receptionist, I returned to the ground floor reception and thought about our encounter.

I shuddered a little. I’d heard of a blast from the past, and I just didn’t know what to think.

- Get a grip, Alan; everyone is supposed to have a double somewhere in the world. -

Then I got to thinking about the problems faced by disabled people in general. I knew that the Health Centre — all wide open space and big black on yellow direction signs - was supposed to be disabled-friendly but wondered, if the welcome team hadn’t been there, how she would have found her way about. She looked quite resourceful though and I’ve no doubt that Honey would have things sorted before too long.

Some half-an-hour later I heard the lift “ping” and saw woman and dog emerging. I called to Honey and was again rewarded with a small wind-pump impression. The woman smiled and they both headed towards me.

“Thanks for your help,” she said; her smile lit up the whole of reception as far as I was concerned. I wanted to spend more time with her if it was possible and before I knew it, I was asking her what arrangements she had made for getting home. I somehow didn’t want to let her go so easily but was wary that a husband might be collecting her.

She pressed a button on her wrist and her watch told her it was 11:43. “Oh, drat! I’ve just missed the bus and they’re every half-hour.”

I surprised myself with “There’s a good café here. Can I buy you a tea or coffee?” and was even more surprised by her responding smile.

“Yes please; that’s very kind of you.”

I could have sworn I saw that dog grin. I certainly did.

We headed for the café, with her again holding onto the back of my scooter and Honey, tail swishing from side to side, walking beside me.

When we were settled with our drinks she held out her hand and introduced herself.

“Hello, I’m Megan Williams, thanks again for your help.”

“Alan Taylor. Pleased to meet you and very happy to help.” I gently but firmly took her beautifully manicured hand in mine.

“I don’t mean to pry but what is your mobility problem?”

I told her about the accident and having to give up work. I told her what I’d done for a living.

“Can you still drive?”

“I could, if it were adapted for hand controls, though I don’t need one at the moment. The other one got smashed up in the crash that did for my legs; I’m still waiting for the insurance to pay out. I ride around town on the scooter and can get more or less anywhere on it. I get around the house on two legs and two crutches. Just.”

“Could you work from home?”

“I suppose so, not the same job though; I hadn’t thought that much about it. The accident happened last year and, to be honest, I’m still feeling a bit sorry for myself. I lost my wife to cancer a few years ago and the spark went out of my life. I guess I’m just being a bit lazy but I can’t seem to get motivated.”

She was obviously a good listener as I found myself tempted to share things I thought lie buried.

“What about you? “What happened to your sight?”

“I was born nearly blind. I expect that they could now do more to fix the problem, but in 1956 things were quite a bit more primitive. My mum nearly died in childbirth so I suppose I got off light.”

- No way is this woman fifty years of age; it’s as well that she can’t see my goldfish impression - I asked about Honey.

“She’s my third dog. She’s ten years old in a few months and officially retires. They tell me I can have another dog but I’d like to keep Honey as well. I just don’t know at the moment whether or not I can.”

“Why not?”

“I live on my own. The children are grown and have left home and my husband left a couple of years ago. Mid-life crisis.” She shrugged.

- Someone should thump the bloke -

I asked if she worked.

“I’m a trained counsellor; relationships and so on. Daft really as I couldn’t save my own.”

That covered a multitude of possibilities but she didn’t elaborate and I didn’t pry.

One thing I did know. She was far too pretty to be alone: - someone ought to snap her up - I thought about making a move in that direction. How she would handle the matter of my past, though, I dreaded to think. And there was also the matter of her resemblance to my Beccy; how could I see her again if I was always reminded of Beccy every time?

~~ O ~~

All too soon, she consulted her talking watch.

“Oh well, I’d best head for the bus.”

We drained our cups. On impulse I found a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down my mobile phone number. I really didn’t want to lose touch with this woman. I offered her the paper and she laughingly pointed out that she wouldn’t be able to read it, but said that she would get her daughter to program it into her phone. My heart did a little dance.

“Look,” I said, hesitantly, “could we meet sometime; say for coffee or lunch?”

“Yes, I’d like that - you’ve been very kind and I can sense that Honey likes you; she’s a good judge of people.”

“Well, I’d love to get to know you better - if you’d let me, that is.”

She smiled and again offered her hand, which I took. Then she took me by surprise by telling me her mobile number.

On impulse, I gave Honey a little rub behind the left ear and mouthed ”thank you” to her as they bade their farewells and left the building.

I couldn’t settle much over the next few days and spent quite a bit of time at the Health Centre, just to take my mind off things. Early the next week, and not without some trepidation, I phoned Megan.

“Hello, its Alan Taylor, we met at the Health Centre last week. I wondered if you were free for lunch one day soon.”

“Hello Alan, I’d like that.”

We made the arrangements; I would meet her in town at a little place near the shopping centre. I could easily get there on my scooter.

She was on time and I had smartened up a bit with my best jacket, shirt and trousers. I didn’t want to show her up; I know she couldn’t see me but I didn’t want anyone to think that I hadn’t made an effort. And anyway, I irrationally suspected that Honey would drop me in it if my standards slipped.

‘The Lunchbox’ was more than just a café: they did an excellent English and Italian menu. It was a bright, lively place, very popular with business people, and the tablecloths, napkins and décor gave more than a hint of the Mediterranean. The staff were Italian and the selection and quality of their pasta dishes meant that a reservation was essential.

Subtle Italian background music met you at the door — nowhere near as loud and intrusive as in many eating places you find these days; that in itself made a refreshing change. The pavement outside was wide enough for continental-type tables and chairs if the weather behaved itself. That day it didn’t. It was grey and overcast so I found Megan at an inside table.

She wore a pretty top and skirt and a short jacket was draped around a chair. The waitress made room for me to drive my scooter directly into the restaurant. I walked the few steps to the table with the aid of my crutches.
Honey greeted me by nudging my leg; I patted her and said hello to Megan. She smiled when I gave her a peck on the cheek.

The smell of bolognaise sauce had my stomach rumbling well before I’d made it to the table so that decided my lunch for the day. Megan chose something much less messy — very wise. I had the greatest admiration for this woman who seemed to just get on with life, despite what it had thrown at her.

The conversation ranged over many subjects. Over dessert, she surprised me with, “Are you interested in a job?”

I was stunned, and spluttered, “But…how…my legs…?”

She smiled. “I know of a large local company who are looking for a customer services manager in their IT department. The job is in house and the building is disabled-friendly. It will certainly hold no obstacles for your scooter. Are you interested?”

I pinched myself to see if I was awake. It hurt; I was.

“I certainly am. I’ve a lot of experience from running my own company for many years and it would be good to feel useful again.”

She passed over a card bearing the name of the company: Global Synthetic Developments UK Ltd. I turned it over and read the name “Sally” and a direct telephone number. I felt sure that I’d missed something.

“Give Sally a ring,” Megan said, “she works in Personnel. She’s waiting to hear from you; tell her that Megan gave you the details of the job. Don’t worry, she knows all about your mobility problem.”

I just hoped that their background checks didn’t reveal anything else as I asked, smiling, “Ok, I give in; just how do you know Sally and how did you know that there’s a job going?”

“Easy,” she laughed, “she’s my daughter.”

Another goldfish impression. I had to ask, “Do you work for them as well?”

“Sometimes; on a sort of consultancy basis.”

I figured that her perceptions of other people might be heightened with the loss of her sight. I’d heard that blind people often have enhanced hearing. I reckoned that her lack of vision would be no obstacle to prying the deepest secret from an interviewee, even without her being able to pick up the body language. Heck, it nearly did with me.

I found Megan fascinating; her knowledge of a wide range of subjects was impressive and I found myself relaxing more with her and talking at length about a lot of things. I remember thinking that she would be a great asset to any quiz team.

Our waitress approached. “I’m sorry,” she said, but neither looking nor sounding as if she were. “My shift is ending and I need to close out my accounts before I go.”

I checked my watch and was shocked to find that Megan and I had been chatting non-stop for nearly two hours.

“Oh my,” Megan said, after listening to her watch, “tempus fugit.”

As I fumbled with the payment of our bill I eagerly pressed for another date.

“How about Monday?” she asked, causing my heart to soar. “Lunch?”

Where are we going? What can possibly come of it?

~~ O ~~

The next morning, I telephoned Global Synthetic Developments and spoke to Sally. She seemed to know quite a lot about me and I supposed that she’d got a lot of background information from her mother. They could also get my business results with no bother so my work record was easily accessible.

- How much have they been able to find out about me? Obviously my past isn’t an issue or I wouldn’t have been invited for interview - or they didn't find out. Now that I couldn't believe -

I went to their office building the next day and spoke to Glyn Matthews, the IT Director and another Welshman. I wondered if everyone had to have a Welsh connection but Glyn told me that the company was founded by a multi-millionaire from Liverpool who’d brought the right product to the right market at the right time. Demand for their range of ultra-light, ultra-strong, recycled-plastic building products had gone through the roof — we both laughed at the pun. The company was now worth millions and employed a couple of thousand people in ten buildings countrywide.

Megan was right about their head office building: it had a ramp up to reception and four lifts which served all floors including the basement car park. The building itself was an unusual shape, more or less like a ten-storey bronze mirror-glass doughnut with a flat roof and a garden in the middle. Lawns and shrub borders stretched out to the boundaries of the site. Elsewhere they might have been incongruous but here they seemed quite appropriate. Seasonal, relaxing colour surrounded you as you approached the main entrance.

Glyn was an affable bloke in his late thirties and didn’t appear bothered at all about my lack of mobility. We chatted for a while and I told him of my career and my own business, suddenly curtailed last year when the accident happened. We discussed the responsibilities and the remuneration package and then we went down to see Sally.

Sally was nothing like her mother. She was tall and slim, had long, wavy blonde hair and was dressed in a grey pin-stripe skirt suit with a cream blouse. She wore high-heeled black shoes; and I found myself craning my neck to talk to her. I was relieved when she ordered coffee for us both and we sat at an occasional table. At least there, we could converse more or less on the same level.

She had her own office which, in an open-plan building, seemed most incongruous, but I suppose it wasn’t uncommon in a personnel department. I thought that she might be the manager but she told me that she was a senior consultant, whatever one of those was.

She gave me lots of forms to fill in and I felt, after half a day in the building, that it was all happening a bit fast. Certainly it was the shortest job interview I’d ever had and I was staggered that three hours after I’d ridden through the door I was riding out again having been offered, and accepted, a job.

I called Megan’s mobile.

“I got the job,” I told her. ”You get all the credit for that. I know that we arranged to meet on Monday for lunch, but can I take you to dinner soon to celebrate and say thank you?”

She laughed. “Yes, that would be lovely, and I’m sure that Honey will be pleased to see you again too.”

Because of her other commitments, we stayed with Monday but met in the evening. My scooter was fitted with lights but I felt quite vulnerable riding in the dark, so I arranged a taxi and picked Megan up on the way.

~~ O ~~

She was ready when I arrived at her modern bungalow and Honey greeted me in her usual fashion as the driver helped them into the car.

I had a great time with them and felt very comfortable and at ease. She had a ready wit and was sparkling company. Megan had worn a sleeveless dress with a vee-neck. The dress and her accessories really showed off her figure and I once again marvelled that, apart from her lack of sight, the years had been very good to Megan Williams. Mister Williams was, in my opinion, an idiot of the first order for walking out on Megan. Not that I was complaining.

All too soon the evening came to a close; I was so pleased to arrange for lunch the next week. Honey wagged her tail and cocked her head on one side as I kissed Megan lightly on the cheek and then guided her outside when our taxi arrived. It was a simple matter to drop them off on my way home.

I was becoming quite fond of Megan and idly wondered if we had a future together. Trouble is, I’d no doubt that when I told her of my past she’d run a mile. I’d have to tell her; it wouldn’t be fair to let her find out any other way.

~~ O ~~

The following Monday I joined Global Synthetics. I was introduced to the rest of the Customer Services team: the Helpdesk who took the initial calls; the techies who fixed the various problems, the clerical staff who collated the results, produced the inevitable statistics and told us how we were doing in comparison to the targets. They also kept the vast library of manuals in some semblance of order. I then went downstairs again to meet with Sally who helped me fill in loads more forms. By the end of the day, during which I felt that I managed to make a good contribution, I left the office feeling much better than I had for many months. And it was all down to Megan.

That woman was always on my mind, from morning until night. I lived for our lunch dates — I was becoming obsessed. I was even losing my fixation with Beccy’s death, though it didn’t completely leave me.

~~ O ~~

After we’d been going out together for a few months, and I’d been at Global Synthetics for a similar length of time, Megan rang me at work. She sounded totally distraught.

“It’s happened; they’ve told me that Honey has to retire next month. I’m devastated. I just don’t know what to do.”

I offered to visit that evening and she agreed.

Megan lived in a small development of similar properties which were designed for elderly and disabled people. It had a good-sized living room and two bedrooms and had been built about twenty years ago. It had lots of grab rails; wide doors; low steps; that kind of thing.

I arrived at half past seven and was greeted by a tearful Megan and a tail-wagging Honey. I kissed her briefly and gave Honey’s left ear a rub.

After we were settled in comfortable chairs, and with brimming coffee cups, she told me all about it.

“I had a call this morning: Honey has to retire and I’m on the list for a new dog. He or she will probably arrive in a couple of months. Unless I can make arrangements for someone to exercise Honey, she has to go to a new home.”

She again dissolved into floods of tears.

“Couldn’t Sally take her?”

She looked over at me, her eyes streaming so much that her mascara had run. How the hell did she manage to put on mascara if she couldn’t see? - Now isn’t the time to ask -

“Sally has a small apartment in the town centre; she isn’t allowed to keep a dog.”

“Oh. Could I help?”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but Honey seems to get on with me and, even if it’s only for a little while, it might bridge the gap until we can work out something permanent. I could maybe come round on my way from work and take her out. She could then stay here, couldn’t she?”

“I suppose so, but what about your legs?” she sniffed, but sounding a little brighter. I told her that I might be able to drive the scooter and hold the lead. I’d worked it all out during the day; I’d do anything to spend time in Megan’s company - and her happiness was becoming very important to me.

I obviously had an ulterior motive but it did solve two issues; keeping Honey and my seeing more of Megan. I didn’t mention it but a lot depended upon whether or not she could or would accept my past.

To try and take our minds off the dog problem I asked another question.

“Do you have any other children?”

She sighed.

“Peter, my husband, had a son John from a previous relationship but I haven’t seen him since…a long time. We fell out years ago. He said that he never wanted to see me again and went to live with his grandfather. He might have left home and got a family of his own by now.”

I thought that odd but, then again, my own family disowned me when I was sixteen so I just smiled ruefully and muttered something about choosing your friends but not being able to choose your family. We eventually left it that I’d visit the next Saturday and try a dummy run with Honey to see how she and I got on with the scooterised walkies.

~~ O ~~

The Saturday morning saw me putting on my new jacket, shirt and trousers that I’d bought in the week. I really looked forward to getting smartened up for Megan, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. I rode to her home and this time gave her a, by now, customary light kiss on the lips.

Honey was ready for me. She just had a normal collar on and Megan had her lead attached already. I said that I’d probably be about half an hour for the first time and headed towards the local park. Honey seemed to realise what was going on and walked beside me as I rode. I let her off the lead in the park and she romped around, just burning off surplus energy and doing what dogs normally do. I was delighted that everything seemed to be going well and was in a very happy mood when we got back to Megan’s place.

She asked how it went and I told her. She said that she would see if she could keep Honey based on the agreement that I would walk her. For me this was a bonus as it meant that I would get to see Megan nearly every day.

~~ O ~~

I was on tenterhooks for the next week while we waited for the call. I took every opportunity in between to spend time with Megan and would walk Honey on my own.

I’d taken to staying the evening with Megan at least once a week. We shared a love of sixties music. On Tuesday evening, after I’d been to the park, she and I were relaxed and listened to The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and many other bands of that era.

After dinner, over coffee, she asked me, “You told me that your wife died of cancer. If you’re comfortable, will you tell me a little about her? What was her name for a start?”

“Beccy, Rebecca.”

“I had a sister Rebecca,” she said, softly.

“She was forty-six when she died of cancer three years ago.”

You could almost see the cogs in Megan’s brain snap into place.

“So she was born in 1957?” she asked, as she stood to reach over to the table.

I agreed.

“The same year as my sister. I know it’s stupid but…I have to ask; what date?”

“June 3rd.”

Honey yelped, then skittered out of the way as Megan passed out and collapsed onto the floor. I made a grab for her but wasn’t successful. All I achieved was to join her in a heap on the floor.

~~ O ~~

I don’t know how long we lay there: she looked so peaceful but my mind was in a whirl. What was significant about that date that caused Megan to pass out? I was having difficulty trying to understand the woman who had overcome blindness and a husband’s desertion, only to keel over at the mention of Beccy’s birthday.

She came round and, after a few seconds, appeared to realise how she’d ended up on the floor. She managed a weak smile before bursting into tears. I gave her a handkerchief and she eventually ran down to a sob.

“I’m sorry, I feel so stupid.”

Our relationship was getting serious and I knew that I’d have to tell her about my past before we went much further. The trouble is, I didn’t think that she was in a fit state at that moment to handle my skeletons. I struggled to my feet and sat on the settee. I supported myself as I helped her to stand. She sat beside me but I was aware that we weren’t sitting as close as previously. I held her hand and didn’t say any more. I couldn’t have if I’d wanted; I couldn’t find words.

She studied the table that held the coffee cups — well that’s the way it seemed anyway. “That was the same day as my sister’s birthday. I can’t believe that you might have been married to my sister, it’s too much of a coincidence.” she said, but with her eyes still downcast.

This evening was getting to be more like a roller-coaster ride every minute and after her passing out on me I didn’t think she’d be ready for any other revelations.

“Look, I don’t think you’re in a fit state at the moment for us to be going over history. Can I call Sally? Do you need any help?”

“No I’ll be OK. Can you just stay a while — so that I can calm down a bit?”

“Alright.”

I slid over a bit so that I was closer to her. She leaned into me and it just felt natural to drape an arm around her shoulders. She smiled. Honey came and sat between our legs, then stretched herself out on the floor, her head on her paws.

We neither of us spoke for a few minutes, and then I asked, “Can I make you a hot drink?”

She giggled. “How will you carry it?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that.”

“I’ll do it, I’m used to it.”

I watched in admiration as she returned a few minutes later with two mugs of hot chocolate on a tray with a handle over the top.

“You’re an amazing woman,” I told her.

She smiled, put the tray down on the coffee table and resumed her seat beside me. We stayed like that for half an hour until I said, “time I was making a move.”

She nodded.

I phoned for a taxi, picked up my crutches and kissed her on the cheek.

“See you tomorrow for walkies.”

~~ O ~~

The next day I went to Megan’s place and took Honey for her regular walk in the park. Afterwards, we sat and listened to some more music. I hoped Honey appreciated the band — The Animals — well I thought it was funny and Megan and I shared the joke.

“You were telling me about your wife, Beccy.”

“Beccy and I weren’t married,” I confessed.

“What?”

“We weren’t married. She was already married to a man who’d beaten her senseless and put her in hospital. She eventually walked out on him in fear of her life. Towards the end of her first year in a refuge, she joined a dancing class; why I don’t know — maybe she was just feeling stir-crazy - but I’m certainly glad she did. For me, it was love at first sight, or rather first dance. It took about a year before she could trust me enough to be open about her past — and before she let me get really close to her. Computer operators were in demand so we just moved around until we reckoned that the trail we left was cold enough.

“Eventually we disappeared and moved here. In the refuge, she’d changed her appearance; it’s amazing what makeup and a different hairstyle can achieve. She even took to wearing glasses, with plain lenses. She couldn’t file for divorce without possibly giving herself away. No way did she want to take a chance on being found by “The Brute” as she called him.

“When we moved here, we just told everyone that we were newlyweds. No one knew the truth and no one seemed to care either way. She didn’t even tell her family. My family disowned me when I was sixteen so they didn’t know either.”

“Why would they disown you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Please tell me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Please tell me.”

I sighed. I suppose she’d have to know eventually.

“OK, but it’s not very pretty and I’m not proud of it. I’d got into a lot of trouble when I was a teenager. I was under a lot of pressure at school to join a gang. We hung around in coffee bars, had gang fights and indulged in petty crime. I started to drink heavily and there was no shortage of illegal work. I liked having money. It wasn’t long before I was into bigger crime; car theft, breaking and entering, that sort of thing.”

I kept glancing at her to try and read her reaction but she didn’t interrupt me, just kept staring at the table — and not seeing it.

“One night we did over a big house and some idiot took along a gun. Something went wrong, the house owner got shot and wounded, someone grassed and we all got sent down. I got four years.”

Apart from a sharp intake of breath, there was no reaction, just the stony silence. I ploughed on. It was cleansing; I just had to tell her and damn the consequences. After years of bottling it up, it all poured out.

“I used the prison library as much as I could. When I got out, the probation service found me a job as a computer operator. When the first desktop machines came out, I learned how to fix problems on them. I quickly picked up enough about system design to set out on my own.

“By then it was Beccy and me, and our joy at being together was marred only by the fact that she couldn’t have a baby. Every month she’d have to put up with the pain and the mess, knowing that her eggs were useless. We tried to adopt but were told that wasn’t possible because of my past. It was ironic that the cancer that took her from me was in the ovaries that didn’t work.

“She never spoke about her husband or her family. I didn’t ask because I knew how much it pained her.”

I glanced at Megan to see if she was taking all this in but she sat poker-faced, just continuing to stare at the coffee-table.

After a few minutes, which felt like hours, she looked up at me. She had tears in her eyes.

“I think you’d better go.”

I felt crushed. I nodded.

“I’ll let myself out.”

I looked around and found my crutches and walked to the door. I glanced back at Megan but she just sat there with her head in her hands.

I let myself out and fumbled in my pocket for my mobile phone. I called for a taxi and waited on her step.

~~ O ~~

I didn’t sleep well that night or the next three: I was haunted by the thought that something precious was again being taken away from me by yet another cruel twist of fate. Firstly Beccy, then my job and my mobility, now Megan.

In the office, I must have looked like death warmed up and ran more or less on autopilot for the next few days. Glyn noticed that I wasn’t entirely with it and asked if I was okay. I just nodded and tried to get some of the cotton wool in my brain to interact.

~~ O ~~

After several days things weren’t any better. I still couldn’t get over the feeling that I’d just lost the last chance of happiness that I would ever have. I wasn’t eating well, sleeping well or working well and was sure that I was going to get the push.

- That’d be just great: no job, and still waiting for the courts to catch up with the van owners; I’d soon have to sell the house to pay off the mortgage. I’d be lucky if I could afford a shed at the bottom of Liz and Bernie’s garden -

I eventually fell into a troubled sleep, an hour before the alarm told me that it was time I get up for work. I felt washed out.

~~ O ~~

I knew I’d have to get my act in gear if I was going to keep my job. I managed to appear compos mentis the next week and felt that I was getting back into routine. That didn’t mean I was completely with it. It just meant that I only thought about Megan fifty times a day instead of one hundred as I had been doing.

I knew that there was no chance of following up on the robbery that had gone wrong over thirty years ago. While I was in prison, I’d kept up to date with the progress of the man who’d been shot and was very relieved when he made a full recovery. I had second thoughts about nicking property but was in up to my neck. What started as petty crime to fit in with the gangs at school progressed quickly to something that got the adrenalin going but involved prison if it all went wrong. Violence was another thing entirely; I was as amazed as anyone when that idiot took along the shooter.

I didn’t know what I could do — I just knew that any chance I had with Megan had gone down the toilet with my confession.

~~ O ~~

A week later, my telephone rang; it was Sally.

“Alan, I don’t want to talk on the phone. Can you come to my office?”

I smiled weakly as Sally got up to meet me but that all changed when I saw the expression on her face. She closed the door and turned to me.

“Mum’s in hospital — she’s had an accident. She’s unconscious.”

“When did that happen? Who’s looking after Honey?” I asked, wondering how I managed to get two brain cells to rub together given Sally’s news.

“At the weekend, and I am; I’m living at Mum’s place at the moment.”

I felt like I’d just been kicked in the guts. “What happened?”

“They’d been shopping and were nearly home. A car was going too fast and the driver lost control; he ended up in someone’s sitting room. Honey pulled Megan into a gateway and she fell over and hit her head. If Honey hadn’t done that, she’d probably have been crushed or killed. Honey may well have saved her life.”

“Can I visit her in hospital?”

“She’s unconscious.”

“I still want to visit. How is Honey?”

“The vet checked her over and said she’s OK.”

I reluctantly returned to my desk.

- Would things have been different had I not told her? I can’t see how —

~~ O ~~

I rode my scooter to the hospital and found Ward 6. The nurses told me that Megan was stable but still unconscious.

I rode to her bed and watched her; her gentle breathing belied her condition. She was hooked up to several machines, which bleeped and hummed. She looked as though she was sleeping peacefully and didn’t give any sign of acknowledgement.

I sighed and just sat there for the best part of half an hour, then rode out of the ward and out of the hospital.

~~ O ~~

Two days later I called Sally.

“I’ve visited Megan in hospital a couple of times and today she showed signs of recovery. I called for a nurse and left before she woke up and saw me there; I don’t suppose she’d want to see me.”

“You might be surprised, although Megan has a secret of her own and she’s been agonising over whether or not to tell you.”

I sighed. “I imagine she’ll be sent home fairly soon after she does wake up; they don’t like to keep people in bed too long, even if they are blind.”

“I’ll let you know when she’s home.”

“Thanks.” I got back to my work.

~~ O ~~

Three days later, after a totally frustrating and unproductive weekend, I had a call from Sally.

“Mum was sent home today; I told her you visited.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing.”

~~ O ~~

The next day I again got a call from Sally.

“Mum wants to talk to you; can you manage this evening?”

“Is she okay?”

“Shaken, obviously. She’s pleased to be reunited with Honey: that dog is up for a bravery award.”

“Quite right too. What time should I get there?”

Sally let me in, then went to make some coffee. I walked into the living room and saw Megan with a bandage on her head. She gave me a slight smile.

“Thank you for visiting the hospital,” she said, not looking in my direction.

I waited for her to say something else. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Your past came as a shock to me; I hope you don’t mind but I told Sally. I think I over-reacted a bit.”

I looked over at Sally, who had brought in the coffee and rejoined Megan on the settee.

“I must admit it came as a shock to me too,” Sally said. “This was a teenage prank that went wrong?”

I went over the story again. Sally took Megan’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. Then she said, “Mum has a secret of her own.”

Megan shook a little, gulped and looked, unseeing, in my direction. Then her eyes watered and she started crying.

After what seemed like hours but was really only minutes, she cuddled into Sally, who put her arms around her and whispered soothing words, ending with “it’s okay now; it ends tonight, one way or another.”

Megan eventually ran out of tears and looked up in my direction.

“I’ve something to tell you as well; I’ve lied to you. I’ve been putting off the truth but I realise that won’t help. I wasn’t married to Sally’s father.”

“So? That’s not a big issue; I wasn’t married to Beccy, as I told you.”

“No, but my situation is slightly different. Although she calls me Mum, and I’m so happy that she does, I wasn’t Sally’s real mother, Peter’s first wife was. I couldn’t have been; I wasn’t made right. And at the time, we couldn’t legally marry anyway; we could now, if he hadn’t walked out on me.”

“I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “I knew I’d have to tell you sooner or later; I was putting it off because I’ve fallen in love with you and you’re going to hate me and beat me up and…” She again started crying.

“I can’t imagine that anything you can tell me will make me hate you. I love you and would like to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

She sat with her head in her hands. It was a full minute before she looked up and said another word; what she said shook me rigid.

“Beccy’s maiden name was Thomas, wasn’t it?”

I seemed to be getting a lot of practice lately at goldfish impressions — I was doing them quite frequently.

“Yes, she married Rob Harris and left him when he nearly killed her. A year later, I came on the scene. But how did you know her maiden name?”

She sighed again, something she seemed to do a lot that evening.

“I’m pretty sure she was my sister. I left home when she was seventeen.”

“Go on,” I said, with a sense of impending doom.

“I…I don’t know how else to say this… I became Megan Thomas after I got my degree; when I left home I was Beccy’s elder brother.”

“Impossible! Look, if you don’t want me because I’m a cripple just say and I’ll be on my way,” I said angrily, looking around for my crutches.

“Alan! I’m telling you the truth.”

It took some time because she kept breaking down, but she told me her story.

“I don’t know what went wrong but something did. I always knew that I was female and suffered horribly both at home and at school. Beccy knew about it, of course; that’s not something you can hide from your sister, especially when you keep borrowing her clothes.

“I left home at eighteen and went to university. I wrote to my parents after my transition but they disowned me. I missed Beccy but that was just another casualty of my leaving home as far as I was concerned.

“I never saw her again. I heard through the grapevine that she’d married and moved to Swansea so I went to try and find her. The problem was, I didn’t know her married name so I had to give up. I’m not sure I’d have got out of the house alive anyway if her husband was as violent as you said.”

She was crying again; I suppose it was the memory of her sister.

I was stunned; words failed me. Sally looked over at me but said nothing. Eventually Megan continued.

“I lived as a woman and had surgery despite my eye problems. I stayed in Swansea; Peter Williams was the social worker that was assigned to me. I kept in touch with him throughout the change and then lived with him as his wife, changing my name to Williams. He was divorced but had two children — a son John and Sally here. Sally stood by me after the break-up, but John never accepted me and went to stay with his grandfather very soon after I moved in with Peter. When Peter left me I kept the name.”

I was gobsmacked. I never imagined that she harboured a secret like that. I rose from the chair, picked up my crutches and headed for the door.

“I need to think about all this,” I said as I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.

I fished my mobile phone out of my jacket pocket and called a taxi. While I waited for it to arrive my mind ran over the events of the evening. All I could see was Megan’s tear-stained face as she told me her secret.

That night I took ages to get to sleep. I spent several restless hours wondering what his name had been before he changed. Why did it matter? I don’t know; it wouldn’t let me go.

~~ O ~~

I again ran on autopilot at work the next day. I couldn’t get Megan out of my mind and soon realised that she was still an obsession with me. I had fallen in love with her over the past few months and I had to decide if her revelations had killed that love. I didn’t know what I felt — I suppose “numb” would be a good description.

I telephoned Megan that afternoon. While the phone was ringing I wondered if she would even be there. I also wondered what I was doing, what I was feeling.

Megan answered.

“Look,” I said,” I need to see you again, to talk things through.”

I visited that evening.

Sally was there as well. The atmosphere was rather tense, which is hardly surprising.

“Mum’s told me quite a lot of her past. Her family rejected her when she was younger. She thought she’d found happiness with my dad but he couldn’t keep his willy in his trousers and ended up having a steamy affair with his secretary. Mum sometimes told me what he said. "You’re not even a proper woman" and crap like that.

“Then you came along. She fell for you big time, particularly after you’d worked out how to exercise Honey. Then, last night, it all blew up again. When you think, there aren’t many medical conditions that you have to keep quiet about and which can rear up and bite you at any time.”

Unable to think clearly, I left early.

~~ O ~~

I felt terrible. I’d spent another sleepless night. I kept thinking about the last few months and how I’d really felt alive for the first time since I lost Beccy. My mind kept returning to Megan and her smiling face that greeted me whenever we met.

But what is she? Is she a woman?

Nothing I’d seen over the time I’d known her gave any indication of her birth gender. Had she been, as she said, always a woman with a birth defect?

- God knows that there are enough people out there with medical problems — some problems which pale into insignificance when you consider the burdens placed upon Megan’s shoulders when she was born -

She. I realised that, to me, Megan was a woman. And I only had to say the word and she could be my woman.

Was that what I wanted? Could I live with her past?

She was prepared to live with mine.

I knew I’d not have another good night’s sleep until the situation was resolved. I arranged to visit Megan again.

~~ O ~~

“I’ve made up my mind.”

She looked over towards me with unseeing eyes.

I’d thought about nothing else since her startling revelation. I knew I couldn’t go on as I was. I knew that I had to do this if there was any chance of moving on. I knew that her past hadn’t killed the love I had for her.

“Megan; will you marry me?”

~~ O ~~

Epilogue
Honey and Pippa were asleep in the corner of the room. Both Labradors, the young dog’s head rested between the forepaws of the older one. They had quickly bonded and were great friends.

My arm snaked around my wife’s shoulders and we gently kissed.

“Happy Mrs Taylor?”

“Hmm,” she said, smiling, as she snuggled in close.

The End

My heartfelt thanks go to Angela Rasch for her invaluable help, advice and editing.