let that happen. He almost laughed at the thought that it might or that he could stop it happening.
Back in the flat, he made pastrami sandwiches for him and Tay, and flicked the kettle on. When he went to check if Tay was awake, he was just stirring.
“Okay?” Ink asked.
Tay sat up and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”
Ink thought he looked too pale, but not as dough-faced as Ink when he’d come back into the world.
“I made you a sandwich. Want it in here or in the kitchen?”
“I’ll come to the kitchen.”
Ink considered asking him if he needed a hand to get to his feet, but instead, laid his crutches on the bed where he could reach them, then left. A few moments later, Tay came in.
“What would you like to drink?” Ink asked. “Coffee or something else?”
“Just water, please.”
Ink poured two glasses and sat at the table. Tay settled opposite.
“Headache gone?”
“More or less.”
“Do you have work to do this afternoon?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll go out.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
“We’re still going out.”
Tay glared. “You go. I’m not.”
“Do you want me to ring your mum and tell her you’re being difficult?”
Tay widened his eyes. “You’re not going to ring my mother.”
“I have permission to smack your backside if you’re naughty.”
“She did not say that.”
“I promised to only use my hand because if I use a cane you might get splinters and then I’d have to pull them out with tweezers and I think I might enjoy that.”
Well, that brought colour to your cheeks.
“Fine. Okay. We’ll go out.”
“Great! Is the sandwich okay?”
“Passable.”
Ink rolled his eyes. “What did I do wrong? Not cut the crusts off? Lay the pastrami the wrong way round? Use too many slices?”
Tay huffed.
“Do you want anything else? Fruit?”
“No thanks.”
Ink moved the empty plates and glasses. “Are you good to go?”
“Give me a minute.”
As Tay left the kitchen, Ink put frozen peas and sweetcorn into a Ziplock bag. He was heading for his backpack when he realised that this time, he didn’t need to. The likelihood of losing his things wasn’t zero, but close to it. Though he grabbed a hoodie in case the temperature dropped, and pushed the packet of frozen veg into the front pocket.
When Tay emerged from his room, Ink took the wheelchair out into the hall. Tay locked the door of his flat, then the outer door. Ink manoeuvred the heavy wheelchair down the steps and onto the pavement.
“I don’t know how you managed to do that with your crutches.” Ink opened up the chair, pressed the clip to lock it in place and slid his hoodie into a mesh bag on the back.
“Put the brake on and adjust the handles so you’re not bending over.”
Tay sounded a bit surly, but Ink took no notice. Once Tay was sitting in the chair, Ink fastened the crutches in holders next to the handles. Dog jumped up onto Tay’s knees and Ink laughed.
“Hey, Dog, have your legs fallen off?” Ink asked.
“He’s fine. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” Ink started to push him down the road.
“A few instructions for a learner driver,” Tay said. “Don’t let go of the chair without telling me because I can’t feel when you’re not holding the handles. Don’t get distracted and let go when I’m on a slope. Keep an eye out for what’s ahead—changes in height, rough ground, people’s ankles, little kids or bottomless pits. Use a wheelie position to get me up slopes or steps—forwards or backwards, but just warn me. Don’t push the chair when I have the brake on. And don’t push it when I’m propelling it.”
“Okay. Can I sit on your lap and ride when we’re going downhill toward a bottomless pit?”
“Where would Dog sit?”
Ink smiled. “Kerb coming up. Going forwards. Assume that’s the way I’ll tackle every kerb unless I say different. Hold tight.” He tipped the chair back and edged the large wheels over the lip and down onto the road. “Wow, you didn’t fall out. I’m so good at this.”
Tay huffed.
“Apart from actually having to use a wheelchair, is there anything that particularly annoys you about it?”
“People who think they’re an expert at pushing a wheelchair within minutes. People treating me as if I’m stupid. Or crouching down to talk to me. I hate that. Or having conversations as if I wasn’t there. Having shopping piled on me. Or coats. Being asked what happened and expected to give all the details. People who let their dog sit on my lap. Not stopping