RAILWAYMAN'S FOOT - BIG BOYS Part 4/4

 

R A I L W A Y M A N ’ S   F O O T :

B I G   B O Y S

 

An improbable tale by strzeka

Dedicated to my friend John P. of Melbourne

 

A suburban tale of disability

The fourth part of four

 

Prologue

Raymond Martin and Dennis Wilson shared a flat in West Ealing. Ray’s career as a signalman was over following the closure of Southall signal box. Dennis’s future path was changed with the refusal of his employer to allow a quadruple amputee to work as a carpenter. They studied and retrained and matured.

 

A P R I L   1 9 6 8

 

Monday morning and the usual ritual. Dennis held his prosthetic arms up for Ray, who detached the hooks and replaced them with hands. Tight black leather gloves covered the metallic fingers, hiding the obvious artificiality of the pink hands underneath. Dennis had quickly learned that customers were alienated by his hooks and so condescended to wear false hands during working hours. The leather gloves improved their grip a little and gave him an air of mystery. Ha!  He laughed at the notion. He picked up his right hook and put it in his briefcase just in case he needed it.

            – Right. Thank you, Ray. See you tonight.

            – Yeah, I should be home at the usual time. Don’t wait on me to have dinner.

Dennis went out to his invalid carriage and threw his briefcase behind the seat. With any luck the North Circular would not be too busy just yet.

 

Ray put the breakfast things in the sink to soak. Their cleaner, Mrs Moore, would have a slightly easier job when she arrived after the weekend. The flat was not too untidy but there was a pile of laundry. Ray checked he had everything he needed and looked at himself in the full-length hall mirror. Nice jacket, smart trousers with a decent flare, platform shoes on his wooden feet and a fashionable Zapata moustache to complement his dark shoulder-length hair. Good enough. He made his way to his invalid carriage and drove to TWT:London in Hammersmith.

 

Ray had been at TWT for nearly two years. He had left St Martin’s with a top-notch degree and, after taking a short break, sent out curricula vitae to a few prestigious advertising agencies. He intended waiting a couple of weeks before approaching publishers after which he would try various magazines. He had proven skills in drawing, photography, text layout, typography as well as good taste and determination. TWT had responded first. He went for an interview, followed by an unexpected tour of the offices to meet his thirty-odd potential colleagues, and shown a pleasant airy room currently occupied by a black-bearded chap at a typewriter who raised a hand in greeting. Ray noticed the wooden axillary crutches behind him. His future boss escorted him back to his office and offered a starting wage of six thousand per annum.

            – I believe that is slightly above the going rate at the moment, Mr Martin, but I am anxious to persuade you to join us. I feel your approach to contemporary design is exactly what we are experimenting with ourselves. We would like you to join us as an art director and I believe you and Josh – the copywriter with the beard we just saw – would make an excellent team.

            – So you don’t have a separate art department?

            – No. We have been pioneers in the practice of pairing ADs with copywriters rather than having the art people over here and the copy people somewhere else. It’s more productive when two creatives can bounce their ideas off someone else. I don’t mean to insinuate anything regarding your handicap, Mr Martin, but Josh is also physically disabled. Nothing wrong with his noggin, though! You wouldn’t mind being paired with another amputee, would you?

            – No, of course not. Well, Mr Williams, it has been an enlightening visit. Thank you for introducing me to TWT and I would be more than pleased to join you in the near future.

            – Ah, excellent! Would you like to sign our employment contract now?

            – Yes, fine. I’d also like to pay Josh another quick visit before I leave, if that’s alright.

            – Certainly.

Ray read through the contract, noted the generous dental care benefits and the five week summer holiday with another week in the winter and wondered what life might be like with a pay packet about four times bigger than what he currently earned. He signed in his distinctive copperplate and completed it with an elegant flourish. It made the entire sheet of paper look more valuable. Williams took him back to his future work space and asked if he could find his own way out.

            – Yes, I’m sure I can. Thank you, Mr Williams. I’ll see you next Monday.

            – Good to have you with us, Mr Martin. Cheerio.

Ray strode over to Josh’s side of the double desk and held out his hand in introduction.

            – Hi! I’m Raymond Martin, fresh out of St. Martin’s – no relation – and it looks like we’re going to be working together from next Monday.

            – Oh great! I’m Jonathan Harley. Everyone calls me Josh. I’m glad to see you. I was getting a bit lonely in here. My other partner left for another agency and I’ve been on my own for three weeks.

            – Too bad. Er, are those yours?

Ray pointed at the crutches.

            – Yeah. I hope they won’t bother you. I’m a bit disabled, you see. Trouble with a motorbike a few years ago and, no, it wasn’t a Harley. That would be too cruel, wouldn’t it? I’ve got a leg off and I prefer crutches to wearing an artificial leg.

            – Really? I don’t have any problems with them.

Josh narrowed his eyes and looked at Ray.

            – What do you mean?

Ray laughed and pulled his flares up. His handsome wooden legs provided an explanation. Josh fell back in his seat.

            – You are fucking kidding me.

            – Haha! Well, I can’t hang about, Josh. I’ll see you on Monday. Pleased to meet you.

Josh’s mouth hung open as Ray strode out.

 

Two years later, they were the best of mates and had already landed the coveted D&AD prize in 1967 for the Look out! Kids about! national road safety campaign. The poster’s haunting eyes with their intense stare had become an icon of contemporary imagery, repeated in yearbooks and advertising annuals all over the world. Ray was frequently interviewed with Josh at his side and asked whose eyes they were. The handsome masculine eyes with the striking long eyelashes. He always smiled and shook his head. They were, of course, Dennis’s eyes. He had been the model on several evenings until Ray was satisfied.

 

Dennis himself had recently been basking in some international glory of his own. His OneTwo chair, which had already won several domestic accolades, had been selected for the seating in Mexico City’s new metro stations by the Sistema de Transporte Colectivo, the responsible authority. The chair’s simplicity, ease of construction and comfort had made it Stapleton’s all-time best-seller. Dennis had originally intended to produce an armchair for their lounge with curved lines until he noticed that none of the curved sections were actually necessary. He, or rather Ray, redrew the design keeping the chair’s proportions and re-conforming the frame to feature only straight lines. It was still superbly comfortable and would cost a fraction of the cost to produce compared with the curving version. Its other major selling point was that two or more could be connected to make a two– or three– or four seater. Stapleton was originally dubious about the design until Dennis had the workshop make one and invited Stapleton to sit in it. Now, Stapleton Decor was supplying sixteen of the chairs to each of twenty-one new metro stations, three hundred and thirty-six units in total, and other public transport systems around Europe had shown an interest. Dennis was rewarded with a cheque for five thousand pounds.

 

That Monday, Dennis was working on the mechanism for a table, working name Whirl, based on parallel slats resting on two interlocking sections which could be rotated to expand the table’s surface area by ninety percent. If he could get it to work, it would be another huge success. The main difficulty was perfecting the central support. It was reliant on precise curves in three dimensions and Dennis had begun suspect that it was too demanding a shape for the workshop to produce. He had decided that this week he would ditch the original design and search for a new solution. He fitted a pencil between the thumb and fingers of his artificial right hand and began new sketches.

 

Dennis had spent much of the weekend in Chelsea with his giant lover. Phillip had long since finished his training at the Southall outlet and was now manager of a large hardware shop in Cricklewood. His sexuality had changed since meeting Dennis. He no longer wanted a relationship with able-bodied men. Homosexual amputees were few and far between and Phillip had been more than happy with his quadruple amputee lover although he had once had a brief affair with a legless soldier in a wheelchair. It had to stop because of the man’s alarming habit of bursting into tears and fending off imaginary foes at random intervals. It was a pity. He had beautiful muscles and two almost non-existent leg stumps. Phillip and Dennis re-enacted a similar scenario at each meeting. He was ordered to dismember his lover and worship the prostheses with his nine inch penis. Then he had to serve a meal and feed the limbless man as they sat naked at the dining table. Afterwards Phillip would receive a good shafting and reassemble his lover. Dennis never stayed overnight. He was concerned for Ray. Phillip was fun but it was not love. Dennis had love only for Ray. They relied on each other in many ways, grew together, thought alike. They were different only in the matter of sex. As far as Dennis knew, Ray was still a virgin at twenty-two. He had no idea whether Ray preferred women to men or whether he thought about sex at all. In nineteen sixty-eight, it was impossible to be ignorant of sex everywhere, of every kind. Yet Ray was always alone, happy to be together with Dennis in their comfortable familiarity.

 

Dennis’s other sometime lover, Ross the invigilator from the Acton Invacar centre turned out to be a disappointment. He enjoyed being dominated but showed no initiative or imagination of his own and Dennis became bored with his predictability. Also, Ross had begun to gain weight as many double leg amputees do, and Dennis no longer found him attractive. They had parted as friends three years ago.

 

S E P T E M B E R   1 9 7 3

 

Dennis’s Invacar was giving up the ghost. On several occasions, Ray had insisted Dennis use his car when Dennis’s own would not start. Ray could get to work by tube from Ealing Broadway. Dennis phoned the South Acton place to make enquiries about a new carriage and was sent a new application form asking everything under the sun including the weight of the user. He sent it back the next morning. Later in the day, the Postal Workers’ Union announced a strike for better working conditions effective immediately. Dennis took his Invacar to the nearest garage in desperation and asked them to check the motor. He was invited to return the next evening. The motor was stripped, cleaned, inspected and tuned. The invalid carriage had one of the simplest internal combustion motors ever made. Teenagers learned about motors on more complicated ones. When Dennis collected his carriage the next day, he settled the thirty pound bill with pleasure. He swung himself into his car, started the ignition and pressed the joystick forward. The car lurched into action and Dennis braked as quickly as possible. After ten years, he finally had a tuned Invacar. He started it again, being a little more cautious with the joystick and noticed how much quieter the motor sounded. He tried keeping up with other traffic on the Uxbridge Road and felt fairly certain he could now overtake it.

 

All because of the Post strike. He told Ray to get his carriage down to the garage the very same evening for the same treatment.

            – You know what this means, don’t you? We could go down to Brighton or somewhere for the weekend instead of just poodling around London all the time.

            – Will there be anyone there at this time of night?

            – Ray, they’re open all night. Go on. Tell them I sent you.

 

Dennis never received a reply from South Acton.

 

Now that his main form of transport was fixed, he turned his attention to his second most important business, the Biennial Furniture Show in Basel, Switzerland. Stapleton Decor had its own stand and was taking a couple of OneTwos and a Whirlygig table, both of which had won awards. As they were designed to be, they could be shipped out in pieces and assembled on site in a couple of hours by anyone who understood illustrations. Drawn by Ray, naturally. These had also attracted attention in the world of information graphics. Dennis was having to chase up the translators for German and Italian who were supposed to have already delivered their texts for the foreign language versions of Stapleton’s latest brochures. The printers were already screaming in desperation at Dennis about their deadlines. Dennis had enough experience with printers to know that there were still several days before things became urgent. He looked up the number for the translator of the German text, Peter Tschügl. He rang and introduced himself.

            – I am so glad you have called. I cannot reach you by telephone. I just get wrong number announcements. Your translation is here and waiting but of course we are having the post strike so I do not put it in the post box, of course.

Dennis hoped his German was better than his English.

            – Yes, I understand. Look, where do you live? Are you in London? I could come and collect it myself.

            – That would be an excellent idea. I live in Wembley, very near the Central station.

            – Alright. I’ll come by car. Give me your address please, Peter. I think it will take me about an hour. Can you see the street from your flat?

              Yes, I see it very clear.

            – Good. When you see an invalid carriage stop outside, that is me. Do you understand?

            – You mean a little blue car with the three wheels? Yes, I know.

            – Well, come and let me in when you see it.

            – I will use the door buzzer.

            – OK. See you soon. Strewth. Ray!  I have to go out.

            – Alright. Be careful.

 

Dennis was wary of his supercharged Invacar but the roads had already quietened since rush hour and he was able to press north at a decent clip. He had told Peter to be on the lookout in an hour but he was in Wembley in only thirty-five minutes. He swung himself out of the Invacar and crossed to the main entrance of Peter’s building. A large door bell system was decaying on the wall. Dennis sought Tschügl. As might be expected, it was neatly printed unlike the other typewritten and hand printed names. He pressed the button, hoping that it was operational. The whole country was turning into a dump where nothing worked, no-one cared and no-one was doing anything about it. The buzzer sounded and Dennis pulled the door open. He rocked himself inside and went to the lift. There were five floors. He would have to go to the top and inspect the names by the letterboxes, if any. Nothing on the fifth. The fourth had nothing. The third floor had the neatly printed name Tschügl on the door directly opposite the lift. He knocked on the door. It was opened by a legless man in a wheelchair with a hook for a left hand, dressed in a warm polo neck jumper and denim shorts. He had an enormous black beard and was completely bald.

            – Dennis? Come in, please. I am so very sorry you have to come like this but I will show you the number I am calling all day. I was working all night to finish so I was very sad we lose so much time.

            – Don’t worry, Peter. This sort of thing happens all the time. Oh, that’s a nine, not a two.

            – Scheisse. I have the translation here. Please come into the living room.

Apart from the unmistakably English details like the boarded up fireplace and the pointless lintel around the upper wall, the room could have been in central Europe. It looked comfortable and well appointed, decorated tastefully with subdued lighting and a polished wooden floor. Tschügl’s work desk had a pile of papers illuminated by an Anglepoise lamp, and an electric typewriter. He rolled across to his desk and picked up a red folder labelled Stapleton.

            – Here is the translation. I have made the text with double space so your typesetter can maybe see it better.

He held it out to Dennis, who took it in his right artificial hand. Tschügl noticed.

            – Excuse me for asking. Is that a prosthesis? You have lost your hand? I also have only one hand.

            – I have no hands, Peter. And I have no legs but my stumps are longer than yours.

            – It is strange I think for two such amputees to meet like this.  I see so few folk. It is difficult for a man to meet other men like himself.

            .. Yes, well Peter, I must go.

            – Please telephone me some time. I would like to meet you again.

Dennis turned and looked at the handsome bearded face and saw the plea in the man’s eyes.

            – I will. Good bye. Thank you.

 

So began a weekly tryst between Dennis and Peter. On Saturdays Dennis visited Wembley Central for protracted foreplay and mutual masturbation, much kissing and fondling of stumps, Dennis rubbing his face into Peter’s magnificent black beard, smelling sandalwood and the cigars which Peter indulged in. It was a sensual experience which Dennis had not encountered before. It always ended with intercourse and unusually, Dennis occasionally allowed the hirsute and legless Swiss to penetrate him. Peter was a thoughtful host and always served an excellent meal which he had spent much of Saturday preparing from a wheelchair with one hand and a hook.

            – Why don’t you use artificial legs, Peter? Wouldn’t they make your life easier?

            – Well, I am always at home and my job is to sit down and write. It is just more easy for me to be in the wheelchair, Dennis. I have my legs. Do you want to see them? I can put them on. Wait a minute.

He was naked from his midriff down and returned holding a gnarled walking stick in his hand. He was wearing a pair of aluminium legs with tan leather straps leading in unspecified directions.

            – Those are not made here, are they?

            – No, they are from Switzerland, ten years ago. I am wearing them for about two weeks in all that time.

            – You look magnificent.

 

On Sundays, Dennis met Phillip. They had varied their game by visiting Chelsea coffee bars and evening clubs. Dennis played hard to get and Phillip had to arrange a situation where he could be fucked in public by a limbless cripple. Having sated his sexual desire the previous evening with Peter, Dennis was more lenient with his subservient friendly giant and their relationship gained more equality but there was never any doubt who was the alpha male. Phillip touched and felt Dennis’s prostheses as much as possible and asked him to wear revealing clothing. Dennis visited the Kings Road several times wearing a string vest and cut-off jeans to display his prothetic limbs to their full extent. Complete strangers offered to buy him drinks. Dolly birds rotated their backsides in his face. He attracted attention. Phillip watched the reactions to his lover’s hooks and tin legs and masturbated through a hole in his jeans pocket.

 

Ray worked late most nights. He had been promoted to senior art director, the guy who said yea or nay on the direction TWT’s visual trends were progressing. He tried to get home by nine but usually had to phone Dennis to apologise and hope that he had not spoiled supper. His continual absences were the main reason Dennis went out so much. Quite often he went to the local pub for a pint or two after Ray had phoned. He had to wear his hands because he was unable to twist them off and replace them with hooks. He picked up a pint of beer with both gloved hands and strained forwards to drink. Sometimes a helpful stranger would offer to lift his pint for him. Sometimes those offers led to sex on or off the premises. In the meantime, Ray worked on alone in his office with only the cleaning ladies for company. He still liked his job, most of the time. Sometimes. People were unreliable. The new intakes had to be pressured into action time and time again and snarled if their sub-standard work was rejected. None of them made any effort to befriend the older staff. Ray began to feel the futility of striving for excellence when any crap seemed to pass muster these days. You saw it on the tv and on the billboards. Unimaginative, vapid slogans, cliché-ridden photography, childish jingles. He needed a break. No, he needed out completely. He would draw diagrams for the New Scientist. Work for a local newspaper. Anything but this relentless inanity. He threw his pen onto the table and stomped out. It was twenty past ten.

 

Instead of going home, he walked along the street until he came to the first public house. He went in and ordered half a pint of lager. He looked around seeking a seat, not wanting to stand more than necessary.

            – Looking for someone?

            – No, I was looking for a seat.

            – I haven’t seen you in here before. Stranger in town, are you?

            – No, I work down the road. Why are you so interested?

            – Mmm just trying to be friendly. Nice bloke like you looking lonely, what’s a man to do?

            – I think those people in the corner are leaving. I’m going over there.

            – Mind if I join you?

            – I don’t care.

Ray sat down on a warm seat and sipped his beer. The effeminate young man followed him.

            – Rushed off your feet, are you ? I don’t see why you couldn’t stand and chat.

            – Oh, you don’t? Well, get under the table and take closer look at my feet.

The lanky man glanced around. He disappeared under the table. Ray pulled his flares up so the chap could see his wooden legs.

            – Oh, fucking hell. I don’t believe it.

Ray felt the man grip his knees. Then a hand reached into his crotch to grip the zip of his fly and pull it open. He was too surprised to protest. A warm hand worked its way into his underwear and gripped his penis. Shock rendered him speechless. The hand pulled his penis out of his underwear and he felt a warm wet sensation, pulling, sucking, nipping, moving. It was… oh god, what was… aah! It felt so good. The feeling intensified and his anus twitched. He felt weakness in his thighs and gripped the tabletop. He bowed his head and then threw his head back and at the age of twenty-seven, ejaculated as the result of sexual stimulation for the first time in his life. He sensed the hands grip his wooden legs by the vibrations in his stumps. A head rose from beneath the table and spat onto the carpet.

            – Didn’t take you long, did it? Been a while, I reckon. Nice boy like you should come in more often, if you ask me. Nice legs too. Haven’t seen them before.

            – I’m sorry. I have to go.

            – Well, put your dick in your pants first, dearie. Don’t want to get arrested by the filth, do we now?

Ray zipped himself and pushed himself up. The fop looked at him with derision. Ray rocked out of the pub and back to the TWT car park. He was home half an hour later. Dennis was not at home. He went to bed.

 

N O V E M B E R   1 9 7 3

 

Dennis had been in pain for a couple of weeks but had said nothing to Ray, not wanting to worry him. One morning, his right BK stump was so painful that he was reluctant to put a stump sock on. Ray noticed and asked what was wrong.

            – My stump is so tender that I can’t bear anything to touch it.

            – You woke up like that this morning?

            – No, it’s been getting worse over the past few days. I thought it would go away but it’s getting worse. I don’t know how I’m going to do any work if this carries on.

            – Look, I’m going to call us in sick and we’re going to Hillingdon straight away. Do you think you can handle crutches today? I know they’re difficult for you.

            – Well, I might be able to if you swap my hands for work hooks. They’re in a cubbyhole.

            – Alright. How about wearing a pair of shorts? Then you won’t have anything touching your stump.

            – Yeah, it looks like that’s the only alternative. Can you dress me please, Ray?

            – Of course I can. Sit tight.

Ray found a pair of mid-thigh length shorts and the work hooks. He slipped the shorts over Dennis’s leg stumps, careful not to touch the right stump which looked completely normal. Dennis held up his arms for Ray to adapt and pushed himself up from the bed to balance on his left artificial leg. Ray handed him his crutches after blowing a layer of dust off them.

            – See if you can get into the kitchen and you can have some breakfast. We might have quite a wait ahead of us. You know what Hillingdon is like. I’m going to make those phone calls.

Dennis edged his way into the kitchen and sat at the table. He listened to Ray explaining to someone at TWT that he would be absent today due to a medical emergency but would be in tomorrow. Stapleton had not arrived but Marjorie McCall took a message.

            – That’s settled. What do you want to eat? Shall we have bacon and eggs? I’ll see what’s in the fridge. There are some sausages in here too.

            – Let’s have the whole lot.

            – Good show. How does your leg feel?

            – It’s alright as long as nothing touches it.

            – Sounds really odd to me. And it looks OK, which is strange if it hurts so much. I don’t know what the doctor will make of it. Prescribe some painkillers, I suppose.

            – I don’t think painkillers are going to work, Ray. This is worse than even after the amputations.

 

Ray finished dressing Dennis in his smart jacket and they went to their cars. Ray helped Dennis get into his and put the crutches in after. They were travelling against the rush hour flow and made good time. They arrived at the hospital just before nine. Dennis leaned on his crutches as he explained his emergency to a receptionist who asked who his surgeon and prosthetist had been. She made announcements over the intercom to the staff room. Dr Foster was free, Dr Young was occupied with a patient. The surgeon  appeared and recognised both men.

            – Long time, no see. What can I do for you, Dennis?

Dennis explained his gradually intensifying pain.

            – I see. Just a moment. Nurse! Can you bring this man a wheelchair? We’ll go to my office. Er, Raymond, isn’t it? Will you stay here, please? We may be some time.

            – I don’t mind waiting, Doctor.

            – Good show. Dennis, jump in. Can you manage yourself?

            – Yes, this is fine.

Foster held the door open and they disappeared from view. Ray prepared for a long wait. He might even nip into Uxbridge and buy a book or something in WHSmiths. War and Peace, for example. He decided he would. He rocked out to his car and went into Uxbridge. He bought a copy of Clockwork Orange and a bar of chocolate. He was back at the hospital within half an hour.

 

Foster had read in medical journals about a newly recognised disorder which most often affected amputees or survivors of meningitis, according to data from West Germany and Switzerland. It was described as a post-traumatic disorder with possibly a psychological aspect to it, not unlike shell-shock. It was tentatively labelled CRPS. It root cause was still unknown but its symptoms were all similar – extreme and painful sensitivity to touch, burning sensations, nerve pain. Doctors in West Germany had reluctantly concluded after following several sufferers for periods varying between six months and a year that the only cure certain to relieve the patients’ pain was amputation. Foster looked down at Dennis’s exposed stump.

            – I assume you do not want me to touch it, but can you raise your stump so I can take a closer look? How long ago did the pain start?

            – About two weeks ago.

            – And it has already become intolerable?

            – Well, yes. I might possibly be able to get into work one-legged but I can’t bear the thought of a folded-up trouser leg rubbing against my stump.

            – Can you describe the pain, Dennis? Is it a crushing pain or a slicing pain?

            – Slicing. If nothing touches the stump, there is no pain. But any contact has begun to feel excruciating. It doesn’t seem to be an internal pain, if that makes any sense. But skin contact causes more pain than skin should even be able to generate. I said to Ray this morning that this feels worse than immediately after my amputations.

            – It’s quite mysterious. I’m sure this has existed before but we have only recently recognised it as a genuine disease, if that is indeed what it is. We don’t know what the cause is, I’m afraid, nor how to cure it other than by the most extreme method available to us.

            – And what’s that?

            – Amputation. If you are willing to undergo a revision of your right stump, I can amputate your knee and give you a viable above-knee stump. Unfortunately, there is insufficient data on the recurrence of CRPS. It may return and affect your other leg or your arm stumps. It seems to be prevalent in amputees for some reason, years after their amputations have otherwise healed.

            – I’m quite prepared for further amputation, doctor. I have considered a revision before, due to the impracticality of my short BK stumps. I don’t believe an AK stump would make a lot of practical difference.

            – No. I have to admit that I agree. I may have misjudged when I performed your original amputations but we were in a hurry to halt your necrosis. Let me look at my schedule and I’ll see if I can fit you in during the next few weeks.

            – I hope you can manage it sooner than a few weeks.

Foster studied his papers and made a phone call.

            – I have an elective amputation on Thursday afternoon which can be postponed. Be here at midday this Thursday and I will amputate your knee some time before sundown.

            – That’s wonderful news. Thank you, doctor.

            – Until Thursday then, Dennis. Here is a prescription for some painkillers. Six tablets. Do not take more than one every twelve hours.

 

Dennis crutched carefully back to the waiting room and explained the situation to Ray, who made no comment. They went to the hospital chemist, quaintly called the Apothecary, and collected Dennis’s painkillers. He swallowed one immediately.

 

Dennis was unable to negotiate the seven steps up to the front door of their building. He sat on a step and pulled himself up with his steel hooks. Ray looked at his best friend suddenly become disabled. Their usual limblessness was so normal that it hardly counted as disability. The outside world put that label on them. At home, they were just Den and Ray with their own ways of doing things. Now Den was going to lose a knee. Dennis pulled himself inside and down the hall to the lift. Ray carried his crutches into the flat and closed the door on the outside world.

 

            – Well!  That was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting that.

            – How do you feel about it? You’re going to be on crutches again for a few weeks, unless you use the wheelchair.

            – You know, Ray, I think this time I’m going to put up with it and use the chair. I can’t grip crutches the way I should and I can’t bear the thought of slipping and falling on my stump. If you get the chair out I’ll hop into it right now.

 

The wheelchair was folded and covered to protect it from dust in a corner of their bedroom. Ray pulled it out and pushed it, still folded, to the hallway. He spread the seat open and sat in it to test it and wheeled himself into the kitchen.

            – Here you go. I think you should call Stapleton’s again and let them know you’ll be off at least until the new year. You’ll probably be able to work from home though, won’t you?

            – I suppose so if someone brings me a brief.

            – Well, tell them that. It’s not like you’re going to be ill or something. It’s only an amputation, after all. Go on, call them now.  I’ll make some coffee. Do you want your Fives, rather than those work claws?

            – Yeah, they’d be better. Can you change them now before I scratch the phone receiver?

Dennis switched the kettle on and fetched Dennis’s smaller, rubber-lined hooks and replaced them. Dennis tested the hooks and pushed himself to the telephone. Ray prepared coffee, listening to Dennis explaining to someone that he would be undergoing an emergency amputation in two days time and would be off work at least until the stump healed.

            – Well, that’s kind of you to say but it isn’t the first time something like this has happened and I’m hardly going to be any more disabled after the operation, am I? And I’ll be able to work from home, if someone can act as a go-between. Yes. Thanks. Bye.

He rolled back a few feet and called out to Ray.

            – That’s all settled. Stapleton said everything is clear until after Christmas and I’m free to work independently if I want to. Can you bring coffee in here? I don’t want to climb onto a stool.

            – Coming up.

Ray brought two mugs of coffee and fetched a plate of biscuits. He checked Dennis’s right hook was vertical for the mug.

            – So how do you feel about it, Dennis? I mean, apart from the inconvenience of it all.

            – To tell you the truth, I don’t even care at this point. I just want the pain gone.

            – It’s not hurting now, is it?

            – No, it’s fine as long as nothing touches my stump. What I’m more worried about is if it spreads to my arms. I don’t want above elbow prosthetics.

            – Is there a risk of that?

            – Yes, apparently there is. This CRPS thing is most common in both amputees and victims of meningitis.

            – Well, shit.

            – That’s what I thought. But they don’t know what causes it and the only current cure is amputation.

            – It’s not contagious, is it?

            – I really couldn’t say. I hope not for your sake.

 

Dennis slept in a chair that night as best he could. Ray left for work the next morning after preparing a pile of sandwiches for Dennis. There was some uneaten shepherd’s pie in the fridge which he could warm up for lunch. Things at work had calmed down since early autumn. He rarely worked later than six and had adopted a laisser faire attitude to his work. If no-one cared about quality, neither the creatives nor the clients, there was little point in him busting a gut. He could probably transfer to another agency without any trouble even though his prize-winning days seemed to be behind him. But he would certainly not receive anything like his current salary. If Dennis were to become incapable of working, a decent single income was essential. He strolled into his office and reviewed the latest progress on two internal competitions for the pitch for the valuable Well's ice cream account. Neither of them showed any talent or promise. He did not care.

 

Dennis was on the sofa watching television when Ray arrived home.

            – Hi!  Have you eaten? How’s your leg?

            – There are still some sandwiches left. Thanks, Ray. My arse was getting sore in the chair so I’ve been on the sofa for a couple of hours. Just watched the news.

            – Anything interesting?

            – Only Middle East stuff. Nothing interesting.

 

Dennis drove himself to Hillingdon Hospital on Thursday morning. He wore shorts and work hooks in order to operate his wooden axillary crutches. He was given a bed and prepared for the amputation. At four o’clock he was wheeled to the operating theatre and Dr Foster amputated six inches above the right knee. The stump was bandaged tightly and Dennis was returned to Ward Four.

 

The following day, Ray decided to forgo his voluntary overtime and left TWT just after five. He had just come away from a disastrous pitch with the representatives from Well's. He wanted to visit Dennis. He had phoned the hospital to enquire about his condition but was informed only that the patient was conscious and recovering well. That was enough. Rush hour was in full swing. His Invacar was much more responsive after its tune-up and Ray was able to keep pace with other traffic, rather than hindering it with a sluggish vehicle. The seven mile journey was torturous at this time of the evening. Every traffic light was red as he approached it. He filled a pipe and smoked.  After more than an hour, he pulled into the hospital’s car park and stumped in to see his friend.

            – Hi Ray! I was hoping you’d come. Well, the deed is done.

He indicated his shortened stump.

            – How does it feel?

            – Well, sore, of course, but not painful. Nothing like it was yesterday morning.

            – Good. I’m glad to hear it. Has the doctor been round? Did he have anything to say?

            – Just the usual. I’m impatient to see what sort of a stump he’s given me. It seems to be a decent length, at least. Should be able to handle a peg leg very nicely.

            – Is that what you’re going to ask for?

            – I was thinking about the mechanics of walking with an AK leg and my old tin leg. I reckon I’d do a lot better on a steel peg like Glenn uses. It fits in the car, I can use it at work without having to concentrate on balancing with a full prosthesis and it looks fantastic.

            – Ask for two pylons. One long, one short. You can still use the stump boot then.

            – A stump boot and a peg. Yeah, that would look good with a pair of shorts. Anyway, I’ll have a chat with Dr Young when he comes by. I don’t suppose he’ll have anything against me having a peg leg.

            – Is he still around? I would have expected him to be retired by now.

            – Oh, actually, I don’t know. Perhaps he is. We’ll see.

            – Is there anything you’d like me to bring in? I can come tomorrow and Sunday. I don’t know about next week. It could be I shan’t be able to get away in time.

            – Don’t worry about it, Ray. It’s a long way to drive, Hammersmith to here and then back to Ealing. It’s only for a couple of weeks. They discharge patients a lot faster these days compared with when we were amputated. No more lying in a hospital bed for weeks waiting for prosthetics.

 

They chatted for another twenty minutes before Ray begged off. He promised to bring in a few paperbacks and the Hosmer Five hooks on Saturday afternoon. He returned to his car and drove home through drizzle. He was not concerned for Dennis gaining a new stump. It would make little difference to his mobility but he was worried about the illness recurring, as the German and Swiss cases had indicated it might. He telephoned Robert to let him know the situation. They still kept in touch, although not as often as they might. Robert had retrained as a computer operator for BR and worked in Paddington. He was shocked to hear of Dennis’s illness. One of his acquaintances had suffered something very similar two years previously and now walked on two below knee prostheses. He had recently complained of symptoms in his hands and was terrified of losing them too. Robert did not mention it to Ray. They agreed to meet up for an evening at either flat after Dennis was home, some time before Christmas.

 

Ray thought about going in to work on Saturday morning. There were a couple of things he should see to but he was reluctant because TWT failed to win the lucrative Well's account on Friday. As creative director, he would be blamed for the lacklustre performance of the two teams he had selected to work on the pitches. Leaving for another agency now was more difficult because of it. There would be a managerial meeting the following week and he expected a roasting. It was a cowardly thing to shift the blame onto his mediocre teams, but he knew where the fault lay. He could implement a few changes, break up a few pairings which had grown complacent. He would see to it next week. He put on his jacket and went grocery shopping for one.

 

Dennis was recovering well.

            – I had a good look at my stump this morning when they changed the bandages. It looks like it’s going to have a nice rounded end with a neat scar. So I’m pleased about that.

            – That’s good to hear. Is it sore?

            – Just a bit. Nothing alarming though.

            – I’ve got your hooks here and I brought you a couple of books. Don’t know if you’ve already read them.

            – Thanks. I’ve been meaning to make time to read this one. Ray, is something wrong? You seem a bit subdued. Is something wrong at work again?

            – You could say that. We lost the Well's pitch. I don’t know how many agencies they’d approached. Three, I suppose. So I’ll be in the dog house for the foreseeable.

            – I wish you would find something a bit less stressful. You do far too much overtime too.  Don’t you have any contacts somewhere who could pull a few strings?

            – I suppose so. I don’t want to leave looking like a loser though, do I?

            – No. I know what you mean. Well, something will turn up. It always does.

 

Ray made his excuses after half an hour. Dennis did not deserve to hear all his problems and he could think of little else.

            – I’ll see you tomorrow, Den.

            – Alright. Chin up, mate. Go and get drunk. It’ll cheer you up.

            – I might well do that.

 

Ray went home and moped around the flat. He thought about the pitch he had presented and decided to analyse it technically rather than artistically. It had featured children, a charming spaniel, sunshine and a quintessential English countryside setting. Clichés each and every one but they reinforced the concepts of tradition and reliability, always sure-fire hits with public taste. He would emphasize the aspect that Well's had passed up on an excellent campaign and would soon realise that they had made a mistake. Feeling better about the situation – ah, the power of persuasion! – he threw his jacket on, grabbed a walking stick and strolled to the local. He was not a frequent visitor but the landlord remembered him and extended a welcome. After two pints of lager, he began to enjoy his Saturday afternoon. He stayed a couple of hours longer and left just as the pub started to get busy. He thought about what to cook for supper but was not in the mood. He walked to the high street and bought a Chinese take-away. Back home, he changed into his stump boots and cut-off jeans and ate in front of the tv. The phone rang around nine and Ray spoke with a man with a foreign accent who introduced himself as Peter Choogle, a colleague of Dennis, and who enquired if things were OK. Ray had never heard Dennis mention anyone named Choogle and offered only the information that Dennis was in care and recovering well. There was a short silence before Peter thanked him for the information and wished him a good night.

 

Dennis had a restless night. Two of his fellow amputee patients snored and he felt exhausted in the morning. Perhaps he could snooze during the day. He donned his hooks to eat breakfast. The doctor made his rounds at ten, grunted in satisfaction and watched the nurse unwrap Dennis’s stump.

            – Any discomfort, Dennis? I am referring to the CRPS sensations.

            – No, nothing like that. From what I know about amputations, I reckon this latest example is healing properly. I must say, I’m very pleased with the shape.

            – Not often I hear that kind of remark on this ward, Dennis. We’ll keep you for a few more days and if there are no obvious problems, you might be at home by next weekend. You know how to bandage your stump yourself, don’t you? And do you still have a wheelchair or will you need a new one?

            – We still have the old one but I’m going to look around for something a bit sportier and more light-weight than the standard issue. I have a feeling that I’ll be spending more time in a chair in future whether I want to or not.

            – Probably a good idea.

He muttered to the matron and moved on. The nurse re-bandaged his stump. Dennis picked up the copy of The Andromeda Strain and continued reading.

 

Ray donned his wooden legs after breakfast the next morning. He strolled to the newsagent and bought a copy of the Observer and Stern. He could glance through the paper and take it in to Dennis later. Just as he opened the newspaper on the coffee table, there was a power cut.

 

He got up to check the lights in the hall and kitchen. The refrigerator was silent. That was a bummer. He was just about to make himself some coffee. There was enough light to read the paper by though, struggling through grey clouds. Ray skimmed the headlines, read the editorial and a couple of pieces by witty and sarcastic columnists. He skipped the sports section and looked at the culture pages hoping to see news of an interesting show or exhibition in town somewhere. Ballet, a musical, a new jazz club. All very exciting for anyone interested. He folded the paper back into a thick wad and leafed through Stern magazine. Ray did not speak German but he was logical enough to have an intelligent guess at some of the text. He was most interested in German advertising and its enthusiasm for bold, modern typography and opulent photography. It all seemed to target a sophisticated affluent audience without needing to use sunbursts or speech bubbles or seventy per cent off. It was refreshing to see that advertising still achieved high standards somewhere. The lights came back on and Ray made some espresso. The phone rang and a momentarily confused voice asked if this was the right number for Dennis Wilson. Ray said it was. Phillip introduced himself and asked if Dennis was available. Ray again gave the barest minimum of information and said Dennis would be home in two weeks or so. Phillip thanked him and rang off.

 

Ray drove to Hillingdon around midday. Ward Four was full of visitors who had taken all the chairs so Ray sat on Dennis’s bed and told him that Peter and Phillip had phoned asking his whereabouts.

            – I didn’t give them any details. I said you would be available in two weeks or so.

            – Oh, OK. Yes, well, if they call again, you can tell them what’s happened. They’re good friends of mine so I suppose they’re worried by me being out of contact        

            – I see. Alright, I will. Is anyone else likely to phone? I told Robert last week so he and the other Peter know.

            – No, I don’t think so. They know at work. By the way, Dr Foster mentioned yesterday that since I’m an old hand at this amputation business, they might well discharge me by next weekend. You won’t mind having an invalid at home, will you?

            – Ha! No, I won’t mind. If you’re in a wheelchair, you can get around just fine without crutches. Leave them in the bathroom so you can stand when you need a pee. What are you going to do to pass the time while I’m at work?

            – I’m going to work on an entire kitchen suite suitable for a legless man who uses hooks. Table and chairs, cupboards, the whole lot. Stapleton can pitch it to old peoples’ homes and that sort of thing. Anyway, we’ll have it at home. We could do with a redesign.

            – Sounds good. I have to agree, I’d like to see something new in the kitchen.

            – I was thinking maybe the stools could be adjustable somehow. I could transfer across from a wheelchair but they could also be a comfortable height for a normal.

            – A screw mechanism like on some piano stools might work.

            – Yeah, but that would be expensive to produce. Always have to take that into account.

 

Ray left in a much better mood. Chatting about their situations with someone they trusted and who understood usually brought at least some clarity. Ray drove to Hayes End and enjoyed a Sunday roast with his parents. He did not mention Dennis’s latest amputation.

 

TWT’s Wednesday conference was not the ordeal Ray had feared. Williams asked to see both pitches. Ray pointed out that consumer research had confirmed the line which both teams had taken.

            – I personally would have liked to see a more abstract approach to the campaign but all indicators pointed towards traditional values and familiarity, so both teams emphasized those traits and I think they both succeeded. This is the one I presented. It will be interesting to see the direction Well's has chosen. Ice cream is a difficult commodity. Difficult to increase sales by any significant degree but very easy to lose considerable market share. It’s a lifestyle product and we wanted to emphasize wholesomeness and health.

            – I can see that. Well, I’m going to keep an eye on Well's share prices over the next few months and if there isn’t an improvement, I’ll approach them again to point out what you’ve told me. We’ll chalk this one up to misadventure. Can’t win them all. What are you working on now?

            – Rowntree chocolate bars.

            – Give your teams a shake-up. Change the pairings. Get some new teams together and see if they can buck their ideas up.

It was carte blanche for Ray to do what he had wanted to. He had saved his bacon this time round.

 

Dennis’s stump was healing well. Foster asked him if he would be able to manage at home, if there was a carer, and other details. Dennis said everything could be taken care of. They already had all necessary equipment necessary for an amputee. After lunch, a nurse appeared with the matron who announced that Dennis was free to go. The nurse handed over a bag containing a dozen stump bandages and two brochures from wheelchair manufacturers.

            – Dr Foster said you might be interested in these. Now, are you able to get home without an ambulance?

            – I should think so. My invalid carriage is in the car park, I hope. If someone wheels me to it, I will have assistance at home waiting.

            – Very good.

            – Can I wait until the end of visiting hours?

            – Yes, of course. Call me if you’d like some help packing your things.

            – Thanks, I will.

 

Ray turned up at six fifteen. It had taken over an hour to drive from Hammersmith but he was prepared for it, smoking a bowlful, listening to the radio, still feeling vindicated about the Well's affair.

            – Hi there, stranger!  I was expected you’d turn up.

            – Yup. How are you doing?

            – Look under my bed. I’ve got my stuff packed, set and ready. I’m coming home with you.

            – Really? That’s great! Are you ready now? Do you want some help?

            – Well, call the nurse. They’re supposed to wheel me out to my car. You can carry the crutches if you want.

            – Hang on. I’ll go and find her.

He returned shortly with a nurse pushing a beat-up wheelchair.

            – Well, Mr Wilson, time to go. You have your list of instructions, don’t you?

            – Yes, nurse. I also have three other stumps. I know what I’m doing.

            – Good show. Well, hop in. Is this your bag? Mind your stump.

            – I’ll take the bag, nurse.

The trio completed discharge finalities at the reception desk and made their way to the car park. Dennis rose carefully on his tin leg and asked Ray to get his car key out of his jacket pocket. It still hung on a Ruislip Lido key chain. He was guided, supported and manhandled into the car seat and the nurse bade them a good evening.

            – Do you know what I want to do? I want to go straight to the pub. I really need a drink.

            – In a wheelchair, you mean? Alright. I’m all for it. I think I deserve a drink as well. I’ll take your stuff upstairs and bring the wheelchair down. Right!  Let’s get going.

 

They found some parking spaces not far from their home. They could rarely park directly outside any longer. There were so many more cars on the road these days. Ray went to fetch the wheelchair and Dennis slid into it, very wary of knocking his new stump. He was wearing the same shorts as he had been when he entered the hospital. The white bandaged stump and his artificial left leg were on display for everyone to admire. Ray grabbed the handles and pushed his mate to their local and heaved the chair over the doorstep. They sat near the door at a small table for two and Ray explained what had been going on at TWT. Dennis explained how he was due to visit Hillingdon every third day for the next two weeks. He had not yet seen a prosthetist but was still of the opinion that a peg leg was the best choice despite its occasional inconvenience.

            – Depending on what sort of socket they give me, I should be able to whip it off if I have to.

            – What are you going to do with your other tin leg?

            – It could stand in the lounge and we could put a potted plant in it.

            – Haha! Quite a unique centrepiece.

            – Seriously, let’s hold on to it. It fits you pretty well and you never know when your wooden legs are going to give out. You’ve been lucky with those wooden legs, Ray, you know that? Ten years and one solitary repair in all that time. I don’t know what sort of a leg they’d give me now. They don’t make prostheses from aluminium any more so I wouldn’t get something which matched my other leg, not that it matters. It will probably be another pink horror.

            – We’ll paint it black.

            – Ha! Paint it bright red. Hey, yeah! Why not?

            – Because you should try to maintain some sense of dignity and decorum, Dennis. Isn’t it enough to strut about wearing four artificial limbs without making them even more obvious?

            – Oh, alright. Spoilsport.

 

J U N E   1 9 7 8

 

The first Saturday in June. Ray woke up first and looked at his limbless partner. He had thrown off the bedcovers during the night and lay on his back, head turned to the right away from the window. Dennis’s new stumps were symmetrical and neat, a credit to a caring and skilful surgeon. The seven inch long biceps stumps were identical, of a handsome size and proportion. His symmetrical leg stumps were also pleasing both to see and to touch. Ray loved them and their hairy ends.

 

Dennis had gone through a hard time after the loss of his elbows after the second recurrence of CRPS. He had first lost his left knee rendering him a DAK and a year later, insisted that his elbows be removed immediately to escape the agony which prevented him from wearing his prosthetic arms or even a shirt. Foster postponed another patient’s leg amputation in order to prioritize Dennis and reluctantly performed double amputations on the handsome quadruple amputee whose body he had reconfigured three times already, The man was still only thirty-seven. He deserved a better life. Dennis faced a wait of two months before he was fitted with above elbow artificial arms and it took another two before he could use them effectively. Ray had taken a lot of time off work to be with him but had managed three days a week at TWT. Dennis had negotiated a disability pension for himself which satisfied him and Ray, and had left Stapleton’s after his elbow amputations. Enough was enough. He could still express his ideas with Ray’s capable assistance and promised to forward any new ideas for new furniture he envisioned. Stapleton sent a ‘stipend’ as an incentive. A couple of hundred every month, tax free, came in handy.

 

Ray’s team still ran the Rowntree’s account which they had won five years ago, beating two other agencies, including the one which had snatched Well's. Well's had changed agencies twice since then, clearly dissatisfied, and in the public’s eye, it was the brand which people bought when there was nothing else on offer. Ray had also won the Pirelli account whose campaign the previous year had won third prize at D&AD. He had drawn the illustrations himself. His star had risen again.

 

Dennis woke up and rubbed his eyes with his short arm stumps. Ray was lacing his wooden legs.

            – Good morning, handsome. Sleep well?

            – I had a dream I was wind surfing. I had prosthetic limbs but I was using them like natural ones. I hate it when that happens.

            – Sounds alright to me. Are you getting up? What do you want? It’s Saturday.

            – I’ll wear the stubbies unless we decide to go out somewhere. Just give me one arm, that’s enough.

Ray sorted out left from right and fitted the right prosthesis onto Dennis’s stump and fed the other end of the harness over his left stump. Dennis rarely wore both simultaneously, even in public. Several times they had visited the pub when Dennis simply displayed his bare stumps in a T-shirt. Ray lifted his drinks to his lips. Ray insisted on such occasions that Dennis wear both artificial legs. Ray still had to don them for him. Dennis was helpless without outside assistance until he had his prosthetic limbs. Ray tended to it with love and pleasure but expected Dennis to do what he was capable of whenever possible.

 

They sat on the low backed chairs around the low and adjustable table which Dennis had designed. Stapleton’s had sold over forty thousand of them and Dennis received a royalty on the company’s sales. He could afford to stay home and do nothing but he still felt he had some ideas up his sleeve, so to speak. He lowered his forearm and moved the hook to a suitable height. He knocked the fingers against the table until they pointed up and hooked his mug. He shrugged and lifted it to his lips and leaned back. The low backed chair facilitated the movement.

 

Ray made scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast and brewed a pot of coffee. He tended to Dennis’s stumps in the bathroom as he sat on the slatted bathroom stool and lifted him into his lightweight wheelchair.

            – How do you want to be? We’re going into town. You’re coming with me. You haven’t been outside the flat for two weeks.

            – Where are we going?

            – Inderwick’s. I want some new pipes.

            – Oh god. Haven’t you got enough? You must have fifty already.

            – Oh, I’ve got more than that. I’ll buy one for you, too. I know you like a bowl now and then. We can go to Ealing Broadway and go in on the Tube. So it’s legs for you today. How about your arms?

            – Put them both on. Can you put them on the same harness? And I want the leather hands. I don’t intend on actually doing anything, though.

            – You are a lazy bugger at times. You know that?

He leant across the table and kissed his friend.

            – Wait here. Don’t go away.

 

They travelled into town and disembarked at Oxford Circus. Ray supported Dennis up dozens of steps as he struggled to keep his balance with his leather prosthetic hands on bronze stair rails. Neither complained. This was normal life. They kicked their prosthetic legs into action and strolled halfway down Carnaby Street, past the boutiques with London T-shirts and garish acrylic jewellery to the best pipe shop in town. Dennis pulled himself inside the tiny shop and Ray followed, greeting the youngster with a handsome handlebar moustache standing behind the counter.      

            – Have you any long-stemmed pipes? I don’t mean a churchwarden. Just something with a long stem.

            – I think we might have something like that.

He scrabbled in a drawer and took out a billiard. Its large bowl was the traditional shape but its thick stem was nine inches long.

            – Look at that, Dennis! Could you handle that? How much is it?

            – Eight pounds sir.

            – I’ll take it. And there are another few in the cabinet I’d like.

            – Would you like any tobacco, sir?

            – Well, a tin of Navy Cut if you have it. Nothing more, thanks.

 

Ray bought five pipes. None of them were traditional designs. One bent design had a mouthpiece well over an inch wide. Another was simply a long tube which curved gently upwards widening into a bowl. Ray handed over two twenty pound notes and dropped his change into a pocket.

            – What shall we do now? There’s a nice pub just around the corner where we can have lunch and a pint.

            – Shakespeare’s Head. Yeah, OK. We can sit outside for a bit first and watch the world go by.

Dennis slid onto a wooden bench outside the pub and Ray went inside to order. He asked if someone could bring the beers out.

            – Self service, mate.

            – Look, mate. I’m standing here on two artificial legs with a walking stick and I don’t trust myself to carry two pints as well. If it’s not too much trouble for you to walk ten yards and back…

            – Alright. I’ll bring them out.

            – Thank you.

Ray turned and joined Dennis.

            – Guess how much two pints cost!

            – Two quid.

            – Three!

            – Jesus! Fleece the tourists, I suppose.

            – We’ll have these and go. I hate being taken advantage of. Right. How are you doing? Legs ok?

            – Yeah, they feel alright so far. Those stairs were rotten. I was thinking it might be better to catch a bus to Bond Street station. There are escalators down from street level.

            – Could do that.

The bar tender brought the drinks.

            – Your very good health.

Dennis shrugged and jerked his shoulder to raise the artificial right forearm and shrugged again to open the gloved hand. He repeated the process with his left arm and gripped the beer glass in both hands. He leaned forward and lifted his biceps stumps forward to angle the glass. Beer spilled onto the wooden table but he succeeded in taking his first mouthful of beer. Ray looked through his purchases and selected a short and chubby pipe. He filled it with Navy Cut and lit it.

            – That looks very manly, Ray. Suits your face. You look better with short pipes, somehow. Funny really, because Robert looks better with traditional shaped pipes, don’t you think?

            – Yeah, he does. Shall we pay them a visit tomorrow on the way back from Hayes?

            – Give them a call first to warn them.

            – I will. When is Phillip coming round, by the way? You didn’t see him last weekend, did you?

            – No, he was working on their inventory, so he said.

            – Funny time of year for stock taking, I reckon.

 

Phillip had insisted on helping out after Dennis lost his other knee. As he pointed out, there was no need to introduce him to Ray as Dennis’s secret sex partner. He often joined them in Ealing for part of each weekend and made himself useful. If Ray was not present, they fucked but the role play had gone. Phillip found Dennis’s shorter rounded thigh stumps extremely erotic. The following year when Dennis arrived home bearing two new arm stumps, Phillip had made time to be with Dennis as much as possible while Ray was at work. Part of Dennis’s speedy rehabilitation was in no small part due to Phillip’s presence, acting as if everything was normal, helping without comment or expecting thanks. He would have liked to share a flat with his limbless lover but had realised the futility of wishful thinking after seeing the bond between Dennis and Ray together. Ray was himself a handsome amputee but there was no glint of sexuality about him.

 

They climbed into their Invacars outside Ealing Broadway station and motored home. Dennis had had to undertake driving tests following each of his amputations. He was perfectly capable of operating the invalid carriage with only one artificial arm but it was tiring. He rarely made any longer journeys. The trip to Brighton had never materialised. They once got as far as Box Hill in Surrey for a picnic and visited Ruislip Lido several times each summer. Both of them wore stubbies and removed their prosthetic limbs on the beach, sunning themselves without a care of what they looked like to other visitors.

 

J U N E   1 9 8 4

 

One Monday morning, Mrs Moore let herself in, took her coat off and said Hello to Dennis sitting in his wheelchair in front of his drawing board in the lounge.

            – I’m awfully sorry, Mr Wilson, but my boy’s been in a terrible accident and…

Her voice caught and she put her hands to her face.

            – He was run over yesterday by a lorry. He came off his scooter in Dormers Wells Lane. And he’s lost a leg and they’re trying to save his hand.

Dennis pushed himself around to face her and saw the despair on her face. He wanted to put his arms around her, to hug and reassure her, but he had none.

            – So I was wondering if I might take the day off to be with him.

            – Oh, Angela, you only needed to call. Of course you can go. But are you sure you’ll be allowed to see him? Where is he?

            – Hillingdon.

            – In that case, I can tell you right now that you won’t be allowed to see him until they take him onto Ward Four after he’s come around from the anaesthetic. Come and sit down. Anthony is going to be fine. I know how difficult it is to see a loved one hurting and you’re worried about his future. But don’t fret. Anthony is going to do everything he ever wanted to do, regardless of losing a leg. He’s still the same Anthony. How old is he? Sixteen? Seventeen?

            – He’s only sixteen. He was on his scooter, you know, a Vespa. He’s only had it for a month. We bought it for his birthday.

            – And now you blame yourself?

            – I wish we hadn’t bought it!  If only we’d said no!

            – Stop that!  Stop thinking that. You mustn’t blame yourself. There’s no way you had any part of this. There really isn’t. That’s not how the world works. And what would Tony think if you’d said no?  He‘d still be angry at you, wouldn’t he?  Well, do you think he’s going to be angry at you when he wakes up? Will he think, Oh, why did they buy me a scooter? Of course not. If he’s anything like Ray and me, he’ll be thinking Cool! I’m getting an artificial leg!  That’s something none of his mates has, I bet. He’ll be their hero.

            – You make it sound like a game.

            – For Tony, it will be a game. He’s sixteen, he’s getting a new leg and I bet he’ll be playing footer with his mates by the time he goes back to school in September. But listen, you can either stay here with me this morning or go home to worry yourself sick. You can ask me all the awkward questions about amputations but never dared to ask. Will you make us some coffee? Bring it in here and we’ll have it on the sofa.

            – Alright, Mr Wilson. I can see the sense in what you’re saying. It was such a shock. I expect it will be a bit of an adventure for Tony.

            – Of course it will. He’s out of danger, isn’t he? That’s the most important thing.

She sniffed back her tears and went to the kitchen to brew coffee. She thought about her lovely son wearing an artificial leg like Mr Wilson or Mr Martin. They got about well enough. In fact, you wouldn’t even realise it unless you knew. But her lovely son maimed! Life was too cruel.

 

Her son was a skinhead and had kicked a cat to death in front of his friends the previous week. He wore twenty hole steel-toed DMs and rolled his jeans up to the top of his boots. People were afraid of him and his kind. Now he was comatose with a short left thigh stump and a left mid forearm stump. His hand had been badly mangled. Dr Foster studied the X-rays and decided on amputation. The hand might have been saved but he detested skinheads after his wife had been attacked several weeks previously by a gang who stole her handbag. It was a petty reprisal but satisfying. The boy would survive.

 

They drank their coffee. Dennis manipulated his right above elbow prosthesis fairly skilfully. The mug he had designed with Dan all those years ago suited his new arms just as well. Mrs Moore watched him with renewed interest. His disabilities did not seem to faze him. She knew very well that her employer had undergone several new procedures since she had come to work for him. He always seemed chipper. Her mood improved a little. Tony would be alright. She did not yet know about the loss of his left hand.

 

 

A U G U S T   1 9 8 4

 

Dennis had asked Ray to help don his leg prostheses and both arms, fitted with Hosmer Fives. He intended paying a visit to young Anthony Moore, who had recently been released from Hillingdon and was now, according to his mother, bored out his skull at home in Hanwell. They ate a breakfast of fried eggs on bread washed down with their usual coffee. 

            – I hope you find something to talk about. I’ve never imagined you as much of a sympathiser with the great British skinhead scene.

            – It’s more for Mrs Moore’s sake than his. She’s scared of leaving him and I said I’d look in on him while she was here. I don’t mind. I haven’t got anything else to do.

            – Except that sauna thing for Finland.

            – I’ve got that sorted. Will you help me draw it?

            –I’ll think about it. OK, be nice to the skinhead. See you tonight.

Dennis rocked his way down to his Invacar, which was beginning to show its age although it still worked perfectly.

 

Anthony Moore had been discharged wearing a full-length walker carefully fitted to avoid pressure on the end of his still fresh stump. It was rigid from his crotch to his foot and was unwieldy to use inside his home. He usually used a crutch unless he chose to hop. His left arm stump was almost always covered in a thick mitten which his mother had knitted to both protect the stump and hide it from her view. They met each other in the lobby of the building and greeted each other in surprise.

            – Tony’s home and waiting for you, Mr Wilson. I’ll be back at about two o’clock if you want to wait that long.

            – Yes, I’ll be here when you get back. Tony’s in good hands, so to speak.

He shrugged and raised his hooks to show her and smiled.

            – I’ll see you later, then.

Dennis went up to their flat and rang the bell. He waited for over a minute until a voice called out from behind the door.

            – Who is it?

            – Dennis Wilson. Your mum sent me over.

The door opened and a bald head peered out.

            – Are you Dennis?

            – Yup. Can I come in?

            – Suit yourself.

Dennis went in.

            – Sorry I can't take my shoes off. Or my DMs, as you call them. I’ve only got ten-holers. How about you?

            – Mine are twenty–holers.

            – Really? Show me!

Dennis rocked along further the hallway into Tony’s bedroom. The bed was unmade, but that’s the way teenagers beds were. Tony pulled his wardrobe open and showed Dennis what a skinhead wore. There were bleachers and jeans with the legs cut off mid-shin, MA-1 jackets in olive and maroon and black. Out of sight in separate drawers were leather gloves and balaclavas. Tony also had a small collection of dildoes and other sex toys well hidden, so he hoped, behind his soaps and razors.

            – These are only a month old. Now I’ll never be able to wear them.

            – What are you talking about? You just put your new leg into these and Bob’s your uncle.

            – Really? I can wear my boots with a fake leg? Show them off?

            – Well, why wouldn’t you be able to? What are you worried about? No-one will notice anything. Why are you so concerned about your boots? I would have thought your arm would be more important.

            – Well, yeah, I suppose it is but I’m gonna get a hook and carry on like before.

Dennis shrugged his arms up into Tony’s line of sight.

            – That’s what I thought. Listen mate, there are some things you’re going to have to relearn. One of them is not being able to do certain things the way you used to. In one sense, you’re lucky because you have a long arm stump. You’ll be able to twist your arm still which I haven’t been able to do for twenty-odd years.

            – How come you’ve got two fake arms?

            – It’s a long story, but I suppose we have time. Can you make us a cuppa and I’ll tell you everything.

Tony limped slowly to the kitchen and set about making tea. Several times he ran into problems like tight lids. He took the woollen mitten off to use his bandaged stump to keep things steady. Dennis thought it would be a fairly useful appendage even without a prosthesis. With their tea in front of them, Dennis began to tell Tony how he transformed from a healthy twenty-something into a quadruple amputee with four short stumps and four artificial limbs.

 

Tony listened, excited at first to hear a story with some blood and gore but soon changed his mind as he realised he might one day be in the same situation. With two amputations, he already had a head start. Twenty minutes later, Dennis had explained all he was prepared to and Tony asked if he could see Dennis’s artificial legs.

            – Alright, in a minute. I have to sit down somewhere before I can take them off. You’ll be getting the same type unless you want to spend some money on a more advanced knee mechanism.

            – How much do they cost?

            – A few hundred quid. Not cheap, the reason being they don’t make very many of them and it costs a lot to develop them. But you’ll be able to walk fine with the standard design once you get the knack.

            – Will you show me how your hooks work?

Dennis explained that his arms worked differently from the type Tony would get but he let the boy study the wrist and hook mechanisms and explained the cable system. Tony looked carefully and touched the prosthesis and rapped on it with a knuckle.

            – I think I’m going to like having a hook. It’s macho. It’ll look cool poking out of my jacket. The only thing is not being able to ride a scooter.

            – Why’s that?

            – Because the controls are on the left.

            – Well, have them moved to the right, then. Any decent garage can do that in a few hours.

            – Really? They can do that?

            – Course they can.

            – Can I see your legs now?

            – Come on, then.

They went into the living room and both dropped their trousers. Dennis half sat, half fell onto the sofa and used a hook to point out the major features of his left leg prosthesis. He explained how it was held on by a rubber sleeve which fitted onto his stump and stuck to the inside of the thigh socket.

            – Your stumps are much longer than mine, look. Mine only comes down to here.

            – That’s no problem. If your fake leg feels a bit wobbly, they’ll add a belt to it. So the belt goes around your tummy and there’s a strap which goes from the belt to the socket to stop it falling off. Easy.

Dennis could see that Tony would probably always have to wear a belt. The stump was four inches long, not nearly long enough to use a suction suspension reliably or to generate much power. Tony would probably always have the distinctive limp associated with an artificial leg user.

            – When you get your leg, you can put your bleachers on over it and then that big boot. Lace it up tight how you want it and then, when you want to take your jeans off, you just unhitch the leg and the trousers and boot stay on. And then next morning, you only have one boot to lace up because the fake side is already done.

            – Cool!

            – I reckon it probably takes you longer to get ready in the morning than it does me. And I don’t even have hands.

            – Are you sad you lost your hands?

            – Well, I was at one time. But then I looked at my hooks and the new sockets and how bright and shiny they were and by the afternoon I was feeling pretty happy about it.

            – Haha! I like you, Dennis. So what about things like getting a job? Don’t they take one look at you and say No cripples!

            – I was training as a carpenter before I was ill. I was out of it for about three months and my employer waited for me to prove myself. I had longer stumps then and could use my hooks better, so I went back and showed them what I could do. But there were a couple of things I couldn’t, so I got transferred to the planning and design department. So that’s what I did until last year. My new shorter stumps are OK but they make things harder so I work from home now in the lounge and no-one tells me off if I do things a bit slower than usual.

            – But what about me? What will I be able to do?

            – Well, what do you want to do? What were you planning to do?

            – I don’t know. Nothing really.

            – Look, Tony. You are going to miss your exams this summer, aren’t you? You’ll have to go back to school for another year in September and repeat it. Listen and learn and get really good grades in your exams next year. I mean it – don’t scowl. Now you’ve lost a hand and a leg, you can’t use them to get a job. You can’t work on a building site with your mates, or stand on an assembly line in Dagenham all day. So you’ll have to show you have something else to offer.

            – What’s that?

            – Your brain, Tony. Be clever. Start reading books. Learn how to learn. What are you interested in?

            – I don’t know! Why are you asking me all this?

            – Because you are a disabled boy. People will push you around unless you show them you’re better than they are. Get yourself good marks in the exams next year and maybe a bank or an insurance company would take you on. Then you’ll be earning good money when your mates are still sitting on brick walls outside Tesco.

            – Yeah, I see what you mean. But you said Learn how to learn. What does that mean?

            – Well, exactly that. The more you know, the more you want to know. It’s automatic. Listen, is there a library around here?

            – Yes, there’s one by the station.

            – Do you feel up to a trip out? Can you manage a few steps on your frame?

            – I don’t know. I could try.

            – That’s the spirit. Let’s go to the library and find you something interesting to read. You can’t sit around here for the next six weeks doing nothing.

            – What, now?

            – Yes, now. Put a boot on and make sure you have your keys. We’re going for a ride in my spazmobile.

They went downstairs and Dennis worked his way into the seat.

            – Sit on the edge here and try and get your head behind my seat. For heaven’s sake, don’t lean on your stump!

Tony dragged himself in and Dennis hooked his leg frame into the car.

            – Keep your head down. I’m not supposed to have a passenger. I’ll tell you when you can get up.

Dennis drove to Hanwell station and looked around for something which might be a library. He drove along the road and found a Victorian building with three steps leading up to a heavy double door.

            – Oh god, another one. Right, out you get.

He slid the door open and Tony pushed himself out onto the pavement. He gripped the car with his hand and pulled himself around so he could use his good leg to stand.

            – Do you need some help, Dennis?

            – Don’t think so, thanks.

Dennis held on to the handle above the door and pulled himself out of his seat. He kicked his artificial legs until they were straight and would support him and pulled himself upright.

            – Let’s see if either of us can manage these steps.

There was a railing on each side. Dennis tried gripping it but his hooks slid on the metal surface. In spite of that, he was able to lean on his right arm enough to raise his left leg onto the next step. He pushed himself up and brought his right leg up. Tony watched him in amazement. Dennis continued his efforts and stood on the landing.

            – Easy peasy. Come on. Right leg first and then the frame. Don’t lose your balance.

Tony stepped up all three steps without difficulty.

            – It’s a bit slower, isn’t it? Never mind. How does it feel? It’s not getting sore, is it?

            – No. It just looks terrible.

            – Yeah, a bit like my hooks. Come on, let’s show these people what amputation means.

The doors were too heavy for either man to open safely so they waited until someone came out. Once inside, Dennis looked around for the check-out desk.

            – Don’t go away, Tony. We need your signature. Hello, my friend here would like to join the library.

            – Jolly good. Fill out this form, please. Your library card will be ready in two weeks but you will be able to borrow up to five books this visit.

Tony filled out his personal details and pushed the form back to the librarian.

            – Thank you and welcome to Hanwell Library. Now, help yourself!

            – Let’s go and see what they’ve got, Tony. Have you been in a library before?

            – No.

            – Well, it’s not difficult. Over here is fiction, you know, like novels and stories. Made-up stuff. And over that side there are books about facts. History and geography and things you haven’t even heard of. Come on, let’s see what they’ve got.

 

Dennis took Tony on a tour of the non-fiction. After an hour, much of the time spent sitting leafing through books, Tony picked out a laymen’s guide to meteorology, a picture book of endangered animals and a book about how advertising tricks people. They limped across to Fiction and Tony chose Clockwork Orange and Carrie on Dennis’s recommendation.

 

            – Ready? Shall we go? Can you manage those books with one arm? Try not to drop them. Now we have to get them checked out. Bring them over to the desk and the librarian will see to it.

Tony felt quite adult. Here was a friendly person taking him seriously, letting him have some nice books. They were stamped with the return date and handed over to him.

            – Can you manage these books, love? Would you like a bag?

            – Ah, yes please. Ta very much.

 

Going down stairs was easier. Dennis held on to a railing and flailed his other arm for balance. Tony lowered the short foot of his frame onto the lower step and followed with his booted sound leg. Dennis glanced around to check if they had an audience. He slid the car door open.

            – Right. The coast is clear. Give me that bag and jump in like you were before.

Tony crawled into the car on his back and Dennis lifted the frame in. He swung himself into the seat and fumbled with his car keys for half a minute before the invalid carriage choked into life and they motored slowly back to Tony’s home.

            – What happened to your scooter, Tony?

            – Oh, the police took it away. It was all smashed up. They said they would keep it for insurance purposes.

            – Have you heard anything about compensation? Was it the lorry driver’s fault?

            – Yes. When he jumped out of his cab, he even said Sorry.

            – You might be getting some money, then. It’ll probably take a while, though. Did they say anything in the hospital about artificial limbs?

            – Only that I would have to go in for check-ups every Friday afternoon and they’d let me know when I can be fitted. Is that what they call it? Fitted?

            – Yeah, that’s what they call it. I bet you have your hook before you get your leg.

            – Why’s that?

            – Because your arm doesn’t need to carry so much weight as your leg so the socket is easier to fit and the rest of the parts are off-the-shelf. But all the parts of your leg have to be custom-made for you so it takes a bit longer.

            – How long will it take to get my hook, do you reckon?

            – If your stump has shrunk enough, you might well have it in a fortnight.

            – That will be cool.

            – Yes, it will. OK, we’re here. Up you get.

They went inside and ate the sandwiches Mrs Moore had left for them. To get the ball rolling, Dennis sat next to Tony on the sofa and starting reading Clockwork Orange to him. Tony helped turn the pages. The film was banned in Britain, although Dennis remembered seeing it twice in nineteen seventy-two. He hoped Tony would be inquisitive enough to continue reading it himself.

 

Three weeks later, Tony took possession of a new forearm prosthesis with an artificial hand and a Hosmer Five hook. The socket was the usual unnatural pink. His prosthetist, Dr Ajit Singh, spent a morning training him to use it and was satisfied with the fit and adjustments of the device. Tony’s leg stump had been casted and the prosthesis was due by the end of the following week. Until then, Tony would continue to limp on the grotesque frame. Apart from being excited to get his new hook, Tony had been despondent for a couple of weeks. None of his skinhead mates had come around to see him at home or even telephone. Dennis was in touch most days when he could not visit for a couple of hours and reassured Tony that his mates were probably a bit scared or even embarrassed to see him.

            – Things will be alright once you get your leg and get kitted out. They’ll all want to see you showing off your hook, I bet.

            – I wish it wasn’t pink. I think it looks corny. Like it was trying to look like an ordinary arm.

            – Why don’t you paint it? I painted mine black once. It looked cool. Tell you what – you could paint it with a camouflage pattern like on your cargos.

            – Yeah! Black and grey and white camo would look great!

            – Shall we go and buy some paint? Have you got some money?

            – I’ve got a twenty. But would the paint for Airfix kits be alright?

            – I don’t see why not. That’s enamel paint, isn’t it? It should work fine.

            – Well, we don’t need to go shopping. I’ve got some kits my aunt bought me for Christmas. I haven’t made any of them though.

            – Making a couple of kits would be really good practice for getting used to your hook, mate. Anyway, you need black and white and maybe two different greys. Just copy a pattern from your trousers. Doesn’t have to be exact, does it? Remember you won’t be able to wear your hook for twenty-four hours to let it dry.

            – I’m going to do it tonight.

            – I’m looking forward to seeing it. I don’t like this pink either but I can’t be bothered to change it these days. Not having elbows is a bit of a hindrance for detailed work like painting.

            – Can I see your arm stumps some time? I’ve never seen short arms like you  have.

            – You can see them now if you like.

Dennis leaned back against the sofa and shrugged his shoulders until his stumps were clear of the sockets. He sat upright and held out the stumps for Tony’s inspection. Tony touched the scars and cupped Dennis’s biceps in his hand, feeling the remaining muscle. Dennis clenched his non-existent fists and the muscles tensed.

            – They look really cool. They’re a really nice shape.

            – Yeah, I think so too. They make me more disabled than I was before when I had longer stumps but I like the way they look. And I like these longer artificial arms. They look more crippling than the old pair. I like looking disabled, you see, even if I don’t really feel disabled once I get my limbs on.

            – Why do you like looking disabled? I don’t get it.

            – I don’t have much choice, do I? I can either hate my body or love it. I like my new shorter leg stumps too, more than the old ones I had. I think it’s something to do with being a unique individual. Remember what I said a couple of weeks ago about having a good brain? My arms and legs were part of me, but they were not me. Now my arms and legs are plastic but I’m still me. Do you understand what I mean?

            – I think so. Sort of. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.

            – Good lad. Did you read Clockwork Orange, by the way? What did you think?

            – Yeah, I read it. It was good. Alex turned into a robot in the end, didn’t he?

            – Sort of, but if you look at the last few lines again, you can see that he might be getting his rebellious old self back. So even though he lost so much along the way, there’s still a chance that he’ll be the old Alex again.

            – Cool! I’ll have another look.

Dennis struggled back into his prostheses as Tony looked at his own socket, planning its transformation.

 

D E C E M B E R   1 9 8 4

 

Ray arrived home and threw his attaché case onto the floor. Dennis shouted out a Hello.

            – Hello Dennis. You OK? Aargh! I hate Christmas. Same thing every year. We’ve got a client – I won’t say who, although you can probably guess – who wants us to approach Christmas from a new angle. For Christ’s sake! What are we supposed to do?

            – Give Santa some Easter eggs. Forget it! Come and see what I’ve been doing.

            – Oh, the sauna benches. Has Stapleton been on to you?

            – Well, he’s had an order for twenty for June delivery and suggested it might be time for me to get my finger out. He also told me to make sure my passport is current.

            – What? He’s taking you to Finland?

            – Well, I assume so. He’s hardly going to send me to the French Riviera, is he?

            – No. It might be a bit warmer though.

            – I’m not scared of the cold.

            – No, I can see why that might be.

            – So anyway, these are the final drawings I did. They should fit the standard sauna in the standard Finnish home. Apparently everything in Finland is standardised so everything fits where it should. I’ll believe it when I see it. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing the schematics.

            – Do you know the exact dimensions?

            – Yes, I have them all set out.

            – Alright. Let’s do it after we’ve eaten.

 

Ray sat down at the drawing table and rolled out a sheet of fresh paper. The design called for lengths of wooden slats cut into undulating curves to provide accommodating body-conforming seats rather than the usual flat benches. For decorative purposes, the curving slats could be continued vertically. Dennis had studied the potential of a new automated saw which Stapleton had acquired and experimented with the durability of birch cut at a certain angle. Stapleton had recently visited Finland to secure a reliable supply of the wood and had mentioned having visited several saunas but finding the benches uncomfortable. Dennis did a little research into Finland and its sauna culture with Tony on their visits to Hanwell library and came up with his current design which had persuaded the Finnish company Saunapuu Oy to order a trial batch. Ray translated Dennis’s sketches into machinable blueprints. They were demanding shapes to draw and the schematic drawings took three evenings until he was ready and satisfied with the results. They spend much of Sunday evening meticulously checking the drawings before Dennis took them to Stapleton’s on Monday morning.

            – These are superb. I can’t say better than that. Ray is a wonderful draughtsman. We are very lucky to have him help us. Please tell him that these drawings are much appreciated and we will be rewarding him.

            – That’s nice of you.

            – So, the situation is this. You, me and Evans – oh, you don’t know him. He’s our new salesman. Speaks four languages, if you can believe it. So we’ll be leaving Heathrow at four on Wednesday, get into Helsinki at eight their time, stay in a hotel whose name I won’t even try to pronounce, and next afternoon we take the train to a town called Kuopio. The Saunapuu people will meet us and what happens then is up to our hosts. But we’ll be back late on Saturday in time for a night-cap.

            – Sauna-Poo? Are you serious?

            – Well, look at this. How would you say it? And here’s the name of the hotel. Just look at it!

            – My god!

 

Stapleton collected his guests in his new Volvo and drove to Heathrow. Gwynn Evans introduced himself to Dennis and other than small talk, remained quiet. Stapleton related stories about his other recent visits to Finland and Saunapuu and assured them they were in for a treat.

            – There’s something about the country which just feels right. If you ask for help, you get it and in English. If you have a problem with anything, they solve it there and then. No-one says Oh it’s not my job or That’s the way it’s always been done. Remarkable people. And it’s clean with no graffiti anywhere. I don’t know how they do it. I wanted you to come along to meet the people at Saunapuu because if things go well, we’ll be working in close co-operation with them. Right! Here we are, if I can find a space somewhere.

He guided his car into a slot on the first floor and the trio made their way carrying or dragging wheeled baggage to Terminal Two. Within the hour, they were in the departure lounge watching the board from a bar where they each sank a couple of beers at Stapleton’s expense.

 

The flight landed twenty minutes ahead of schedule and an elegant Finnair stewardess thanked them in three languages for flying with them. Their baggage was already waiting for them after passport control and they strode out towards a line of Mercedes-Benz taxis outside the doors. The taxi driver jumped out and stashed their luggage in the boot. He noticed Dennis’s hooks.

            – Do you need some help?

            – No thanks. I’m fine.

            – I’m sorry I can’t say this name. We want to go to this hotel. Do you know it?

            – Yes, I think everyone know it. Please put on your belts.

Dennis was in the front seat and looked at the driver.

            – No problem. I will do it.

He secured Dennis’s safety belt and guided the car away from the taxi rank. It was a dark night with light snow. The scenery was completely white – trees, fields, houses. The roads were clear and the taxi sped south at seventy-five kilometres an hour, just over the speed limit. Dennis and Gwynn were still looking out for signs of a city when the taxi driver slowed in front of a sleek building and asked for eight-seven marks. Stapleton extracted a purple banknote.

            – Keep the change. Thank you for a safe ride.

            – Thank you too.

He thought British people were strange. They always gave tips. There was no need. Maybe it was something they had seen in America. He lifted their luggage onto the pavement and pulled out the handle for his passenger with hooks.

            – Bye bye and welcome to Finland.

The three men stretched their limbs and entered Hotel Kalastajatorppa.

 

They had their own rooms. They were more comfortable than Gwynn or Dennis had previously encountered. Dennis removed his legs, shed his arms and wriggled under the thick duvet. Gwynn removed his below knee prosthesis and washed his stump before retiring. Stapleton sat in an armchair thinking about marketing strategy which he would discuss with Gwynn and propose to his hosts tomorrow. Before he retired for the night, he looked outside at the whiteness stretching to the horizon illuminated only by the moon, concealing the beautiful shoreline he had admired on his last visit.

 

Gwynn knocked on Dennis’s door shortly before seven next morning.

            – It’s open. Come in!

            – Morning Dennis. Er, I was wondering if you might need a hand before we get breakfast.

            – Well, strange you should say that. I could use a hand in the bathroom.

            – That’s what I thought. I don’t mind helping out with your limbs. Thank god I’ve only got one to deal with.

            – What? Are you an amp?

            – Yes! Left below knee. Hardly anything, really.

            – Ha! I really hadn’t noticed. Well, if you can heave me into the shower, I’d be grateful.

            – Sure.

Gwynn helped Dennis from the bed and picked him up under the armpits. He lowered Dennis onto the toilet seat and placed a bath towel onto the spotless shower floor. He adjusted the temperature of the shower and lifted Dennis across.

            – Are you alright for a few minutes?  OK, I’ll leave you to it. Give me a shout when you’re done.

Dennis managed fine and pushed a lever to switch off the water flow. The hot and cold water flow was controlled with just one well-designed tap. Genius!

            – Gwynn! Ready!

Gwynn threw another bath towel over Dennis and carried him back to his bed. He asked if he should rub him dry. Dennis nodded.

            – OK. I know you can do it yourself but would you like a hand with the limbs? Are there stump socks in your case?

            – Yeah. They’re all in a plastic bag.

            – Found ’em. Right, this looks like it’s for an arm.

Dennis lifted his right stump and Gwynn pulled the sock on. Dennis asked for a T-shirt before donning his arms. Ten minutes later, Dennis was dressed in several layers topped with a thick woollen pullover.

            – Well, thanks for that, mate. Shall we go and get some breakfast?

 

Stapleton was already finishing his second cup of coffee.

            – Good morning, you two. Sleep well?

            – Very well, thanks. Dennis, what do you want? Cereal? Toast? Full English?

            – Bacon and a fried egg if they’ve got it. Put some white bread on the plate first, will you? And coffee. Thanks a lot.

            – We have until eleven before the train leaves. I thought we might take a tram into the town centre and have a look around.

            – That sounds like fun. Believe it or not, I’ve never been on a tram before.

            – Neither had I until I came here last summer. I overheard some Americans talking about a streetcar into town and how much cheaper than a taxi it was. So I gave it a try and enjoyed the ride.

Gwynn brought Dennis his breakfast and coffee and returned to fetch his own.

            – Do you know how cold it is? I asked the doorman and he said minus twelve but it was set to warm up to minus eight.

            – Good grief!

            – And it won’t be light until about half past nine.

            – How do the Finns bear it?

            – When I was here in summer, it didn’t get dark at all, really. The sun went down at eleven and was up again by two. And it was actually quite hot, twenty-six degrees.

 

They packed their bags, checked out of the hotel and walked carefully to the tram stop. There was a crust of snow, slightly uneven and Dennis was wary of walking on it until he realised that it was not slippery. It was so cold, the snow was more like sand. It squeaked under their feet with every step. Their breath produced clouds of vapour.

            – Did you say it’s minus twelve? It doesn’t feel that cold to me.

            – Apparently it’s because the air is so dry. Don’t ask me how that works. There’s the tram waiting for us. It’s the terminus. Get on in the middle where the floor is lowered otherwise there are steps.

They reached the tram and Stapleton opened the doors. It was easy to step straight on. The doors folded shut behind them. It was warm inside. Stapleton went to buy tickets from the driver.

            – What I think we’ll do is leave our luggage at the railway station and have a quick look around the town centre. If either of you need to stop, say so, for heaven’s sake.

The tram moved away from the stop with an electric whine and they all grabbed a rail in surprise as it swung around a tight corner. They could see through the windows despite the smattering of frost outside. People boarded wearing perfectly ordinary clothes, several wearing fur hats.

            – I think the first thing I’m going to buy is one of those beanie hats. They look warm.

The tram sped along a main road and the scenery soon turned urban. It was still dark but the streets were brightly lit. Shop windows displayed Christmas lights, a reminder of the festive season.

 

The tram stopped outside a department store which Stapleton recognised.

            – This is our stop. The station is just around the corner.

The town centre was almost completely clear of snow. Outside the station entrance, a tractor with a rotating brush attached to the front swept the pavement clean and another device at the rear spread a thin layer of coarse sand. They entered the station, walking over a wide mat comprised of upturned bristles. It was all so logical, so sensible. They left their luggage and looked around at the building.

            – Let’s go out the main entrance and you can see what this building is famous for. Dennis, how are you doing?

            – I’m fine.

            – Good show.

They walked out onto Kaivokatu and Stapleton asked them to turn around to see the four masculine stone figures holding spherical lamps. They were always an impressive and unusual sight. They crossed the road, wary of tramlines, and walked through Makkaratalo to the passage which led to Stockmann department store. They spotted a sports shop with mannequins wearing beanies and five minutes later all three were wearing cheap warm hats to protect their heads and ears. Moments later they arrived at the main shopping street and were about to cross when Dennis called a halt.

            – Cobblestones! Can you gents support me as we cross? I don’t trust my feet on those.

Most of the streets in central Helsinki were surfaced with cobblestones. Other Nordic capitals had ripped them out and replaced them with smooth asphalt decades go but the Finns had kept theirs. They had the major advantage of being indestructible and the lesser advantage of slowing motor traffic. Dennis made it across safely despite feeling his artificial legs being pulled this way and that on the uneven surface.

            – We have to go in here. There’s something I have to buy. My wife saw some glassware by a Finnish artist in some magazine and informs me that it is available here.

They studied the list of floors and the departments and found Homewares one floor up. Gwynn pointed to an escalator. They went up and were immediately surrounded by sumptuous porcelain, steel and glass. Stapleton took out his little black book and leafed through it. A member of staff stood nearby, ready to help if asked.

            – Hello. Do you speak English? Oh good. I’m looking for some glass by this man, Oiva Toikka.

            – Yes, please come here. I will show. This is his work we have now. Here is his new work for this year. Every year there is a new work, you know.

            – I don’t know where she learned English, but it sounds sexy as hell!

            – Shh!

            – Oh dear! There are so many different ones. I don’t know which one my wife wanted.

            – New one is only from October. Perhaps she saw an old one.

            – Yes, I’m sure she did. Let me have the one for nineteen eighty-five.

She opened a cupboard under the display and took out a pristine cardboard box containing a block of clear glass encapsulating the representation of a bird called Uikku in the local language, according to the box. Stapleton looked at it and compared it with the version on display. They were similar but not identical. The box bore the number one-seven-nine-nine.

            – What’s this number?

            – Oh, Toikka make only two thousand each year.

            – It is very beautiful. And very heavy! I will take it, thank you.

            – Would you like gift wrapping?

            – She never says sir, does she?

            – No. I like it. Is this the equality women’s lib is about?

            – Don’t ask me.

            – Yes, if you would wrap it, please.

            – Come with me.

They walked to a nearby cash desk and the salesgirl, about twenty-five, blonde, pretty, charming, pulled out a length of dark green glossy wrapping paper marked with the shop’s logo. She wrapped the box with practised movements and extracted a meter or so of white ribbon, twisted it around the box and tied it. She used the blade of a pair of scissors to scrape the remaining ribbon so it curled and formed into something resembling a flower.

It had taken her about forty seconds. The men watched, fascinated. She placed the package into a smart plastic bag and handed it over to Stapleton.

            – It is two thousand six hundred and fifty markkaa, please.

Stapleton handed over a credit card. The salesgirl processed it, looked the three men in their eyes with a smile and thanked them.

            – Jesus. If it was like this at home, I’d go out shopping more often.

            – Haha!

            – Christ! I just worked out that cost three hundred quid!

            – I’ll take two.

 

They looked at the Christmas decorations on sale. They looked different from what they were used to. The lights were plain white. There were goats and reindeer figures made of straw, lots of gnomes and pixies. There were no boxes of Christmas crackers or plastic Santa masks. There were no holly wreaths or crèpe paper bells. They saw a huge Christmas tree – a real one – wrapped in sparkling white lights and decorated only with small flags of the Northern countries. It was very strange.

 

            – Well, gentlemen. Shall we have lunch? I hear there is a restaurant nearby which is famous for pizzas but also does decent steaks. It is just around the corner on the way back to the station.

            – I’m up for it.

            – Yes, I think I’d like something to eat.

            

Stapleton and Gwynn held Dennis by the armpits as they recrossed the road and then walked to the corner and turned left. A green neon sign indicated the location of Iguana restaurant. There were three stone steps up from the street. Doors in Finland all seemed to open outwards and Stapleton held it while Gwynn steadied Dennis as he worked his way up, gripping the door frame with his hooks. The others entered behind him.

            – Sorry Dennis. Probably not the best place to come to.

            – Don't worry about it. I’m grateful for the help. I don't expect the world to change because I don’t have limbs. Just one of those things. I hope the food is good.

 

The food was good. Stapleton had a steak and chips covered with fried peppers and the other two tried pizzas for the first time. Gwynn cut Dennis’s pizza into bits he could pick up with a hook. They all washed their food down with a glass of lager. Stapleton watched the contortions Dennis performed in order to bring his beer close enough to his face to drink. It was extraordinary what a man could adapt to. He suddenly realised that no-one at Saunapuu knew that two of their guests were amputees. He hoped they had not arranged for any skiing trips.

 

Stapleton settled the bill and looked at his watch. They still had over an hour.

            – Would you like another beer? Shall we sit here and watch the world go by? The train journey takes about five hours so take that into account. Gwynn and Dennis glanced at each other and grinned.

            – Yes please.

Stapleton raised his hand and asked for three more beers. A cheerful young man brought them over and Stapleton paid fort-five marks with a fifty. The youngster returned his change from a coin dispenser on his hip.

            – Never seen that before.

            – What?

            – Getting your change right away. You usually have to wait five minutes before they condescend to bring your change on a little plate with a smug little smile. I don’t know. I’ve only been here for twelve hours and I already want to move here.

            – Not just yet, please, Gwynn.

            – Just imagine living here all your life and then suddenly visiting Harlesden. What would you think?

            – I really couldn’t say, Gwynn. I try not to think about it. I’m just happy that places like this exist.

 

They drank their beers slowly, watching passers-by. Office workers going for lunch. Shop workers taking a break. The restaurant’s customers were a good-natured bunch. It was pleasant to be there.

 

            – I think we should make tracks and go to the station. Forgive the pun. We still have forty minutes but the train might pull in early.

            – I’m ready.

They rose and opened the doors to the street. Stapleton held Dennis’s prosthetic left arm as he held onto the door frame for support. Gwynn managed with his usual one step at a time. The sun had gone and the sky was grey. The only colour came from shop windows and traffic lights.

 

They retrieved their luggage and inspected the departure board. They found their train listed. It would depart from platform seven. They could see the empty track from where they stood but in the distance there were the shining rear lights of an approaching train. It approached slowly and reversed alongside the platform.

            – Wait inside here for a minute. I’ll go and check our carriage.

Stapleton walked down the platform, looking for the First Class carriage. It was at the front of the nine carriage train. He tried opening the door but it was still locked. A guard was standing a little further on, chatting with the driver. He noticed Stapleton and called out.

            – Kymmenen minuuttia vielä!

            – Sorry, I don’t speak Finnish.

            – Oh, you can board in ten minutes.

            – Can you help? One of my group is disabled – handicapped. Are there steps up to the carriage?

            – Yes, there is three steps. But don’t worry. I will help.

Stapleton thanked him and strolled back to the waiting hall. He reported the situation.

            – Sorry Dennis but boarding the train is going to be a little difficult. There are three steps to climb to get inside.

            – We’ll manage. What time are we due to arrive in…?

            – Kuopio. Quarter past five. There’ll be someone from Saunapuu to meet us. I don’t know what they’ve got planned for this evening.

            – I’m looking forward to meeting them.

 

They waited another ten minutes and then walked the length of the train to the First Class carriage. The door was unlocked. Stapleton pushed it open and Dennis saw the problem. Three steep steps up and a narrow doorway. There was not enough space for him to swing his prostheses. The guard Stapleton had spoken to earlier reappeared.

            – Hello. Do you need help?

            – Hello. Yes, I don’t think I can get on. The steps are too high.

            – Is it OK to lift you? I can pull you inside.

            – That’s OK.

            – Good. One moment.

He opened an adjacent cupboard and removed a blanket which he spread on the floor and draped down the steps.

            – Please sit on first step. I will pull you up.

Dennis did so and felt himself being lifted. Stapleton held his knees and guided his prostheses in. He sat on the blanket and grinned up at the guard.

            – That was a clever move.

            – I help you stand now, OK?

Stapleton boarded the train and stood one side of Dennis with the guard on the other. They lifted Dennis by his armpits. He checked that his prosthetic legs were straight and then he was standing.

            – Thank you for your help.

            – It’s OK. Where are you going to?

            – Coo… Cope…

            – Kuopio? I come to help you in Kuopio.

Gwynn handed the luggage in to them. They made their way into the warm saloon and found their seats. They took their coats off and hung them on hooks. There was generous legroom and the whole carriage was smart and modern with a blue and white colour scheme. There were curtains at the windows. An adjacent train pulled out, giving the disconcerting impression that they were in motion.

            – I don’t know about you, but I am seriously impressed with what I’ve seen so far. Everyone we’ve met has been friendly and helpful. Everything has worked. Everything is clean and modern.

            – Yes, I know what you mean, Gwynn. I was surprised when I came here in the spring. I knew nothing about Finland apart from its Winter War and I was expecting some kind of fair to middling place with nothing much going for it except its forest industry. Instead, I saw what you’re seeing now. I don’t know what their secret is but they’ve made a lovely home for themselves.

 

The train departed on time. One other passenger had entered the carriage but otherwise they had the place to themselves. The Tannoy announced their route and mentioned on-train services in three languages. A conductor inspected their tickets ten minutes later. The guard may have told the conductor about the disabled passenger.

            – Please ask me if you need help. Have a pleasant journey.

The train passed suburban gardens and blocks of flats and everywhere there were trees and bushes garlanded with tiny lights. They were soon in snowy countryside with fields or forest on both sides with only the rare lights from a house or a distant road to be seen. The train sped on. Dennis took the opportunity to take a nap.

 

He slept for the next two hours. The other two men spoke quietly in order not to disturb him and revised their marketing strategy. Stapleton intended to sell the patent for the sauna bench to Saunapuu so it could be manufactured locally but was also prepared to lease the copyright licence, which would probably involve solicitors working in both countries for years before any results were achieved. Stapleton wanted Dennis along to express his opinion on the negotiations. Dennis was no longer officially a Stapleton Decor employee and Stapleton realised only too well that the negotiations with Saunapuu were also on his behalf. Whatever financial solution the two parties reached over the next two days, Stapleton would have to share a percentage with Dennis. Success would depend on whether he could persuade Dennis to part with his copyright. He had been devious in bringing Dennis on the trip to insinuate that he would be dealing directly with the Finns, bypassing Stapleton’s legal obligations.

 

A young woman brought a refreshment trolley. Dennis would have liked some more Finnish coffee but he knew his hooks would crush the paper cup. He bought a bottle of Vichy water and was relieved to hear Stapleton announce he would pay. The girl ripped the cap off and held the bottle in front of Dennis until his hook had gripped it.

 

Lights blinked on the horizon and the Tannoy announced they would arrive in Kuopio in four minutes. The guard slid the connecting door open and greeted the passengers. He said nothing more. He stood by while Stapleton and Gwynn put their outerwear on and helped Dennis to stand. He held his artificial arms out as they fed each one into his jacket and put his new beanie onto his head, covering his ears.

 

The train jolted to a stop. The guard addressed Stapleton who had assisted in Helsinki.

            – I hold his arms and you hold the feet. Yes?

            – Yes. Thank you.

Stapleton alighted first and turned to grab Dennis’s ankles. The guard held Dennis under his armpits and the pair lowered him onto the platform. Dennis felt like a piece of luggage but knew there was nothing he could do to alter the situation. This was life with four short stumps. Grin and bear it.

            – Thank you very much for your help.

            – It is why I am here. I hope you have a good time in Kuopio. Goodbye.

Stapleton and Gwynn brought all the luggage out and looked around as a voice called out.

            – George! And you have guests this time. Hello! My name is Kalevi Saastamoinen.

He shook hands with Stapleton, Gynn and smiled at Dennis as he gently took a freezing steel hook into his hand.

            – Well, welcome to Kuopio. It’s good to see you again, George. Let’s get into the car and we can go to the hotel. I parked very close. I don’t want you to get cold. It’s twenty degrees tonight.

He pointed to a white Mercedes, slid in to the driver’s seat and released the other doors. Dennis struggled to get in, not wanting to grip the car’s paintwork with his hooks and scratch it. He ducked his head and collapsed sideways onto the back seat and pulled his legs in. Saastamoinen noticed his difficulty and mentally adjusted his plans for the evening.

            – It is very short journey to town centre and we will get you booked in to hotel and then we go to Saunapuu, OK?

            – That would be very nice of you.

Saastamoinen drove for a couple of minutes and pulled up outside the Hotel Kuopio on the town square. Twenty minutes later, the luggage was in their rooms and they reconvened in the hotel’s lobby.

            – Now we go to Saunapuu in Haapalahti. It is our head office but our process plant is outside the town. I can take you there if you like to see it. I think tonight we go to sauna and then have dinner. I also ask my son to be with us. He is nineteen years and I want to teach him the business.

            – It sounds wonderful, Kalevi. We’re looking forward to it.

 

Dennis was wondering how he could manage a sauna. Saastamoinen pulled away and drove away from the town square past blocks of flats into an area where low buildings announced company names with discrete neon lettering. Blue neon, almost invisible in the darkness, announced the owner of a squat three storey office building and the Mercedes stopped in front of the main entrance. The downstairs lobby was lit and a figure approached and opened the doors. The men left the car and entered the building. Saastamoinen introduced the doorman as his son Aleksi, who remembered Stapleton and shook each hand in turn until Dennis lifted a hook. Aleksi looked at the hook and into Dennis’s eyes and took hold of the hook. He held it for a second or two longer than was usual. Aleksi began to get an erection. He was tall for a Finn, six foot and a bit, slim and dressed in clothes similar to an English skinhead. His blond hair was short, a neat crewcut. He bowed his head, slightly embarrassed by his invisible reaction to his father’s guest’s disability. He was strongly attracted to amputation and artificial limbs and had tried very hard to hide the attraction from his parents since he was about twelve.

            – Well, gentlemen. I want to welcome you to Finland and to our company. Thank you for coming so far. Tonight we will have sauna and then we will eat traditional Finnish food for Christmas. I know it will be different from what you expect. So do not worry – there is no turkey. Let us go up to sauna and you can relax. Aleksi, tilaa hissi ja auta vieraitamme. [Call the lift and help our guests]

Gwynn looked at Dennis and grimaced. Nothing for it, shrugged Dennis in return. They went up to the top floor and Saastamoinen led them along a candlelit passageway towards a wooden door which he held open as his guests walked into a changing room.

            – You can undress here. In Finland we don’t care about nudity. It is natural. We have some beer here and please take what you want. We like to have a beer or two first and then go to sauna. And then we have more beer after. I hope you will like it. Aleksi, hae toinen kori! [Fetch the other crate]

 

They took their lead from their host who stripped his clothes and underwear and wrapped a white bath towel around himself. He opened a bottle of beer and wished them all welcome.

            – Kippis!

Aleksi looked at Dennis struggling with his hooks.

            – I can help you.

            – Yes please, Aleksi. You can do it much faster than I can.

Dennis lifted up his arm protheses so Aleksi could pull off the warm winter pullover. Underneath Aleksi saw two full-length prosthetic arms. He had never seen anything like them before and hesitated.

            – Can you help me take them off, Aleksi? Can you see the ring on my back?

            – Yes, I see it.

            – Hold it and pull it up when I lift my arms.

Dennis’s prosthetic arms were in Aleksi’s hands. He tried to hide his erection but Dennis noticed.

            – Put them on the bench, Aleksi. Thank you. Can you help with my legs, please?

Dennis lowered himself onto the bench.

            – Just open my trousers and pull my legs off. It’s easy. Don’t look so surprised! I will tell you what to do.

Aleksi had not realised the man with hooks was also wearing artificial legs. The very idea made him feel weak. He opened Dennis’s trousers and Dennis explained how to release his sockets. Aleksi took hold of the prostheses, trousers, boots and all and moved them to stand against the wall. He draped a bath towel around Dennis’s shoulders.

            – I will get our wheelchair.

He went back to the corridor and fetched a tall unwieldy wheelchair from a storeroom. Its purpose was to allow disabled people to sauna and shower with able–bodied friends. Its seat height matched that of the benches they were sitting on.

            – Would you like beer?

            – Yes please. Can you put it in a glass?

There were plastic mugs. Aleksi opened two bottles, poured them into two plastic mugs and went to sit beside Dennis. He lifted one towards Dennis’s lips and held the mug in place as Dennis tasted and then quaffed a mouthful of beer. He rotated his arm stumps.

            – Exactly what I needed. Not a bad brew, eh?

Aleksi undressed himself quickly, trying to hide his erection. It was not possible to do so in a sauna’s changing room. Dennis judged the four inch long, inch wide tool close to his face. It might be small but it was solid. Aleksi threw a towel around himself and sat down, his tent peg making its presence obvious. He gulped some beer and turned again to Dennis.

            – Tell me when you want some beer, OK?

Dennis nodded and smiled. Aleksi was controlling himself pretty well under the circumstances. He was obviously turned on by Dennis’s stumps or by his prostheses but also had to maintain a respectful aspect because of the business nature of the meeting.

            – Sit closer to me, Aleksi. I will nudge you when I want some beer. OK?

            – Yes. A good idea.

He shifted closer. His father looked sternly at him. He was well aware of his son’s homosexuality although neither had discussed the matter. Saastamoinen returned his attention to Stapleton and continued his explanation of Saunapuu’s recent history. He reached a logical pause.

            – So gentlemen. Let us go into sauna.

Gwynn still had his prosthesis on. He would take it off inside. Aleksi steadied Dennis as he transferred into the wheelchair and wheeled him into the sauna behind the two businessmen.

            – Do you want to sit on the bench? I can pull you up.

            – Yes please, Aleksi. I don’t want to sit down here.

With all five naked men abreast along the middle bench, Saastamoinen threw a generous ladleful of water onto the stove. It hissed violently and threw a cloud of steam into the room. Another ladleful. More steam. Heat descended from the ceiling, surprising, novel. Gwynn gasped in surprise. The air he breathed was hot. One more ladleful and Saastamoinen sat back.

            – You must tell me if you are not comfortable. Sauna is sometimes very hot but it will not hurt you.

            – How hot does it get?

            – I think hottest is about hundred and fifteen degrees but I don’t feel comfortable after hundred.

            – So as hot as boiling water?

            – Yes, that’s right. I understand it seems strange to you. Why does your blood not boil? Well, it is the secret of the sauna. Look here. It is the thermometer. It is now eighty-seven. It is quite warm. Most Finns like about ninety-five for ten minutes. Shall we have more steam?

He threw more water. The stove hissed and new heat hit them in the face. Dennis grunted. The sensitive scars on his stumps were beginning to feel almost painful.

            – I’m sorry. This is too hot for me. Aleksi, can you help me down?

Dennis was slick with sweat. Aleksi gripped Dennis’s towel-wrapped torso and helped him back into the bathing wheelchair. They went into the shower room and Aleksi washed Dennis and shampooed his hair.

            – I take shower and then I help you. Just a minute.

Wrapping a fresh towel around his midriff, Aleksi pushed Dennis back into the changing room.

            – Would you like a beer?

            – Yes please. You will have to help.

            – I know. Tell me when you want your arms and legs.

            – I will. You are very helpful, Aleksi. Thank you. That was the first sauna I have been in.

            – Really? I go to sauna about three times a week. It is part of life in Finland, I think. Here is some beer for you.

 

Aleksi dried Dennis’s hair and body. Dennis was impressed by the boy’s care. Aleksi fitted his artificial limbs, arms first over a T-shirt, then the legs in the trousers. Lastly, the thick pullover. The other three men had taken showers and returned to the sauna.

            – I’m sorry you’re missing the sauna.

            – It’s OK. I can go any time. You live in London, don’t you? What is it like to live in a big city?

            – Too many cars, too many people. I live with another amputee friend and we stay in and around the same area most of the time. I work at home now and my friend works in advertising. He drew the illustrations for the new sauna seat.

            – I have seen them. They are very beautiful design. I hope people will like them.

            – I hope so too.

 

The other men soon joined them and they sat around the table enjoying a beer. They dressed and Saastamoinen announced that dinner should be ready. The group followed him to their conference room which had been decked out with Christmas decorations and a tree. The table was laden with smoked salmon, sliced pork fillet, vegetable casseroles and a beetroot and apple salad. There were four kinds of bread, fresh butter, sauces, berries, more bottles of beer and a bottle of vodka. The guests tried some of everything. Aleksi fed Dennis without being asked in between his own mouthfuls. Saastamoinen proposed several toasts and wished them a pleasant stay and a happy Christmas. After a suitable period, he asked his guests if they would like to eat more. They thanked him and declined. Stapleton took the hint and suggested it was time to return to the hotel. Tomorrow would be an important day and they should all get some rest. Aleksi chauffeured them back to Hotelli Kuopio and wished them Good night.

 

Gwynn helped Dennis dress again the next morning. Dennis was beginning to feel spoiled with all the help and attention he was getting. He did not mind. The others had a timetable and the sooner things like dressing and breakfast were tackled, the sooner they could get down to business. A car would collect them at nine thirty. The two amputees strolled into the breakfast room and helped themselves to scrambled eggs and frankfurters washed down with coffee.

 

Saastamoinen arrived at twenty-five past nine. Dennis was sitting in the lobby on the look-out for him. He waved a hook and Saastamoinen came over to wish him Good morning.

            – The others will be here in a couple of minutes.

            – Very good. Did you sleep well?

            – Very well, thank you. Good food before bedtime always helps me sleep.

            – I am happy to hear it. Ah, here are the others.

Stapleton and Gwynn stepped out of the lift.

            – Good morning, Kalevi. Good to see you again. We’re set and ready.

            – My car is outside. Please, let’s go.

Dennis struggled to his feet and followed the others. He sat in the front passenger seat and his host secured his safety belt.

            – It looks like it will be quite good weather today. Cold and sunny.

            – Let’s hope it will be a good day altogether.

 

The Mercedes pulled up close to the office building’s front door. Office workers smiled at them. They knew they would have foreign guests today. It was quite unusual, especially at this time of year. Saastamoinen led them into the conference room again which had been transformed from the previous evening’s dining room. The Christmas tree stood guard near the door. They left their coats on a coat rack. Each place at the table was provided with a block of writing paper, pens, a mug, a glass and a bottle of mineral water. Aleksi arrived with a large thermos of coffee and filled everyone’s mugs.

            – Aleksi, come and sit down please. Shall we begin?

Saastamoinen described the situation – he wanted to manufacture the article designed by Dennis and to be licensed by Stapleton. He proposed purchasing the licence outright and hoped Dennis would relinquish his copyright. The article would then be manufactured by Saunapuu without royalties needing to be paid to Stapleton Decor.

            – That is our position.

            – Thank you, Kalevi. You express it very well. Dennis, how do you feel about selling the copyright? It would be difficult to monitor otherwise and there would be considerable red tape with international banking and the like.

            – I am quite willing to hand over the copyright for fifteen percent of the total purchase price you gentlemen agree. I expect the sum to be paid by Stapleton Decor in sterling into my London bank account.

            – So in other words, Stapleton Decor and Saunapuu will agree a sum, and Stapleton Decor will pay you fifteen percent in England. Yes, I am quite happy with that arrangement. George, what do you think?

Stapleton murmured to Gwynn, who listened expressionlessly and nodded. He had achieved the solution he preferred but at some expense. He had anticipated that Dennis would settle for twelve and a half percent. In order not to appear tight-fisted at this stage, he waived any further argument on the point.

            – I agree. Now let’s discuss the price.

Both sides had drawn up estimates of potential sales. Stapleton’s estimates had been drawn up with the assistance of Finland House in the Haymarket and were for the previous year. Saastamoinen had those figures and also projections based on new construction over the next five years. He had a maximum sum in mind, more than which he was not prepared to pay. It amounted to the value of the first twelve month’s gross sales of the sauna fittings. Stapleton named his price, taking into account the fact that fifteen percent of it would go to Dennis. It was slightly higher than the Saastamoinen’s maximum sum.

            – I see. Aleksi, kahvia! [Coffee]

Aleksi circulated with the thermos, filling everyone’s coffee mugs. It was a strategic pause in the proceedings. Saastamoinen withdrew a file from his briefcase and flipped through it, ostensibly comparing figures. He closed the file and slowly stirred his coffee. Haggle or accept? Surely the Englishman would expect him to make a counter offer. He named a price rather lower than his maximum. Stapleton nodded and conferred again with Gwynn.

            – I propose we round up that figure to the nearest thousand. That is our offer.

Saastamoinen checked the exchange rate from the morning’s financial paper and converted the sum into Finnish marks. He was satisfied. The British currency was weakening against the mark, a long-term slide. Depending on when the money was due to be paid, there might well be a better rate.

            – Very good. Saunapuu will pay that price. Now we must discuss a timetable.

 

An hour later, after more coffee and amiable negotiation, the details were finalised. Aleksi fetched Saastamoinen’s assistant who took the unsigned draft agreement and updated it on her word processor. She made three copies of the bilingual agreement and took them into the conference room. The three parties checked and signed it and received their own copies. Stapleton put Dennis’s copy into his briefcase.

 

            – Now we can have lunch and then visit our factory, if you are interested.

            – Very good. I’m looking forward to it.

 

Saastamoinen drove his foreign guests to a central restaurant in Kuopio with a large glass frontage. It looked out over the market square where vendors were doing a good trade in the run-up to Christmas. They chose various steaks and Saastamoinen explained a little of Kuopio’s history and how his company had grown over the past few decades. Sated, they travelled on to Saunapuu’s one storey production facility where the foreman joined them for a brief tour. Saastamoinen bore in mind that two of his visitors were disabled and soon invited them to relax in the common room for coffee and cake.

            – Soon is Christmas and I hope you will like a Finnish Christmas gift.

He took three smartly wrapped packages from a cupboard and placed one before each guest.

            – Thank you, Kalevi. That is very kind of you. I’ll open mine later, if that’s alright.

            – Of course.

It was a hint that the meeting was over. Saastamoinen drove them back to their hotel where they exchanged final pleasantries and Christmas good wishes. Night had fallen and Dennis was astonished to see that it was three thirty in the afternoon. They went up to their rooms and napped for an hour or so.

 

A little later in the evening, they met again in the lobby and ventured out. There was a pub adjacent to the hotel and they went inside to escape the fiercely cold wind which had sprung up. They sat down at a table by the window and settled back to enjoy a few drinks to celebrate their deal. Stapleton was well satisfied with the result, even taking in consideration Dennis’s share. They all ordered half litres of lager and Dennis was relieved to see the tall narrow glasses the brews were served in. He locked his right elbow and closed the hook around the glass. He carefully released the elbow lock and moved the hook closer to his face. He tilted his head forward to reach the glass and leaned back to swig the beer. It hit the spot. He took another gulp, straightened his arm and returned the glass to the table keeping his hook closed tightly around the glass.  A disk jockey started to play records at six, familiar glam rock hits. The music was not too loud. Other tables were occupied by groups of young people having a beer after work, enjoying themselves. There were so many blond people! Dennis looked out at the market square but could not see it. He realised why with a shock. There was a full-on blizzard right outside the window. They had never seen such heavy snow. The door opened and a laughing group of newcomers stumbled in, shaking snow from hats and patting it off the front of their coats.

            – I hope we don’t get snowed in. Just look at it! What time do we leave in the morning?

            – The train leaves at twenty to twelve. We should reach Helsinki by five. We have plenty of time to get to the airport. The flight leaves at ten past eight and we’re due into Heathrow at nine.

            – I suppose they’re used to dealing with conditions like this at the airport. Think of what happens at Heathrow when there’s a smattering of snow.

            – Well, actually, that’s exactly why I booked on Finnair instead of British Airways. There was a big snow storm in New York a couple of years ago and the Americans cancelled all their flights. The place was deserted. The only plane that landed was Finnair and a couple of hours later, it took off again.

            – Alright. That’s very reassuring. Although to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind being stranded here for an extra day or two.

            – I’m sure it won’t come to that, Gwynn. Now, another beer, anyone?

 

They sank a few more brews and decided to call it a day after the DJ slowly increased the volume to compensate for the increased volume from the customers. The wind had dropped and there was now merely heavy snow. The air temperature had risen noticeably. It hardly felt cold at all. Fortunately they had only a few metres to walk back to the hotel. They wished each other a good night and retired to their rooms. Dennis watched Super Channel on the tv, Gwynn tuned in to Music tv and Stapleton caught up on international news from CNN. Before he removed his limbs, Dennis made sure the room’s plastic wastepaper bin was close to his bed in case he needed to relieve himself during the night. He did not want to bum walk to the bathroom.

 

They rose late but managed to get some breakfast before it stopped at half past nine. Gwynn and Dennis came down together and ate a huge cooked breakfast each washed down with copious amounts of coffee. Stapleton soon joined them but was content with a roll and some cheese and ham.

            – We need to vacate the rooms by eleven, by the way. I suggest we meet up here at a quarter to and make our way to the station. I’ll order a taxi. We can have some coffee there while we wait for the train.

            – Sounds good to me.

They finished their breakfasts and returned to their rooms to pack. The empty time waiting to leave was tedious but it could not be helped.

 

A Mercedes-Benz taxi took them on a three minute ride to the station along freshly snowploughed streets. The market was in full swing as they passed it. Its stalls were lit by electric lamps and decorated with Christmas trees and their strange white lights. Their train was ten minutes late and arrived looking like it had been in deep-freeze for a week, completely covered in frost. The sun was out again, low on the horizon at midday, casting long blue shadows on the pristine snow. It was beautiful.

 

They found the station’s taxi rank in Helsinki without problem and sped back north towards the airport. They still had good time in hand. It was useless to ask the driver to take his time – the faster he drove, the more trips he could make. The big car stuck to the motorway, whose edges were piled with white walls of snow after snowploughs had done their job, now reflecting the orange light from streetlamps.

 

The trio browsed the retail concessions at the airport and bought a bottle or two in Duty Free, for Christmas, of course. Dennis bought a paperback of Adrian Mole’s newest adventures and sniggered whenever he looked at it. Finally, their flight was called and after a final check of boarding cards, they were seated and soon on their way back to reality.

 

D E C E M B E R   1 9 8 9

 

Two latest model invalid carriages were parked outside the West Ealing block of flats. Ray’s vehicle had begun spluttering and misbehaving first. The local garage tried its best but something else went wrong soon after. The glass fibre body shell was fraying and looked decrepit. He made enquiries about getting a new vehicle and after several months of bureaucratic to-ing and fro-ing, took possession of a new car. Dennis would not be upstaged and applied for a similar vehicle. His car still worked although it looked dreadful. Conceding that the vehicle was well-cared for although decrepit, he received an identical car. Even the registration plates differed only by twenty. There was a scheme available whereby the health service would subsidise the costs for a standard production model vehicle to be adapted for use by a disabled driver. Dennis could well afford to buy a small car, a Volkswagen Golf or a small Datsun and have it converted, but the ugly Invacar was easy to access, easy to drive with his minimal stumps and got fifty miles to the gallon on a bad day. He did not want to upstage Ray, either.

 

Ray’s Invacar was notorious among TWT employees. They often had to visit various clients for meetings and enjoyed travelling around the capital in taxis at the company´s expense. However, Ray insisted on driving himself in his horrible blue spazmobile as if to make a point, although it was never clear what the point might be. He enjoyed watching the reaction of clients as they stood with TWT’s other creatives waiting for their legless team leader and creative director to arrive and hurl himself out of his car onto his wooden legs. Ray’s legs had been refurbished for the second time recently. New braces and joints were fitted to smart black leather thigh corsets but his almost thirty year old wooden calves and feet were holding up remarkably well and had taken on a patina which Ray loved. There was no reason to think that his wooden legs would ever fail him. Ray knew that they had been sized for a sixteen year old in nineteen sixty-two and were a few inches shorter than what he might be able to get away with. But he was satisfied with standing five foot nine rather than his estimated natural height of six foot two. He was the pipe smoking man with the wooden legs. And short.

 

Phillip had created a routine where he visited various warehouses and stock providers on Wednesday afternoons. He did so and then drove to West Ealing for an extended sex session with Dennis, worshipping his stumps, demanding to be fucked by his limbless hero. Both of them had experimented with rubberwear and leatherwear. Dennis had a black leather motorcycle jacket with short sleeves from which his black carbon prosthetic arms and hooks protruded and black leather shorts which he could wear either with full length prostheses or with stubbies. He had visited leather bars in Soho and South-East London with Phillip several times, revelling in the attention he received from new young faces, always arriving in his invalid carriage.

 

Anthony Moore became better known as Hook Simons. He was a disc jockey on London Beat radio, a position he had gained after completing a university course in meteorology and in search of a job. He ran into a guy in a pub in Shoreditch one evening who was attracted by Tony’s hook and one thing led to another. They moved in together for frequent fisting sessions and Tony joined his mate’s work team on the new Sound of the South, London Beat FM. He had exactly the kind of voice they were looking for, deep but with a sexy break sometimes and with a fashionable West London accent. He presented weather forecasts at first and was later cajoled into co-hosting a show with his mate. They had great banter and the station’s popularity increased because of their show. Hook and his mate occasionally DJ’ed live events round the capital. He made a display of his hook but no-one realised that he also had an artificial leg. Whenever he was asked why he was limping, he replied that he had just been hurt playing rugger. His healthy masculine appearance supported the deception.

 

Ray’s parents both passed away prematurely. His mother died of what were termed ‘lady problems’, cervical cancer. His father lasted a couple of years longer before succumbing to a stroke. Ray found him the following weekend sitting in his armchair in the living room with the tv on. He had been dead for three days.

 

Robert and Peter stayed together and were trustworthy friends. Whatever problems Ray encountered, he could phone them and Robert always had something positive to say. They both enjoyed hosting a variety of friends, all of them amputees, and their boozy Saturday evening rendezvous were frequently the highlight of the month for people sick of explaining their disabilities to strangers. It was always a pleasure to look forward to meeting both old friends and occasionally new people with their ever-varying selection of prosthetic and assistive devices.

 

Ray and Dennis loved each other as much as they had when they first met, accidentally, all those years ago. Ray had grown older and wiser, achieved financial security through his artistic talents and skilful judgement of advertising trends. Dennis had retired from work but still made unique freelance designs for wooden furniture. IKEA had the upper hand but Dennis’s furniture attracted attention. As the century approached its last frenetic decade following the fall of the Wall, the future looked good.

 

R A I L W A Y M A N ’ S   F O O T :  B I G   B O Y S