THE REDUCTION OF SKINS Part 1 of 2

 

T H E   R E D U C T I O N   O F   S K I N S   Part I of II

 

A HARROWING TALE BY strzeka

Contains expletives. For adults only.

 

S A T U R D A Y

 

Ryan Anderson only wanted cigarettes but his mate Paul Wright kneed him.

            – Go on! Buy one. You can’t win if you don’t play.

            – What’s the point? The odds are billions to one. Oh, alright then.

Ryan handed over another fiver for twenty numbers. The EuroVinn jackpot stood at an astonishing one hundred and ninety-five million euros. The draw was at nine o’clock that evening.

            – Imagine winning that lot. You’d go mad. You could do anything. Buy a yacht.

            – What the fuck would I do with a yacht?

            – Sail the seas. Travel the world. Meet people and put the boot in.

            – You’re such an arsehole. Come on, let’s get out of here.

            – Can I bum one of your fags, mate?¹

 

The two skinheads joshed with each other walking back to Ryan’s flat, smoking and spitting. Paul had the habit of letting a cigarette dangle from his lips like some nineteen thirties diva but he was macho enough to get away with it. He had recently dared to shave his eyebrows but it was not a good look. They had almost grown back to normal. His head was otherwise completely shaven of all hair. His scalp glinted in the sunshine. Ryan sported a wide and short hawk in the centre of his otherwise bald head. It hardened his well-proportioned features. He was a handsome boy and knew it but he liked trying to look tough. It gave him more credibility with the gang and also helped disguise the fact that he and Paul were queers. Gay skinheads. So was Chris, probably, but he was a bit of a cunt.

 

Ryan and Paul were flatmates sharing the exorbitant rent on a poky flat with a tiny kitchen used mainly for blitzing pizzas and washing up about twice a week. The place was otherwise fairly presentable. Most of the furniture was from IKEA as was the crockery, cutlery and just about everything else. The walls were white, the floor was well-worn parquet and a seventy inch tv was bolted to the wall. Stupidly big. Half that size would have been better. It was Paul’s, the only thing he brought from his old flat. Up until then, Ryan had watched tv and YouTube on his laptop. He had his own YouTube channel too, showing him dressing in bleachers and lacing his boots and shaving his head but best of all was the list of his favourite videos. Hundreds of them, showing amputee guys who had lost arms. Ryan was obsessed with arm stumps and hooks. They were his greatest fetish. Nothing was hornier than a good-looking bloke with two hairy arms missing both hands.

 

            – Do you want a cuppa?

            – Of course I don’t want a cuppa. There’s beer in the fridge, right? Isn’t that what we bought yesterday evening?

            – Alright, keep your tits on. One beer coming up. What do you want to do tonight? What’s Martin got planned? If he just wants to sit around in the shopping centre again he can fuck right off.

            – Yeah, I don’t want to sit around outside. I’m getting a bit old for that.

Both men were twenty-two.

            – If they earned themselves some money, we could all go to the pub instead of listening to them bitching about how they haven’t got any moolah². Good job they don’t expect us to pay for them. I don’t mind handing over a tin or two.

            – Do you want to go down the King’s Arms, then? They won’t be hanging out around there.

            – Well, if you remember what happened last time we were there, do you want to risk it? We could go in civvies, I suppose.

            – I’m not changing into civvies on a Saturday night! What’s wrong with this?

He spread his hands to indicate his white T, tight bleachers and thirty hole Undergrounds.

            – I’ll be fucked if I’m taking these boots off.

They were neatly laced and had taken the best part of twenty minutes to get perfect. Ryan was particular about his appearance. He even checked the pattern on his bleachers before he bought them. His MA-1s were always immaculate and he chucked them as soon as the cuffs began to fray or if grease from a kebab or some other shit dripped down the front. He did not have expensive tastes but got through a good percentage of his pay packet looking sharp. He had black, blue and maroon MA-1s but the olive green was the original and the best.

            – In fact, I don’t mind staying in. There’s some footer on Sky and we can watch the wrestling after that.

            – Alright. I’m not bothered. Another beer, my liege?

            – Are my guts any different from yours?

 

They stayed in. Paul snuggled up to Ryan on the sofa, which was originally off-white but was now marred with black and brown scuffs from the boys’ boots. Ryan had control of the remote and teased Paul by changing channels just when it looked like a goal was imminent.

            – Give me that, you cunt!

            – No. Why do you care?

            – I like watching it.

            – In that case, have it. And go and get us some beer.

 

The match, whoever was playing, ended nil-nil. There was a repeat of Cheers which they watched with the sound off but with subtitles. Canned laughter was interpreted with the word [laughter]. Paul heated up some cottage pie and called it supper. It was nine o’clock and time for the EuroVinn draw. The Eurovision music played and the new logo flew around the screen like it was nineteen ninety. Some Danish blonde stood in front of a panel of old farts and explained for the umpteenth time what was about to happen. The big sphere began to spin and the balls jumbled around. It changed direction and eight winning numbers dropped into separate glass tubes.

            – Congratulations to the winners. We have two winners tonight, one in Hungary and one in the United Kingdom. They will share the jackpot with ninety-seven and a half million euros each. Congratulations to them.

            – Didn’t you get your ticket out?

            – No. Why?

            – Well, don’t you want to check it?

            – Look, it’s in my jacket pocket. Go and get it if you’re all that bothered.

            – OK. Freeze the screen! Quick!

Ryan pressed a button with the winning numbers spread across the enormous screen. The audio continued but the numbers were frozen in place. Paul brought the ticket in and sat down. He started comparing numbers. It was worth checking them all – you could still win something even with only five numbers.

            – See anything?

            – You had a four, but that’s no good. Hang on.

Paul glanced at the screen again and continued to slowly run his finger down the list of numbers. He began to feel the familiar sense of let down as he approached the end. He checked row eighteen and bolted upright. He stared at Ryan swigging from a can of lager and back at the screen.

            – Look!  Three rows up from the bottom. Look at it.

Ryan took the ticket and read out the numbers, once from the ticket and then from the screen. They were the same. He looked at his mate.

            – What? I mean – what?

            – Ryan mate. I think you’ve just won a gazillion euros.

Ryan looked catatonic.

            – What do I do now?

            – Well, I suppose you phone them up and tell them.

            – There’s no fucking phone number on here!

            – Whoa! Calm down. We’ll ask in the shop tomorrow. They’ll know what to do. They get lots of people winning twenty quid, don’t they?

            – Yeah, I suppose so. Ah! I can’t believe it. What am I going to do?

            – You could buy that yacht.

            – Oh, fuck off!

            – You could buy twenty yachts. Fifty.

            – I can’t sit around in here. I’m going down the pub. Coming?

 

The punks who had given them aggro last time were nowhere to be seen. There were no other skins in. Ryan and Paul did not look especially aggressive and the other customers were not alarmed by their presence. Ryan ordered a couple of beers with whisky chasers.

            – Just imagine. Next time we come in here, you’ll be able to order the best whisky for your chaser.

            – Shut up, Paul. Don’t say anything about this to anyone. I have to get my head around it. You know we’re not going to be able to stay around here, don’t you? Don’t even say anything to Chris or Mark or Martin. Just don’t let on.

            – Alright, mate. I get it. What happens to me if you buy your own pad?

            – You can stay where we are and have the place to yourself or if you’re a good skin, you can stick with me and we’ll carry on like now. Except we probably won’t be skinheads and we won’t have any mates. We’ll be the posh residents of some posh penthouse and have to keep up with the neighbours who fly in from Dubai or some shithole for a week every six months.

            – It’s being such an optimist that keeps you going. What’s to stop us being skins? We could live up the Shard and still be skinheads. It’s Sarf London, innit?

            – What? The Shard? Oh yeah! I suppose it is. Sarf of the River. Very down market. They might have a few flats going cheap. They haven’t been selling very well, from what I hear.

            – Well, that’s settled. The Shard it is. Or how about moving to Chelsea and pissing off all the neighbours by being boot boys?

            – Haha! That sounds more like it. Then what are we going to do? Carry on working? You know how pools winners always say they’re not going to give up their day jobs.

            – Ah’ll still be down t’pit with t’lads.

            – Bunch of wankers. If anyone thinks I’ll be plastering walls after next week, they have another think coming. You know what I’d really like to do?

            – What’s that?

            – Get the sort of body I’ve always wanted.

            – A dick extension, like?

            – Fuck off. No. I would have my left hand off and wear a hook instead.

            – What the fuck! Are you crazy?

            – Probably. I can’t help it. It’s the horniest thing I can imagine. I’m getting a stiffy now just thinking about it. It just seems the way I feel myself. Difficult to explain, really.

            – Well, rather you than me. Is this a new thing?

            – God, no. I’ve felt like this for years and years. Since I was little. Shall we talk about something else?

            – It might be a good idea.

Despite that, the realisation that he could suddenly afford to pay a crooked surgeon to amputate his arm and replace it with a prosthesis played on his mind for the rest of the evening. If he learned to use his left hook well, he might even consider having his right hand off and having two hooks. And why stop there?

 

S U N D A Y

 

Next morning, they awoke half dressed. Neither had bothered to remove their boots or jeans. Both had hangovers and both felt horny. Paul rustled up some stodge made of half fried, half scrambled eggs and sliced bits of sausage and they wolfed it down smothered in ketchup. An hour later they began to feel human again and opened the first beers of the day.

            – We ought to get down the shops and ask them about the jackpot phone number. What do you think?

            – Yeah, come on, let’s go. No point hanging about.

They put on fresh white T-shirts and their MA-1s. They walked in lockstep to the corner shop, two tall, well-dressed skinheads on a mission.

            – Hiya, Ramesh! How’re they hangin’?

            – Very good to see you. All hanging is very good. Now what can I do for you?

            – You know if someone wins something on the EuroVinns thing? What do they have to do if it’s like a bit more than usual? I mean, like, you can’t pay out more than a couple of hundred, can you?

            – Oh, it would be a wonderful thing to pay out a hundred pounds to a lucky winner. No, no. You must telephone to the EuroVinn office and they will tell you what to do. I have the telephone number and the email address if you need. Just a minute, it is here somewhere.

He scrabbled in a drawer under the counter and withdrew a laminated sheet emblazoned with the EuroVinn logo and listing international addresses and contact details.

            – I will write these telephone numbers for you. Is there anything else you would like? The beer in the fridge is nice and cold.

            – Shall we get a sixpack?

            – Go on, then. So if we call this number, they will know what to do?

            – Yes, that is exactly it. I am thinking you have won something. I wish you many congratulations.

            – Thank you, Ramesh mate. How much is the sixpack?

            – Twenty-four fifty, please.

 

Paul carried the freezing sixpack back to the flat. Ryan strode along beside him, keeping pace. It was important to look military, smart, sharp. Once inside, they dropped their jackets on to the couch and went into the kitchen.

            – Make us some coffee, will ya?

            – Coming up.

Ryan pulled his phone out and looked at the number Ramesh had written. He dialled it, not expecting an answer at eleven in the morning on a Sunday but it answered on the second ring.

            – EuroVinn London.

            – Hello. My name is Ryan Anderson and I think I won the jackpot last night.

            – That is excellent news. One moment and I will connect you with our customer liaison officer.

            – They’re putting me through.

            – OK.

            – EuroVinn, Rasmus Olafsson speaking. Good day, how may I help you?

Ryan repeated his credentials and was instructed to cite the twenty digit code printed at the bottom of the ticket. Moments later, Olafsson congratulated him and confirmed his win. He now possessed ninety-seven and a half million euros, about a hundred and fifty million pounds, plus the five hundred and fifty which he still had from last week’s wages.

            – What do I do now?

            – Don’t worry about that, please. Tomorrow at ten, a car will collect you from your home and bring you to our HQ in the City. There you will receive your cheque and meet representatives of our bank. They will explain things concerning your money, like investments. Now, please give me your address for the car tomorrow.

Ryan gave the address and clarified which part of town it was in.

            – Very good, thank you. Congratulations, Mr Anderson. We will meet tomorrow. Have a good day. Bye.

 

            – So what did he say?

            – They’re going to collect me tomorrow morning and take me to their bank somewhere.

            – Unless they want to kidnap you and steal all your money.

            – They will need to wait until I get it first. I’ll have to call work and let them know I’m not coming in tomorrow. Unexpected business matters.

            – You needn’t go in on Tuesday either. Or ever again.

            – No, I suppose not. What am I going to do if I don’t go out to work every day? Sit around watching telly? Or wait for the pub to open and get drunk every day?

            – You could start a hobby. What are you interested in, other than telly and getting drunk?

            – I always wanted a nice camera so I could take good photos.

            – That sounds cool.

            – Yeah, I could get a camera and learn to use it, couldn’t I?

            – Mate, you can do anything in the world now.

 

They went out for Sunday lunch rather than eat the frozen lasagne they had waiting. Two decent plates of steak and chips and a few pints. Very enjoyable. Ryan was careful not to drink too much. He wanted to have a clear head in the morning. They returned home and Paul dozed on the couch. Ryan switched his laptop on and checked a few photo sites for images of arm amputees. He imagined himself tapping away at the keyboard with his own steel hook. What would it be like to have two hooks? He could have a butler or a valet who would dress him and lace up his boots and do everything he could not as a disabled skinhead. As an upper extremity double amputee skinhead with two steel hooks poking out of the sleeves of his MA-1. It would look massively cool. He would have to make some enquiries from one of his contacts who had paid for a leg amputation. The guy walked around with a below knee peg leg. That looked cool as well. He sought out his contact’s direct message address and sent a question. An answer arrived after only a couple of minutes, offering only another familiar nic who might have some info. Ryan typed out a new message to him explaining how he had got the contact details and asked for a reply to his personal email address.

 

Ryan remembered seeing a website which offered prosthetic hooks for sale to people who still had their hands. He had been dismayed by the price but now took another look at the products on offer. He could buy a pair and wear two hooks to see how he liked it. He sent a message asking the site owner if he would export to the UK. A pair would cost well over three thousand pounds but he could afford that now. He looked at the instructions on how to measure an arm for the socket and went to find his retractable steel rule. It was a bit awkward to use. Paul could do it when he woke up.

 

Ryan wondered what he could wear to meet the bank people the next day. He had a black suit jacket and a pair of light grey StaPrest trousers. They were a bit short but that was OK. And he could wear his Doc Marten shoes with the steel toe caps. Nah, ditch the jacket. He’d wear his black MA-1. It looked less typically skin than the olive green. White T and white socks. He would look alright. He ought to buy himself a suit. Something slim and black. Sharp.

 

Paul woke up.

            – Mate! I’ve got a job for you.

            – What’s that?

            – Come and measure my arms. I need some measurements. Get a pen and paper too.

            – What are you up to?

            – Well, you remember I said I wanted a hook? I found out how I can get a pair to wear over my hands. It would look like I’m an amputee.

            – Really? That sounds like fun, actually. Where do you get them from?

            – There’s a bloke in the US who sells them. I wrote to him to ask if he exports here.

            – Right. Well, here’s your measurements.

            – Hang on. I’ll measure you too. It looks like your fists are a bit narrower than mine. Otherwise they’ll fit you too. I’ll let you try ’em on to see how you look as an amputee.

            – I still think it’s crazy but it is a bit horny too.

            – If you like wearing them, I’ll get you your own pair and we can go out together wearing two hooks each.

            – Cool!  I’ll do it if you will.

            – Oh, I’ll do it alright, don’t worry.

 

They watched tv and finished off the beers which were in the fridge. Ryan checked his email a couple of times to see if his contact had replied. Nothing as yet. Marking the end of the weekend, both lads removed their boots and stood them in the hallway.

 

M O N D A Y

 

Ryan woke up just before the alarm sounded. He nuzzled Paul until he woke up and kissed him.

            – Time for brekkers. Are you going in the shower?

            – No.

            – Good. I will. Get up and make some coffee.

Ryan jumped into the shower and Paul reluctantly rolled onto his feet and picked up his underpants on his way to the kitchen. He filled the kettle and went for a slash. Ryan soaped his head and carefully shaved around his hawk. Then he shaved his face and grinned at his reflection in the mirror. He dressed himself in the clothes he had planned. The trousers were short, just a cunt hair too short. He would wear a pair of eight hole DMs instead of shoes and it would look fine.

            – Look at you all dressed up!

            – Does it look alright?

            – Of course it looks alright. You could wear a bin bag and look alright. Don’t forget to phone Thingy and tell him you’re not coming in. You might as well hand in your notice while you’re at it. I don’t imagine you’re all that bothered about plastering that dump this week.

            – Yeah, I’m going to explain that I’ve had some unexpected news which precludes me from working.

            – Precludes, eh? Swallowed a dictionary, have we?

            – Fuck off. Prevents me from working. Is that better? For psychological reasons.

            – And what if the arse bucket says no?

            – Well, he can’t make me go to work, can he? All he can do is stop my wages. As long as I get my insurance card back, I don’t care what he says. And don’t you dare breathe a word of the win to anyone. If you let on, we’ll be flooded with begging letters and we’ll have to move to South America to escape them. In fact, don’t say anything to anyone.

            – Play hard to get, like.

            – Yeah, be hard. And keep your gob shut. Just by the by, do you want to carry on working there? Why don’t you hand in your notice as well?

            – For psychological reasons.

            – Yeah. Tell them that work makes you sick.

            – Ha! They know that already, I reckon. Alright. Are you sure?

            – Of course I’m sure.

            – OK, I will. Thanks mate.

 

Paul ate his cereal and threw his jacket over his work overalls. He was wearing steel capped DMs, eight holers, badly dinged over the toe. Workmen’s boots. He kissed Ryan goodbye and wished him good luck with the bankers. Ryan switched the tv on and learned about conservative voters being unable to keep up their lifestyles due to inflation. Ryan’s union had managed to double his wages in the two years he’d been working. His rent was only about a third as much again but food and beer was at least three times what it had cost a couple of years ago and they hardly ever went on public transport. Twelve quid for a ride on the tube was just taking the piss. Ryan hoped conservative voters’ lifestyles would go all the way down the toilet, especially the rotten cunts who had voted out of Europe. None of this shit would have happened otherwise. He realised he was becoming angry in his own living room and switched the tv off. He would have loved to go abroad to live and work for a year or so, just to see what it was like, but the EU countries rarely issued visas to Brits these days due to the huge number of escapees, as they were called, who overstayed their visas and disappeared completely in countries like Montenegro, Bulgaria or Romania. There were underground networks of unregistered Britons living furtively beyond officialdom and they were becoming a demographic problem.

 

Ryan kept an eye on the street seven floors down. There were a few e-vehicles and the buses of course, but he was looking for something a bit posher. Three minutes before ten, a grey and chrome Mercedes pulled up outside and a woman got out. She touched her phone and Ryan’s rang.

            – Hello, Mr Anderson. We have arrived and we will wait for you outside.

            – Yes, hello. I just saw you pull up. I’ll be there in two minutes.

            – Please bring the winning ticket with you.

The lift was working and Ryan managed to hold his breath for long enough to escape breathing the smell of uric acid. He stepped out of the building feeling sharp and prepared for whatever was to come.

            – Good morning! Are you Ryan Anderson?  Please join us and we can be on our way.

            – Don’t you want to see any ID?

            – Not right now.

Ryan got into the back seat of the car. Rasmus Olafsson introduced himself from the front seat.

            – We spoke yesterday. It’s good to see you.

The woman got in next to Ryan from the street side and announced herself as Mette Eriksen. The car moved off.

            – I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Anderson. Congratulations on your win. We will go now to the City of London and our bank. You will receive your cheque, which of course is only symbolic, and we will give you two bank accounts. Then we will have lunch and afterwards we will show some ways to make the money work for you.

Ryan nodded to show he had understood but could think of nothing to say. He looked at the interior of the car with its built-in screens and automatic bio-adjustable seats. Mette’s screen showed a wide angle view of the road ahead. His own was blank but that was alright.

 

The driver stopped only once to flash his permit at the outer checkpoint. The bollards dropped into the road and their journey continued. They passed Holborn underground station and swooped down a well-disguised tunnel. The journey continued for another few minutes negotiating subterranean passages until the car docked in an illuminated bay and concealing doors folded out from the walls, hiding them from any other traffic.

            – Here we are. Your privacy is guaranteed, Mr Anderson. No-one has seen you and you will meet only EuroVinn representatives until you return home. Come!  Let’s go up to the bank.

 

An express elevator rose for half a minute with the trio. The door opened on a windowless landing with a bronze relief of the company logo facing the lift.

            – Come this way, Mr Anderson. We’ll meet representatives of the bank and some financial advisors. You can ask them absolutely anything and they’ll do their best to help.

 

They entered a room dominated by a window wall with a spectacular view over the city and other nearby City skyscrapers. Ryan shook hands with the small group of people waiting for him, representatives from EuroVinn and their bank, CorpEquity UK A/S. They drank coffee, ate open sandwiches and made small talk before getting down to business. Ryan’s identity was checked and verified again and two accounts were created in his name. One would be a normal current account with an associated credit/debit card for everyday use and the other was an investment account to hold the bulk of his fortune. He was advised to maintain the investment account in euro due to the present uncertain situation with sterling. He was advised on making investments to grow his capital even further and learned how much interest the vast amount would earn by simply letting the money sit in his account. It was explained how to undertake major purchases such as an apartment.

            – Do you have a bank account now, Mr Anderson? We can transfer a sum immediately if you like. The other accounts will be active in two days and we will deliver your credit card to you in person.

Ryan asked for ten thousand pounds to be debited to his usual account.

            – Of course. It will appear tomorrow morning. Bank transfers such as these always take until the next working day. All banks update their accounts automatically overnight, you see.

One of the bank’s reps produced a smart black leather attaché case and placed it before Ryan.

            – This is a small gift to say welcome to CorpEquity. It contains information about the bank and various account formats, investment advice and other matters which may now be of interest to you. There is also a listing of contacts who will help and advise on anything financial. Please feel free to use their services.

 

After another round of congratulation and handshakes, Mette Eriksen and Ryan left the group and descended to the waiting Mercedes.

            – Where would you like to go, Mr Anderson? We can return to your home or anywhere else in town.

            – I think it’s best if I go home first, thanks. I want to change my clothes anyway.

            – Of course. Let’s go, driver. Straight home, please. Well, Ryan, do you have any ideas yet for how to use your money?

            – I think I’ll start looking for a nicer apartment. Get some decent furniture for it.

            – Yes, property is always a good investment. Will you stay in London or do you have another location in mind?

            – My friend said why don’t we live up the Shard.

            – Why not, indeed. Apartments there are still in pristine condition and the selling prices will have reduced considerably due to inflation. And having your capital in euro, you can benefit greatly from the exchange rate. Would you like me to look into properties in the Shard for you? I can send what I find with the courier who’ll bring your credit card on Wednesday. You will be at home, I assume, on Wednesday?

            – Yes, I will. I telephoned my boss this morning and said that something had come up and I wouldn’t be able to return to work. I didn’t say what it was. I think he thought I was ill or something. Anyway, my career as a plasterer is over.

            – I hope you’ll be very happy as a man of leisure. It’s important to find a mission in life, to give life meaning. Life would be boring if you didn’t have anything special to get up for each morning.

 

Ryan arrived home and put his new attaché case in the living room. He took his black straight clothes off and put on a pair of bleachers and white tennis shoes. He would put his thirty-holers on if they were going out tonight. He made some coffee and browsed through the bank’s pamphlets and brochures. He wasn’t interested in making investments and understood exactly nothing about the stock market. The annual interest on his capital alone would generate more money than he would otherwise have earned in ten years.

 

Ryan opened his laptop and visited the fake amputee arms site again. The proprietor had replied to his email and confirmed he could send merch to the UK. He read how to place an order and how to pay. He needed a PayPal account first. He set one up in a few minutes and went back to look at the artificial arms and hooks. He ordered left and right sockets attached to a harness, equipped with Hosmer Five hooks. In addition he ordered two farmer’s hooks. The wrists would articulate. He filled in the form with all his measurements and pressed send. A few minutes later, a message confirming receipt of the order arrived. His hooks were on their way. It was funny really – the first things he purchased with his new money were a pair of artificial arms. He would not tell Paul yet. Let it be a surprise for him to come home one evening and find his mate wearing hooks.

 

Ryan had not had anything to eat since trying a couple of open sandwiches at the bank. It was a bit late for lunch. He intended having a decent meal in the early evening, either somewhere local or ordering in. It would be cool to have a Chinese take-away delivered. He would ask what Paul thought. He glanced at the time. Paul should be home before long. He opened his laptop and pored through his huge collection of photos of arm amputees for inspiration. An email arrived. He clicked it open and saw to his great pleasure that it was from the second tier contact for the voluntary amputation service, someone calling himself The Gardener. The message asked bluntly for Ryan’s motives for wanting an amputation or amputations. It went on to explain that The Gardener could indeed act as a go-between between Ryan and The Harvester, as the final contact was known. The Harvester would conduct psychological testing, study motivation and assess future rehabilitation. A personal visit, a tête-à-tête meeting, would be necessary. It was the intention to produce amputees, not invalids. The Harvester would also liaise with The Surgeon and The Prosthetist. Surely there must be more than one of those, Ryan reckoned. He would think about what to reply. He would have to think logically about his motivation and explain to a stranger why he felt the way he did. He would sleep on it and reply in the morning.

 

Paul arrived home, shagged.

            – We’re a man down at work, mate. Two of us trying to do three men’s work.

Ryan took Paul’s head between his hands and nuzzled his chrome dome.

            – Yeah, sorry about that. I had a busy day too. Had to go in to town to see the banker.

            – And what did he have to say for himself?

            – He was all goodness and light. He gave me my money and opened a couple of bank accounts for me. Mrs Whatsername is looking into buying a flat up the Shard to please you and someone is bringing me my new credit card on Wednesday. Also, I have to ask you if you want to order in some Chinese nosh tonight or go out.

            – Go out? You must be joking. Let’s get some Chinese.

 

T U E S D A Y

 

Paul woke before Ryan the next morning and crept out of bed. He switched the alarm off. He tried to be as quiet as possible but just as he was making coffee, Ryan appeared naked in the kitchen doorway.

            – Make enough for me too. Good morning.

            – Good morning handsome. Do you want cereal or toast?

            – Anything will do. What you’re having. I need a slash.

            – Yeah, I can see.

Ryan saw to his morning ritual in the bathroom including a head shave. Paul had almost finished his breakfast.

            – Did you hand in your notice yesterday?

            – Well, no but I was thinking about it. You know we have to get that flat replastered and painted by the end of the week and I thought it was a bit unfair to drop Kevin in the shit by leaving him all on his own.

            – Well, why don’t you say you’ll work as long as the job takes to finish and then quit?

            – And the other thing is, I don’t want to feel like I’m sponging off you.

            – Well, you’re not sponging if I ask you to stay home with me, as far as I’m concerned. I know we don’t have a lot of room but it would be cool if you could be home with me. And with any luck, we’ll have a new place pretty soon.

            – OK then, I’ll hand in my notice this morning and see the job through. Does that sound alright?

            – Yes. Good.

            – Right. Time I was off. Be good.

 

Ryan thought about going to buy a camera but decided the less stuff he had to move to a new flat, the better. He would wait a few weeks before acquiring more junk. But he could get himself a suit. It didn’t need to be tailor-made. Off-the-peg would be good enough. He checked his phone to see if there were any menswear shops in the neighbourhood. There was one about a mile away. He would stroll down to see what they had on offer. He identified strongly with the skinhead look, if not its values, and had worn boots and shaved ever since he was old enough to decide for himself. But he realised that there would probably be occasions now where it was more appropriate to look more mainstream. He would keep his hawk, though. He went to the bedroom to dress. He picked out a pair of skinny jeans and slipped his feet into his tennis shoes. A white T and he was done. He turned the tv on and watched the end of a news broadcast. The same old thing. He switched his phone to Bluetooth and watched a few YouTube videos on the tv screen. He watched his favourite arm amputee don his harness and explain how his prosthetic arms and hooks worked. Ryan’s penis grew quickly erect and he shifted it to a better position. His hand came away wet with pre-cum. It happened every time he viewed his idol.

 

The shops would be open by now. He put his olive MA-1 on and checked he had keys, wallet, phone. He descended to the street and walked purposefully towards the High Street which had seen far better days. He found the menswear shop and entered. There was a distinctive smell of wood polish and woollen textiles. A thirty-something guy wished him a Good morning.

            – I need a suit. Black, not for funerals though. Sort of fashionable, if you know what I mean.

            – Yes, I know what you mean. Let me show you some of our models.

He approached from behind the counter with a heavy limp. He wore a steel leg brace on his right leg attached to a tall black leather boot almost a foot high. He heaved the rigid leg forward with obvious effort but he did not seem to be in pain nor did he seem fazed by the surprising image he suddenly projected. The boot clanked on the wooden floor.

            – Here’s a double-breasted suit with wide straight legs. You are tall enough to carry the look, if I may say so. The trousers can be exchanged for Oxford bags if you would prefer something more extrovert.

            – How big are the bags?

            – A thirty-six inch cuff. Large enough to impress, but not too large to be impractical.

            – I might have a look at those in a minute. What else have you got?

            – Here is an Italian cut. Single-breasted with narrow lapels, straight trousers with pleats. I think something less slimming would be more appropriate for you. And here is a double-breasted collarless deconstructed suit with crosscut trousers. All the pockets and seams are on the outside but very neat and the trousers always appear creased.

            – No, nothing like that. It looks untidy.

            – Yes, that’s the general idea. To dress in a suit and still be avant garde. And finally, we have a new design. The jacket is short and modelled on old RAF flying jackets. The trousers are similar to jodhpurs with wide thighs and narrow calves. Might I suggest that if you own a tall pair of boots, they would look well worn over these trousers.

            – I want to try those on, and also the first suit with both pairs of trousers.

            – Of course. The changing room is there but first I need to take a few measurements. I will bring you the closest appropriate fit to try. Hold your arms out, please. And splay your legs slightly.

He worked quickly with his tape measure. What a nicely proportioned young man. Any of the standard fittings would be more than suitable.

            – Please remove your outer clothes and I will join you shortly.

 

He turned and crossed to the back of the shop. Ryan went into a cubicle and removed his shoes and jeans. The braced boot clumped closer and the assistant stood by with the clothes he had picked.

            – These are the straight trousers for the first suit, and these are the Oxford bags. Here’s the jacket. Try them on and come out to see how they feel.

 

Ryan tried them on, bags first. They fit around his arse OK and then simply hung to the floor. They looked enormous. Any shoes he was wearing would be covered by the trouser cuffs. He put the jacket on and did up the buttons. Wrapped in the double-breasted suit jacket and with the Oxford bags flapping around his legs, he strode out onto the shop floor and walked towards a full-length mirror. He did not recognise himself but found himself fascinated by the figure in the mirror. The trousers were amazing. He would definitely wear them, somewhere, sometime. He turned back, watching how the material in the trousers flowed with his movement and changed them for the other trousers. They looked much more vanilla. More practical. The jacket was nice, though. Right. He would have all three items, for sure. He tried on the jodhpurs and then the RAF jacket. It was not totally dissimilar from the MA-1 jacket he had worn for years. Puffy with external pockets, sleeves narrowing toward the wrists. The tennis shoes he was wearing spoiled the effect but he could imagine himself lacing up his thirty-holers over the trousers and still looking sharp. Or DM shoes with external steel toe caps. Just a touch of skin. It looked pretty good. He would have these too.

 

            – OK, I’ve decided. I’ll take all of them.

            – Both pairs of trousers with the double-breasted jacket?

            – Yes, if that’s alright.

            – Certainly. Please come to the counter when you have changed.

He clumped back to the stock room and retrieved two large shallow boxes. The idea of wearing a suit with two hooks flashed into his head. The RAF jacket would look cool with short arms down to the elbow and two black sockets below them. He put his jeans and shoes back on and took the RAF outfit to the counter. The assistant had already folded and packed the first suit and its trousers into one of the boxes.

            – Thank you. Will you be paying with cash?

            – No, credit.

            – Very good. That will be a total of one thousand six hundred and ninety, please.

Ryan handed over his credit card and the assistant processed it. To his considerable surprise, the payment proceeded without the slightest call for confirmation. Ryan left the shop with two identical boxes tied with white cord. He thought about what else he needed at home. Cigarettes. He could drop in to Ramesh’s shop and get a six-pack as well. He suddenly noticed a tobacconist’s on the other side of the street and dodged an e-bike on the way.

 

It was more than a tobacconist. The walls were lined with pipes and a large humidor held examples of exotic and expensive cigars. Ryan had never learned to smoke a pipe but he enjoyed a cigar now and then instead of cigarettes. Now he could switch altogether, forever. Ha! He looked at the huge choice but was drawn especially to the large and oversize cigars costing nearly a hundred quid a go. There were short thick ones and long thick ones. Here was a mouthful. Two inches thick and ten inches long. He saw a box of five cigars, thick and long, perfectly proportioned. Inch and a half wide.

            – Can I help you sir?

            – Well yes. I’ll take a box of these Robustos. Then I want two of these Bazukas and a Mucho CentoQuadrante, the long one here.

            – Certainly, sir. Do you have a humidor waiting, sir?

            – No, what’s a humidor?

            – A cabinet to hold your cigars at the correct humidity and temperature so they don’t dry out.

            – Well, no. Do I need one?

            – You must want to keep these fine cigars at their best, don’t you sir? You won’t be enjoying them all in a short period of time, surely?

            – Well, no. I’m just about to move to a new flat. I think I’d better wait a while before I get the humidor but I will take the Robustos. And a packet of Reds.

            – Do you have a cutter and cigar lighter, sir?

            – No, I don’t. What are they for?

The shop assistant explained how a cigar was wrapped and needed to be cut. Ryan had never had a proper cigar before and was interested and enthusiastic at learning something new. The assistant also explained how to light a cigar properly and showed him some butane cigar lighters.

            – Would you also like a can of refill butane?

            – Yes, I suppose so. How much is that lot?

            – Three hundred and seventy-nine pounds please, sir.

Ryan handed over his credit card, much to the assistant’s surprise, and took his package.

            – I’ll be back for the humidor and those big cigars later. Goodbye, thanks.

 

Ryan thought about smoking one of his cigars on his walk home but decided to practise at home first. There was a stylish way of smoking a cigar and then there was the way cigarette smokers smoked them. He wanted to impress.

 

Back at the flat, he changed into the RAF suit and donned his thirty-holers. The white laces looked out of place, otherwise it was a pretty good look. His external steel toe-capped boots had black laces. He could wear those if they went out later. He admired himself in front of the mirror and put one of the fat cigars between his teeth. It had to be at the right angle… so. His face looked erotic. Mouth wide open, stuffed with a cigar which was the size of a big dick, dressed like an airman. He liked it. He imagined himself manipulating his cigar with a hook. That reminded him, he should reply to the Gardener’s email.

 

He changed out of his new suit and put his bleachers on. He thought about going to buy a camera again. Instead, he looked online at a few mirrorless cameras from Canon and Nikon, looking forward to owning such a fine piece of kit. One even had tracking focus. That was a game changer for videos. It was time for lunch so he ordered a pizza. He noticed that he was becoming very spendthrift all of a sudden. He had gone out to buy a suit and bought two. He wanted some ciggies and had spent two hundred on cigars. Well, he thought, once the things were bought, that was it. There was no point in doing the same again tomorrow. He checked his usual bank account. It was down to two figures so he transferred a thousand over from his new current account. Just for pocket money.

 

His pizza arrived and he ate it while it was still warm. He thought about getting a really decent set of kitchen equipment for his new flat and learning to be a chef. It would be something worthwhile doing and better than ordering in a Chinese or kebabs every day. He wondered how Mette was getting on with her enquiries into the Shard apartments. He switched the tv on and connected it to his phone and watched YouTube videos of arm amputees until Paul got home. He freeze-framed an image of a bloke with two hooks holding them over his head and grinning.

            – Hi!  What have you been up to?

            – I bought a suit, in fact, I bought two and a half. I’ll show you in a minute. And some cigars. I’m going to smoke cigars instead of cigarettes. I don’t mean those shitty little ones. I want to smoke big gobstoppers, real jawbreakers..

            – Cool!  Sounds really horny. Is there anything to eat?

            – Look in the freezer. There’s probably something there. I ordered a pizza for lunch. Not hungry right now. Do you fancy a pint?

            – What was it you said the other day? Are my guts any different from yours?

            – Haha! I’ll take that as a Yes. Did you hand in your notice like you said?

            – Oh, yeah I did. They weren’t too happy about it but there’s no problem. If we get finished on Friday, that’ll be my lot.

            – Great!

Paul wolfed his food and the pair of skins went to the local for a few beers.

 

W E D N E S D A Y

 

Ryan swallowed a couple of aspirin and gave two to Paul. He cracked four eggs and made a big sloppy omelette which they slathered in ketchup.

            – How’s your head?

            – Not too bad. You know, it won’t hurt for long but you’ll be tired all day. That sort of head.

            – Yeah, I know. I don’t feel too bad. I might go and get a six pack a bit later on. Just a hair of the dog sort of thing.

Paul nuzzled his mate and left for work. Ryan stared at the greasy breakfast things and decided a dish washing machine would be on his shopping list.

 

He still had that email to write. He moved the dirty plates from the table and found a pen and paper. He would first make a few general notes and tidy them up later.

            – Since being little. Felt hands were too much. Prefer look of even stumps, mental pain. Not disabled with stumps. Intend to use hooks. Affirm identity as hook-using man. Active man not disabled by amputations. Challenging and rewarding. Mental torment stops with correct body image.

Ryan opened his laptop and composed his email to the Gardener. It seemed like a logical and honest explanation. As a final point, he mentioned he was financially independent and would pose no burden to public health services. He ran his text through a spellchecker and sent it.

 

The doorbell rang at ten o’clock. It was the courier from CorpEquity Bank, dressed in white motorcycle leathers and a chrome helmet with the mirrored visor down. He asked Ryan for ID and handed over a brown envelope. Ryan thanked the ghostlike figure who gave him a thumbs-up and returned to the kitchen. He slit the envelope open, finding two more envelopes inside. One contained his new credit card with instructions on how to activate it and the other was a letter from Mette Eriksen.

            – Dear Mr Anderson – I have some bad news regarding the Shard apartments. There are ten in total, standing empty as they have been since the building was completed. The Qatari owners have been unable to sell for their desired price and are unwilling to reduce it. As a result, they have withdrawn the apartments from the market completely and they are no longer available for purchase.

However, I have sought other new high rise apartments which are available and have found one in Canary Wharf in a tower known as South Quay Plaza, designed by Foster & Partners. It is owned by an Emirati citizen but has never been lived in. It has been maintained in pristine condition for five years and the owner now wishes to sell it for a million three hundred thousand. It is on the thirty-third floor with 1,200 square feet, two bedrooms, a fully equipped kitchen and a wide terrace. If you are interested, you may view it at your convenience. Please contact me for further details. Very best wishes…

 

Ryan looked at a map on his phone to see where Canary Wharf was. There was an Underground station and it was on the Docklands Light Railway which he had never ridden on. It might be quite a nice place for a quiet spot to live. Easy to get into town or Stratford for a bit of shopping. He pressed the phone icon and called Mette.

            – Hello! It’s Ryan Anderson. I got your letter and the new credit card. Thank you very much. I have to say, you have found the ideal place for my partner and me. When can we go and see it? Would this Saturday be OK?

            – Hello, Ryan. Nice to hear from you. Yes, it is a lovely flat, and from what I heard, the owner has been there for three nights only in five years. But every week, the place is cleaned and dusted and looks like new. Even the oven has never been used. If you’re interested, I’ll get in touch with the estate agent and we can work out when to meet up. I’m sure Saturday will be fine. Shall I send you a text message when I know for sure?

            – Yes please. Thank you very much, Mette. I’m very excited about this.

            – You’re most welcome. Ryan, it may take some time before the deeds can be transferred since we are dealing with foreigners. All the papers need to be translated into and from Arabic so it will be a slow process.

            – How slow?

            – About six weeks is usual. Not much more than that unless there are problems but I don’t see where there are any problems with this sale.

            – Good. Six weeks is fine. I look forward to hearing from you. Good bye, Mette.

 

Things were coming together very nicely. That was something to look forward to at the weekend even though it might be weeks before they could actually move in. Ryan switched the tv on and reconnected it with his phone. The frozen screenshot of the guy with the hooks was still in memory. He took a photo of it before watching a few more YouTube videos, pausing only to make espresso at eleven. Today he would order some Chinese for lunch, enough for some left-overs for tonight.

 

A niggling thought recurred to him. He had thought about what he could do now he had the time and money. He intended to get himself a camera and learn how to use it. He could make videos for his YouTube channel and learn to edit them, cut the rotten bits out and so on. And when there was a nice kitchen, he could watch videos about cooking food and get better at that too. But what else was he going to do? He was only twenty-two, had trained as a plasterer and was good at that although he did not enjoy the work. It was boring. He needed to find something he was interested in which would help fill his days with something worthwhile. It seemed ridiculous to live in a fancy tower apartment with his best mate and not have anything to do. They would go insane. What did other wealthy people do? He was not interested in owning race horses or yachting or collecting antiques. He would have to ask Mette or someone at the bank. They must have met people with the same problem – lottery winners with shedloads of money and no idea what to do with it. What advice did they get?

 

There was always travel. But it was the same wherever you were. If you were not interested in anything, sitting all day in an Irish pub in Paris or Munich or Stockholm was pretty much the same as sitting with the lads in the local in Clapham. There was no point in going. Especially not now when you needed a visa to go anywhere. He was only interested in artificial arms and getting a genuine pair for himself. Maybe that was it!  He could be a handless hook-user and design new artificial arms and shit! Or test them out. That would be just as worthwhile. He would have to ask the Gardener if he knew anyone who designed artificial limbs for a living. He might be able to find out what you needed to do to get a job like that. It would probably mean going to college or evening school. Or maybe if he had his arms off, he could put himself forward as a professional tester of the latest artificial arms. No, he wanted to use hooks, not turn into a cyborg. Not yet anyway. He sought out a well-worn film of armless soldiers being fitted with old fashioned mechanical arms and hooks in some rehabilitation hospital after the war. They swung their limbless upper bodies to lock their lifeless forearms at ninety degrees and shrugged and struggled to open the hooks. It was horny as fuck. There was one poor cunt who had no legs whatsoever and two completely fake arms. He was strapped into a shitty old wheelchair and flailed his artificial arms around. Ryan went to the bedroom and wanked. The cum hit his chest.

 

S A T U R D A Y

 

Ryan and Paul had arranged to meet Mette and an estate agent on Saturday morning. A car was again coming for them at ten o’clock. Ryan dressed in his new double breasted jacket and the straight trousers with a pair of eight hole boots. Paul wore a standard pair of skinny jeans but was otherwise dressed normally. He had his black MA-1 on.

 

They were waiting in the lobby when the grey and chrome Merc pulled up outside. They stepped out and could see Mette about to call when she noticed them and waved. She got out of the car and greeted them.

            – Nice to see you again, Ryan. Hello! I don’t think we’ve met.

            – Oh, this is my best mate Paul Wright.

            – How do you do. I’m Mette Eriksen, from EuroVinn. Well, let’s get in and we can be on our way.

She got into the front passenger seat and the young men into the back.

            – The estate agent has gone directly to South Quay and will be waiting for us there. His name is Sean Watson and I should warn you in advance that he is disabled, so don’t be too shocked when you meet him.

They imagined someone horribly maimed in a wheelchair.

            – You might like to know a bit more about the apartment. It was first purchased by the present owner after the building was completed five years ago. He’s a financial analyst from Dubai and expected to spend half the year here and half at home. But no sooner had he acquired the apartment, the double crash happened and there was little point in owning property here any longer. Sean Watson told me that the owner has spent exactly three nights in the apartment during all that time. On his last visit, he began arrangements to sell the place and emptied it of his furniture. Shipped it back to Dubai, I expect. So to all intents and purposes, the apartment is exactly as it was on the day the building was completed. Like new.

            – What’s the area like?

            – Most of the neighbouring buildings are commercial space for banks and insurance companies. South Quay was built to attract more of those people to live and work locally so while the apartments are all designed by a world famous architect, they are not too showy or impractical. They’re intended for ordinary people to actually live in.

            – Have you been inside, Mette?

            – No, not yet. I’m as interested to see it as you are. It’s thirty-three stories up and there must be spectacular views from the balcony.

The Merc pressed eastwards through south London and crossed the river at Tower Bridge. Ahead of them, they could see the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf and the financial district. The chauffeur negotiated the narrow streets and activated the entrance to an underground parking hall. Mette had a keycard granting access and took the two men up in a mirror-clad lift to the thirty-third floor. It was only halfway up the building. There was a restaurant or something on the seventy-second which anyone could visit. Paul wondered if they sent take-aways down to the residents.

 

The lift slowed to a stop and opened onto an attractive landing. The doors were wide and tastefully marked with bronze numerals.

            – Three three zero three. Here we are.

Mette held her keycard toward the reader and the door clicked open. Ryan was about to push it when it opened outward towards him. He jumped back quickly. There was another door inside. He opened it, inwards this time, and the others followed him in. A figure stood by the curtain window silhouetted against a backdrop of blue sky. He walked towards them, hands nonchantly in his pockets.

            – Hello! Welcome to South Quay Plaza. Excuse me if I don’t shake hands. I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is Sean Watson and I represent Gatekeeper Properties, acting on behalf of the seller.

Mette introduced the two young men, mentioning that Ryan was the prospective buyer. Out of sheer nervousness, Ryan stuck his hand out to shake Watson’s. Watson hesitated a second and then withdrew his right hand from his trouser pocket. It was not a hand but a steel hook. He proffered it with an apologetic smile and Ryan took it and shook it gently. He began to get an erection. It never failed.      

            – Well, let me show you around. Would you like to admire the view first?

They crossed to the window and felt the shock of being at such a high elevation.

            – Shall we go outside? The door to the balcony is here on the right.

He pulled a handle and the wall slid open. He stepped out and beckoned with his hook to invite the others to follow him. The balcony was wide and deep, almost as good as another room.

            – I opened the balcony windows before you arrived. You can shut them to keep the wind out. Let me show you how they work.

There were several panes of glass folded together at each end of the balcony. Watson tugged one set and the windows unfolded halfway along the balcony. He crossed in front of his audience and pulled the windows from the other side until they met in the middle. The low hum from the city below them was diminished.

            – Now you can enjoy your balcony even if it rains. Unfortunately, barbecuing food and playing music are not permitted here but you can imagine sunbathing on a day like today.

Ryan and Paul looked out over the city and pointed out familiar landmarks. Tower Bridge was immediately recognisable, as was the Gherkin and the Shard. Big Ben was visible if you knew where to look for it. Much closer to where they stood, they could see the DLR railway track below them and a couple of red and blue trains creeping along.

            – Can we see the rest of the flat?

            – Of course. You can see the general layout from here. The entrance is over there but there is no hallway. There is a space to hang coats concealed behind that floating wall. On the right is the kitchen, separated from the living space by the island. And behind the wall over there is a short corridor leading to the two bedrooms, both of which have spectacular views. They have walk-in closets with lots of storage room. Please, go and explore.

Ryan put his arm around Paul’s neck and the two skinheads went to see the bedrooms. A queen-size bed would fit in both of them with space to walk around. The closets would look like small boutiques when all the rails and cubby holes were filled with their clothes and boots. They inspected the railings and hooks for coats hidden near the entry door and went to the kitchen. There was a fridge-freezer, untouched judging by the looks, a cooker with an induction top, a double sink with a mixer tap with only one handle, a dish washer and a built-in microwave. The kitchen island was full of cupboards and drawers and seemed to have a stone surface.

            – What’s this made of?

            – It’s granite.

            – It’s perfect for making food on.

            – Yes, it is.

Ryan turned to Paul and raised his eyebrows. Paul looked around and gave him a thumbs-up.

            – I think we like this flat. I’d like to buy it. Mette, will you help?

            – Yes, of course. Sean, this is your department.

They walked across the heated composite floor and joined the skinheads at the kitchen island. Watson pulled open a drawer and removed a folder and a sheaf of documents. He also withdrew his other hand from his trousers pocket and straightened his papers between two steel hooks. Ryan felt his knees go weak and held on to the edge of the granite worktop.

            – Well, let’s agree on the price. A little history. The property was originally sold for nine hundred thousand. With inflation as it is, the seller requested two million. That was just over a year ago. Because the property has been on the market for so long, he reduced his price twice and it now stands at a million three hundred thou. Which taking inflation into account, is half what he paid for it, but that is by the by. I am told the price is non-negotiable, which means that that is what he wants to be paid. He won’t haggle.

            – I thought that’s what they all did.

            – Shut up, Paul. I’m perfectly prepared to pay the asking price.

            – Excellent. I will inform the seller that we have a buyer and on his confirmation, we will provide you with keycards for access. But first, we can complete the deeds and finalise arrangements with the bank. I should mention that we can do it here now or we could go to our office on Monday.

            – Oh, let’s do it now.

            – Yes, why not?

Ryan watched fascinated as Watson manipulated a seemingly endless number of deeds and documents for him to sign. Mette explained what each one was for. A steel hook nipped each sheet of paper and replaced it with another. Twenty minutes later, Watson had run out of paperwork, collected it all and placed it in his attaché case.

            – That’s it. When the seller acknowledges the sale, the property will be yours after your final signature authorising the bank to transfer funds from your account. You will have to visit the bank for that, I believe.

            – Yes, Ryan, you will have to pay us another visit but we’ll collect you from home, of course.

Ryan assumed that the bank premises were stuffed full of cameras to record proof of every transaction. He was completely correct but did not suspect that the grey and chrome Merc was also a mobile recording studio. EuroVinn took no chances with fraud. These two boys were delightfully naïve and seemed completely honest. Their innocence was charming despite their attempts to appear hard. She rather liked them. Ryan looked very handsome in his new suit, despite his ugly boots. Watson closed his case and put it on the floor.

            – Do you have any other questions at this time? Would you like to stay a little longer?

            – Well, I think I’ve seen the flat but, Mr Watson, may I ask how you lost your hands?

            – Oh! People often ask. Yes, well, it was an industrial accident. I was showing a chemical factory to a prospective client and accidentally knocked a ceramic jar from a shelf. Its contents splashed onto my hands and trousers. Unfortunately, it was one of the strongest acids and it destroyed my hands immediately. You may not have realised but I am also wearing two artificial legs. They were not destroyed immediately but I chose amputations rather than experience a decade of skin transplants.

            – That’s awful. I have to say I like the look of your hooks, though. They look good on you.

            – Thank you, Mr Anderson. I think so too. It was a painful experience to go through but I like my artificial limbs and I wouldn’t want to change back now even if I could. I can do practically anything I want. It just looks different. Right. If you’re ready, shall we leave and I can get these papers to the translator.

            – Yes, thank you for your time.

            – Don’t mention it. I hope you will be very happy here. It’s a wonderful apartment.

 

The chauffeur opened the car’s door for them and, as before, Mette asked if they should go directly back to their flat. She explained that Ryan would receive copies of all the necessary deeds and other papers when the transaction was complete. She asked how Ryan would be furnishing the place.

            – Oh, modern, of course. I don’t want any Chippendale stuff. I can’t understand how people can move into a modern space and fill it with two hundred year old shit they don’t dare use in case it breaks. I want to find a good design company and get everything from them. So everything matches.

            – I think you are in the best possible situation for that. Why don’t you spend the next few days looking around furniture showrooms? You might like Italian, which is more elegant or the Scandinavian look, which is stark but very ergonomic.

            – We have a lot of IKEA at home. That looks OK too.

            – Oh, but that’s Swedish. Look at Finnish things instead. If you can remember the name, search for Aalto. Shall I write it down?

            – No, I can remember that. This is fun. A whole flat to furnish at once. It’s great!

            – I’m happy to see you enjoying your money, Ryan. Big plans to do what you want.

            – Exactly that!

Ryan was thinking more about how Watson had flashed his hooks and used them like ordinary hands. He was determined to be the same way and as soon as possible. There was nothing in the apartment which could not be used by a man with two hooks. Even the stove. Probably. He should have tested it. But phones would work. Watson had used his phone several times to call up info.

 

Back home, they decided to make do with sandwiches for lunch. They wanted to go out that evening and would have a good meal then. Ryan changed out of his suit into bleachers and began the process of lacing his thirty-holers. How would he manage this with hooks? Slowly, probably. It was slow enough already, especially if you wanted a neat result. It was one of the challenges to look forward to. Ryan looked at several websites featuring modern interiors for ideas. There was a lot of space to fill in the new flat but it would also look cool with just a few good pieces of furniture. Maybe something like a black leather sofa which would not look dirty if they put their boots on it. What were they going to do with their present furniture? There was nothing actually wrong with it. It would be a pity to dump it all in a skip. Maybe he could invite his mates around and let them take it. They could sell it on if they had no use for it. With any luck, they would be able to move into the new flat carrying only a suitcase. Which he would also have to buy, never having needed one. Paul would want to take his huge tv with him. He could put it on his bedroom wall and they’d have something more sensible in the lounge. Some decent speakers would be cool too for streaming.

 

So many things to think about.

 

They ate in a Korean restaurant for the first time that evening.  It was like Chinese except it tasted spicier. Nice. They went to the nearest pub and sat outside in the overgrown beer garden. It was a bit of a dump but it was fun to sit outside. Ryan had brought one of his large Robusto cigars and fired it up. He tried to remember to hold it between his teeth at a jaunty angle. It tasted odd compared with ciggies but it went well with the lager. Paul watched him and admired how handsome the cigar made him look. Ryan was a good-looking bugger anyway. There wasn’t much he could do to look foolish.

 

S U N D A Y

 

Their hangovers were mild. Ryan woke up first with a massive erection and went for a slash. The erection stayed. He got back into bed and blew on Paul’s eyes to wake him up. It was such a good trick. You could wake someone up and they had no idea that they had been woken deliberately.

            – Good morning, lover boy. I am fucking horny so turn over and hold on.

            – Oh fuck, let me have a piss first, mate!

            – Go on, then. Hurry up! Bring the vaseline if you want.

Paul returned with a tube of grease and put a generous dab on his anus. He threw himself onto the bed and lay face down, spread-eagled. Ryan climbed across his back and ordered him to raise his arse. He poked about until his penis found the right spot and lunged in. Paul gasped but was used to Ryan’s assaults. He knew to relax his arsehole as much as possible. Ryan rode him for several minutes until he climaxed and fell against Paul’s back. Paul lay flat on the bed with his twitching cock bent under him. Ryan rolled off him. Paul got up and went to the bathroom. He wiped his clammy arse with toilet paper and rinsed his hands. He stood under the shower and wanked for a minute or so until his cum splattered against the wall.

 

It was not a bad way to start Sunday morning. He went to the kitchen to start coffee.

 

Having eaten some cereal and brewed a second batch of coffee, Ryan sat down to watch some YouTube. The Spanish quad had a new video. He had a new motor bike and was explaining how he had altered the controls. Ryan liked him because he never used bionic hands, only body powered hooks and clamps. And his legs were always steel pylons in shorts. He was great. It would be nice to know what he was saying but the pictures were enough.

            – Paul! Do you want a six pack?

            – Are you going down the shops?

            – Yeah, I want some beer.

            – Alright. Get me one too, mate.

Ryan found an old plastic carrier bag and rolled it up. He took his wallet from his jacket and strolled down to the corner shop.

            – Good morning, Ramesh. How’s life treating you?

            – Oh, very well, thank you. What would you like? We have some cold beer.

            – Yeah, I want two six packs. Listen, Ramesh, your fridge is too cold. The beers don’t taste so good after they’ve been practically frozen.

            – Oh, I am sorry to hear that. My fridge is at four degrees.

            – Yeah, that’s too cold. Think of the leccy you could save if it was eight.

            – Are you sure? Eight is cold enough?

            – Yes. It wouldn’t freeze your teeth.

            – Very well. I will change it now. Thank you. I do not drink alcohol but I try to make my beers freezy cold like in the television advertisements.

            – Yeah, that’s too cold. Don’t believe in advertising, Ramesh. How much do I owe you?

            – Fifty-four pounds please.

            – It’s gone up!

            – Yes, it is the inflation. Where it will end, I do not know. I am very sorry.

 

There was an email waiting for him on his return. They both opened a beer and sat facing each other over the kitchen table. Ryan looked at the message. It was from the Harvester.

            – i have been informed by the gardener that you may be a suitable candidate. work will be done in or near switzerland. ensure you have suitable passport and visa documents. inform me when you are ready to travel. i will interview you first to ensure your integrity and pass you forward for practical work. total time from arrival to departure 22 days.

            – Shit! I have to get a passport.

            – What for?

            – To have my hands off. They do it in Switzerland or somewhere. That’s what it says, in or near Switzerland.

            – Fucking hell, Ryan!  Are you really seriously going ahead with it? I thought you were just mucking about.

            – Paul, have you ever known me to muck about?

            – Well, no.

            – And I’ve told you many times how horny hooks are, haven’t I? It was torture seeing Watson yesterday using his just like they were the most natural things in the world and he’s only had them for a couple of years. I want to be like him - steel hooks instead of hands and doing everything with my hooks and in the evening when we go to bed I want to feel you with my stumps. How would you like to be jerked off by a couple of arm stumps, Paul?

            – I don’t know! I can’t imagine it.

            – Do you know what I’m thinking? It would be cool if I had my hands off and you had leg stumps. I’d like to fuck your arse without your legs in the way.

            – Well, how would I get around?

            – Ever heard of a wheelchair? You could have artificial legs right up to your arse and totter about on them. Then when I want to make love to you, I could whip them off and your arse would be waiting for me. How does that sound?

            – I don’t know. It sounds a bit extreme to me. But I like the idea of using a wheelchair. I could do that in the flat, couldn’t I? Nice big area to wheel around in. And no-one around there knows me. If I used a wheelchair when we move in, I could sit in it all the time and no-one would be any the wiser.

            – That sounds like a plan. Would you be willing to do that? Be a wheelchair user?

            – Well, if you’re having your hands off, I don’t see the problem with a wheelchair. OK, let’s do it. You know, the more I hear about you reshaping your body, the more I want to try it too.

            – When you get used to being in a wheelchair, it won’t matter if you have legs or not. You’d always be on wheels anyway.

            – You got any videos of wheelchair users? Let’s see what they get up to.

 

Ryan looked into applying for a passport. He needed two photos and a recommendation from someone in authority. A doctor, a lawyer, a banker. He knew a couple of those. He sent an email requesting an application form. He could have downloaded one but they had no printer. He looked at visa requirements for Switzerland. Just an online notification and the supplied code number was enough.  Ryan sent a reply to the Harvester. applying for a passport. will contact later. thank you.

 

They finished their beers and ate the frozen lasagne at last. They went back to bed after lunch and slept until four. They finished off their beers and entertained themselves watching YouTube videos of happy amputees until midnight.

 

M O N D A Y

 

It was Paul’s first day of leisure. No need to rush off to work. It felt just like a weekend though, nothing special. They got up a little later than usual. Ryan intended visiting some furniture showrooms in town.

            – Do you know what? We should get ourselves travel passes for the buses and tube. It works out cheaper and you don’t have to faff around buying tickets all the time.

            – OK. Ryan, can I ask you something?

            – If you insist.

            – Er, what shall I do for pocket money now I’m not working?

            – Oh, I forgot all about that. Shall I give you a couple of thousand every fortnight or would you like a bigger amount once a year?

            – I think every fortnight would be better. Thanks a lot, Ryan.

            – Don’t mention it.

 

They left soon after rush hour quietened and walked the half mile to the closest Underground station. They left their jackets at home. It was hot enough to wear just bleachers and T-shirts. Both had tennis shoes instead of boots. Ryan carried the attaché case he had received from the bank. They filled out a couple of application forms at the station info and Ryan paid five hundred for credit on their travel passes which they slipped into their phone cases. They tried entering by flashing their phones at the reader and the barrier opened. Success!

 

Ryan had the addresses of three showrooms. The first one specialised in Italian leather sofas and armchairs and sleek cabinets and shelving units. The second on the list displayed the Scandinavian and Finnish classics. And the third was a Scottish company which produced experimental pieces from unlikely recycled materials. There were some fun pieces made from galvanised steel and plastic which might look good on the balcony. They were weatherproof too. He sat in as many chairs as possible until he found one which felt exactly right. He collected as many brochures as he could get away with and stashed them in the attaché case. They left all three showrooms without buying anything but with a few interesting ideas. They decided to have some pub grub and a couple of beers for lunch and encountered a shop selling mobility aids. Electric scooters, in particular.

            – Let’s see if they have any wheelchairs. You can try one out and see how it feels.

            – OK, let’s do it!

They entered and were immediately approached by a salesman with a severe limp.

            – Hello!  Can I help you?

            – Yes, I hope so. My friend is about to have a surgical procedure and will need a wheelchair during his recovery. It needs to be lightweight and sporty.

            – Our sports wheelchairs are here. You’re about six foot, aren’t you? Your chair should probably be a larger size than usual. Try this one. It should feel supportive, not too wide. Grip the wheels for a moment.

He inspected the position of Paul’s shoulders, hips, hands and feet.

            – That needs a few minor adjustments but looks otherwise suitable. You could try this one. Its wheels are splayed for greater stability but that makes it slightly less responsive than the other model.

            – I liked the first one better. It rolls more easily.

            – How is the wheelchair delivered? Does it come in one piece or does it have to be assembled?

            – It comes in pieces for assembly but if the customer wishes, we can assemble it here according to the customer’s dimensions so it is ready for use immediately.

            – Is it a difficult job?

            – No, not really. There are clear instructions and all the necessary tools are provided.

            – I see. Paul, how do you feel about that one? Shall we get it? I would prefer to wait a few days before collecting it, if that’s alright. We have some alterations to make at home first and there is no urgent need. But I could pay now if you could hold on to the chair for us.

            – That would be fine. You can collect the chair any time up to a fortnight after purchase.

            – Sounds fine.

Ryan paid for the wheelchair and they left with the receipt, a copy of the assembly instructions and the model’s brochure.

            – We’ll collect that as soon as we get the keys to South Quay. You can be in a wheelchair from Day One.

            – Good. I’m looking forward to it.

            – You didn’t need much persuading, Paul. Have you secretly been interested in wheelchairs all along?

            – Well, sort of, but I made my mind up when we watched those wheelchair vids. It’s such a cool way of getting around.

            – Great!  And now for some lunch. Shepherd’s pie and two beers. Howzat?

            – Yup. Do you know what I’d like to do? Let’s go to South Quay and have a look around the area.

            – Good idea. Alright, let’s go. We can see what the DLR is like. There was a station right outside, did you notice? I don’t know what it’s called, though.

            – Well, we can see our building from the train when it goes over that bridge. It’ll be the next stop.

They found a tube station at the end of the street and looked at the map.

            – Oh, there’s a stop called South Quay. That must be the one. Let’s change at Bank.

They descended into the station and caught an eastbound train. At Bank, they had to negotiate interminable tunnels for about five minutes before arriving at the DLR terminus. A Lewisham train was ready to depart. Without a driver, it was possible to see the track directly ahead. The train was soon on the surface and crawled along between high rise buildings, providing a novel view of the city. Ryan studied the route diagram and noticed that trains ran from South Quay both to Bank and Stratford. He knew there was a large shopping centre there which might come in very handy. He was thinking about Paul being in a wheelchair. Most of the Tube would be off-limits but the DLR was completely accessible.

 

The train crossed a bridge over a stretch of water and swung around a ninety degree curve into South Quay station. Ryan and Paul got out and descended to street level. They stood looking in wonder at the enormous building which would soon be their home.

            – Our flat must be around the other side. This isn’t what we could see from the window, is it?

            – No. If this is the south side, our flat faces west. We’ll be able to see the sunsets. Well, shall we have a look around? Looks like a few shops over there.

They crossed the road and walked past a few young blokes swigging lager from cans. One or two eyed the skins. There was a supermarket and a parade of smaller commercial spaces, nail bars, a women’s hairdresser.

            – Not much here, is there? Let me check if there are any pubs around here.

He studied a local map on his phone.

            – There’s a pub on the other side of the station and a bit further down there’s a Chinese restaurant which does deliveries.

            – There’s a restaurant at the top of our building too which might do takeaways but we’ll probably have to go and collect the food ourselves.

            – I didn’t know that. We’ll have a look at that later on. Shall we check out that pub, see if it’s any good?

            – I’m with you.

 

The pub was called The South Quay Inn and had a row of tables outside on the wide pavement. There were cars parked here and there but no traffic. The tables were in the shade so they decided to sit outside. Ryan went in and returned with a couple of pints.

            – Twelve fifty each.

            – I’ll get the next ones. Want a ciggie?

            – You know, I think I’ll ditch cigarettes and stick with cigars from now on.

            – You didn’t bring any with you, did you?

            – No. It takes a couple of hours to get through a big cigar. It’s not something to smoke if you don’t have the time to enjoy it. I’m looking forward to sitting back on the balcony watching the sky and smoking a humungous cigar.

            – Can I try one of yours? I might like them.

            – Help yourself. We should try to find a tobacconist closer to here. I found that shop near home by accident the other day but I don’t want to have to go there to pick up cigars every time I run out. Maybe there’s one at Westfield. Shall we go there next, just for a quick look around? We can catch the central line back from there.

            – Yeah. It’s good having a travel pass. We’d never have buzzed around like this before.

            – True enough. Not that we had much reason to. We couldn’t afford to go anywhere special in any case.

            – No. Do you want another one?

            – Why not?

Paul got up and went inside. Ryan daydreamed about enjoying a big cigar wearing hooks and suddenly realised he ought to let the non-amputee hook maker know his new address. He sent an email and hoped the package was not yet on its way..

 

They drank up and caught a train to Stratford. The vast shopping centre was showing its age. It had never become a community centre as its planners had intended. There were the usual chain stores, lots of empty premises, nothing tempting. They returned home in the early evening, stopping in at Ramesh’s corner shop for a six pack.

 

 T H U R S D A Y

 

A text message arrived from Mette shortly after nine.

            – sale 99% complete. we need your signature. when is convenient? today? tomorrow?

            – Do you fancy a ride into town? The flat will be ours after I sign for it. They’ll come and collect us.

            – Yeah, let’s go today. We could start taking stuff to the new flat if we get the keys.

            – What sort of stuff?

            – Well, the spare mugs and knives and forks. Sheets. That sort of shit.

            – Let’s just order a removals outfit to do it for us. All in one go.

            – OK. Tell her to come and get us.

            – hi mette. today is fine. when can you get here?

            – 11:00 outside your flat

            – ok

The Merc pulled up at five to eleven. Mette was not in the car this time. The chauffeur recognised the pair and raised a gloved hand in greeting. The car sped across London, into the City tunnel network and the trio rose to EuroVinn’s office. Two representatives from CorpEquity were also waiting for them. Mette spoke on their behalf.

            – The seller has acknowledged and approved the sale of the South Quay Plaza property. He wishes you blessings and happiness. Now we need your final signature, Ryan, and the funds will be transferred from your account to his and the property will be yours. If you wish, we can keep the official documents and deeds et cetera in our safe until you are settled in your new home.

            – Yes, that would be helpful. Shall I sign now?

            – Read it through first to check the details are correct, Ryan.

Ryan did so and placed his most legible signature on the dotted line. He pushed the paper over to the banker who thanked him and congratulated him.

            – Here are two key cards. They operate the residents’ entry door from the street, all facilities like storage rooms, the daycare centre and so on. And of course, the door to your apartment. You can also open the door with a seven digit code number which is in this envelope. Learn it by heart and don’t share it with anyone.

            – Thank you.

Ryan handed a key card to Paul. The bankers rose and made an exit. Mette escorted them to the lift.

            – Well, you must be relieved to have that behind you. I hope you won’t mind me asking but have you arranged things like broadband and electric and water supplies? You’ll need to terminate the present agreements at your old flat.

            – Oh, I didn’t think of that.

            – Don’t worry. We have a check list of the things which need to be done with a new property. Just a moment while I find a copy.

She turned in her chair and opened a drawer in the low wooden cupboard behind her.

            – Here it is. Obviously you can ignore things like gas supply, which you don’t need, and refuse collection, which is done communally for the entire building but here are the phone numbers and website addresses for the services you’ll need. You’ll be able to arrange everything online, I’m sure, unless you want to change supplier. Call me if you’re unclear about anything.

            – Thank you, Mette. This is very useful.

            – Oh, and I also have a contact for the company which has been cleaning the apartment for the past five years. As you have seen, the place was spotless and perhaps you might like to use their services in future too.

            – That would be great.

            – Here it is. CareClean. Give them a call. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear from you.

            – Thank you for all your help, Mette. We’re very grateful about how easy this has been.

            – Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help. Well, if you’re leaving, just tell the chauffeur where you’d like to go.

She walked along the hallway with them and called the lift. Moments later, Ryan and Paul were standing by the Mercedes wondering where to go.

            – I know! Let’s go and get your chair. We can take that to South Quay. What street was the shop on?

            – Jermyn Street.

            – I should have brought the receipt. I don’t suppose it matters. If it’s the same guy in the shop, he’ll remember us. Driver, would you drop us off in Jermyn Street, please?

            – Of course, sir.

 

The salesman with the limp did indeed remember the two skinheads.

            – No, it’s not a problem, sir. The wheelchair is in its package waiting for collection. Would you like me to assemble it for you?

            – What do you think, Paul? We can carry it down the escalators and after that, it’s all accessible. Yes, please assemble it. I’m sure you will know how to adjust the dimensions correctly for the user.

            – Very good, sir. Please excuse me for a moment.

He limped heavily on his left leg. As he turned, his trouser leg flattened and it was obvious that the entire leg was narrow pylons. He fetched the package and placed it on a low bench at the back of the shop. The components were soon spread out for assembly. Paul watched the process carefully. It was not complicated after all. The salesman lifted the wheelchair to the floor and asked Paul to test it. He looked carefully at Paul’s centre of balance over the main wheels, the position of the low back rest and the width of the seat.

            – Can you get your palms between the sides and your thighs, sir?

            – Yes, just about.

            – But it’s a tight fit? Good, that’s how it should be. Will you require the safety belts fitted?

            – I’m not sure. If you attach them now, we can remove them later, can’t we?

            – Oh yes, quite easily.

Ryan spoke.

            – Excuse me for asking, but you’re disabled yourself, aren’t you?

            – Well, differently abled, sir. I lost my leg to cancer when I was fourteen. It was removed from the pelvis.

            – So you have no stump?

            – No sir. The prosthesis is held on by a half bucket.

            – And you wear the leg without any covering? I noticed the outline of your artificial leg when you walked.

            – I prefer it that way, sir. I will always walk with a severe limp and the outline which you have noticed yourself provides a wordless explanation on many occasions. If it looked like a natural leg, more inquisitive people would ask what my problem is. As it is at the moment, it should be obvious.

            – That’s a good idea. I respect that.

            – Thank you, sir. Well, the chair is ready for you. I hope it will be of good service to you, sir.

            – Cheers, mate. Paul, will you push it? Bye!

 

They waited outside the shop. Paul lit a cigarette.

            – While we’re in town, we could start ordering some furniture. That Italian place is just around the corner. Shall we get the lounge kitted out?

            – You know what you want?

            – Yup. Come on! Let’s get spending. And after that, we’ll go to the Scottish place and get the balcony done. You know, that metal and plastic stuff?

            – Yeah!  I sat in one of the chairs and it was really comfortable even though it was solid as a rock.

            – You won’t be sitting in any of the chairs though, will you, Paul? You’ll be sitting in your wheelchair. And it might just be that one day we’ll be able to throw that footplate away.

            – I’ll be a legless torso which you can put in the best position to be fucked.

            – Have you been reading my mind?

            – No, but I’ve been watching your favourite videos with you. I know what you like looking at. It doesn’t take much imagination to guess what you want from me.

            – And you don’t mind? You’ll stick with me regardless?

            – You’re paying, mate. I’m just along for the ride. I don’t want to go back to plastering walls. I don’t mind the idea of being limbless if we’re together.

            – If you’re a good skin, I might leave you with a bit of stump and you can use artificial limbs. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

            – Yes. Short little stubbies to waddle on and fake arms with pincers like a fucking lobster.

            – Christ! You’re turning me on. OK, Lobsterboy, let’s get going.

Paul threw his cigarette end into the gutter and the skins strode off towards Regent Street, Paul pushing his wheelchair in front of him. The one-legged wheelchair salesman listened to their conversation which the security CCTV had captured on video later in the afternoon. He nodded and smirked. He knew wannabes when he saw them.

 

Ryan made Paul wait outside the shop with his chair while he arranged delivery for Saturday morning of a three meter long black leather sofa which curved ninety degrees throughout its length. He bought a matching armchair, whose comfort had persuaded him to buy the entire suite. The salesman suggested the matching footrest and Ryan agreed it would look cool. Ryan selected a dark wood and steel coffee table and a matching long and low cabinet. The new flat screen and speakers would sit on it. And his humidor. Ryan paid what he thought of as two year’s wages and rejoined Paul.

 

            – That’s going to look fantastic. Shame you won’t be sitting on it for long. Let’s get the terrace stuff next.

            – Ryan, don’t take this the wrong way, but how can you be so sure I’ll be able to have the amputations we want? I mean, you’re having to got through psychological tests in Switzerland, for god’s sake. I can’t just turn up and say I’ll have what he’s having.

            – Because like you said, I can buy fifty yachts if I want. I can pay a crooked surgeon to whip your arms and legs off to the specifications I want. How much would it take? He does two hours of lop and chop and I pay what he needs to silence his blackmailers or buy his new house extension.

            – Alright, that sounds reasonable enough.

            – Good. Wait here. Have a smoke. Won’t be long.

 

Before even starting, he warned the salesgirl that he had a large order but that it had to be delivered in two days time on Saturday. She checked her calendar and asked if three o’clock might be suitable. Ryan was amazed that things were coming together so well.

            – Right. I was in here a few days ago with my mate and we tried out some of the recycled stuff which we want for our balcony. We want three chairs, a table or two and something like a set of shelves to store our beers on.

            – Let’s go and have a look.

Morag McAláinn had worked in the shop for three months but she had never had a customer who wanted to buy so much at one time. She had grown up in Glasgow, on the cheaper side of town and knew all about neds and chavs. But this skinhead was different. He had a self-assurance and good humour about him which was attractive. And he had a grand face. And a nice body. His package was fairly grand too. She saw his tennis shoes and knew he would rather be wearing tall black leather boots over his bleachers. What a great looking lad.

            – Right. I want three of these chairs. And two of these little square tables. And something like a rack where you put pot plants. Except I’m going to put tins of lager.

            – Haha! You are funny. You don’t need to tell me things like that. How many shelves do you want? We have the six pack size here, or the two pack like this one.

            – You’re pretty funny yourself. I’ll take the two pack, please.

            – I’ll tell you what else you need.

            – What’s that?

            – A rubbish bin to throw your empty tins in. Look at this.

She showed him a fifty centimetre cube of thin galvanized steel standing on melted plastic legs which looked like branches or twigs on a tree.

            – How come you thought of that?

            – I know what you lads are like. You either leave your cans in neat little rows for someone to pick up or else you like to throw them into something like this.

Ryan looked at the pert smiling face of the girl with the almost impenetrable accent who looked him in the eyes and laughed.

            – When it’s all ready, I want you to come and have a beer with us. Will you do that?

            – I will indeed. I look forward to it. Is that all, now? Where shall we deliver it?

 

Ryan left with a delivery notice for Saturday afternoon, a receipt and Morag’s mobile number. They had laughed and joshed all the time. She was great. If Ryan had not been gay, he would have flirted with her. As it was, Morag thought he was doing exactly that.

 

            – How’s it going, mate? You’ve had to sit there for quite a bit. Do you want to roll along to Bond Street tube? There’s a lift to the platform.

            – Let’s try it. Did you get what you wanted?

            –Yeah. I invited the salesgirl to see our balcony when it’s ready.

            – What the fuck?

            – Wait ’til you meet her. She’s great.

            – Well, if we’re having people round, hadn’t we better get some beds and some kitchen stuff? I can’t imagine announcing to everyone at eleven that we have to all leave so Ryan and Paul don’t miss the last bus home to Peckham. We might as well move in on Saturday.

            – Well, if the power is on by then, why not? I don’t care if we see out this month’s rent in Peckham. Fuck it.

            – We’d better get rid of the furniture as well. Phone Chris and Mark and all the rest and tell them to bring their mates around as well. Say we’re giving away everything because we’ve signed up for the army. No, don’t say anything. Just say Come and get it!

            – I’ll do that. Send everyone text messages. And we still need a van and driver for the rest of our stuff.

 

It was a tight timetable. Ryan sent the text messages from the DLR. He found a one-man removal company who would deliver some stackable crates that evening for them to pack stuff into. They would have to take their beds, not having bought new ones.

 

Paul wheeled himself from the train at South Quay and they found the lift to the street. Ryan held onto the chair as they crossed to their building’s main entrance. Paul would have to practise wheelies before he felt confident negotiating kerbs. They left the wheelchair inside the flat and checked that the electricity and water supply worked. Satisfied, they returned to the station and headed home.

            – I think I’m going to buy some cigars and the humidor thingy to keep them in. Do you want to come and pick out a few for yourself?

            – Why not? Let’s do that. And then I need a beer. Thirsty work, this wheelchair business.

 

They left the tobacconist’s with a humidor the size of a microwave oven and a dozen long and thick cigars. Paul bought his own butane lighter and cigar cutter.

            – Let’s take this stuff home first and then go for a beer.

An hour later, the two skinheads were enjoying the first beer of the day after eating some hearty pub grub. Ryan kept an eye on the time, not wanting to miss delivery of the removal crates. Three beers were enough. Ryan wanted to get back to start sorting things out. Chris and Mark had replied to their text messages and said they would have the sofa and coffee table if it was still going.

            – come and get it!

 

Ryan’s passport application form had arrived. He still needed a couple of photos. He filled out the form, carefully checking the post code for his new address, and would go to a photo place on the main street the next day. The doorbell sounded at seven. A six foot six tall muscular guy in a ripped T-shirt, shorts and with diagonal black stripes tattooed across his face wished them Good evening and handed over ten stackable plastic crates.

            – What time shall I come round on Saturday, mate?

            – Is eight o’clock too early?

            – Nah, that’s fine. You got a lot of stuff?

            – Only what we can fit in these crates. We’re not taking any furniture except our beds and that’s only IKEA stuff. And the tv.

            – See you Saturday morning, then.

 

S A T U R D A Y

 

The lounge was empty. Chris and Mark had borrowed someone’s trailer and took as much as they could. The sofa, an armchair, the coffee table, a rickety wardrobe and almost all the crockery. They were satisfied with a story about Paul finding a decent job in East London and the pair of them moving to a flat nearby. How they could still hang out. The rest of their junk went into the building’s recycling bins, including a good number of faded and stretched T-shirts and ripped bleachers. Paul brewed coffee just before eight and the giant’s arrival.

            – All set?

            – As ready as we’ll ever be. Want some coffee?

            – Alright, thanks.

They stood in the kitchen sipping the hot coffee.

            – Quite a change for you, moving to South Quay, I reckon. Bit more upmarket than Peckham.

            – Yeah, we were lucky to get a flat there. Getting some new furniture today as well.

            – Nice. Right, I’m gonna get started. I’ll take the big stuff first then we can fit the crates around it.

Ryan and Paul had stripped their beds and removed the mattresses so they could stand the bedframes on their edges. Stripy picked one up and carried it out to the hall, then the second. He called the lift and shoved the frames inside. Five minutes later he was back for the mattresses. Ryan and Paul stacked the crates of clothes and necessary things by the lift. The huge tv was the last item. In Stripy’s huge embrace, it looked almost small.

            – OK, we’ve got all your stuff in the van. What do you have to do with the water and electric? How about your door keys?

            – Thanks for the reminder, mate, but we’ve got all that under control. I just turned the mains off and I can’t do anything with the water and the landlord said to forget about returning the keys because he’s updating the locks to electronic.

            – And you have keys for the new place?

            – Yeah, right here.

            – OK, I’m just checking. You’d be surprised how many times I have to leave a load of furniture on the street while I drive some customer around town trying to get his new keys from somewhere.

Paul pulled his key card out and flashed it in Stripy’s vision.

            – I’ve got mine, anyway.

            – Right. Wave the old place goodbye. Off we go.

The electric van accelerated gently to thirty. There was little other traffic other than buses. They overtook them stuck in their bus lanes which were originally designed to speed them along but now acted as choke points. They crawled across Tower Bridge behind a convoy of buses and turned right through the Hamlets. They swerved around the remains of a funeral pyre and pressed on into the narrow street network beneath the behemoth financial district buildings.

            – Hey, I just thought. We could use the lift from the garage. Drive around the corner and wait outside the garage door and I’ll open it.

Ryan jumped out and let the van inside. He jogged in front of it and guided it to their parking bay. Their possessions were shortly stashed inside three three oh three. Ryan asked if Stripy would like some coffee.

            –Well, thanks but I have to be getting on. I have another job on this morning. Walthamstow to Leystonstone.

            – Thanks for your help.

Ryan settled his bill and showed him the successful transfer of funds. Stripy gave a salute and Ryan activated the lift for him.

            – Shall we take the beds first? Which room do you want to use?

            – If we put these into the far room, we can put the new bed into the first bedroom. I like that one more.

            – Alright. Grab hold.

There was a sound like the start of an station announcement.

            – What the fuck was that?

            – Is that our doorbell? I’ll go and have a look.

There was a speaker set into the wall by the door. Ryan pressed a button labelled talk.

            – Hello?

            – Hi! We’re delivering some furniture for Anderson.

            – That’s me. Come in.

Ryan buzzed them in and went out to call a lift. There must be a way to make the lift available to visitors or deliverymen but no-one had explained it. He went downstairs and found his new lounge furniture in the lobby.

            – That won’t fit in the lift. What the fuck do we do now?

            – These high-rises have a cargo lift somewhere.

            – Oh. Well, we’re only just moving in. I don’t know where it is.

            – Press the button on the wall there. It’ll put you through to the concierge people. Ask them.

Ryan looked dubiously at the deliveryman but pressed the button. A clear voice answered.

            – Enquiries. Please state your address and the problem.

            – Hi! This is Ryan Anderson at South Quay Plaza. We’re just moving in and we have a large sofa which won’t fit in the lift. Is there a cargo lift to get it upstairs? We’re on the thirty-third floor.

            – Yes, cargo lift access is from the parking cellar. Your key card will operate it. Residential floors have the cargo lift at the back of the parking area.

            – And where is the cargo lift on our floor?

            – Oh, at the end of the corridor and around the corner.

            – OK, thanks very much. Well, it looks like you’ll have to load it back and drive around the corner. Sorry about that. We’re new here, see.

            – It’s alright. Let’s get to it.

Ryan escorted them underground and rode with his new furniture up in the freight lift to his floor. The lift opened and a view out to the estuary appeared before them. After two journeys, the new lounge furniture was more or less in place. At least it was all inside.

 

Paul had been busy unpacking the crates. The kitchen stuff was in the kitchen, plates and mugs and packets of coffee and sugar and jam and bottles of ketchup and Tabasco. Their coffee pot stood on the induction cooker looking out of place. It was aluminium and did not work. The skinheads put their clothes in one of the walk-in closets. There was now a pile of ten empty crates standing next to the door. Ryan sent Stripy a mesaage – ready. come and get em!

 

The long and low storage unit had been placed along the wall with the corridor to their bedrooms. Ryan unpacked his humidor and placed it near to a power plug. Its interior lit up until he closed the door. His cigars, and Paul’s, were in the box his thirty-hole Undergrounds had come in. He placed them carefully into the humidor and took a thick six inch long cigar for himself. He sat on the brand new sofa, lay back and lit the big cigar. Paul noticed and fetched a small plate from the kitchen for an ashtray. He removed some packaging material from the lounge and put it next to the door. He walked across to his wheelchair, sat in it and wheeled across the room to face Ryan.

            – We’re home.

Ryan smirked around his fat cigar and nodded.

 

 

 

 

W E D N E S D A Y  

 

Ryan filled the glossy new espresso machine with freshly ground coffee and waited for Paul to get himself out of the bathroom. Paul put on bleachers, his thirty-holers and a hoodie. Ryan bound and locked Paul’s legs to the wheelchair as soon as he got up and kept the keys. Paul would have his legs back moments before he climbed into bed. They had made two trips to Stratford to buy equipment for the kitchen. An espresso machine, a matching set of half a dozen mugs, cups, saucers, plates in two sizes and a sugar bowl. Clean design from Italy. While they were in the shop, they bought some heavy whisky glasses, half a dozen shot glasses and a chunky glass ashtray which might or might not fit the enormous cigars. At the last moment, Ryan bought two. One for the lounge, one for the balcony. Ryan had arranged the balcony furniture and enjoyed its unexpected comfort but the weather had changed and it was no fun to sit outside even with glass windows holding back the elements.

 

            – Shall we get a new screen and speakers today?

            – What’s wrong with my tv? If we put it on the wall, it would be alright, wouldn’t it? This room is bigger than the old place so if we’re watching from the sofa, it wouldn’t seem too big.

            – Yeah, maybe you’re right. I don’t want to drill holes in the walls, though. Maybe we could get a stand for it. We’ll have a look. Shall we go to Stratford or do you want to go into town?

            – Let’s try Stratford first. Easier for me to get to.

 

The doorbell sounded. Ryan got up and asked who was there.

            – Good morning. We’re the cleaners.

            – Oh good. Come in!

Two middle-aged women stepped from the lift and shook hands with Ryan.

            – Nice to meet you. I hope your move went well. It’s good to see such a lovely flat being lived in after such a long time.

They took their coats off and hung them on the concealed coat rack. They noticed Paul in his wheelchair and crossed the lounge to shake his hand.

            – Pleased to meet you. Now, you gentlemen will have to let us know what you would like us to do. Up until now we have cleaned the floors and kept the kitchen and bathroom shipshape.

            – Well, it’s difficult to say, really. If you could carry on doing those things, it would be nice. I expect the kitchen and bathroom will need a bit more work now we’re living here but if you vacuum the floors and wipe the windows once a month, that would be fine. Can I ask how you have been getting in here? Do you have the keys?

            – In a way we do, yes. We have to collect a one-use key card from the administrators for each visit.

            – But it only works once?

            – Yes, that’s right. We didn’t get one for today because we expected you would still be home at this time.

            – Right. And who pays your wages? Should we make some arrangements?

            – No, there’s no need for that. We’re paid by the administrators. I believe the money comes from your standing charge.

            – And how about your cleaning stuff? The vacuum and so on.

            – We have it with us but we left it in the car in case it was inconvenient.

            – Would it be easier if we had our own vacuum cleaner and stuff?

            – Yes, it would save a lot of carrying.

            – Oh, in that case, write down what you need and I’ll get it. There’s a cleaning cupboard in the laundry room for things like that, I noticed. Unfortunately we are both disabled, so cleaning is the one major job we are grateful to have help with.

            – I’m sorry to hear that. But you don’t look disabled.

            – No, thanks to some very strong medicine. My hands are crippled with a nerve disease and I am waiting to hear about amputations.

            – Good heavens, how dreadful for you.

            – Not really. I’ll be able to use artificial hands instead of like now, when I can’t use my hands at all. My friend acts as my hands most of the time.

Paul gave them a wan smile.

            – But as for today, as you can see, we don’t really need any cleaning. So why don’t you take today off and come back next Wednesday at the same time? We’ll have some cleaning equipment for you ready and waiting. Is this all you need on this list?

            – Yes, that’s all. Well, thank you very much. We’ll see you next week.

They collected their coats and Ryan saw them out.

            – Bye bye!

            – Wow, mate! That was quite a story you told them.

            – Well, it’s a nice cover story. They won’t be so surprised if they turn up one morning and suddenly see me with hooks. They already expect to see you in a wheelchair so you can’t be out of it next week when they come round.

            – That’s alright. You want me in a chair all the time anyway, don’t you?

            – Yes Paul, I do.

 

Ryan received a text message from UPS saying that a package from the USA was en route and provided a tracking number. He cleared away the breakfast things and loaded the dishwasher. It could wash while they were out.

 

Ryan looked online for tv stands and frames. There was a good-looking model on castors. That would be handy if they wanted to watch something in their bedroom. Simple to wheel the thing from room to room. He also looked at video of an ex-military guy waddling along a pavement on the shortest possible stubbies. He would love Paul to look like that. He could still use his wheelchair or be mobile on tiny leg stumps when necessary. They waited until nine o’clock before setting out for Stratford. Paul was finding his style and looked fairly macho as a wheeling skinhead. With any luck, he would have a genuinely disabled mate beside him before the year was out.

 

They found what they were looking for. A sturdy frame on rubber wheels, suitable for tv’s from forty-two to eight-four inches. Theirs was only seventy-odd. A pair of tall cylindrical speakers for streaming or the tv. A good quality vacuum cleaner, a broom, a mop, dusters, window cleaner, bleach and a plastic bucket. Ryan asked for them all to be delivered as soon as possible and was offered a slot between five and six that evening.

            – What else do we need? What else do we want?

            – Two six packs while we’re waiting for the delivery.

            – Good thinking. Let’s get some lunch.

            – Bit early.

            – Brunch, then. With a coupla beers for afters.

            – How about getting a drinks trolley? You know, like you see in a James Bond film. All suave and everything. He helps himself to a gin and tonic from a little trolley thing stuffed with drinks.

            – Not really our style, though, is it? I’d rather have a bottle of gin in the fridge than have it on display in the lounge.

 

Their delivery arrived soon after five. Ryan spread his purchases over the floor, tore off the packaging and sorted them out. He carried the cleaning stuff to the laundry room where the ladies could arrange it how they liked. He looked at the washing machine and realised they needed a laundry basket. Somewhere to put their dirty T-shirts and socks. Maybe one of the ladies would show him how to use the washing machine. He only knew how to use the stupid-proof machines at the laundrette. He went back to the lounge and slit the package containing the components for the tv stand. He looked at the instructions and assembled it. All he needed now was Paul’s giant tv from the spare room. It was heavy. Ryan half lifted, half dragged it into the lounge and wondered how he was going to lift it onto the frame.

            – Do you need help with that, mate?

            – Yeah, I think so. Can you come and hold one end for me?

Paul wheeled over and set the brakes.

            – Grab hold of that end and you have to slot this hole into this bit here, see?

            – Yeah, I get it.

            – I’ll do the other end. Don’t drop the fucking thing.

The job was done. Ryan quickly screwed more brackets into position and tried to rattle the screen. It was solid. He plugged in the power cord and the screen went through its power-up procedure.

            – Let’s give it a test.

Ryan activated the Bluetooth connection and displayed the last video he had watched that morning. The legless guy waddled along the pavement.

            – Fuck me, that looks horny.

            – Would you like to look like that and walk like that?

            –Would you like me to?

            – Fuck yeah!

            – Then that’s how I’ll walk.

            – You’ll still be in a wheelchair except you’ll be able to get out if you need to. And that’s what you’ll have for legs. Little steel pylons with rubber pads for feet.

            – Show me some videos of legless guys with short leg stumps. I want to imagine myself like them.

Ryan flicked through his list of favourite videos and they watched a variety of men walking on their hands, thrusting their legless torsos forwards. Some had stumps long enough to be able to sit with. Others had no stumps whatsoever and squirmed into buckets which would hold them erect on flat bases. Some of them had pylons attached to the base to enable mobility with cut-off crutches.

            – Christ, that looks fantastic. Swinging yourself along like that. Two little peg legs which don’t move. Fuck me!

            – Is that what you want, Paul? Just a smooth torso with your cock and balls hanging out?

            – Yeah. That’s how I want to be. Legless as fuck. Little pylons and crutches.

            – If you wanted to be in a wheelchair, you’d need a bucket attached to the chair. I could just lift you into it and you’d be ready to go.

            – I could have artificial legs attached to the bucket. It would look like I’m still wearing thirty-holers.

            – Yeah!

 

S A T U R D A Y

 

Ryan’s passport arrived. He sent a message to the Harvester informing him. He received a reply explaining Swiss visa requirements and inviting him to book a journey to Zürich at his convenience. He should stay in a central hotel. The Harvester would be able to visit him at any time. Ryan fed his personal details and new passport number into the Swiss Embassy’s visa application app and received a green approved announcement for ninety days and an email. He looked at timetables for the Eurostar and connecting trains from Paris to Zürich via Geneva. Out of curiosity, he also checked flights but the next available seat was in ten weeks. He did not want to wait that long. Eurostar had a few places left on the following Tuesday morning. He reserved a place and looked at the onward connections. A TGV left an hour later and would arrive in Geneva in the early evening and a Swissrail Express would have him in Zürich shortly before midnight. He looked for hotels in the town centre and chose the Hôtel Neue Zürich, built over the station platforms. He collated all his reservations and the app requested his credit card details. Moments later, his email had five confirmations and facsimiles of travel tickets with bar codes.

            – I’m off to see the Harvester on Tuesday. We should have a drink to celebrate. Do you want a six pack? I’ll get some beer from downstairs.

 

Downstairs had become to mean the small supermarket in the neighbouring shopping mall. A round trip took five minutes and the shop was open twenty-four hours. Paul was too surprised to question Ryan’s announcement but realised that he’d be alone in the flat for a day or two at best, a month or so at worst. He had questions for Ryan when he came back.

            – Right. Get that down your neck. Cheers!

            – Ryan, what are you going to do in Zürich?

Paul pronounced it zoo-ridge.

            – I’m going to meet the Harvester. He’s the guy who has the final say-so regarding my amputations. See, I can either go and shove my arms under a train outside here or I can have the job done properly and get stumps exactly the way I want done by a surgeon. Not to mention the artificial limbs afterwards. If I want a decent limb fitter who’ll give me what I want instead of what some committee of insurance cunts think is good enough, I have to pay. So I’m going to Zürich to arrange it all with the Harvester. That’s the way I understand it, anyway.

            – So how long will you be away?

            – I can’t say. I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait for the amputations or where they’ll be done. I might get them done the next day or have to wait six months. I don’t know.

            – So I’ll be here on my own, will I?

            – Well, I suppose so unless you invite people round. And remember, if you want to go out, you’ll have to be in your chair. It’ll look peculiar if people are used to seeing you in a chair and all of a sudden you’re walking around.

            – Yeah, I know that. That’s not a problem. You won’t be here to lock my legs but I won’t cheat.

            – Glad to hear it. I trust you. Anyway, I’ll let you know what’s happening.

            – Alright. I just hope you’re not away too long.

            – I hope so too.

 

T U E S D A Y

 

Ryan dressed in his suit jacket and oxford bags. He had triple-sole Underground eight-hole boots, completely rigid footwear. It was like waking with artificial feet which felt nothing. But they lifted his trouser cuffs a little so they did not scrape along the ground. He had a smart new carbon fibre suitcase packed with bleachers and a MA-1, and his thirty-holers. He nuzzled Paul’s chrome dome and hugged him close, the skinhead way.

            – You take care, mate. I’ve put some pocket money in your account but don’t go mad. I’ll see you when I see you.

            – I’ll miss you, mate.

            – I know.

Ryan left and crossed the road to the DLR. Half an hour later he was at St. Pancras and three hours later in Paris Gare du Nord looking for directions for his Geneva connection.

 

W E D N E S D A Y

 

He ate an English breakfast in the hotel. It was served without blood pudding but the sausage and egg and chips and mushrooms were about right. Swiss coffee tasted odd. He would ask for espresso next time. He finished his meal and messaged the Harvester.

            – am in hotel neue zurich. please advise.

            – stay there. i will come to your room at 10.

Ryan sent back an ok in acknowledgment.

 

At ten, there was a knock on the door. Ryan went to open it and was confronted with the Harvester.

            – Good morning. You are..?

            – My name is Ryan Anderson.

            – Then you are the man I have come to meet. May I come in?

            – Yes, of course.

The Harvester leaned on his short crutches and heaved himself inside. He paused and waited for Ryan to appear before him. Ryan looked down at the totally bald bearded man who was obviously sitting in a prosthetic bucket with foot long pylons attached. His hands were gloved and his head had two bone induction electrodes attached to his temples from which cables snaked into his ear canals.

            – Do sit. I shall stand, if that is agreeable. I understand you wish to have your hands amputated.

            – Yes sir.

            – And why is that?

            – Because I would be the man with steel hooks I feel like I should be. I like my life now. I am suddenly rich. I have a nice flat. I have a good mate who likes me. But I don’t like myself. I look at my hands and they seem like extra decoration at the ends of my arms. I want my arms to be smooth with rounded stumps. That is the way I feel my arms should be. I can use artificial arms with hooks to do the things I need to do. I have had this desire, or this compulsion, since I was very young.

            – I see. Have you seen many men wearing hooks?

            – No. I have seen films where someone wears a hook. But I have met a man only recently who had two hooks. He was the first hook user I have seen in real life.

            – You say you are rich. Can you afford to live your life with hooks if you need assistance?

            – Yes, I’m quite sure of that. Excuse me if I don’t tell you the exact amount, but I have several million euros.

            – Ah, your money is in euros? You are very wise. I think you are genuine. You used the word want only once. I am prepared to put you forward to a surgeon who will perform your amputations. However, I have some advice for you.

            – Yes?

            – One arm at a time. I speak from experience. My hands are bionic. I am a below elbow amputee. I had both hands amputated by an amenable surgeon twenty years ago. I wished soon afterward that I had learned to use one artificial arm first before attempting a second. Do you understand me?

            – I think so. One arm at a time. How long between amputations?

            – It’s your decision, within reason. Once I give the go-ahead, your surgeon will schedule the amputations within a six month period. The necessary paperwork will be valid for that time.

            – Where will the amputations be done?

            – I have some very good news for you. After your first contact, we have been able to secure the services of an excellent surgeon in your own country. He operates in a town in Wales called Merthyr Tydfil. Do you know it?

            – I’ve heard of it. I don’t know where it is.

            – No matter. I assume he will instruct you. He is prepared to amputate both your hands, but I recommend one at a time with several months between.

            – Where will I get my prostheses from?

            – I have a manufacturer in Basildon who can manufacture any body-powered device. Electronic and bionic devices are outside his remit. I assume you wish to use body-powered hooks?

            – Yes, that’s right.

            – Then you may turn to this man who will make what you want and need.

            – Do I contact them directly or will we be in contact through you?

            – All contact must be through me. For security reasons. I am sure you understand.

            – Yes, of course. I have another question concerning my lover.

            – I can guess. He also wants amputations for solidarity reasons.

            – You could say so. We are together and he has access to the same funds as I have, so money is not a problem now or in the future.

            – And what work does he require?

            – Double dislocations from the hip.

            – That is rather extreme. I speak again from experience. If I might explain my own situation. I am now almost sixty years old. I became a double below knee amputee when I was fifteen years old. I put my legs under a tram, although of course, it was arranged to look like an accident. I soon learned to use my prosthetic legs, of course, and played rugby at University. I became acquainted with various medical professionals who, I learned, were not averse to removing a limb or two for a tidy sum of money. I persuaded one to amputate first my left thigh and I learned to walk on an above knee prosthesis. Five years later, I had my other leg off and walked on two above knee prostheses for twenty years. Then, ten years ago, I had my first disarticulation and walked on one stubby with short crutches. And more recently, I rid myself of my leg stumps altogether and now I use either this bucket with pegs or a more advanced version with reciprocating stubbies.

            – I don’t understand. What are they like?

            – They have joints beneath the bucket which swing forwards when pressure is released. By rocking from side to side, the stubbies move forward one step, about thirty centimetres with thirty centimetre pylons. They have rocker feet so they are always quite stable.

            – And your hands. What happened to them?

            – Oh, I simply wanted the same as you. To use hooks. I had them both off by the surgeon who did my second thigh amputation. My partner took care of me for a few weeks until I had hooks and could fend for myself again.

            – That is all fantastic. I assume you are deaf too.

            – Oh yes! Without the electrodes, I hear nothing. I had my hearing totally destroyed. I hear only by bone induction. And in case you are wondering, my right eye is also prosthetic. It began to affect my vision – a condition known as macular degeneration. It interfered with my vision so I had the eye removed. I may have my remaining eye removed later and replace it with prosthetic vision. Time will tell.

            – So if I understand correctly, I will contact you when I am ready for my amputations. You will tell the surgeon in Wales. And then you will tell me when and where to go.

            – Yes, exactly.

            – If I had both hands off at the same time, how long would it take to get hooks? Where could I stay to recover?

            – Three to four weeks. You would need a carer for that time. I cannot arrange for nursing care.

            – But I would be possible?

            – Oh yes, quite possible.

            – And you say a man in Basildon makes artificial arms?

            – Yes, that is correct.

            – I see. How much do the amputations cost?

            – It depends on the surgeon. Your hand amputations will cost about twenty-five to thirty thousand euro each. The prostheses will be about five to eight thousand each.

            – So under a hundred thousand?

            – Oh yes, certainly.

            – And how about my friend’s disarticulations?

            – Probably fifty to seventy thousand. Prosthetic legs would be about thirty to fifty thousand each. Or about the same for a bucket with pylons.

            – It all sounds very acceptable. I am ready for my first amputation. I have decided to lose my right hand first and learn to use one hook before I lose my other hand.

            – I think that is the best procedure. For your friend, we could arrange for him to have his first disarticulation this autumn and his second in a year after he has healed.

            – That would be wonderful. He is already practising in a wheelchair.

            – Very wise of him. If you are ready to begin the process of reduction, I will contact our Welsh surgeon to begin arranging your schedule.

He lifted himself with his crutches and slowly rotated himself to face the door. Ryan opened it for him and watched him struggling with the crutches in his artificial hands. He swung his body and the pylons moved forward. It looked magnificent and before long, Paul could be like him too.

Ryan sent him a text message.

            – met harvester. approves amps 4 me & u. c u prob tomorrow. r

 

Ryan enquired if there was a barber service in the hotel. There was and he had his scalp and face shaved with a cut-throat razor and his mohawk tidied and trimmed to five mil. There was no need to stay in Zürich any longer. He selected and paid for railway journeys which would return him to London at noon the following day. He would overnight in Paris. He went to his room, changed from Oxford bags into bleachers and donned his thirty-holers. He checked out and descended in the lift directly to the station concourse where he had forty minutes to down a beer before his train to Geneva departed.

 

T H U R S D A Y

 

Ryan hailed an eCab outside St Pancras and typed in his address. The display showed a map with the destination marked and asked for confirmation. Ryan tapped correct and the eCab’s door slid shut and the driverless vehicle began its slow and steady journey to South Quay station. It used as many side roads as possible to avoid traffic lights and other possible causes of delay. Ryan had never been in a eCab before although he had seen posters expounding their advantages often enough when he was sitting around at bus stops with his mates. The cab stopped only twice on the entire two mile journey. It slowed when it sensed a red light ahead. Not a bad piece of kit, he thought. Maybe when both he and Paul had completed their reductions, they could invest in one man electric vehicles. One each. They would be more convenient for two severely disabled young men than public transport into town. He would look at the latest models, the kind which did not require a driver’s licence. The cab turned left over the bridge and halted in front of the South Quay station entrance. Ryan touched his credit card to the reader and the door opened. He grabbed his case and stepped out, crossed the road and bought a couple of six packs.

 

He let himself in and glanced around, looking for Paul. His mate was sitting in his wheelchair on the balcony with the glass open, smoking a fat cigar. He had learned how to clench for maximum impact. Ryan leaned against the wall and watched him for a minute. He walked quietly to the balcony door and coughed.

            – Ah! Oh christ, mate, don’t do that!

            – Sorry. I was watching you. You look great with a cigar.

            – It’s good to be able to sit here with no pressure to do anything except enjoy the sky and a good smoke. How was your trip? Sit down and tell me.

            – OK. Do you want a beer?

            – Are my guts, et cetera.

Ryan brought one of the six packs and a Doble Monstruo cigar. He could only barely open his jaw wide enough to get it between his teeth. He used Paul’s lighter to fire it into life. Paul shot a video as his handsome mate struggled with the monstrous cigar. Ryan sucked and blew tight jets of cigar smoke from a corner of his mouth. Paul moved his phone to capture Ryan’s gaping mouth from a new angle. Ryan stared into the lens and drew a mouthful of smoke. The tip of the cigar glowed red, contrasting with the blue of the sky behind him. Paul took about three minutes of video before Ryan removed the cigar from his mouth and licked his dry lips.

            – Are you going to relight that at some stage or are you going to sit here for the next three hours?

            – Have to see, won’t we? What have you been up to?

            – Practising wheelies. I can balance on the main wheels and drive forward a bit.

            – Great. I was impressed when I saw you out here in the chair. You said you would use the chair and not cheat. So thank you for that.

            – Well, enough about me. What did the Harvester say?

            – The main news is that we don’t have to go abroad. There’s a surgeon in Wales somewhere. And a bloke in Basildon who makes artificial arms. Don’t know about legs, but you don’t want fake legs, do you?

            – I was gonna talk to you about that. I was watching some videos yesterday and saw a guy who was so horny that I want to have exactly what he has.

            – OK, what was it?

            – He has a tiny stump on the left, just enough so when he wiggles it you can see something moving. His right leg is just a stump, about half his thigh.

            – OK, so what’s so special that you want that?

            – Well, I’ll show you the video. He puts a stubby on with a peg leg on the end and then walks around on crutches and this peg leg thing. Ryan, I really really want to be like that. I can be in the chair almost all the time and when I need to, I can hop out and use my peg leg with crutches.

            – And everywhere you go in the wheelchair, you’d just have the one peg leg sticking out.

            – Yeah!  It would look fantastic.

            – You want one peg leg.

            – Yes. The other stump would be just a little bump.

            – I’d like to feel your little bump kicking me when I fuck you. It sounds great, mate. Let’s get this business on the road. I have to let the Harvester know I’m ready and he’ll arrange things with the surgeon and let me know the date and where to go.

            – It sounds very mysterious, doesn’t it?

            – Yeah, but they have to be careful about it because what they’re doing isn’t exactly legal, is it?

            – Suppose not. Can we get into trouble if anyone ever finds out?

            – No, I don’t think so. We would be the unfortunate victims.

            – Haha! Unfortunate! How could we be unfortunate when we would still have stumps no matter what they say or do.

            – Good point. I still can’t make my mind up to go for one amputation at a time or to have both off at once. The Harvester said I would be wise to wait a few months between amputations but I want to get it all over and done with as quickly as possible. It would be great to have two hooks by Christmas. He reckoned there would be about three weeks between the amputations and getting my first prosthetic arms. The stumps have to heal enough, I suppose.

The doorbell chimed its station announcement tune.

            – Who the fuck? I’ll get it.

Ryan balanced his cigar on the crystal ashtray and answered the door. A skinhead in UPS uniform stood there with a three foot long package.

            – Delivery for Anderson, mate. Sign here.

He proffered a stylus and Ryan scribbled something. The skin made eye contact long enough to confirm sexual attraction and Ryan thanked him. His artificial arms had arrived.

 

Paul stuck his cigar into his mouth and wheeled himself in to see what was going on. Ryan fetched a knife from the kitchen and sliced into the cardboard box. Packed into stiff gyroid paper were two black carbon sockets glistening with newness, attached to a black canvas harness. A bubble-wrapped envelope contained two more hooks.

 

            – Wow! They look fantastic. Are you going to put them on?

            – Of course I’m going to put them on. You can adjust the harness. I need some stump socks first.

Ryan fetched a pair of long football socks he wore under his thirty-holers from the closet. He lifted the harness up and tried to work out how to put it on. He twisted it this way and the other and realised the sockets would first need to hang down his back. He slipped the harness over his head and shrugged his shoulders to settle it. It felt a bit loose. No matter. He donned the football socks and fished around until his left arm found the cuff of the left socket. He slipped his arm into it, balled his fist and pushed further. The socket sat firmly and his fingers were held motionless. He tried the same with the right socket and shrugged to persuade both cuffs into position. As he had seen so many hundreds of times on video, he stretched his arms forward and the hooks opened. He did it again, and again. He groaned and came in his bleachers.

            – How do they feel?

            – Ah, mate, I just came. They feel fucking fantastic. They’re too loose though. The tighter, the better. You need to work out how the arms are fixed to the harness and make them tighter. Can you do that?

            – Don’t know. Sit down and I’ll have a look.

Ryan sat with his back to Paul, who studied the network of overlong straps.

            – OK, I think I can see what to do but you’re gonna have to take them off. And I think some of these straps can be shortened.

            – Alright. Show me what you saw.

Ryan shrugged and wriggled his shoulders until the harness loosened and shrugged off the sockets. Paul lifted them onto his lap.

            – See this buckle here? That holds the socket in place. Same on the other side, look, see it? I just need to pull it in a bit. It might take a few tries, mate. I don’t know what it should feel like.

            – That’s alright. I’d help you out but my fingernails are a bit too short for that.

            – You should sop biting them. Oh – well, I reckon you’ll be stopping in a few weeks anyway, won’t you?

            – Huh.

Paul teased the buckles open and fed more of the strap through them. The sockets moved about an inch closer to the central O-ring. Paul held them up by the ring and compared their length.

            – This side needs another half inch. Wait a minute.

He adjusted the strap and handed the prostheses back to Ryan.

            – Try it now.

Ryan held the O-ring above his head and put his arms into the harness. He struggled a little finding the cuffs and worked them and the sockets onto his arms. It all felt much tighter, much more snug. He felt like the sockets were his arms, the hooks his hands. He shrugged his left shoulder and the right hook opened. He tried the other shoulder and the left hook opened. He felt no extra movement from the harness. It felt secure, not too tight. Paul cinched the cuff straps tight. Ryan stood and looked down at his black carbon arms and the steel hooks. He had another erection. He poked at it with a hook and released another load into his underwear. He sat down, breathing heavily. Paul grinned at his mate, looking very much the way he always would from now on.

 

Ryan felt fulfilled but vulnerable. He had lost his hands, temporarily, and might need some help with a few things. He reached for his beer and opened his hook. It closed and both tilted the can so that beer splashed out and crushed the can. Ryan opened the hook and his beer fell to the floor and drained from the can.

            – Oops. Might need some practice with that.

            – What went wrong?

            – The hook was at the wrong angle.

            – Can you twist it?

            – Well, no.

            – Reach over here. I’ve seen them do this on the videos.

Paul held the socket and twisted the hook to a more vertical position.

            – Try it again. Do you think that would let you hold a glass? You’re gonna crush cans, I reckon. Hang on and I’ll get a glass for you.

He rolled to the kitchen and picked out one of the old pint glasses they had nicked from a pub.

            – Hold on to this. Can you get it to your mouth?

Ryan carefully opened his right hook and Paul held the glass until Ryan allowed the hook to close around the glass. With a little effort, Ryan managed to put his lips to its rim.

            – Try that. Hold it there and I’ll pour you some beer

Fortunately there were four rubber bands to provide grip. Ryan had half a glass of lager and raised it slowly to his mouth. He had to lean forward a little and raised his arm still more. The beer flowed.

            – I want to go out wearing these today. Down the pub or somewhere. If I can't do something, will you help me?

            –Mate, of course I will. What are you even asking me for?

Ryan looked at Paul’s honest face and suddenly choked up with relief. He was going to be disabled at last, losing his hands the way he wanted and Paul was going to be with him afterwards. His hooks would announce his status as the disabled man he was proud to be. He would always be an invalid but he had the money to overcome it. He could be completely limbless if he wanted and so could Paul. He wiped his tears on his sleeves and used his new hooks to position his enormous unlit cigar between his teeth.

            – Light it for me, mate.

 

O N E   Y E A R   L A T E R

 

Ryan pushed the breakfast trolley out onto the balcony. He dropped a couple of sugar cubes into his tall mug and tilted the coffee pot between his arms until the mug filled. He grabbed a croissant and relaxed back into the steel easy chair. It was only seven o’clock but the day was already heating up again. The sky had cleared since last evening when people were praying for a thunderstorm to end the oppressive heat but no storm had developed. Ryan did not understand atmospheric pressure or weather fronts or jet stream disturbances but he knew well enough the weather was fucked.

 

Christmas had been a real eye opener with a massive two day snow storm bringing the country to a halt for a week followed by a twenty degree heatwave from Africa which lasted three weeks well into January. The river had flooded with snow melt and the downstairs lobby still stank. All the neighbours who had cars in the underground car park had lost them, some of them worth half a million euros. Beautiful Porsches and Maseratis filled with Thames silt. Useless. Ruined. Morag had been ahead of the game as soon as it started snowing and bought in a month’s worth of food and booze and enough beer to float a battleship. They ventured out far enough to see the extent of the damage when the lift was working but otherwise stayed inside the flat with their internet access and surveilled the damaged city from a safe height.

 

Paul came out to join Ryan.

            – Aren’t you going to put your teeth in?

            – No’ ye’. Thi’ ith alrighp, inni’?

            – Fine with me, mate. Do what you want.

Ryan watched as Paul manoeuvred his crutches and peg leg around the trolley and collapsed into the other chair. He threw his crutches into the corner. His steel pylon poked upward. The right leg of his football shorts hung loose over his empty right groin. He scratched his stump and reached over for the coffee pot.

            – Wha’ have you go’ planne’ for ’oday?

            – Nothing much. Bit of YouTube, bit of Xtube, bit of a wank.

            – Juth’ the uthual, then.

            – You ought to put your fucking plates in, mate. Makes it a lot easier to understand you. You can whip them out again afterwards.

            – I know. You juth have to ge’ uthe’ do i’. I love the way thith feelth.

            – And I love the way it looks. You have a beautiful mouth, Paul. I love it.

 

Paul had had all his teeth extracted by a private dentist who assured him that there was nothing wrong with his teeth. Paul said he knew that very well and insisted. The dentist did the job as requested and later fitted Paul with two sets of dentures, one resembling natural teeth, the other chrome arcs with no delineation to resemble teeth whatsoever. Paul wore them when they went out clubbing. Ryan asked Paul why he had wanted his teeth extracted and Paul simply showed a series of photographs of a lightly bearded skinhead trying to hold a large cigar in his toothless mouth. The cigar drooped despite the skin’s efforts and Paul said he came every time he thought about the guy. So he had his teeth out and now he could smoke a huge cigar and have it droop in a way which was impossible for anyone with teeth. It looked extremely erotic to himself and to Ryan.

 

He had undergone other losses too. His right leg had been amputated high up his thigh, leaving two inches of femur, enough to support him when sitting but useless for anything else. He could waggle his stump and the soft tissue at the end would flap around. He kicked Ryan with all his might when they fucked and the loose flesh excited Ryan. His left leg was a ten inch long stump to which he attached either a short peg leg like today or a black carbon stubby. He always needed crutches to move around, most often with a prominent erection. He loved his severe disability and felt it was the perfect way to be and to walk. He wore black and grey camo shorts and had Morag alter all of them so the right leg was shortened and sewn shut.

 

Morag came out to join them on the balcony with a cup of coffee.

            – Aright? How’s ye stump, Paul? Ye need any more ointment or are ye guid ta go?

            – He’s OK, Morag. I’m running out of clean T-shirts, so can you run a wash?

            – Aye. Wus gunna do that. How about stump socks? Hae ye enough or sha’ a wash them too?

            – I’m halfway through mine. What about you, Paul? Need yours washing?

Paul lifted his arms and shrugged. It was useless trying to communicate with Morag without his plates. She simply could not understand him.

 

Morag had moved in after she admitted to being an enthusiastic devotee. Ryan had promised her an invitation to see the balcony furniture she had sold them after it was set up. They had intended to have more people present but no-one else turned up, so Ryan, Paul and Morag were out on the balcony slowly getting merrier when Ryan mentioned the real estate guy who had hooks. Morag said she had a thing for amputees. Broken manhood, she called it. It was the most endearing thing she could imagine. If she could, she would work in a hospital for amputees and wash stumps and massage them all day long. Ryan looked at Paul in his wheelchair and asked him if they had a spare room. Paul caught the drift. Ryan invited Morag to ditch her job in the shop and move into their spare room to act as their general go-fer and helper. She asked why and the men revealed they were about to undergo several voluntary amputations. Morag moved into the lads’ bedroom at the end of the hallway as soon as the boys’ own queen-size bed had been installed in the other bedroom.

 

Ryan rattled his sockets.

            – I hate this muggy weather. It makes me sweat and the insides of my sockets get sticky.

            – Take them off, if ye want, my love. Use yer stumps. I’ll help ya.

 

Against all advice, Ryan had both hands amputated at the same time nine months ago by the Welsh surgeon. Paul collected him after two weeks and took care of him in every way until his stumps had healed and shrunk. The Basildon prosthetist turned out to be married to a distant cousin and gave him a family discount on the price which the Harvester had negotiated and also agreed to make some experimental sockets. Ryan’s arm stumps were six inches long and he asked for a pair of sockets which were only slightly longer. The hooks extended their reach but the prostheses were short enough to be hidden inside the sleeves of an MA-1. Another pair were normal length but curved inwards. Ryan could relax his arms and both hooks would almost touch in front of him. He often used a curved socket on the left and a straight one on the right, saying it helped him grasp objects better.

 

It was Morag’s job to adjust Ryan’s arms. It was a rare day when Ryan did not ask for his configuration to be altered somehow. Morag enjoyed doing it. She had discarded excess length from the straps and sewn them neatly to the harness. It made donning it easier for Ryan and also looked a lot smarter. Ryan always wore a T-shirt under his harness but rarely any other shirts or hoodies. He liked his black sockets to be visible always. He enjoyed the shocked attention from other shoppers when he nipped out for a sixpack or two. The guys in the pub knew not to serve him beer in a traditional pint mug.

 

Paul had been wary of Ryan when he returned from Basildon with his first prostheses. He knew what a temper Ryan had when he was annoyed. But Ryan had adapted to being disabled with patience and good humour. He had two good friends who would lend him a hand if he needed help in the toilet or trying to open a jar. Sometimes Ryan asked Morag to remove the left prosthesis from the harness and spent the day not only one-armed but one-hooked. He admired his handsome forearm stumps. The surgeon had done a beautiful job.

 

Ryan no longer had any use for the pretender artificial arms and hooks he had ordered shortly before his amputations. Paul occasionally liked to wear them. Morag made several short videos for Ryan’s YouTube channel showing the two good-looking skins smoking big cigars and drinking beer, neither of them with hands. Morag suggeted they should monetize the channel to cash in on their videos’ popularity.

            – What would be the point, Morag? We don’t need a few bucks, do we?

Morag knew Ryan had won the pools or something but Ryan had never expanded on the subject and it was none of her business anyway. Neither of the lads behaved any differently from any other skinheads, excepting their limblessness, of course. Money had not gone to their heads. The flat was beautifully furnished and everything else was new. The only hint that they had some affluence was the enormous cigars they both smoked. Paul had admitted to paying nearly two hundred pounds for one of his thick foot-long monsters and there were nine more of them waiting in the humidor as well as Ryan’s even more extreme stash.

 

Ryan was unable to use a cigar cutter or lighter so Paul always prepared his smokes for him. It was a fine sight to see Ryan smoking a Robusto Grande especially when he was wearing only one hook. He often left the flat with an unlit cigar between his teeth when they visited the pub in the afternoon.

 

Ryan also had trouble with the most iconic aspect of his style. He had tried several times to lace his thirty-holers and made a good effort but it took him so long that Paul felt pity and offered to do the job for him. Ryan reluctantly agreed. All of Ryan’s bleachers had keyrings threaded onto the zips and Ryan went commando most of the time so he was able to get his dick out for a piss by himself. For a bit of fun when they went out, Ryan sometimes wore his short prostheses whose hooks did not reach his crotch. Paul had to grab Ryan’s dick when he needed a slash and the pair of them had a laugh when other patrons looked aghast at seeing two skins fingering each other in the bog until Ryan waved his truncated artificial arms and hooks for extra shock value.

 

Morag had her own room. She had been renting in Shoreditch before the skins invited her to their home so she had no furniture of her own. Ryan had taken her on a brief tour of furniture stores where she could pick out pieces she liked. Obviously, she needed a bed. She chose a work desk and a comfortable ergonomic office chair, a large mat with a zebra print and a sumptuous armchair. Ryan had made sure Morag understood that the entire flat was also her home and she was to feel free to come and go as she pleased. Morag thanked him but understood the underlying reason for her presence. She never failed to ensure that the lads had everything they needed before she went anywhere and preferred to stream tv in her room rather than on the huge living room screen. The bathroom cabinet held razor blades and a can of shaving foam for the boys and the rest of the space was taken up with Morag’s unguents and ointments. Lady stuff.

 

Morag felt immensely liberated by living with amputees and being able to watch them using their artificial limbs. She had fantasized about finding an amputee lover since she was a teenager, a man with two short leg stumps or a pair of hooks. Something which made him stand out. But she had never met the right bloke. Suddenly she had been immersed in a household where two great looking guys were on the threshold of adapting their bodies to meet Morag’s ideals. And she could indulge her desires for voyeurism any time she wanted. It had taken a few weeks before Ryan was brave enough to ask, but she regularly washed and cared for Ryan’s arm stumps, lingering over the job by applying skin care products and gently rubbing them into his beautifully rounded stumps. Paul needed help with toileting. He balanced on his one peg leg, holding on to the wash basin as Morag wiped him clean and washed his anus. She had done the same thing years ago for her little brothers in Glasgow.

 

Paul shaved both of their heads every other day. Ryan maintained his short wide hawk which looked sharper when someone else tended to it. Ryan was unable to adjust his hooks enough to both hold a razor and move his arms enough to reach all over his scalp. Morag could have done it too but they felt that shaving was a man’s job.

 

Paul made a surprising announcement one morning.

            – I think I might like to have full length fake legs. Can you contact the Harvester, mate, and ask him what the situation is?

            – Yeah, I suppose so. Are you fed up with your peg?

            – No. It’s just that I don’t have a choice, do I? I can wear my stubby or my peg.

            – Or sit in your chair.

            – Yeah, well, obviously. I’d like to try out a disart leg and an AK jobbie.

            – You’ll probably still need crutches though. Think of that bloke who got run over by an underground train in Prague. He can hardly walk without a walking stick.

            – Well, I know that! I didn’t say I wanted to run a marathon. I just want to try it out.

            – Alright, keep your tits on.

 

Ryan sent a message to the Harvester explaining the situation. The Harvester replied within the hour.

            – an interesting problem. your closest prosthetist for articulating legs and disart prostheses is in uppsala, sweden. advise if suitable.

            – Paul, mate, how would you like a trip to Sweden?

            – Why? What’s up?

            – That’s where you’d need to go to get your long legs.

            – Oh. In that case, I’m up for it. I suppose I’m going to need a passport and shit, aren’t I?

            – Yeah. The full rigmarole. Do you want to go alone or shall I come with you?

            – Come with me, mate. It’ll take a week to get there.

            – Yeah. Let’s have a look at the timetables.

Ryan switched on the vast screen and Bluetoothed it to his phone. First, he searched for Uppsala. They would have to take a train from Stockholm. They could get there from Hamburg. Amsterdam to Hamburg. And Eurostar to Amsterdam.

            – That doesn’t look too bad. I don’t know how long it would take. Coupla days, I suppose. Still interested?

            – Yes, of course I am.

            – Right. Let’s get you a passport. Morag! We’re going into Stratford. Is there anything you need?

            – No, A’m fine. See yas.

 

Paul pulled his peg leg off and vaulted into his wheelchair. Ryan was wearing his short sockets and thought they would be good enough. He threw his wallet into his black leather backpack with his phone and slipped it over his hooks. They left the flat and descended to the station opposite. Paul had the travel passes for both of them. They boarded the train, Paul sitting by the entrance in his wheelchair and Ryan nearby on a seat, hooks linked across his chest. It was only ten o’clock. Maybe they could have lunch out and have a few beers before going back. All they needed was a couple of photos for Paul’s new passport. The train wound its way around the buildings it was built to serve. It passed the old Olympic stadium and halted at Stratford station. The lift would take them down to the plaza and Paul could wheel himself into the vast shopping mall, now half empty. Groups of gypsies and derelicts sat outside begging. Ryan shook his head at them.

 

They went to a photographer’s shop first. Paul had a set of mugshots taken which he approved of.

            – Well, that’s that. Shall we go home now?

            – Fuck off! We just got here.

            – Do you know what I want? A lighter I can use. Something electronic, I suppose.

            – Yeah, that would be good. Have you seen a tobacconist here anywhere?

            – No, but we haven’t been upstairs. Look! There’s a floor plan thingy over there. Let’s have a look.

The diagram had seen better days. It showed both floors and the names of many shops had been scratched out or covered with tape announcing new ownership. China Heaven had turned into a MacDonald’s. Boot’s had shut. H&M, North Cape and Timberland had all disappeared. But there was a shop labelled Castro Cigar.

            – Look at that! Shall we go and take a look?

            – Beat you to it.

            – Ha! In that case, let's take the stairs, you cunt!

 

They went upstairs in a musty lift and looked around for a shop front with lights. There was one right at the end. Well, that was where it was on the map, idiot, thought Ryan. Paul rolled along, Ryan keeping pace, swinging his short arms. They passed boutiques with names like Punjabi Providings and Devanagari Delights emitting the acrid odour of burning joss sticks. It looked like the Castro shop was open.

 

Ryan held the door open for Paul to enter. The shop was dark, panelled in dark wood with the aroma of good tobacco. A tall bearded guy stood behind a glass counter resting his hooks on its surface.

            – Hi. Oh, fuck me. Look at you!

            – It seems we have something in common, sir. What can I do for you?

            – I want a cigar lighter I can use. I hardly have to explain why, do I?

            – No. I stock two designs which I have been able to use.

He pulled open a drawer and extracted two butane lighters. One was thick and rectangular, about three inches long. The other had gently curving sides and a prominent button.

            – Try these. The one with curving sides is a little more difficult to handle but it’s easier to pick up. The squarish one is a bastard to pick up but easy to hold.

            – OK. So how do I use them?

            – Well, when you press the button, the flame ignites for seven seconds. You don’t have to hold the button down.

            – Seven seconds, eh? I need longer than that to light a Monstruo.

            – Yes, of course. This is the best I can do. I have trouble myself but I hold the lighter by its edges so I can press the button again with the other hook. Look, I’ll show you.

He used his left hook to push the lighter into a position where he could pick it up. He transferred it to his right hook and pushed it so it would send a flame in the correct direction. He used his left steel fingertips to push the button and did so again after the flame extinguished.

            – What do you think?

            – Yeah, I can do that. I’ll have one of those. I suppose it takes the ordinary refill?

            – Sure.

            – Ryan, mate, come and look at these.

Paul had found a glass-fronted cabinet with large cigars on display. There were several names they recognised and something new. A cigar two inches thick and fifteen inches long. It cost three hundred and fifty pounds. It was called a Grande Xcellente.

            – What’s this Xcellente like?

            – I’ve not smoked one. I can’t afford to at that price. But it’s supposed to start mild and reach its full flavour by the last third. Smoking time is about five hours.

            – Listen, mate. We’ll have two now and if we like ‘em, we’ll be back for more. Can you put them in a box or something so they can’t snap?

            – Of course.

He walked around the counter and they watched his hooks open the case and extract two Xcellentes. He had trouble turning around.

            – Are you wearing fake legs, mate?

            – Yup. BK jobbies, I lost my hands first and then I had my legs done.

            – You mean deliberately?

            – Sure, same as you, I’m guessing. You’re far too extrovert to be accidental amps. You behave like you’re proud to show off your hooks. So am I. It’s how I know.

            – Well, fuck me. I didn’t know we were that obvious.

            – Oh, don’t worry! You’re not. It’s just that I know the signs. I know what to look for. If you don't mind me saying so, voluntary amps are much more brash. Like, for example, you wear your arms quite openly. An accident victim would try to hide them away.

            – I had no idea.

            – Don’t worry. Normals don't understand.

            – That’s good to know. Right. We’re ready. How much do we owe you?

            – Eight hundred and fifty.

Ryan flashed his credit card after Paul handed it to him. Paul dropped the cigars into Ryan’s backpack.

            – We’ll be back, mate.

            – I hope so. Take care.

 

Ryan spotted a lift nearby and they went downstairs to look for a place for brunch.

            – I’m glad we found that cigar shop. It’s the easiest one to get to.

            – Yeah, and it might be interesting to hear that guy’s story as well.

            – Look over there. Some Mexican place. Do you fancy a taco?

            – I don’t mind. We can take a look.

They had burritos instead, easier for Ryan to handle.

 

Ryan ordered a passport application for Paul while they were on the return DLR. He handed his phone to Paul so he could fill out his personal details. Ryan was not averse to typing a word or two with his hooks but it was slow and prone to error. He had learned the best way to grip a pen and could write again, after a fashion. He practised his signature hundreds of times. It was spiky and nothing like his previous version but it was at least consistent. Paul handed the phone back and Ryan sent the application for an application.

 

Morag was in the utility room, as they had learned to call the laundry room. She had just ironed a pile of white T-shirts and was rummaging through a plastic laundry basket sorting out the guys’ stump socks. Ryan’s were a different material from Paul’s thigh socks. Ryan had given Morag a couple of thousand soon after her arrival and told her to get everything she wanted to make her work easier. The next day, Morag signed for the delivery of a sewing machine, an ironing board, a steam iron and an air fryer for the kitchen. Ryan often hung out with Morag when she was busy. They had great banter and enjoyed each other’s company. Morag did not appear to have made any other friends in London. She got on well with most people and had a tough enough character to fend for herself.

 

            – We’ve got another trip coming up soon. Waiting for Paul’s passport.

            – Oh? Where are you off to?

            – Sweden. Paul wants artificial legs so he has to go to Sweden to be fitted.

            – Is that because your amputations are not officially registered?

            – Yeah, I think so. We have to use private services and there’s a lot of secret paperwork to make it all above board. So anyway, I’m going with Paul so you’ll be on your own for a couple of weeks. Would you like a bit of a holiday? You could go up north to see your family.

            – Ach, who would wanna see them? I’ll stay here if that’s a’right.

            – At home. Stay home.

            – So tell me about Paul’s legs. What’s he gonna get?

            – He wants full length legs. I’m not surprised. He hasn’t been taller than four foot six for almost a year. And I know he wants to be able to wear his boots again somehow.

            – Aye, with two tin legs he can keep his troos and boots on them the whole time.

            – Yeah. He’ll still need a couple of walking sticks at least, though.

            – That’ll be horny, seein’ him with canes. Rockin’ along on fake legs. D’ya think he’ll manage it?

            – Learn to walk on them, you mean? Yeah, I think so. He’s a stubborn bastard when he sets his mind to something.

            – Ha! Well, I’m ready here. I’ll put these shirts in your closet.

            – Thanks Morag. I’m gonna make some coffee.

 

T H R E E   W E E K S   L A T E R

 

Paul decided to use his peg leg and short crutches on the journey. He had been unable to find enough information about the accessibility of the European trains and did not want to be hindered by his wheelchair. With Ryan to help, he could manage on the peg for a few days. Ryan packed their suitcase with a dozen white T-shirts, some underwear for Paul, stump socks and his short arm prostheses. His backpack contained maps, their passports and a travel guide to Sweden. All the travel documents were on Ryan’s phone.

 

The Harvester had been enthusiastic about Paul’s decision and had arranged affairs with his Swedish contact over a period of three days. A date was set and Ryan worked back from it, reserving seats on connecting trains. They would break the journey in Hamburg and stay overnight in the station hotel.

 

The journey started from South Quay at seven in the morning. Eurostar left at ten but there would probably be a delay at passport control and customs. Ryan stood in the queue, handsome in his black suit and thick-soled boots, his hooks catching the light. Paul found a seat and sat watching the queue’s slow progress. He was wearing a black MA-1 and his black and white camo shorts with the right leg sewn up and his steel peg on display. He swung over to join Ryan near the front of the checkpoint and they were soon sitting comfortably in the first express which would take them to Amsterdam by early afternoon. They had an hour to change trains and would be in Hamburg in the evening at beer o’clock. They would have a quick look at Hamburg town centre and find a Bierkeller.

 

Their train pulled into the vast canopy at Hamburg at exactly twenty seventeen. Half an hour later they had checked into the hotel and left their things in the room. They were both hungry, not having had a proper meal since Morag’s fried breakfast at six o’clock. They ordered wienerschnitzel and frites washed down with the first Stube of several. Paul sliced Ryan’s schnitzel into bits and Ryan ate with his right hook. The beer was in a traditional half litre mug so Paul had to hold it to Ryan’s lips. The waiter noticed and brought their next beers in tall straight glasses.

 

Next morning, they had another hearty breakfast and made their way to the platform to await the Stockholm train. The service had been inaugurated that spring and used the new tunnel between Germany and Denmark. After a twenty minute wait in Copenhagen, the train continued after a change of engine across the Øresund bridge into Sweden and onwards to Stockholm. Trains departed Stockholm for Uppsala every half hour and no reservations were necessary. They should be in their hotel by nine at the very latest, set and ready for Paul’s nine o’clock appointment with prosthetist Stig Wiium the next morning.

 

Wiium was waiting for them in his private clinic’s lobby, leaning against the counter chatting to the receptionist. Ryan pulled the door open for Paul who strode in on his peg and stood leaning on his crutches as the blond bearded two meter tall Swede approached to welcome them. He was wearing a white jacket and khaki shorts to expose his prosthetic lower legs. Ryan had half expected an amputee prosthetist. Wiium looked magnificent.

            – Welcome to Uppsala, gentlemen. I hope you have had a good journey. Let us go to the coffee room and we can discuss what you would like.

He indicated the direction and the three of them went to sit in a comfortable lounge where low tables were laden with thermos flasks of fresh coffee and cinnamon buns.

            – Help yourselves, please. I am very happy to meet you. I have heard a little about you from our contact and I have seen your medical records, Paul. So I have been able to do a little advance planning. First of all, I need to ask this. How tall do you want to be?

            – Well, about the same as before, I think.

            – Good. I have all the necessary components. I need to cut the pylons to size and prepare the sockets. The legs you will receive will have thirty-five millimeter diameter aluminium pylons and Japanese knee mechanisms. The left socket will be an ordinary suction socket using a silicone liner and the right will be a half bucket design you will wear around your waist. The leg will attach to the front of the socket.

            – It sounds like the legs I have seen on YouTube.

            – So you know what to expect. Good. I must tell you now that it is difficult to walk with your amputations. Your body will become tired very quickly at first and you will have to learn to balance in a new way.

            – I understand. I know it will be difficult but I am determined to succeed.

            – And so, shall we begin? I will cast your pelvis first, Paul. Ryan, what do you want to do? You can stay to watch or go into town.

            – I’d like to watch, if that’s OK.

            – Yes, of course. Come with me, please.

Wiium rose easily onto his prosthetic feet and waited for Paul to arrange his crutches and push himself up from the low chair. The skinheads followed the blond giant into his workshop and he closed the door.

            – Ryan, you can sit here. Paul, I need you naked and then I will lift you into this hoist for our legless patients.

Paul sat on a couch and removed his clothes. Finally he pulled his peg leg off and swung himself around to face forward. Wiium had opened several packages of plaster bandages and filled a plastic bucket with warm water.

            – Ready? Hold on to my neck and I will lift you.

Wiium picked Paul up and lowered him into a thick silicon sleeve which held him around his ribcage. A small electric motor raised Paul to a convenient height for Wiium’s work. Paul’s almost non-existent stump soon disappeared under several layers of plaster and the bandage was wrapped around his entire waist.

            – Now we wait for it to dry a little. I hope you are not uncomfortable, Paul.

            – No, this is OK.

            – Would you like some coffee? It’s time for morning fika. Have you heard of fika?

            – No. What is it?

            – It is our coffee break with our colleagues. We take a few minutes off work and talk about what we have been doing or any problems. It is a very Swedish thing to do, I think. I will get some coffee for us.

He left the workshop and looked for some mugs. He picked up a thermos and took it all back with him.

            – Ryan, is this mug OK for your hook? If you take it, I will pour coffee. Paul, coffee?

            – Yes please.

            – And of course I will have some while we wait for the plaster to dry. In Sweden we drink coffee every chance we get. Is the plaster warm, Paul?

            – Yes, it feels nice.

            – Good.

Wiium took a pair of plaster shears and cut into the plaster bandage. He slowly pulled it off and reshaped it and wrapped an extra piece of plaster bandage around it to hold it in place. He finished his coffee and refilled the bucket with warm water.

            – Now I am going to wrap your stump the same way. You have a very good stump here for a prosthesis, Paul. I think you can also use it to wear just one prosthetic leg and crutches. You would walk like a one-legged man.

            – Cool! Do you think it would be easier to walk with the disart leg if I have a peg leg this side? It would be more stable.

            – Oh, that’s interesting. I’m not sure. Let me think. We could give the knee a lock. And a rubber ferrule on the end, not a foot. You would not be able to wear a boot. You would always have a peg leg.

            – That’s alright. I like the peg leg I have now.

            – Yes, it looks impressive. So you would have a boot and a peg leg, yes?

            – Yes.

            – Very good. Let’s get started with your stump.

            – Can I ask how you lost your legs, Stig?

            – Yes. I also paid to have my amputations. I had very muscular hairy legs but I wanted slim steel prostheses. So I paid five hundred thousand kronor and you see the results.

            – How much is that?

            – About fifty thousand euro. I don’t know any more in pounds. It changes too often. I also have a pair of peg legs. I would like to use two together but usually I use only one on my right leg.

            – Can you tell me how long it will be before I get my prostheses?

            – I think the peg leg will be ready in three days. Perhaps five days for the disart. It is more complicated to make and to fit. We will also spend a day here adjusting it, Paul.

            – So about a week?

            – Yes, I suppose so. About a week.

            – Did you hear that, Ryan?

            – Yes, I heard. It’s OK. We’re not in any hurry to leave, are we?

            – Well, no.

            – I think you are impatient, Paul. I understand. It is always exciting to get new limbs.

            – Are you going to have any more amputations, Stig?

            – I’m not sure. Sometime I think I would like an above elbow amputation but it would make it difficult to work as a prosthetist. So I will wait. Perhaps it is something to look forward to when I retire. A hook like Ryan’s. Ryan, how are you getting on with your hooks? You have had them about nine months, is that right?

            – I like them just fine. I learn new things every week. I like having hooks more than I liked my hands. Now I feel the way I think I should be.

            – Then you have had very successful amputations. You are lucky. Are you going to have more work done? Would you not like a new pair of legs?

            – I have thought about it…

            – Really? You’ve never said anything to me!

            – Well, it’s a private sort of thing. I’m interested to see how well you walk, Paul. It would be interesting to have two thigh stumps and two artificial legs but also your legs look very good, Stig. I can imagine having two lower legs with my tall boots on them permanently. Instead of putting my boots on each morning, I would simply put my legs on and the boots would be laced up already.

            – I imagine it takes some time to get your boots ready with hooks.

            – True. Paul helps me.

            – You are a good pair together, I can see. OK, Paul. Now we have to wait again for the plaster to harden. Not long now. What are you going to do for a week in Sweden?

            – I don’t know yet. I wasn’t sure what kind of place it is.

            – Well, Uppsala is a nice place to live but there is not a lot to see for visitors, unless you are interested in Swedish history. But you should go into Stockholm while I am making the prostheses. There is much more to see and do there. It is a very beautiful place in summertime. You know there are two trains an hour from Uppsala? Very easy to travel around.

Wiium removed the plaster mould for Paul’s thigh socket and washed plaster residue from his midriff and stumps. He gently lifted Paul from the casting frame and placed him on the couch. Paul dressed and attached his short peg leg.

            – I need your mobile numbers then I can contact you more easily. Call my number and ring off.

He handed Ryan and Paul his business card and they called the number, including the country code. Paul’s number appeared in memory first and Wiium quickly added a name to it. Ryan’s followed a few seconds later.

            – Good, thank you. I’ll let you know the situation on Thursday morning, Paul. Perhaps you would wait for my message before you leave the hotel. OK, my friends. You’re free to go. I hope you have a good time exploring this week and I’ll see you Thursday or Friday.

Paul slid off the couch and crutched over to Ryan who was looking for a place to eat lunch.

            – Ready? Let’s go.

They caught a bus back to the town centre and had meatballs, mash and lingonberries for lunch. They strolled around, both wary of the cobblestones in the old town. They settled in the beer garden of a riverside tavern and sank several lagers before taking a taxi back to the hotel and snoozing for a couple of hours.

 

Next morning, Ryan suggested they go into Stockholm to buy some cigars.

            – Good idea. We’ll need a cutter and a new lighter too, won’t we?

            – I suppose so. Never mind. Are you up for that? We might be walking around a bit more than usual. Tell me if it’s getting a bit much for you.

Ryan asked the hotel receptionist if he knew about public transport in Stockholm. He wanted to know if there was a tourist card available, example.

            – Oh yes, just go to any kiosk at Uppsala station and ask for a tourist ticket. You can get them for one, three or five days and you can travel on all the buses and trams and trains and metro, and get half price entry to museums and so on.

            – So if we buy the card here, it’s valid for the Stockholm train too?

            – Yes!

            – Very good. Thanks.

They bought two five-day tickets and set off to the big city with a free map. Ryan already had the address of one of Europe’s oldest extant tobacconists and they intended making it their first stop. They had to find Odenplan. Paul spotted it on the metro map. It was easy to find the metro station by the big T symbol and they learned that lift in Swedish was hiss. It opened onto something out of Aladdin’s cave. The station was hewn from rock and painted with huge fronds and leaves. It looked amazing. Train seventeen for Alvik arrived and they rode four stops. Odenplan station was even more stunning that the other one. It was like walking through a computer simulation of a cave. Neither had ever seen anything like it. They called a hiss and were soon on a pedestrian precinct in the sunshine. Ryan studied the map and pointed to a street fifty yards away.

            Paul was happy to swing himself along. It was good when he could work up a bit of speed for a change. Ryan strode alongside, hooks at his side. He saw their destination in front of them, announcing itself with the single word Tobak. Ryan held the door open for Paul who had a couple of granite steps to climb.

            – God dag!

            – Hello! Do you speak English?

            – Oh yes. Welcome. Can I help you?

            – I hope so. We want some cigars. And we also need a cutter and a lighter and probably some butane too.

            – I see. Do you have any mark in mind? We have a new Cohiba design. Twenty centimetres, eighty-five gauge.

            – May I see them?

            – Of course. Here is a box of twenty.

He lifted the lid to display his wares. The cigars looked very handsome and very tempting.

            – What do you think, mate? Shall we get twenty? That should last us a week, right? OK, we’ll take that box, please, and a cutter. Do you have electronic cigar lighters which stay alight for several seconds?

            – Yes, we have these models.

He lifted out a tray and Ryan immediately recognised the squarish one he had left at home.

            – I’ll take this one, please. Will you test it?

            – Let me fill it for you.

            – Thanks. That might last us the week, what do you think? The other one goes for a week between fillings.

The shop assistant demonstrated the steady flame which burned for seven or eight seconds before another press of the button relit it.

            – Great. How much do we owe you?

            – Will you pay with a credit card?

            – Yes.

            – Thank you. That will be ten thousand two hundred and forty nine kronor, please. About a thousand euro. The cutter is gratis, free.

Ryan swiped his card and the transaction was done. They looked at the displays of cigars and pipes and snuff, which was uniquely still legal in Sweden after being prohibited everywhere else. Ryan asked Paul to put their purchases into his backpack.

            – Goodbye. Welcome again!

 

            – What shall we do now? There’s a big army surplus store in a street called Kungsgatan in the town centre. Shall we go and see if they have any cool gear? Get some camo stuff?

            – Yeah, sounds cool. How do we get there? Underground?

            – It would be easiest. Nearest station is Hötorget, it says here. Have a look and see if you can find it.

            – There it is. Two stops back. We came through it.

            – Off we go, then.

The amputee mates had no inkling by studying the route on the metro map that their next destination was only about three hundred yards away. But they had time and energy and it was fun seeing Stockholm’s extraordinary underground.

 

Hötorget station was almost tame in comparison. Squiggly neon tubes snaked over the rocky ceiling. They found the shop on Kungsgatan and spent over an hour examining army surplus gear from around the world. Ryan found a leather shoulder harness used by the Burmese army for something unfathomable. He was going to have it adapted slightly to use as the harness for his hooks. He also found some khaki shirts with deep breast pockets for his cigars and shorter than normal sleeves which his short sockets would suit perfectly. There were some Swedish white canvas and lambskin winter coats which they both admired but did not want to have to transport back home in midsummer. Paul found some long cashmere socks and realised they would be perfect stump socks. He bought two packs of ten. The new goods were light but bulky. Ryan agreed to carry them in a large carrier bag. The problem with carrying anything with handles in a hook was that the item would rotate and hit his leg. It was impossible to keep straight. They walked back towards the metro station and found a bar called Wallonen. There was a good vibe coming from it, some good music. They went in and found a bench near the front window. Paul moved a stool in front of him to rest his peg on while Ryan ordered a couple of beers. There was Swedish Pripp’s or Finnish Lapin Kulta at happy hour prices – specialpris. Ryan asked for two Lapins in straight glasses and swiped his credit card.

            

            – Here you go, mate. Get that down your neck. Cheers!

            – Skål! Mmm, not bad, this. What is it?

            – Finnish beer.

            – What was that you said to Stig about getting leg stumps? I didn’t know you had anything else planned.

            – Well, I wouldn’t say planned, but I like the idea of having two stumps and black carbon sockets and legs to match my arms. And I love the way double amputees walk. And if that’s too much like hard work, I could use stubbies instead. Lots of different ways to be and things to try when you have decent stumps.

            – So when might you be going under the knife?

            – Don’t know yet. I haven’t planned that far ahead. I don’t want to do it this year. I want to feel completely natural with my hooks before I have my legs off.

            – Why don’t we invite that bloke at Castro Cigars over for a few beers one night? He might have a few ideas. Tell him it will be an evening themed around amputations.

            – Alright, let’s do that. I think he has BK stumps, though. I want AK jobs. Anyway. It looks like smoking is forbidden in here and I want to try one of those new cigars. We ought to find a place where we can sit outside.

            – Yeah, it would be nice in this weather. Let’s have one more here and then go somewhere. Will you get them?

            – Well, I’d like to see you try, Paul. Yes, I’ll get them.

            – Sama igen?

            – Same again, yeah, please. What’s a good place to sit outside and have a beer?

            – Oh, go to the Old Town. Lots of nice places there by the sea.

            – How do we get there?

            – It’s two stops south on the tunnelbana. Get off at Gamla Stan. That means Old Town.

            – OK, I think we can find that. Thanks.

Ryan opened his hooks and carefully grasped the tall glasses. He asked Paul to steady them before he released his grip.

            – Can’t bend down without slopping the beer, sorry.

            – Just one of the disadvantages of being a disabled skin. What are we going to do the rest of the week?

            – We need to ask one of the locals, don’t we? It’s one thing reading about the museums and art galleries and all the rest of it in the guide book but they never tell you where the locals hang out when they want a bit of fun.

            – Same thing everywhere, I suppose. In London, all the tourists are told about the Tower of London and St Paul’s although no-one I know has ever been to either of them. Maybe we’ll run into a friendly devotee this afternoon who’ll show us around.

            – Funny how no-one has said anything to us yet, isn’t it?

            – Yeah, it is a bit. Maybe people are shy.

 

They found a Bierhaus on Nygatan near the station. They sat outside watching tourists looking at them and fired up two Cohibas. Paul had been reticent to walk much further. The entire old town seemed to be paved with cobblestones, the very worst surface to walk on with crutches and one peg leg. A little further down the road, Ryan could see a restaurant called The Hairy Pig which deserved a visit if only because of the name. They might have a late lunch in there.

            – I suppose when we both have artificial legs, we won’t be able to walk around places like this. These old streets look all very fine with the cobblestones but I certainly don’t intend trying to walk on them when I get my legs.

            – No, same here. Even with crutches, they’d be difficult. Ah well, just another thing a disabled skinhead can’t do. I’ve been thinking about getting a car when we go back. Do you want one? You know, those little French one-man thingies. They’re classed as electric bicycles so you don’t even need a driving licence. They only go at about ten miles an hour but they’d be handy when we’re legless.

            – Come off it! They go faster than ten miles an hour.

            – Yeah, I think twenty-five is tops. Anyway, you can get a version which is adapted for use with hands only. No pedals on the floor at all.

            – Do you think you can drive one with hooks?

            – Don’t know until I try, do I? Shall we find out who sells them and try one out? We could stick both of them in our parking space.

            – I hope we don’t have another flood and lose them.

            – Well, they’d fit in the freight lift, wouldn’t they? We could just take them upstairs and leave them outside the door.

            – Ha! That would look cool. I can see you’ve been thinking about having your legs off more than you’ve been letting on. Anyway, I think I’ll get one in any event. It would be handy to nip down to the pub in or into Stratford, wouldn’t it?

            – Yeah, it would. Do you want another beer here or shall we get something to eat?

            – Both, in that order.

            – Alright.

Ryan went in and asked for a couple more beers. The barman said he would bring them out.

 

Half an hour later the sun had begun to shine in their eyes so they emptied their glasses and went to the Hairy Pig. It served game – wild boar, reindeer meat and the like. Ryan would have to feed himself with a fork but was up for the challenge. Not every meal could be handled with his bare hooks. They ordered wild boar sausages with garlic potatoes, a pile of berries and forest mushrooms. It was very tasty and Ryan promised to return the next time he was in the neighbourhood.

 

The main railway station was only about a hundred yards away. They walked slowly along the quay and looked around at handsome self-assured people making their way home as rush hour began and wondered why they felt so out of place.

 

They were back in Uppsala an hour later.

            – Do you want to go back to the hotel yet or shall we have a beer in town?

            – Let’s find a pub. I need a piss too.

            – Me too.

People were sitting on a terrace at one end of the building. Paul crutched along on his peg leg at a decent rate, anxious to relieve himself. There were toilets on the trains but he did not know. They climbed carefully up a series of broad steps, into the pub and to the gent’s. Ryan held him steady on his peg while he did his business and then saw to his own needs. He ran hot water over his hooks.

            – Go and find us a table, mate, and I’ll bring the beers.

Paul looked around for an empty table somewhere in the shade. They had had enough sun for one day. His bald head was already slightly tender. A group of women was preparing to leave and Paul stood nearby, optimistically waiting for access. He settled himself on a steel chair and watched out for Ryan. Ryan appeared carrying two more lagers and looked around. Paul waved and Ryan walked over.

            – That was lucky that they were just leaving.

            – One of them winked at me!

            – I’m not surprised, a good-looking skin like you.

            – I think I caught the sun this afternoon. It’s not what I expected of Sweden, to end up with sunburn on the first day.

            – Have you noticed how late it stays light?

            – Not really. We were in bed fairly early yesterday, weren’t we? How far north are we, really? Are we further north than Edinburgh?

            – Yeah, much further than that, mate.

            – So how come in Scotland it’s always freezing cold and here it’s like this? I don’t get it.

            – I don’t know. But it’s a nice surprise. Lots of things have been nice surprises. Want a smoke?

            – Not just yet. You have one. I like to watch.

            – Cut the end for me, will you?

Paul took the big Cohiba and the cutter and sliced the tip off. Ryan took it between the fingers of a hook and placed it between his teeth at just the right angle to look impressive without seeming louche. He was satisfied with the burn after twenty seconds.

            – I’m glad we got another one of these lighters. It’s almost as if they were invented for guys like me.

He picked his beer up with his right hook, took the cigar from his mouth with his left and swigged. Guys sitting at adjacent tables watched him in fascination.

            – Hey! Can I buy you a beer? You’d like another?

            – Hi! That’s nice of you. Yes please.

            – Two beers coming up.

He soon returned with two more lagers and placed them before Ryan and Paul.

            – Excuse me for watching you. It is a bit rude.

            – Yeah, but when you see a man with two hooks – of course you look. It’s interesting. I know people like to watch. It’s OK.

            – What happened to you?

            – Ah, now that’s what I don’t like to talk about. Sorry. It’s a bad memory.

            – Yes, I guess it is. What brings you to Uppsala?

            – My friend needs some new prosthetic legs of a special design and this is where they are made.

            – Really? I had no idea. Well, you are very welcome.

            – Thank you. We were in Stockholm today. And tomorrow too, I suppose. What is there in Stockholm that is interesting and easy to visit?

            – Oh, the Wasa ship museum.

            – What’s that?

            – The king of Sweden wanted a gigantic warship. This was about four hundred years ago, of course. And on the day of the launch, the whole town came to the harbour to see the wonderful new ship. And as soon as it was in the water, it fell over and sank to the bottom of the harbour which is very deep and it stayed there until about nineteen sixty when they brought it to the surface and put it in a museum.

            – What, the whole ship?

            – Yes! It’s incredible to see it, even if you’re not interested in history or the navy. Just to see the huge wooden boat is incredible.

            – Oh, in that case, we’ll go and see it tomorrow. Where is it on this map?

            – It’s over here. The best way to get there is on tram number seven from the main railway station. It goes right to the Wasa.

            – Oh, that’s great. Thank you.

            – And another nice place to go for visitors is to Skansen but I think it is not the best place for your friend because it is on a big hill.

            – What’s there?

            – It’s a big open air museum with old wooden houses and churches and other stuff from all over Sweden in a big park. Then there is a funfair, you know, a Tivoli and there is also the zoo. I think perhaps you are not so interested.

            – No, not really. I was interested to see some underground stations, though.

            – Oh yes. The world’s longest art gallery.

            – What is?

            – Stockholm’s Tunnelbana metro is! All the stations have art in them. You could go for a ride on a train and look at them, you know, get off at an interesting station and catch the next train to the next one. It is nice and cool in the metro too in summer. If you are going to Wasa tomorrow, you could first go to Kungsträdgården station, the next one along from the main station on the blue line. It is very special because it has an underground spring and waterfall and small lake in it.

            – Really?

            – Yes, go and see it! And the tram seven goes past it too. So, it’s time for us to catch our train. It was nice meeting you. Hej då!

 

            – Friendly people, aren’t they?

            – Seems like it. Shall we go and see the ship museum?

            – Yeah. We haven’t got anything else on, have we? It’ll take a while yet before your sockets are ready

            – I just realised something. I don’t have any long trousers. When I get my legs, I’ve only got my shorts to wear with them.

            – And you want long trews. Shall we go back to the army surplus store?

            – Alright by me.

 

They finished their beers and returned to the hotel. They spent much of the evening in the hotel bar watching other patrons, watching YouTube videos on their phones and feeling generally satisfied with life.

 

They waited until after nine the next morning to make sure Wiium was not about to invite Paul for a test fitting. Ryan folded the carrier bag he had got from the army store and put it in his backpack. He suspected they might come back with more goods than they intended. But the first stop was the amazing underground waterfall in Kungsträdgården. It was a modest affair as far as waterfalls went. The wonder of it was that it existed inside a metro station. A tram took them to the Wasa, where their city card afforded them fifty per cent off the entrance fee. Paul saw some wheelchairs for disabled visitors and sat in one. Ryan pushed his mate around the astonishing wooden ship and they even spent time looking at the audiovisual commentary on its history and recovery.

 

Ryan checked his street plan. They could take the tram back into town to its terminus and walk the rest of the way to the army surplus shop. He had realised that the metro map was not the best way to navigate the town centre. Paul was up to the walk. Ryan thought Paul was bearing up very well with all the walking they were doing. He was managing very well with the single short peg and crutches. They found the shop and examined the huge variety of military uniform pants on offer. Paul was interested in finding something loose to hide the joint at the front of his pelvis where the leg connected to the socket. He found a pair of US army khaki cargo pants, covered in pockets and very baggy. They were not precisely skinhead uniform but would do the job. Ryan was thinking more about his future leg amputations and selected a couple of pairs of city camouflage shorts. His prosthetic legs would look smart extending from the knee-length shorts.

 

            – What shall we do now? It’s getting warm again.

            – Let’s have a ride on the underground and see some of the other stations.

            – OK, that might be fun.

They knew where Hötorget station was and descended to the platforms. A westbound train arrived first. They rode as far as Alvik and back again to T-Centralen. They took a ride to Ropsten and returned as far as Hornstull. They got off to explore interesting stations three times. They both shot some video to show Morag. They left the metro in Hornstull and went up to street level. There was nothing notable about the area and were about to go back when Ryan noticed T-Centralen on the destination blind of a bus about to pull into a nearby stop.

            – Come on, mate. That bus’ll take us back into town.

The driver waited for his passenger and lowered the entrance to make boarding a little easier. Paul showed his travel card and the driver nodded. He waited again for Paul to be seated. The bus turned right into Hornsgatan and progressed slowly through Söder, around Slussen and into the town centre. It was time for lunch and Ryan wanted a beer.

 

They found a gastropub not far from the army surplus store and looked at the menu. They had tasted wild boar, now they were tempted by reindeer in red wine sauce. It was not what they expected. It was a lot chewier than a normal fillet and had a wild taste to it. But they had now tasted and eaten reindeer, another first. Ryan paid and they walked along Kongsgatan to Wallonen. The bar tender recognised them and poured a couple of beers.

            – Hej! Nice to see you again. How are you enjoying Stockholm?

            – It’s great. We just had reindeer for lunch.

            – And did you like it?

            – Well, I ate it but I don’t think I will order it again soon.

            – No. It is a little strange and very expensive. Here’s your beer. Hundred eighty kronor, please.

Ryan flashed his credit card and carefully gripped the glasses. Paul took them and put them on the table.

            – Have you noticed how we keep ending up in this area? It seems like all the transport comes to this one place.

            – Yeah, I thought the same thing. It’s alright, isn’t it? Makes it easy to change trains or whatever. Cheers!

Paul’s phone pinged to announce the arrival of a text message. Paul checked it. It was from Wiium.

            – peg leg socket ready for testing. any time this afternoon is ok.

            – Oh, that was fast. Look!

Ryan read the message.

            – What do you want to do? Hang around in town or go and try your new peg leg on?

            – Let’s have a couple of beers first and then we could go back. Is there anything else you wanted to do today?

            – Nothing in particular, no. I want to see your new peg leg too. You’re gonna need some new crutches as well.

            – He must have some, don’t you reckon?

            – Yeah, I should think so. Send him an answer that we’ll see him around four o’clock.

Paul typed out his reply and shortly received an ok as confirmation.

            – He didn’t waste much time, did he? I wonder if I’ll be coming back here when I get my legs?

            – Ryan mate, I don’t want to put you off or anything but are you sure you want to lose your legs too?

            – Well, the way I see it, I wouldn’t be losing anything because I will always have artificial legs and two very handsome stumps. Where is the loss? Legs are legs. It doesn’t matter if they’re meat or carbon fibre.

            – Alright, I know what you mean. But you want to have stumps instead of getting two disarts, don’t you? I think you should keep something to make life a bit easier.

            – With two stumps, I can use two prosthetic legs, or one with crutches or a peg leg and crutches or stubbies. Lots of stuff to play with. Sometimes I wish I’d done my legs first but I’m glad that I have my hooks now. And I’m well on the way to feeling these hooks are my hands. I don’t have to think about how to use ’em anymore. Otherwise I’d be sitting here with two fake legs wishing I had hooks too. See, the thing is, I want to experience all these combinations while I’m still young and have the energy to learn how to use the new limbs I’ve always wanted. It’s better to be twenty-five with fake legs and hooks and able to use them like the real thing instead of getting them when I’m fifty and too shagged to learn.

            – I guess so. That was a long speech. You have given it a lot of thought, haven’t you? I’m surprised because you’ve never mentioned getting your legs off until we came here.

            – Well, so what? You didn’t say anything about having your teeth out. Which reminds me, you got any smokes?

            – Nah, I thought you would have some in your backpack.

            – Fuck it. Shall we go and buy some more?

            – I’m not that desperate, mate. And you know we’ll have to pay a shitload of customs duties if we bring some back to London, don’t you?

            – I know, but I can afford it.

            – And spend two hours waiting in customs while they argue with some twat who tried to smuggle in a bunch of mangoes. Fuck off!

 

They caught the train back to Uppsala and a taxi to the clinic. The receptionist alerted Wiium, who met them in the lobby and took them to his workshop.

            – Good to see you again. Well, Paul, I have made a socket which will be the end product if you are satisfied. The peg is already attached, so I need you to come to the bars and we will try it there.

He brought over a wheelchair and asked Paul to transfer into it.

            – Take your peg off, please. And your shorts. Good.

He pushed Paul to the start of the parallel bars and fetched a long peg leg from his work bench. He held it out for Paul to admire.

            – You see this has a knee lock to keep the peg stiff. I will explain it in a moment. First of all, I want to you roll this liner onto your stump. Turn it inside out first. The sticky side goes against your skin. Make sure the marking inside is at the top. Now pull it on slowly. Good. Does it feel tight? OK. Now look at your new peg leg. It has a drop lock. It will always lock the peg leg to be stiff when you stand up. If you want to bend the peg leg, like to sit down, you pull the lock up about ten centimetres. Then the knee joint will bend and the peg leg will be much better if you want to sit. OK, now I put it on your stump. Can you pull it? It must be very tight but not hurt, of course. Is it ready? Now, put the leg in front of you with your hands and hold on to the bars. Push yourself up and straighten your peg leg – you see, the drop lock fell and now you have a stiff peg leg. Hold the bars and lift yourself up and move the peg leg forward.

Paul knew exactly what was expected of him. It felt odd to have a long peg but the sensation was familiar. The socket and its liner were tighter than he was used to but that was only a good thing. Ryan watched him intently. Wiium fetched a pair of crutches.

            – Turn around and go back. Does it hurt if you spin on the peg?

            – No. This feels pretty good. It’s fun to be tall again.

            – OK, I think you already know how to use it. Take these crutches and I will see if they are the correct length. Yes, it looks OK. Try a couple of steps.

Paul balanced on the peg and leaned forward with the crutches. He lifted himself slightly and swung the peg forward.

            – Try to swing it to the side a little. It must not catch on the floor.

Paul crutched across to Ryan.

            – How do I look?

            – Pretty hot, mate.

He spun around and went back to the wheelchair. He transferred the left crutch to his right hand and lowered himself to the seat. He pulled the lock towards him and the lower section of the peg with its fat rubber ferrule dropped to the floor. He hooked the crutches over one of the bars and turned the wheelchair to face Ryan.

            – Like what you see?

            – I do.

Paul turned back and reached for the crutches. He held onto the crossbars and pushed himself up. His peg locked. He turned and walked around the workshop. Wiium was impressed but knew that the peg leg was comparatively easy. The real test was yet to come. The disart prosthesis would not be easy to master.

            – Paul, how do you feel? Do you like that? Does it feel strong and safe?

            – I think it feels fantastic. It’s exactly what I wanted. Thank you very much.

            – You are welcome. Now, I should not do this but if you want to wear that peg leg for this evening, I will let you go out with it. You must be careful. When you come back, I think on Friday, we will see if it needs some adjustments.

            – So I can wear it now?

            – Yes, you can.

            – Great! Ryan mate, I want my new M-65s. Can you sling ’em over?

Ryan picked the khaki trousers out of his carrier bag and looked them over. There were no inappropriate price tags attached. He took them to Paul sitting in the wheelchair and fed the end of the peg leg into the left trouser leg. Paul pulled the material up to his butt and made as if to stand. He peg locked and he pulled the waistband around his midriff and buttoned it. The right leg hung empty. Ryan folded the leg in half and tucked the result into Paul’s waistband. It looked as if Paul had half a thigh. The left cuff was crumpled on the ground so he rolled it until it was clear. He could just see the tip of the ferrule.

            – All set and ready. Here we go.

Paul took a few steps and looked at himself in the full-length mirror at the end of the room. He was very pleased with what he saw. A one legged man on crutches. He swung around.

            – Are you ready, mate? Let’s take our shit to the hotel and go out again. Hang out in front of the station.

            – Nah, we’ll have a beer again like yesterday.

            – I hope you have a good evening. I will send a text when the other prosthesis is ready to test. Please bring that peg leg when you come, Paul. And if it starts to hurt, take it off immediately.

            – Yes, I know. I understand. Thank you, Stig. See you on Friday.

            – I hope so.

The two six foot tall skinheads left the clinic and headed towards the hotel. Ryan grasped a short peg leg in one hook and two short crutches hung from his other arm.

 

Paul sat in the lobby while Ryan took everything up to their room. He took the opportunity to wash his stumps and change stump socks before donning his short arms. He made sure he had his wallet, some cigars and picked up the city map. Downstairs, he sat facing Paul and relaxed in the armchair, black artificial arms on the armrests.

            – How’s your stump?

            – Great. This is a bit tighter than the short peg but it’s a good feeling. And it’s amazing to see eye to eye with you again.

            – Do you reckon you’ll be wearing that one from now on?

            – Yeah, I hope so.

            – So do I. Not only because you’ll be as tall as me but because you look fucking amazing on one peg leg. You should see what your cargo pants look like when you kick forward.

            – You’ll have to video me walking and I can see it.

            – Yeah, I will. So, what do you want to do tonight? Shall we go where we were yesterday or find somewhere new?

            – Ask the receptionist if there are any beer gardens.

            – Good idea. Hang on.

Ryan crossed to reception and waited behind some other customers for a few moments. They were handed their keys and Ryan stepped forward and rested his short arms on the counter-top.

            – My mate and me want to have a drink in town. Do you know any nice places with a beer garden where we can sit outside?

            – Sure. Have you got a map of Uppsala?

            – Not yet.

            – OK, here’s one. Right, we’re here and the closest beer garden is just here. Then there’s one by the river and another good one here.

            – How far is that one?

            – About half a kilometre.

            – OK, thanks very much.

Ryan walked over to Paul and showed him the map, strategically marked with crosses.

            – This one is half a kilometre away. Taxi or walk it?

            – Let’s try a taxi. It might be interesting getting in and out of a car wearing this thing.

            – That’s what I thought. OK, are you ready? Shall we go?

            – Let’s go. Did you remember to bring some smokes?

 

Paul led the way and Ryan shot video of his mate from all angles. Paul had a good rhythm going, a steady pace, swinging his long peg around, catching his balance with the crutches. With his baggy M-65s and the folded up right leg, he looked much like a one-legged man. Closer inspection revealed the thick rubber ferrule instead of a boot at the end of the leg. They were halfway to the pub before he told Ryan they had enough video.

            – I’ll be interested to see that.

            – You look brilliant.

 

The beer garden was still in sunshine. It was a pleasantly warm evening with a light breeze. Paul lowered himself onto a chair and released his knee lock. The trouser cuff rode up to reveal a good few inches of peg leg. He arranged the crutches under his chair. A young waitress appeared, wishing them God kväll.

            – Hello. Do you speak English? Can we have two lagers, please?

She brought two foaming lagers in unusually tall and narrow frosted glasses. They were the perfect shape for Ryan with his present short arms.

            – You know what? I want some glasses like this at home. I wonder if they would sell half a dozen?

            – Ask and find out.

            – Yeah. I don’t want to nick any. It wouldn’t feel right.

 

They downed two more beers and Ryan left carrying three well-packed beer glasses. The proprietor explained they did not sell from their limited stock of glasses but she would make an exception in Ryan’s case. She charged him three hundred kronor and Ryan gave her five hundred.

 

Paul was beginning to feel the effects already and suggested they take a taxi to the next venue. Ryan hailed an eMerc which had its light on and Paul began the process of getting two crutches and a collapsible peg leg into the back seat of a car. The driver pulled the front passenger seat forward to give him more space. Ryan circled around to the other side and sat next to Paul. The driver heard them speaking English and chipped in himself.

            – It’s grand to hear English. Where are you gents off to?

His accent advertised his Irish nationality.

            – We want to go to the beer garden by the river. Do you know the one? I’ve got it marked on a map if I can get the fucking thing out of my pocket.

            – Is it near the town centre? Don’t worry, I know the one.

            – So how come an Irishman is driving a taxi in Uppsala?

            – Well, I came to Sweden to meet my girlfriend’s parents and we had such a grand time that I didn’t want to go back home to Cork. So after I cleared up my affairs and quit my job, I came back here to live in the in-laws’ basement at first and then we got our own flat. I’m studying at the university but I drive a taxi now and then to get some pocket money.

            – And can you speak Swedish and everything?

            – Yes. It’s an easy language to pick up if you know English. You’ve probably seen lots of names and signs which seem familiar. If you’re gonna be spending any time here, it’s worth making the effort and learning a few words. The Swedes appreciate it and are a lot more open for it. You must have noticed how stand-offish they are sometimes.

            – Is that what it is? Yes, I’ve noticed something odd about them. I just thought everyone was busy or in a hurry somewhere.

            – Sure. Don’t take it personally. It’s just the way they are. But how about yourselves? What brings you to our fair city?

            – We’re having some artificial legs made here. Special order sort of thing.

            – Is that so? Can you not get them closer to home?

            – We could, but not the same type.

            – I get it. Well, here’s the restaurant. Have yourselves a nice evening. If you need a taxi later on, you can give us a call. I’m working late.

He handed Paul a card with his mobile number on it. Ryan got out and went around the car to Paul’s door. He was having trouble twisting his body enough to get the peg out the door.

            – You should have sat the other side where I was. You’ll have to remember next time. Rest on your hands and I’ll pull you round.

Ryan gripped Paul’s peg leg with both hooks and tugged until the peg touched the pavement.

            – Give me the crutches.

Paul grabbed hold of the door frame and pulled himself up. Ryan pushed his hooks under Paul’s armpits and lifted him with his elbows until the peg leg’s drop lock engaged. He gave Paul his crutches and stood aside as Paul swung away from the car.

            – Maybe see you later, mate. Bye!

            – I was just thinking about what you said about sitting the other side of the car. It will be even more difficult to get the disart leg in and out.

            – We’ll have to see. No-one said it was going to be easy, mate. And cars are not designed for double amputees, whether they’re driving or passengers. Let’s get some beer.

 

The sun was as low in the sky as it would get at this time of year so far north. The garden was in the shade already, a little cool. They found a circular table and arranged themselves facing each other. A young blond man nearby had a good view of Paul’s peg leg resting on a chair and discretely kept as close an eye on them as possible. Ryan noticed him straightaway.

            – Check out that guy two tables away. He can’t keep his eyes off us.

            – I don’t know if you can see from your angle but his left leg is in a plaster cast.

            – Oh, well that may explain it. Something. I don’t know. Ask him over.

            – I can’t do that!

            – Course you can. Go on. I’m going inside to get some beers.

 

He went inside to order, several patrons eyeing his hooks and unusually short arms. He ordered three beers and the bar tender said he would bring them out shortly. Ryan went to the gent’s. By the time he returned to the table, Paul and the blond guy were deep in conversation and Ryan felt as if he was intruding.

            – This is my mate Ryan. This is Kristian.

            – Just call me Kris. I saw you arrive. Sorry if I stared. I am an amputee too, since spring. And then I broke my leg so I have been to the hospital for a new plaster. It looks like I have a broken leg but they have made the bottom part long so it looks like I have a foot. Ha! There is no foot.

Ryan looked at the cast. The foot was short and rounded and there was no opening for toes. There was a rubber heel underneath.

            – So I can walk on this cast much better than even with my prosthesis.

            – I told Kris he should get a peg leg and forget about BK legs.

            – So you’re telling me you’ve got that plaster cast up to your arse but no foot?

            – That’s right.

            – Well, fuck me. I wanna try that.

            – Haha! It feels really good. And I love it when people stare at the foot and think – Oho! Something strange!

            – How did you lose your foot? Fuck, I hate it when people ask me but it’s always cool to know.

            – I tell everyone it was an accident but I made it so a car falls on my leg. It was on one of those things you pump up. I don’t know what it is in English, and my friend knocked it away so the steel part was on my leg for two hours. Then he called an ambulance and the doctors cut my leg off because it was then all shit. And then I fell over with my new leg and I broke my bone and so I have my whole leg in plaster for four weeks. Now it is your turn. How did you lose your hands and why are your arms so short?

            – I wanted stumps so I paid a doctor to cut them off. And I have lots of artificial arms. Tonight I wanted to have the short ones. It makes me look special.

            – It makes you look like a cyborg, not an invalid.

            – Well, I never think I am an invalid. I like having hooks, not hands, so I am the way I want to be. Invalids are the way they do not want to be.

            – Yes, that is true. I am an invalid but I don’t think like that.

            – Will you have your other leg off too?

            – Yes, I want it. But first I have to think of some other way to do it. It is not possible to do the same accident two times. But I hope in a couple of years I will have two leg stumps below my knees. I think it is very handsome on a man and very erotic.

            – I want two stumps above my knees and I want to use prosthetic legs. I think I am more interested in the artificial legs than in new stumps, but of course they must also be perfect.

            – And how will you do it?

            – I can pay a surgeon.

            – Really? There are surgeons who cut off legs for money?

            – Oh yes. But the proper paperwork has to be done first to make sure they are not caught doing unnecessary amputations for money. That’s why it’s expensive. The official red tape.

            – Yes, I see. I wish I could pay a surgeon. It would be so easy.

            – Kris, I can give you a contact on the internet to get the thing started if you want to pay but it is not quick or easy or cheap.

            – Yes, that would be very good.

Ryan looked at the contact details on his phone and dictated them to Kris.

            – Write to him and tell him why you want to have your leg off.

            – Thank you, Ryan. This is very helpful, I hope. And now it is my turn to get some beers.

He got up and walked on his slightly bent full-length cast to the door and signalled for Tre till. As he limped back, Ryan could see the disturbing absence of a toe opening in the cast.

 

They sank more rounds until the low sun disappeared behind some buildings and dusk fell. Paul called the Irish taxi driver, who said he would be waiting outside in about ten minutes. Kris got up and shook hands and wished them good night. He limped away on his rigid plaster prosthesis and was soon lost to view.

 

Thursday was torturous. They went into Stockholm and tried to kill time in various pubs in the town centre, staring at the city map for something which might interest both of them. Ryan suggested visiting the Design Museum but Paul was reluctant to walk around more than necessary. He suggested a city cruise but Ryan disliked the idea. It was another warm day, so after dining in a Thai restaurant, they went underground and rode as far as Fittja before returning to Karlaplan. At street level again, they looked around for a bar with tables outside in the shade. There was one with a meagre three tables, all currently occupied.

            – Come on. Let’s go back to Wallonen. At least they have decent beer.

            – Alright.

They changed trains in the inescapable T-Centralen and left the metro in Hötorget. There was a street market outside on a cobbled square selling vegetables and sausages and rye bread, woollen pullovers and Lapplander hats. There were reindeer skins and carved wooden figures of Swedish wildlife. It was the best entertainment they had had all day.

            – We ought to buy Morag a little present while we’re here. Do you think she’d like one of those woolly hats? I’m going to buy one.

He handed over a fistful of low denomination banknotes and took possession of a pure white woollen hat which would keep Morag’s ears warm in winter. It was simple but charming. He thought Morag might like it.

Wallonen was packed. It was late afternoon and a Finnish football team and some supporters were on their way back to Turku on the ferry in a couple of hours. They were desperately trying to use up their kronor by buying as much Lapin Kulta as possible. There was nowhere to sit until one of the team, a skinhead himself, noticed the guy with hooks and his mate on crutches and shouted out to them.

            – Tuu tänne istuun! Come over here please and sit!

He shoved his teammates up and made room for Paul. There was still no room for Ryan to sit. Paul managed to get his peg into position and the Finn inspected his trousers in surprise.

            – You have only one wooden leg? Jesus. We need you on our team.

            – Have you played a match?

            – Yes we have been in a match but we did not win and so now we must go home to Finland with these angry fans.

            – They don’t look angry to me.

            – Oh, they are very angry. You will see later. They will be quite angry, I think.

Ryan returned with two beers in his hooks.

            – Take these, will you? Where am I gonna sit?

            – Come sit next to me. My friend is just leaving. Siirry, saatana!

His teammate rose and squeezed out of the way. Ryan squeezed into his place. He reached out for his beer.

            – I like your hook. It is very nice. And you have two. You are a little greedy, I think. One is enough.

            He smirked.

            – Yeah, one is enough. Skål!

            – Kippis. Where are you from?

            – From London. In England.

            – Oh, we don’t see many English people these days. Well, it is nice you come to see us. How do you like this beer? Is it good?

            – Yes, it’s a good brew.

            – You know it is from Finland. We don’t like the Swedish beer so we come here to Wallonen always. Drink up, my friends. I buy another one.

Ryan and Paul had taken only a few sips but were already being offered refills. There was nothing for it. Down the hatch.

 

They drank several beers before one of the crowd noticed that they had only twenty-five minutes until the ferry left. Thirty-odd Finns downed their beers and filed out the door as quickly as possible.

            – Time to go. See you again sometime. Bye bye.

Ryan and Paul looked around at the suddenly empty bar and the hundreds of empty and half empty glasses on the tables. Ryan belched.

            – I need a piss, mate. Will you come and hold me up?

 

They both felt they had had enough, at least for the time being. Ryan was worried that Paul would trip but Paul crutched along with exaggerated caution and they caught a late afternoon train to Uppsala without incident. Safely back at the hotel, they lay on their bed for a nap and slept for four hours.

 

Wiium sent Paul a text message while they were having breakfast the next morning.

            – disart socket ready. please come fri morning 10:00.

            – My socket’s ready and he wants us there by ten.

            – Well, he wants you there. I’m just along for the ride.

            – You are coming, aren’t you?

            – Course I am. Call Paddy and see if he’s working this morning. He could come and pick us up at a quarter to ten.

            – Good idea. I’ll send him a message, though.

 

Paddy was working and promised to be outside the hotel at the agreed time. Paul was impatient and excited. Ryan remembered to put one of Paul’s tennis shoes in his backpack. After an interminable wait, an eMerc pulled up outside and Paddy, real name Declan, waved. Paul sat behind the driver’s seat this time, hoping he would be able to manipulate his peg leg better than last time. Ryan held his crutches.

            – I hope you lads have had a good time. Where are you off to now?

            – The clinic. Paul’s other leg is ready for a test run.

            – Have you the address?

            – Yes, hang on.

Ryan checked his phone and found the text message stating the address. He showed it to Declan, who nodded and accelerated slowly away from the hotel.

            – So if everything goes well, you’ll be walking out of there on two legs. That will feel grand, I’m sure.

            – I hope so. It’s going to be a bit of a challenge but I might be able to take a few steps.

            – Will you be checking out if things go well?

            – I think we’ll be here one more night assuming the leg fits OK, just in case something is obviously wrong with it. But I imagine we’ll be home by Tuesday at the latest.

            – Well, if you’re ever in this part of the world again, give us a call. It would be good to know how you’re getting on.

            – We’ll do that. Thanks for your help, mate. Appreciate it.

            – Here we are. Take care, now.

 

Ryan steadied Paul as he pulled himself onto his peg and handed him the crutches. Wiium watched them from the entry hall. Paul looked confident on the new prosthesis. Wiium was pleased with his work.

            – Good morning, you two. Welcome back. Let’s have coffee first. I want to talk to you about the new limb.

They went to the staff room and helped themselves to coffee and buns. Wiium watched Ryan manage to hold his mug without any problem.

            – I have assembled the prosthesis and attached the mechanical component to the socket but we have a full day ahead of us of testing before I can give you the leg. Ryan, you are welcome to stay and watch like last time but it will be a long day.

            – It’s alright. I am interested to watch.

            – Good. Now Paul, I know you must be excited to get a new leg but I must warn you. It is not easy to control a disart prosthesis because you have no stump. You can move the leg only by swinging your hip. You are the first bilateral amputee I have seen who uses a peg leg instead of a normal prosthesis, so I am not able to give you as much advice as I would like. But I will do my best.

            – I understand. I know it is not going to be easy but I want to try.

            – You have the right attitude. Let’s go to the workshop if you’re ready. You can bring your coffee.

Ryan grasped both mugs. Wiium held the door open and indicated a chair by his work bench.

            – Sit there please, Paul. Take your trousers off. You can keep your underwear on.

Paul wriggled out of his baggy army surplus cargo pants and they dropped to the floor. Wiium lifted the peg and extricated it from the trousers and put them to one side. He reached across his bench and pulled a linen cover off the new prosthesis. It was de facto a short artificial thigh stump with a hinged pylon attached to the front. He lifted it up and placed its foot on the floor.

            – I need you to stand up, Paul. Hold on to the bench. Do you want a crutch?

            – Yes, please.

Wiium waited for Paul to push himself erect. The knee lock clacked into place. Wiium slid the socket around Paul’s hips and over the femoral stump. Two broad hook-and-loop straps folded across Paul’s belly to hold the socket in place.

            – Is that comfortable? Not too tight? OK. Did you bring a shoe?

Ryan brought his backpack over.

            – It’s in here.

            – Thank you, Ryan.

He took out the shoe and kneeled to put it on the artificial foot. He laced it tightly and stood back to judge his handiwork so far.

            – Good. Paul, I want you to walk across to the bars but don’t put weight on the new leg. Use your peg leg only.

He handed Paul the second crutch. Paul turned and crutched awkwardly across to the parallel bars. Wiium took the crutches.

            – Hold on to the bars and stand as straight as you can. I want to check the length.

Paul’s weight was on his peg leg. The new leg was about a centimetre off the floor. It was what Wiium wanted. The peg would provide support as the artificial leg moved through its range of motion. He inspected the limb from the front and back, checking dimensions and tolerances. From the side, the lower leg was vertical and the sole of the foot was level.

            – Now move your peg to the left a little. I want you to test your weight on both legs.

He inspected the joints and adjusted the knee slightly.

            – Can you lift your peg so your weight is on the new leg?

Paul lifted himself slightly and raised his peg leg. He lowered himself onto the disart prosthesis for the first time. It creaked. Wiium checked the socket and the angle of the thigh component. The sole of the tennis shoe was square on the floor. Wiium double-checked it with a sheet of paper, trying to slide it under the shoe.

            – So far, so good. Are you ready to take a couple of steps?

            – Yup.

Wiium stood behind Paul and gripped the socket on both sides.

            – To move the leg forward, you have to swing the socket with your hip.

He pushed with his right hand and Paul felt the pressure through the socket.

            – At the same time, you need to move your weight forward a little. When your new leg is steady, you can bring your peg leg forward, ready for a new step. I want you to stand there and move your hip to make the leg swing forward. Don’t take a step yet. Just try swinging your hip. That’s right. The leg needs to be straight when it hits the ground. Heel first. Now try moving onto the leg and back. Don’t take a step yet. Rock onto the leg, and back. Feel the movement your hip is making.

            – It’s like getting ready to kick a football or something.

            – Yes, kicking is almost the same thing. You kick your leg forward but it must be a careful kick, not too powerful.

Paul rocked back and forth. The leg swung ahead and its heel struck the ground. Wiium was impressed. It was an unnatural movement and many amputees seemed reluctant to try to move their bodies in the necessary manner. Paul was confident and eager.

            – How does your stump feel inside the socket? Is there any pressure?

            – No. The skin is touching the bottom of the socket but the bone is not.

            – Good. That is what I was aiming for. OK, you can stop that now. Do you want to try taking a few steps? I can’t give you any advice, Paul. I’m sorry. Keep hold of the bars, won’t you? Kick forward, lean forward, and the peg. Great! Keep moving.

It was as if Paul had been born to it. He twisted and kicked the disart leg and swapped sides to kick the peg ahead of him. Twist and kick. Twist and kick. Twist and kick. He looked up at Ryan who was taking video on his phone. He spun around on the peg and thrust his prostheses into action again.

            – It seems to be that the peg leg is more useful than a normal prosthesis. It is easier to control so you can concentrate more on the disart side. I think I shall suggest to other bilateral patients that they try a peg leg.

Paul reached the end of the bars again and stopped.

            – Can I try it with crutches?

            – Do you feel ready?

            – Don’t know. I want to try.

Wiium handed them to him and stood back. Paul settled the crutches where he wanted them and swung his disart. He leaned on the crutches and kicked the peg leg forward. Twist and kick. It required him to concentrate but he knew that he would become accustomed to the new movements and would not need to think about how he was walking. He would just walk. He might always have a bit of a limp, probably.

            – You are doing fantastic, Paul. I want to check the socket when you sit.

One of Paul’s buttocks was encased in the carbon fibre shell. Wiium wanted to make sure Paul’s spine was straight when he was seated. Paul walked over to the chair he had sat in by Wiium’s work bench.

            – You’ll have to put the left crutch down because you need to lift the lock on your peg. Lean forward and lower your body onto the chair. The knee will release and you’ll be able to sit. Try it. Lean forward. Now bend down. That’s it. Very smooth.

            – So how do I get up?

            – Straighten one of your legs. You’ll have to use your hands. Now push yourself up from the chair with your arms and pull the straight leg towards you.

            – I can’t. My arms aren’t long enough.

            – OK. Use your crutches. Sit back down. Put the leg back into the start position. Now push up with your crutches and pull the leg towards you.

Paul fell back into the chair.

            – Put the crutches a bit behind you. Try again. Straighten the leg. Push up and pull the leg towards you.

With considerable effort, Paul rose to his six foot height and the drop lock on his peg fell into position.

            – That was really hard.

            – You will always find it difficult, Paul, and the lower the chair, the more difficult it is. You have no power in your knees at all to help and the disart is useless until it is vertical. I suggest that when you are at home again, you buy some tall stools for the kitchen. It will be much easier for you to get up. If you are on a bus or train, you can use the bars to pull yourself up.

            – The poles. Yes, I know what you mean. I see. So this is something which is going to be difficult.

            – Yes Paul, it is. It is a problem every bilateral amputee has, simply because you have no knees. So it’s not just your problem, it’s for everyone in your situation. I think that for you, the problem is not so bad if you have your friend by your side.

Ryan looked up from his phone.

            – What?

            – You’ll help Paul, won’t you?

            – Well, he helps me so I don’t see why not.

He went back to watching video of the American bloke who had lost his legs on the Prague metro. Same disart, same thigh stump as Paul but a mirror image. The guy could walk with a stick but only just. Paul already seemed to be doing better. The secret could well be Paul’s rigid peg leg. Ryan daydreamed about having two mid-thigh stumps and wearing a fake leg and a peg like Paul. It looked fucking amazing. Scooting around east London in a little electric car, strolling around in shorts for a bit on a peg leg, then back in the car. Ryan looked at his mate’s new arse-high fake leg and began to compose an email to the Harvester.

 

            – Try to get up again, Paul. I’ll help you the rest of the way. There you are. You can practise this when you get home but make sure there is someone there to help you. Do you want to try walking again?

            – Yes, of course. It feels pretty good. Stig, do you have a walking stick? I think I need something to help push me but a crutch is too restrictive.

            – I’ll get one. One moment.

Paul set his crutches down, leaning against the chair. Wiium handed him one of two sticks he brought from a cupboard. Paul transferred it to his left hand and pushed off. Twist and kick. The walking stick felt more responsive, easier to control, quicker to move. Paul walked slowly around the room, without the tell-tale lurch of a disart patient but with a severe limp. Ryan watched his mate. Paul was almost back where he started. A bloke with two legs. When he got his M-65s on again, he would just be a guy with a limp. Ryan hoped he would be able to experience similar sensations before long too.

 

Wiium was more than satisfied with Paul’s progress. He had already demonstrated the trust in his prosthetics essential for successful deployment and a natural ability to recognise the movements and rhythms necessary for fluid motion. He made a few measurements and touched a couple of screws with a wrench but after three hours, he was prepared to allow Paul to take the most demanding of all lower extremity prostheses with him.

            – Do you want these crutches, Paul? Or would you prefer a walking stick?

            – The stick is better, but can I have two? I can imagine that this gets tiring so two sticks would be good to have.

            – Yes, of course. Be careful that your peg leg does not knock the walking stick.

Paul immediately found it easier to twist his hip when holding two walking sticks. The leg flicked forward and he pushed himself evenly over it, striding ahead with the rigid peg leg. It felt so perfect, so fulfilling. He looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror and saw a happy man.

            – I’m ready to let you go, if you are satisfied. When are you leaving Uppsala?

            – Tomorrow, I think.

            – Good. I mean, it’s good you are not going today, sorry. Try to walk as much as possible this evening, Paul, and any time up to midnight or tomorrow morning after eight you can send me a message if you have problems and we will work on it tomorrow. Now, let me help you get your trousers on.

            – That’s my job, Stig. Thanks.

Ryan straightened out the trouser leg which had been folded and shortened its cuff to equal the left one.

            – Come over here and sit on the bench, mate.

Paul heaved himself back and his new leg bent into a seated position. The peg remained rigid. Ryan pushed the drop lock until the peg bent. He fed the trouser legs over the rubber, plastic and steel of his mate’s legs and told Paul to pull his trousers up. Ryan fed the baggy trousers onto his legs. The tennis shoe poked into view as did the rubber ferrule. The bench was at arse height and Paul had no trouble twisting around and engaging both knees. He grabbed his canes and lifted one as a farewell to Wiium.

            – Thanks mate. Good job well done.

            – Goodbye Paul. Goodbye Ryan.

 

Paul twisted and kicked his way out of the clinic, conscious of every step.

            – Shall I call a taxi, mate?

            – No, don’t just yet. I want to try and get the hang of this. It’s nice with walking sticks.

            – You look great with sticks. You should use them back home. I’m going to take some more video.

Ryan carefully dealt his phone from one hook to the other, finding a suitable angle before pressing the on button with his nose and circling his mate. Paul was not struggling exactly but he was obviously concentrating on the meagre task of walking. The baggy trousers disguised the extreme narrowness of his prostheses. The peg leg pulled the material tight and revealed itself now and then but the disart prosthesis had an articulating knee which kept some volume in the fabric. Paul began to sweat in the early afternoon sunshine.

            – Do you want to take a break, mate? You only have to say. You don’t need to prove anything to me.

            – I’m alright. I’ll tell you when I’m about to pass out.

The pavement rose to a slight incline. Paul began to struggle.

            – Oh, mate! This feels like I’m climbing a mountain. I’m fairly shagged. Can you call a taxi?

Ryan tried Declan’s number first.

            – Hi, this is Ryan again. Are you near the clinic? We need a lift.

            – I have a passenger right now but I can be with you in about ten minutes if you want to wait. Where are you?

            – There’s a bus stop here which says Bertilsvägen.

            – Oh, OK. I know. Stay there and I’ll see you in a few minutes.

            – He’s coming. Sit down for a rest.

            – I’m OK standing, to tell you the truth. It doesn’t make much difference to me. So, what do you think? Do you like me as a six footer on two legs?

            – I want to see your artificial leg and the peg leg. I want to fuck your arse while you’re wearing your artificial legs.

            – Well, mate, you’ll have to wait until we get back to the hotel. I’m looking forward to the time when you can crawl on top of me with leg stumps and fuck me. Holding on to me with your arm stumps.

            – You want me to have my legs off, don’t you?

            – Well, I’ve been thinking about it since you mentioned it. What it would feel like to have you in me when you can only lie on my back, your little stumps in the air. How are you going to fuck with two little stumps?

            – I don’t know, mate, but I’m willing to give it a try if you are.

            – Do you know what I miss most about not having legs?

            – What’s that?

            – Not being able to run my feet up and down your legs. That always turned you on, didn’t it?

            – Yeah. I liked that. I liked touching your face.

            – You still do.

            – Ah, but the ends of my stumps don’t have much feeling. They’re always numb. I don’t really feel anything any more. Only pressure. I can touch your face with my stumps and you might like it but I don’t feel anything.

            – I didn’t know, mate. I’m sorry to hear that. But don’t stop doing it. I love your stumps touching me.

            – I know. I thought I would still be able to feel, but I don’t. These are just meat without hands. They hold my hooks on. Nothing else.

            – And your hooks don’t feel anything either. I’m sorry, mate. I had no idea.

            – Well, it’s too late now. I’ll have to live with it. I knew what I was losing with my hands gone but I thought I would still have feeling in my stumps. But I don’t.

            – Are you sorry about it? I mean, you always say how you like having hooks.

            – Well, I love the hooks. I really do. I just lost more than I was bargaining for.

Paul was quiet, imagining how it would be never to feel anything again, even with a stump. It must be like being completely armless. Would it make any difference to how Ryan thought about his amputations in the long term? Might he want higher amputations if he could regain some sense of touch, even with above elbow stumps? He imagined his face being caressed by Ryan with six inch long stumps poking out from his shoulders. He would look fantastic if he also had mid-thigh stumps to match them.

 

Declan drew up at the bus stop.

            – Hello, you two. We meet again.

            – Hi. We need a lift back to the hotel. Paul has worn himself out practising on his new leg.

            – And it’s going to be a bugger getting in the car.

Paul opened the car door and threw his walking sticks inside. He sat sideways on the back bench and disengaged the drop lock. He pulled himself further inside on his hands and set about lifting and arranging his legs. Declan moved the passenger seat forwards as far as possible. Ryan watched, shut the door and got in from the other side.

            – So how does it feel to have two legs again?

            – Right now, it’s a pain in the arse, literally. I’m finding muscles I never knew existed. And every single one of them is sore as fuck.

            – Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t have any words of advice for you. But I hope you soon get over it. Have yourself a pint of Guinness. That’ll help and if it doesn’t, have another one.

            – Yeah. That might be the problem. We haven’t had a beer yet, Paul.

            – I’m having one the minute we get into the hotel.

            – When do you get off work today, mate?

            – Well, I can call Centralen and knock off any time. I’m freelancing, see?

            – In that case, I invite you to knock off as soon as possible and join us in the hotel bar for drinks. And you won’t need your wallet.

            – That’s very good of you. I better tell the wife as well, I’m thinking. If she gives me the thumbs up, I’ll see you about four o’clock.

            – Great! Right, come on Paul, mate. Let’s get you out. Sit tight for a minute and I’ll pull from the other side.

Paul was soon balancing on his prostheses and Ryan handed him his walking sticks. Declan drove off and Paul rocked himself into motion, straight to a tall stool at the bar.

            – Are you really sore, mate?

            – Well, sort of. Tired, mostly. That’s the most exercise I’ve had for months.

            – I suppose you’ll just get used to it, build the muscles up. Maybe it would be best to wear the thing for a couple of hours a day until it doesn’t make you tired. It doesn’t hurt now though, does it?

            – No, I’m OK sitting here. It feels funny around my arse but it’s not uncomfortable.

            – ’Cause we still have time to get Wiium to look at it if it’s not perfect. I mean, I know we can afford it and everything but it’s a lot of money to pay for something that isn’t absolutely spot on.

            – The thing is, mate, it’s difficult to know exactly how it’s supposed to feel. I haven’t had one before.

            – Yeah, I see what you mean. But are you satisfied to take that home with you as it is?

            – I think so. I can’t say better than that.

            – Alright. Shall I book us a few tickets for tomorrow and Sunday? Do you want to stop off in Hamburg again or shall we go straight through?

            – No, the Hamburg hotel was OK, wasn’t it? Let’s kip there and carry on the next day.

            – Good show. Get me another beer, will you?

 

Ryan looked at the connections and available seats from Stockholm to St Pancras via Hamburg and Amsterdam. Depart Stockholm eight thirty tomorrow morning, arrive Hamburg eleven hours later. And overnight in the hotel. He collated all his choices and paid. The phone rattled with incoming tickets and confirmations for the next few minutes.

            – Have to get up early tomorrow morning. We need to be in Stockholm for eight thirty.

            – That’s alright. We better not have too much to drink tonight though.

 

Declan arrived just after four as promised. He had changed his clothes from shirt and tie and long trousers to cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. He wanted to buy them a round but Ryan insisted he put his money away. They crossed to a small table surrounded by three armchairs, Paul looking very awkward for a moment until he rearranged his prostheses. Declan had dozens of anecdotes and funny stories about life in Sweden as a foreigner. But none of it was derogatory in the way people in England spoke about the French or the Germans. It was an interesting insight into a country and its people which few outsiders knew much about. Ryan asked if Declan was happy to live there. It was, he said, the best decision he had ever made. Like a thoughtful guest, he knew when to leave. Ryan had told him that they were leaving next morning and had an early start. Declan promised to run them into Stockholm to save some time and would pick them up at a quarter past seven outside the hotel. That was an unexpected kindness.

 

Ryan had to carry two stuffed carrier bags and drag a very full suitcase. Paul agreed to wear his disart leg rather than make Ryan carry it. He already had to find room for the short peg and crutches Paul had arrived with. He swore the first thing he was going to buy when they got home was a large suitcase.

 

They arrived in St Pancras at five on Sunday afternoon and hailed a taxi outside the station. They were home within the hour. Morag was delighted to see her best mates, especially as she had not expected to see them yet. She was fascinated by Paul standing six foot tall instead of four foot six and said she would like to see the new prostheses. Paul flopped onto the sofa and invited her to pull his M-65s off. Laughing, she did so. Paul took his teeth out and sat in his wheelchair for the rest of the evening but wore the disart and peg leg until they went to bed. Morag was delighted with her woollen winter hat. It suited her and she looked charming. The three of them sat out on the balcony in the cool evening with a six pack and the lads smoked the last of the Swedish Cohibas.

 

Ryan and Paul took it easy for a couple of days. It was good to be home and simply not need to go anywhere or do anything. But Ryan was thinking about buying a couple of the one-man electric cars and fired up the huge screen so Paul could see what he was looking at. It was essential that both cars could be adapted for use by invalids with limited arm movement. There were two options available. One was still in development and the other consisted of a steering wheel with optional rings or receptors for operation with hooks or dedicated driving prostheses. Most of the controls were simple electronic over-sized push buttons, like on the standard model. Acceleration and braking were controlled with a lever set in the floor. Pull back to accelerate, push forward to brake. There were no user operable gears. That was done automatically.

            – Do you think you could handle one of those, mate? You could sling your chair in the back.

            – Sure. It looks like a lot of fun. Is that the one that does twenty-five miles an hour?

            – Er, yeah. Top speed twenty seven point five. Shall we go and test drive one?

            – Yeah, I’m all for it. Where’s the dealership?

            – Croydon.

            – Oh god. How do we get there?

 

They got to Croydon the long way round. A long ride on the Underground to Wimbledon and then on a tram to Croydon. They could have gone by Overground but the route was inaccessible. Ryan wore his standard issue arms and hooks. Paul pushed himself along with two walking sticks wearing city camo cargo pants. He had an eight-holer DM boot on his prosthetic foot.

 

The dealership was set back from the high street with a tidy forecourt displaying new and used models for sale. There was a Unum near the entrance. Short and tall, with small wheels and its passenger compartment almost completely surrounded by glass, the black and chrome Unum looked like something from an alternate universe where familiar automotive trends did not exist. Ryan peered inside.

            – Oh, this seats two. It’s a bit of a squeeze though. I wonder if you can take the passenger seat out to make room for a wheelchair.

A smiling salesman approached. He had noticed the skinheads’ disabilities from inside the showroom.

            – Good morning. Are you interested in the new Unum? This latest design has an improved battery life and we guarantee four hundred miles on one charge and five thousand rechargings between each service.

            – Yeah, hi. I’ve heard that this comes in a hands–only model adapted for invalids. I’d be interested to see that. I need a steering wheel with a ring so I can operate it with hooks and my friend needs one without pedals. Actually, I would also prefer one which is completely hand-operated too. And I’d like the passenger seat removed to make more room for a wheelchair.

            – Well, actually there’s room behind the driver’s seat for a wheelchair now. The door opens wide enough for easy access.

He released the electronic lock and opened the door. It folded back all the way, its edge extending further than the rear of the car.

            – We used to advertise that this can carry twelve crates of beer but the authorities put a stop to that. Apparently beer and cars are not the best combination. The idea behind the Unum was originally to make a twenty-first century version of the old Deux Cheveux. Something quirky and really useful.

            – Yeah, it’s cool. Do you have an invalid version we could see?

            – Not right now, I’m afraid. I can check the warehouse to see if there are any ready for delivery. Would you like to follow me inside? Do sit down.

Ryan sat, Paul remained standing. The salesman checked the availability of invalid models.

            – Good news. There are four models waiting for delivery in Lille, France. They can be here later this week unless there are delays at the border. Two of them are fire engine red and two are midnight blue.

            – Well, before we place an order, I’d like to take one for a test drive. I see they seat the driver and a passenger next to him but we would prefer it if the passenger seat was removed.

            – We can do that. It’s a simple conversion. We would keep the seat here in storage for you for twelve months before returning it for recycling to the factory so there’s plenty of time to change your mind. As far as a test drive is concerned, we have a test track out the back. If you wait a moment, I’ll move the car and collect you in a couple of minutes.

            – That’s alright. No hurry.

The salesman sat in the Unum and pulled the door closed. The headlights flashed on and the tiny car moved silently away from the entrance.

            – Do you want to squash in next to me, mate? Just to see if a passenger seat is any good.

            – Of course I want to. You’re the one who’s going to want wheelchair space. I’m happy to have legroom. I don’t mind if there’s a seat next to me.

            – Actually, that might be a good idea to have one one-seater and one two-seater. Yeah, let’s do that.

The salesman returned from the rear of the salesroom.

            – Let’s go out the back.

They followed him out to a miniature test track. There were stretches of gravel and asphalt, cobblestones and grass, a humpback bridge and a low incline all in a couple of acres. The black and chrome Unum stood waiting, led lights making a lightshow of the stationary vehicle. Ryan got in first and rested his hooks on the steering wheel. Paul lifted his peg leg into the passenger compartment and released the lock. He sat and pulled the disart leg in. He held his walking sticks between his legs.

            – Well, the car is ready to move. The ignition button is here on the dashboard. The accelerator is marked with a plus sign and the brake is marked with a minus. There are no gears for you to worry about – its automatic. Are you comfortable with the steering wheel like that? I believe I can find a ring attachment if you prefer.

            – Thanks, I think this is OK for a short test. Right, mate, you ready?

The salesman closed the door and stood back. Ryan put his foot on the accelerator and the car moved forward almost silently. He turned the steering wheel with a hook resting against a spoke and started a slow circuit of the test track. The small wheels coped with the cobblestones although the cabin rocked slightly. The car climbed the incline with no change in speed and took the steeper bridge in its stride.

            – What do you think so far? I like this. Have you got enough room there?

            – I’m fine.

            – What colour do you want? Red or blue?

            – I reckon blue for a boy.

            – Ha! Yeah, same here. Shall we get a couple? Two inva versions, one with the seat removed. Right. Let’s do it.

 

Half an hour later, Ryan had purchased the blue inva versions. They would both be delivered with three different steering wheel attachments including the ring Ryan expected. In place of the pedals, there would be a lever, also with a ring. Lever towards you for acceleration and away for braking. Other controls would be identical to the standard model. Large push buttons, clearly marked. A directional loudspeaker allowed the driver to listen to music while his passenger travelled in near silence and vice versa. The tyres were semi-solid and would never need air nor could a puncture affect them. The salesman said he would send a text message immediately the cars were ready for collection, probably, hopefully, on Thursday or Friday.

 

Ryan and Paul were both excited by the new purchase. Neither had driven a car before, neither owned a driver’s licence. The Unum was classed as an electric four-wheeled bike. Ryan imagined himself sitting with perfect leg stumps and guiding his little car with a hook in the steering ring. They would be able to get to places public transport did not reach. They walked a short distance down Croydon’s main street to find a pub and had a couple of beers before returning home.

 

Ryan received a reply from the Harvester.

            – i anticipated that you would request further reduction. i refuse to allow two such major procedures during the same twelvemonth. therefore i have arranged to fulfil your request on april 1st next year in wales at the same location. cost seventy thousand euro. prosthetics available in your country if desired.

Ryan was both disappointed at having to wait so long and excited that he would finally be the way he wanted. But he would not need to travel abroad to get the prosthetic legs he lusted after.

 

O N E   Y E A R   L A T E R

 

Ryan rolled off Paul’s back after giving him a shafting. He pushed himself up with his arm stumps and bounced into his wheelchair. He waited for Paul to get his peg leg on and they both went into the bathroom to wash each other’s genitals and arseholes. Ryan had recently stopped wearing his hooks around the flat, saying that their ideal was to have stumps and he wanted his on show as much as possible. Morag supported him completely.

            – Ye’re a fine figure of a man, Ryan. Chunky manly thighs, just enough to look right and yer lovely arm stumps. I’d go wi’ ye anywhare if I can jess see yer body.

            – Yeah, I know. Can you give me breakfast now?

Paul had been determined to present himself as maimed and struggling through. He always wore his long peg leg and often strutted around on wooden axillary crutches which he had ordered from Asia and rarely wore the ridiculous disart prosthesis which required so much effort that it was easier to go without it. He consoled himself to being a skinhead on one peg leg and if someone did not like it, it was tough shit.

 

Ryan suggested a trip into Stratford to get some smokes. The novelty of having their own cars had worn off and they preferred using the DLR for Stratford shopping trips unless they had something bulky to carry. Paul crutched into a carriage ahead of Ryan in his wheelchair and they stared out the windows at the debris around the business towers still left from the previous flood. Their own building had been saved from the sudden surge flooding by the temporary wall erected around it the previous year but seepage was gradually causing aesthetic and structural problems. Both lifts stank of rotting seaweed and sewage. Ryan had had enough of the risk of being cut off from food supplies and fresh water.

            – What do you say about moving up country? I was thinking of somewhere up north on a hill where there’s no risk of getting our feet wet. Sheffield has been busy building seventy storey flats and so has Leeds. If we get our act together now we should be able to get a decent place.

            – I don’t care. I’m sick of watching the river. If it’s not the sea, it’s a flood from the other direction. Let’s get out of here. I don’t care where we go as long as it’s not near a river.

The train pulled into Stratford and the amputees made their way across to the shopping centre. None of the gaudy advertising electronics were working. It was hard to tell if the place was open or not. Even the beggars had given up and gone elsewhere. Ryan wheeled himself over the threshold into the dim interior and went to the lift. Paul checked the puddled floor and followed carefully.

 

            – Hi! Long time no see! How are you doing, mate? Stumps OK?

            – Yeah, they’re fine. I was thinking about wearing stubbies today but I didn’t know if there’d be water outside so I’m in the chair. I want some Xcellentes, ten to be precise. And Paul wants some Bazukas.

            – Yeah, hundred and twenty gauge, ten inches. My little gobstoppers.

            – Mate, I’m out of those. I only have fifteen inches.

            – In that case, I’ll have those. I want ten, as well.

The quadruple amputee owner strutted out from behind the counter. He was balancing on two steel peg legs and walking very well.

            – I see you’ve switched to pegs.

            – Yeah, last year I decided to stop fucking about with BK legs and get myself some proper pegs. I practised at home until I could keep my balance and since then I haven’t worn anything else. I have a stool behind the counter to sit on, otherwise I’m on my pegs all day.

He placed two boxes of a dozen Xcellentes and Bazukas onto the counter and strutted back behind it.

            – Do you want exactly ten or will you settle for a dozen?

            – A dozen is fine, mate. How are you coping with this flooding?

            – Well, it only directly affects our downstairs. It’s seepage, see? Even when the river’s down, the water table is high enough to cause problems. I’m looking for a place further inland but there aren’t really any big population centres with enough potential customers for a business like mine. Especially not with inflation the way it is. So I’m a bit up in the air at the moment.

            – Paul and me are thinking of going up to Leeds. They’ve modernised from the shithole they were twenty years ago and it looks like a fairly smart place to live these days. Plus the megatowers they’ve been building on the outskirts. I’ve got an offer in for a two thousand square foot pad on the top floor of a tower which is also on the top of a hill.

            – Sounds fantastic. I wish I could join you.

            – Mate, I have a suggestion. Why don’t you sell up here and start again in Leeds with us? There’d be tons of room in our flat for a quad like yourself. Our Morag has already said she’d prefer to stay in London if we move out and we’re used to having someone else around. So if we move, you’d be more than welcome to join us. Don’t worry about shit like rent just yet.

            – Are you serious? Really? That would be fantastic. Three amps living together. Just think of it! But how are you going to be able to sell your flat now? You live in South Quay, don’t you? It’s one of the first spots to flood when there’s trouble.

            – Oh, I dare say we’ll get rid of it without too much trouble. Someone will want it because it’s on the thirty-third floor and I don’t mind taking a loss. But that’s not important. How about you? Are you going to be able to sell your place?

            – Yeah, I should think so. I live in East Barnet halfway up a hill. No problems there. The house values just go up the more often it floods further south.

            – Look, why don’t we keep in touch on this? Give me your mobile number and I’ll let you know if and when we get the penthouse.

He printed his name and number on a piece of card and handed it to Ryan.

            – ‘Craig Selton’. I’m Ryan Anderson and this is Paul Wright. Anyway, how much do we owe you for this lot?

            – The Xcellentes are three thousand pounds and the Bazukas three thousand three hundred and sixty. Six thousand three hundred and sixty pounds altogether.

            – I’m getting lost with inflation. The numbers don’t mean anything any longer. What’s that in euros?

            – For the time being, just take a zero off the end. Six hundred and thirty euro.

            – That sounds a bit better.

Ryan swiped his credit card in the machine Craig held with his hooks.

            – Right. We should know what’s happening with the Leeds thing in a couple of weeks. I’ll let you know. We won’t be moving immediately unless there’s another flood. It’ll probably be within six months. I want to make sure Morag has a decent place to live and there are a few other bits and pieces to settle, not least of all, me getting a new pair of legs. 

 

T H R E E   W E E K S   L A T E R

 

To that end, Ryan contacted the Harvester thanking him for his assistance in acquiring the new gratifying modifications. It was time to acquire prosthetic legs. He mentioned that the Harvester had previously referred to a fitter closer to home than Uppsala.

            – i have negotiated the services of an experienced prosthetist in sevenoaks. he specialises in experimental work and may suggest adaptations you have not envisaged. i will advise a date for a consultation later. price will be twenty-five thousand euro the pair.

 

The party which was in competition for the Leeds tower penthouse suddenly withdrew their offer three days before the deadline. Ryan and Paul hoped no-one else would jump in at such a late stage. Three days later, they were congratulated on having won the leasehold. Ryan delegated the formalities to his bank and was kept informed of progress. For the time being, he would hold on to the South Quay Plaza flat. It might be an idea to leave South Quay as a furnished property – there was nothing wrong with their furniture – and decorate the penthouse afresh. Their tastes and needs had changed as much as their bodies since they arrived from Peckham.

 

Morag was kept in the loop and told she could live in the flat until it was sold. Ryan encouraged her to find herself a nice place somewhere safe, as safe as possible. He would have bought Morag her own apartment but she insisted she would rather rent because it afforded her the freedom to move at short notice if necessary. Ryan understood and did not press the point.

 

Craig put his cigar business on the market. No-one had shown interest so far. Stratford shopping complex simply did not have the prestige which prospective customers for expensive Havanna cigars expected. He decided he would keep his business and transfer it to Leeds. There was a growing financial centre in the town to replace the City and some of the town’s new whizzkids might appreciate a supply of decent cigars with which to proclaim their status. It was worth a try. He would terminate his rental agreement as soon as he knew the situation with the penthouse.

 

Craig had visited South Quay several times during the previous weeks. The lads wanted to know their prospective flatmate better, although they obviously already had so much in common. He surprised them with a filthy sense of humour. His interest in cigars had grown out of a simple and obvious fetish. Cigars were phallic. The bigger the better. From that he had grown his business. He had never been a member of any youth cult but sympathised with the skinhead scene because of their masculinity. Even gay skinheads like Ryan and Paul looked macho and vaguely threatening. He thought Paul looked stunning when he stood on a single peg, resting on crutches with a large cigar drooping from his mouth.

 

Ryan received notice that internal work on Attenborough Tower had completed and the penthouse was ready. The tower was one of six seventy-two storey tall residential towers erected on a hill outside Leeds on land which had previously been declared unsuitable for residential use. Their future home was at the highest point. Five identical towers circled it lower down the hill. All were linked by glass walkways. A spiral access tunnel from the town’s ring road rose anticlockwise inside the hill via each tower’s parking halls. There were seven thousand apartments on offer. Ryan had just bought the topmost one. It was a risk to move in to such a unique experimental development but they had nothing to lose.

 

The news Ryan had most been waiting for arrived. Prosthetist Trevor Llewellyn of Sevenoaks would meet him for an initial consultation in three days. Ryan had a few ideas he wanted to try with his new legs. He wanted to make them independently height-adjustable. He had become interested in the idea of having, or appearing to have, a short leg. One of his legs could be four inches shorter than the other and hang uselessly in the air as he crutched about. Or he could make the leg even shorter and wear a built-up orthopaedic boot, something which would be attention-grabbing and look crippling. By exchanging the legs for short pegs, he could emulate Craig who was rarely seen using anything other than two peg legs. Ryan discussed the timetable with Paul and Craig. They agreed to delay the move north until Ryan had his new legs, possibly as soon as the weekend after next. Morag was waiting to hear about an apartment in Harrow she had her eye on and would have left before the lads. The sale of Craig’s Hendon bungalow was progressing through its phases and the rent agreement for Castro Cigar would terminate at the end of the month. Craig was seeking suitable new premises in or near Leeds town centre.

 

Ryan decided to drive to Sevenoaks rather than use public transport with a wheelchair. He remembered to charge his Unum overnight. It was a distance of about twenty miles and would take an hour and a half or so. Ryan’s appointment was for ten and he wheeled out at eight thirty. He slid into his microcar and pulled the wheelchair in after him. He lit a Robusto and settled it into his jaw. He hit the ignition and released the hand brake with his right hook, gripped the steering ring with the left and started out for Blackwall tunnel and the main road south into Kent. There were several new detours around roads damaged in the most recent floods. Ryan looked down at himself, admiring the perfect symmetry of his leg stumps poking out from his city camo cargo shorts. They were exactly the length he had requested, with handsome proportions and sufficient length to operate any artificial legs he wanted to wear, from stubbies to bionic prosthetic limbs. Ryan wanted mechanical legs with Japanese knee joints. No unreliable rechargeable stuff.

 

Llewellyn was looking forward to meeting his new patient. The Harvester had informed him about Ryan’s amputations. He himself had undergone only one amputation so far and sported a left mid-thigh stump not unlike Ryan’s. He intended to expand his business and poach as much work from his old rival back in Wales with whom he had studied at medical school. With a small staff of technicians, he would be able to gradually achieve the limblessness he lusted for. DAK, DAE and totally capable of living with prosthetic limbs as if they were flesh and blood. His great fetish was prosthetic limbs. His amputations were merely the side effects necessary to reinvent himself as a fully active quadruple amputee. He hoped Ryan had the same aspirations. Llewellyn had professional experience with both lower and upper limb prosthetics and hoped somehow to persuade Ryan to go a step further and have higher arm amputations, ridding himself of his elbows.

 

Ryan arrived with fifteen minutes to spare. He pushed his chair out and transferred across into it. Llewellyn’s clinic was on the ground floor of the nineteen sixties concrete bunker he owned and lived in. It had been an admired brutalist creation at one time but seventy years of weathering had left it looking worse for wear. But it was functional and brightly lit and the interior was cheerful. Llewellyn walked out into the grounds to welcome Ryan and introduced himself. Ryan insisted he could wheel himself with his hooks perfectly well and they entered the hallway from the yard, designed to be completely accessible.

            – Come in and let’s have a chat. Would you like coffee? I am informed that you would like a pair of leg prostheses. Have you thought about their design and specifications?

            – Yes, of course. I want two full-length artificial legs without coverings – just the bare pylons and I want them made in sections so the thighs and shins can be shortened or lengthened by adding or subtracting components. I would also like foot long peg legs which I can attach to the sockets. They should have small rectangular feet which I can remove and attach directly to the sockets to use as stubbies. My stumps are equal in length so all dimensions should also be equal.

            – I think I understand. It shouldn’t present any difficulty. Let me make a sketch of what you’ve described and you can make suggestions and corrections before we start.

He fetched a sketchpad and some pens from a drawer and sat next to Ryan, who noticed the unmistakable outline of a prosthetic knee beneath Llewellyn’s trousers.

            – I see you’re an amputee too. It’s unusual to meet a prosthetist who’s not also an amputee.

            – I suppose it comes with the job. Few people in medicine start out wanting to work with amputees. Bit of a niche market. I had my first amputation soon after I graduated. One of my friends wanted some practice and I offered to sacrifice my left leg. I started my clinic with the money he paid me, although I moved it here only later after being contacted by the Harvester. He had somehow heard about my voluntary amputation, you see, and scented an opportunity.

            – And I guess it’s a good source of extra income.

            – Well, let’s say it’s more than adequate for the time being and I am paid in euros, thank god. It always amuses me when I hear psychologists talking about their investigations into biid. There may be several thousand cases worldwide, they say. Ha! There may be several thousand cases in England alone. We are probably the world’s least understood minority.

            – That’s alright with me. I wouldn’t want to be asked all the time if I had an accident or if I’m simply insane everywhere I go. The fewer people who know about biid, the better.

            – You have a point. Take a look at these sketches. Is this what you have in mind? The thigh pylon can be in two sections, both detachable, and the shin will have two, one long, one short. The foot can be replaced with a ferrule to make a peg leg. What else might you need?

            – I think that’s about it. I want to be able to have a short leg, something I can flaunt with a boot on it, held up in the air. And I also want a built-up boot, something about eight inches high which is why I want to be able to shorten the thigh and shin by four inches each.

            – Oh yes, I see. That would look very good. A prosthetic leg with a huge black leather boot on the foot. I’ve never seen that before but I can imagine it would look amazing. Oh, I’ll definitely make you something like that. Do you already have a shoemaker in mind for the boot or would you like me to order one?

            – No, I’ve not actually looked into that side of it yet.

            – Well, leave it to me. I know a company which specialises in orthopaedic footwear and I’m sure they’ll be only too pleased to make a built-up boot for you. Eight inches, you say? That’s going to look stupendous!

            – Great! When can we get started with casting and the like?

            – We can start now, actually. I haven’t used plaster casts since I got some laser equipment. I can just scan your stumps and have the printer churn out the sockets.

            – So it won’t take long at all, then? I was expecting to have to wait a couple of weeks.

            – No no, the sockets will be ready tomorrow and I only need to make suitable pylons. An afternoon’s work. Today is Friday – can you come back on Wednesday and you can test your new legs? The boot will take a few weeks, I expect. Why don’t you have a second one made with just a four inch build-up?

            – Good idea. Let’s do that. Wednesday will be fine. The thing is, I’m moving soon after I get my legs – everything is arranged except the removal van – so I won’t be collecting the boot in person. You’ll have to courier it to me.

            – That’s fine. Most of my deliveries are done that way these days. The fit is hardly a concern, after all. Alright, if you’re ready, let’s go to the lab and we’ll get your stumps scanned.

 

Llewellyn created virtual three dimensional images of Ryan’s thigh stumps and edited them to incorporate sturdy connectors for pylons. He added a flat base and uploaded the files to his printer. Ryan watched the process and wondered if it would be possible to buy similar equipment. Between Paul, Craig and himself, there were ten stumps which required frequent prosthetic attention. It might be fun to design and try various experimental prosthetic devices for themselves. The printer hummed in the corner, building up his custom leg sockets a fraction of a millimetre at a time.

            – I’ll let that run overnight and with any luck, they’ll be finished in the morning. Right, that’s it for the time being, Ryan. I’ll put in an order for the two built-up boots and they might be ready in about a month.

            – Thank you very much, Trevor. I’ll see you next Wednesday at about eleven, if that’s OK.

            – Yes, that’s fine. I’ll let you know on Tuesday what the situation is to save you a wasted trip if I’m running late. I’ll see you out.

Llewellyn held the door for Ryan’s wheelchair and escorted him out to the forecourt. He watched as Ryan vaulted into the Unum and pulled the wheelchair in beside him. A few practised flicks of his hooks had the car powered up and ready to go. Ryan fed his left hook through the steering ring and pulled away. Next time he said good bye to Trevor, he would be walking on his new legs. Or stubbies. Or peg legs.

 

He arrived back at South Quay in the late afternoon just before a thunderstorm moved over the city from the west. A building superintendent was already making preparations to close the flood barrier around the building when he drove past and into the basement. He would keep an eye on the river and bring the Unums up in the freight lift if the situation worsened. He wheeled into the passenger lift and went home.

            – How did you get on, mate?

            – Great! He scanned my stumps instead of casting them and his printer is already making them. He said to come back next Wednesday to test the finished legs. He liked my idea of having different components I can swap around. Have you seen the weather news yet? They were getting ready to close the gate downstairs. It doesn’t look like this storm is going to let up any time soon.

            – No. It depends what the tide is doing. If it’s going out, we’ll be alright.

            – Turn the tv on and let’s see.

            – …and flood warnings are in effect from the present until two a.m. on Saturday for areas east of Richmond.

            – Well, sod that. Shall we fetch the cars?

            – Yeah, let’s do it now and then we won’t have to keep worrying about them.

They both checked they had their door and car keys. Several minutes later, both Unums stood out of sight around the corner by the freight lift on the thirty-third floor. They would be out of the way unless one of their two neighbours was expecting an imminent delivery.

 

The storm passed by midnight. Morag had arrived home and shared a big Chinese take-away she bought after which they sat on the balcony smoking and opening a few beers. She was fascinated to hear about the versatility of Ryan’s new legs. She thought it would be horny to see him walking on crutches with a short leg hanging in the air. No-one would suspect that such a deformed limb was actually a prosthesis. Ryan wondered how he would manage crutches with hooks. He was determined to walk well enough on artificial legs that walking sticks and crutches were not essential, but they would be necessary for some of the scenarios he envisaged.

 

The water still appeared to be high next morning as the Thames slowly moved floodwater from further inland out to sea. There were six hours before the next high tide when whatever had not drained yet would be backed up and slosh onto streets. It was tedious for residents in the towers and hell for those in ordinary houses further east. Their move to Leeds in the near future would be one of the first adding to statistics on climate refugees from London. Many of their neighbours already owned second homes around the country and preferred to remain in them, away from the city.

 

Ryan received a text from Llewellyn on Tuesday.

            – prosthetics ready for testing. welcome wed anytime 09-12.

            – My legs are ready!

            – That’s great. Do you think he would consider making me a left leg? I mean, I love the peg but a normal foot which I can put a boot on would be cool sometimes.

            – Let’s drive down together tomorrow and you can ask him. I don’t know what the Harvester would say about you ordering new limbs without his knowledge but I don’t see why he should need to know. If Trevor says it’s OK, everything should be fine. And you might even have the fucker by the weekend.

 

Ryan needed to get the keys to Attenborough Tower and deeds and all the rest of the paperwork from his bank. He messaged his bank rep and asked for a quick meeting that afternoon ‘to collect keys etc’. Three o’clock was agreed. Ryan debated whether to go in on the DLR or drive. He decided the car might be best. Less hassle and better privacy. He did not want to sit on public transport in the East End with deeds and valid keys to his new property on his disabled person. He had never had any problems but was aware enough to know what could happen. His Unum was still by the freight lift. If he drove it up to the door he could recharge it for a couple of hours and it should ideally be on charge overnight for Sevenoaks. Paul would probably need a recharge too. Something to do later when he returned. Ryan vaulted off the sofa and grabbed his jacket with his wallet. He hand-walked along the corridor to the cars and climbed up into his vehicle. He drove it back to the flat and parked it outside the door. He plugged the recharge cable into the battery and shuffled back inside to plug the other end into a power socket. Two hours should be enough. He checked the battery’s status on his phone. Eighty percent. No need to charge it at all, really. Let it charge.

            – Good thing you reminded me, mate. I need to charge mine as well. Probably.

            – My car used twenty percent getting to Sevenoaks and back so if you’ve got more than that, you’ll be ok.

 

Craig phoned later that evening. He had a buyer for his bungalow. The sale was progressing and they had agreed that he could remain there for four weeks max after completion of the sale. So he was hoping that the Leeds transfer would happen inside a month. His shop’s rental agreement still had a fortnight to run but Craig had already begun to empty the store and stockroom of the expensive tobaccos and cigars his livelihood depended on. Ryan reassured him that the following weekend would be the last they spent in South Quay. Paul’s new limb could be delivered by courier if necessary.

 

Ryan and Paul made their way down the corridor to their waiting cars. Ryan opened the freight lift and they drove inside. Minutes later they were outside, waiting for the super to open the flood gates which were now kept closed while any kind of flood warning was in effect. Paul followed Ryan on the route taken the previous week. The tunnel was clear of water thanks to several enormous and deafening pumps working continuously.

 

Llewellyn noticed their arrival on the CCTV and went out to welcome them. He was wearing shorts and his black carbon prosthesis glinted in the late autumn sun.

            – Good to see you. Hello, you must be Paul. I’m Trevor Llewellyn. Come inside and have some coffee. How are the floods where you are?

            – Not too bad this past week. We brought the cars upstairs in case the basement flooded again. How about round here?

            – Well, we don’t have any rivers which flood locally but the disruption has caused food shortages in the shops. Nothing too serious, fortunately. But on to the matter at hand. Ryan, I have a pair of full-length prostheses in which you will stand six foot one inch tall without boots. They can be reduced to five foot ten, five foot nine or five foot six by removing segments from the pylons. The artificial feet can be removed and replaced with rubber ferrules to make them into peg legs and with small square feet so you can use them as stubbies, and of course you can vary the height of the stubbies from three inches to fifteen. I suggest that you start out with short stubbies before you progress to the legs. I’m not going to be able to give you any rehab services, obviously, but I’m sure you’ve done enough research to know how to avoid the worst pitfalls.

            – Yes, I’ve got a pretty good idea I know the theory. By the way, Paul here has something to ask you.

            – Yeah. I was hoping you could make me a LAK leg to replace this peg. I want to be able to wear boots again. I have a disart prosthesis which has a tall boot more or less permanently fixed on it and I’d like to wear a pair.

            – Are you always on the peg leg? Don’t you have an ordinary leg?

            – No. Peg leg and crutches, that’s me. The disart leg is as good as it gets but I find it too tiring to wear for more than a couple of hours.

            – Well, I can certainly make you a leg. It would be similar to Ryan’s, same mechanical knee joint with a standard foot. What size feet did you have?

            – Ten.

            – OK. I am going to have to charge you twelve and a half thousand euro and I can get the socket started as soon as I’ve tended to Ryan. Let’s go into the workshop and we can get started.

Paul crutched along behind Llewellyn, admiring the appearance of the prosthetic leg and Ryan followed in his wheelchair.

            – Jump up here, Ryan and we can try the sockets. I’ve laid out a pair of liners and some stump socks, so put the liners on and we’ll take it from there.

Ryan lifted himself onto the couch with his elbows and removed his camo shorts.

            – Paul, can you give me a hand with these liners?

            – Oh, sorry Ryan. I didn’t remember you might have problems. Paul, wait a moment. Ryan, take your arms off and use your stumps to get your liners on. You’re going to have to come up with a routine for donning your prostheses every morning. Liners on first, then arms, then sockets and legs. Up to you.

Ryan shucked his hooks and lifted a liner with his stumps. He knew he had to turn it inside out first and managed to roll the edge over. After that, it was easy. He checked the liner was aligned properly and pulled it gently over the end of his handsome leg stump. He did the same for the other stump and wriggled back into his harness, pushing his arms forwards and testing the hooks.

            – Let me check that. Yup, looks fine. Let’s see how these sockets fit. They’re not identical, by the way, Ryan. Your stumps are not as similar as you thought.

Llewellyn pressed the new sockets over the liners. It was a tight fit, intentionally so. He closed the air valve and tried to pull the sockets off. They held.

            – What do you want to try first, Ryan? I suggest four inch long stubbies.

            – Yeah, suits me.

Llewellyn screwed short segments of pylon into the sockets and tightened them. He fitted stubby terminals onto the pylon and looked at his handiwork.

            – I’ll lift you down, Ryan. I don’t want you to slip.

He took hold of Ryan under his arms and lowered him to the floor. Ryan stood on his stubby feet a couple of inches shorter than he would have been kneeling on his natural legs. He held on to the couch and tested his balance.

            – Try walking.

Ryan had not stood on legs for over a year. He exercised his thigh stumps fairly regularly but it felt odd to stand upright. He moved his right stump and stepped onto the small rubber pad at the end of the pylon. He leaned to his right slightly and brought the left stump forward. Rocking slightly, Ryan made his way across the room to the parallel bars and walked the length of them, sliding his hooks along the steel supports.

            – Good thing I have shorter arms to use with stubbies like this. These hooks are practically dragging on the floor.

            – How do the sockets feel?

            – Fine. Solid, reliable.

            – Good. Let me know when you want to try some other combination. Paul, I can scan your stump now. Take your camos off and your peg. You’ll need to sit in a casting frame for a few minutes, if that’s alright.

            – No problem.

Llewellyn ran his scanner around Paul’s thigh stump, recording many thousands of data points each second. He asked Paul to imagine he was standing on tiptoe and made another scan. That would highlight the position of muscles to consider.

            – OK, that’s done. Ryan, how are you getting on?

Ryan was thoroughly enjoying the utterly alien method of moving. His stumps felt fine, biting the ground with each step, forcing his backside from side to side as his glutes activated after so long.

            – Can I try the peg legs next? Put them on the four inch pylons.

            – Sure. Sit on the floor and I’ll bring them over.

Ryan was soon flailing his artificial arms as he balanced on two fat rubber ferrules. Walking was almost the same as with the stubby feet. He would be able to adjust his height with additional segments but even the short pegs felt fantastic. Llewellyn helped Paul back into his trousers, feeding the trouser leg over the peg. They both watched Ryan on his surreal short peg legs. Paul wanted Ryan to wear them next time they fucked. He looked grand wearing black sockets.

            – I want you to test the full-length legs, Ryan. I think they’ll be what you use most of the time so I want to make sure you’re comfortable with them. Did you bring a pair of boots with you?

            – Yeah. There’s a pair of eight-holers in my backpack if you don’t mind helping yourself.

            – OK. I’ll put them on the feet and the legs’ll be ready to try.

Ryan was enjoying himself on his short peg legs too much to pay much attention to Paul or Trevor. He loved the sensation of pressure on his stumps transferred through the short pylons. The pegs were exactly long enough to correspond with the stride his stumps felt comfortable with. He could imagine making this combination his everyday prosthetic wear. He would be able to scoot around in the Unum and walk around. The pegs were short enough not to be in the way on public transport. He would even be able to sit on a bus wearing them. He glanced at the clock and realised Trevor probably wanted them out around midday.

            – Let me try the long legs, mate. I want to wear these home, though. They’re great.

            – Good to know.

Llewellyn unscrewed the short pylons and attached the full-length prostheses Ryan had originally ordered. The knee mechanisms were the superb new Japanese design which made it almost impossible for a misstep to cause a fall. The centre of gravity and its geometry had been ingeniously moved to be in front of the knee at all times, ensuring the knee mechanism would support its user and could not collapse. New users of bilateral above knee prosthetics were frequently reluctant to trust their new legs but the new-style knee joints eliminated the risk of falling. Rehabilitation was not only rapid but could be undertaken during normal everyday activities rather than in an alien environment. Ryan would be good to go as soon as he mastered the initial movements necessary to activate the prostheses.

            – Come and sit up here again.

Ryan struggled up on his elbows and admired the peg legs jutting out in front of him. Llewellyn removed the pegs and fitted the long jointed pylons wearing a pair of DM boots to Ryan’s sockets.

            – Don’t try to walk just yet. Stand up and get used to your new centre of gravity. Balance on the feet. The knees won’t collapse so don’t worry about that. How do they feel?

            – Very strange. I’m six foot again but I can still feel how my stumps end mid-thigh.

            – Is there anything uncomfortable? Nothing is pinching?

            – No, the sockets feel alright.

            – OK, hold onto the couch and pull your right stump back slightly. Now kick it forward.

The right leg swung in front and returned almost to its initial position.

            – Swing your left stump. Does it feel the same?

            – Yup. Can I try walking?

            – I suppose so. Go ahead.

Ryan took his hook off the couch and straightened his shoulders. He turned himself to face into the room and took several stiff-legged steps across to the parallel bars. His hooks described arcs as he maintained his balance. He held on to the bars and stood swinging each leg alternately. He tilted to the left slightly and stepped forward with his right foot. He followed with the left, trying to keep a modicum of momentum.

            – You’ve obviously been doing your homework, Ryan. You’re doing better than I’ve ever seen a new user before.

            – I like the sturdy feeling I get from the knees. They feel really secure.

            – Yes, that’s why they’re becoming the de facto norm. Bionic knees are very clever but those knees are sheer genius at a tenth of the price. And they’ll last for years.

            – Right. I’m very pleased with my stash. Thank you for your work, Trevor. I’ll be in touch if I have any trouble.

            – Yes, do that. Keep practising with the long legs. Up and down a corridor, somewhere safe and close to home in case you get into trouble. When you feel confident walking, start practising with steps and inclines. Send me some video if you have problems and I’ll analyse your gait.

            – That’s a good idea. I’ll do that. I want to put the short pegs back on now. Can you put the rest of the stuff in a bag or something?

            – Yes of course. The components all have their individual boxes if you want them too.

            – Chuck ’em all in, Trevor. I’ll sort them out at home.

            – Paul, it’ll be four or five days until your leg is ready for testing, so I’ll send you a text message the evening before. I hope you won’t have moved already by then.

            – No, I don’t think we will have. Right, time to make tracks. Thanks very much. See you soon.

            – Bye, you two.

Ryan put the neatly packed bag of prosthetic components onto the seat of his wheelchair and pushed it out to his car. It felt so good to walk on the short pegs. Exactly right. He put the bag behind his seat, collapsed the wheelchair and pushed it in. He climbed in and the two Unums crunched across the gravel yard to the road home.

 

Ryan kept the pegs on the rest of the day. Morag was impressed by his new appearance and Ryan himself was pleased at not needing to rely on his wheelchair. They explored the bag of components and stood the long spindly legs wearing the eight-holer boots by the giant screen to admire. Paul’s wish to be fucked by Ryan wearing pegs was realised. He loved the sensation of Ryan’s hard right socket pounding against his leg stump. He tried to imagine what their lovemaking would sound like when he had his own new artificial leg in a few days.

 

Paul collected it the following week on Tuesday. He went alone. Ryan said he had to finalise arrangements for their move. Morag said she was perfectly happy for the boys to take their furniture with them if she could keep the bits she had in her bedroom. They also agreed that Morag could keep the sewing machine and other stuff from the kitchen which she had picked out. Ryan compared services of removal companies in London and Leeds. He needed people who would not only carry their belongings but also themselves and the Unums. He found a Leeds company who agreed to drive empty down to London to collect them. Ryan made it quite clear that both he and his partner were severely disabled and could not be expected to lend a helping hand.

            – Are you going to need something like a ventilator or dialysis machine during the journey?

            – Christ no! We’re only amputees. Perfectly healthy otherwise. You might let the drivers know in advance so they don’t faint when they see us.

            – Will do. So let me check this one more time. A driver and an assistant. One load including two microcars and two passengers. Estimated time of arrival between midday and one on Friday this week. Estimated time at destination between six and eight. Destination Attenborough Tower, top floor. Payment to driver before departure by credit card.

            – That’s right.

            – Good. I have to say I am green with envy about your new home. I’ve watched the towers going up – well, everyone has – and people thought they were going to be your run-of-the-mill tower blocks but they’ve turned into a real jewel. Beautiful buildings with a beautiful view. So, welcome to Leeds and I hope you’ll be happy here.

            – Thanks, mate. Good of you to say so.

 

Paul arrived home with a thirty-holer boot laced up his left leg, the right trouser leg folded up into his belt and on crutches. Quite unbid, Llewellyn had printed a cosmesis in the rough shape of a lower leg which clipped onto the pylon. He had heard Paul mention wearing tall boots again and decided to make it easier to do so. Paul was walking just as well as he did with his peg leg. He looked like a one-legged man.

            – That looks pretty good, mate. I bet you’re pleased with it.

            – I am. Trevor sends his regards.

            – Where’s your peg?

            – In the car. It can stay there till I want it.

            – Right. I have some news. Get your shit together. We’re moving on Friday at noon.

            – That soon? Wow! That’s great. Does Morag know?

            – She’s out somewhere.

            – Well, this calls for a celebration. Is there any beer in the fridge?

            – What do you think? Bring me one too.

Ryan pegged over to the humidor and selected an eight inch Robusto. He waited for Paul to pass him a beer and they went out to the balcony. Paul snapped the infrared heater on.

            – Don’t you want a smoke?

            – Not right now. Tell me about the move. Are they local lads?

            – No. Driving down. Sounds like a small outfit but enthusiastic. I told them not to expect us to help out carrying shit.

            – Yeah, it would slow things down a bit. And do we have to drive up behind the van or do we get a lift?

            – Daft bugger! We get a lift with the cars in the back.

            – What will Morag think?

            – Well, much as I love her, I can’t run my life around what Morag thinks. She already knows she can stay here for a while but I want to have this place sold in six months. I don’t want it hanging around my neck for the next ten years. I know I don’t actually have to do any of the work myself, but the sooner we’re shot of it, the better.

            – I agree, if it’s worth anything. How about Craig?

            – He’s free to move in as soon as he wants, as far as I’m concerned. As long as he doesn’t bring too much of his own furniture. Unless it’s really good stuff. He can have what he wants in his bedroom, of course. But I don’t want to lose the style we have here.

            – No, I don’t either. It took a lot of planning to get it looking smart.

            – One of the reasons why I decided to take our furniture instead of leaving it here is that we’ve both made efforts now to appear more conventional, shall we say. You have a new full-sized leg and I have a pair, so we can both use the sofa. I’m leaving this kitchen furniture to Morag, so we need to get some high stools and a table when we get to Leeds. That’ll be the first thing, I reckon.

            – Might as well order them from Ikea if they’re for the kitchen. I don’t care if my stump rests on a golden seat.

            – Yeah. Have a look and see if they’ve got anything suitable. Three stools, remember.

            – We might as well have four in case Craig has a boyfriend over for breakfast.

            – Go on then.

            – Is Craig paying us rent, or what have you sorted out with him?

            – No rent but we each get two dozen Bazukas or Xcellentes a month. Does that suit you?

            – Fuck me, that’s brilliant.

            – I’ll tell you something else that’s brilliant. I have decided to ditch the wheelchair for good.

            – Why? Really? Are you going to use legs permanently now?

            – Fuck no. I’m getting myself a gyrochair.

            – And what’s one of those?

            – It’s a wheelchair with two wheels, tyres really. It all works with gyroscopes so it balances upright and you just scoot around in it.

            – Well, if you’re having one, order two. Ask Craig if he wants one, as well. We might get a discount.

            – Ha, yeah, I was worried about the expense.

            – Imagine us all sitting around in gyrochairs in the living room watching some YouTube shit or whatever. None of us would ever use our prossies ever again.

            – I don’t know if it would ever get that bad but you have to admit that it would be great to get around town without having to use a wheelchair.

            – Well, especially for you struggling along with arm sockets. Got any video of the things in action?

            – Yeah. I’ll show you later on. I’ve made another decision too.

            – What’s that?

            – I’m gonna stop shaving my face. I’m gonna have a beard. I like the bald head and big beard look.

            – You’re gonna look like a hipster.

            – Ha! A hipster in skinhead gear. Why don’t you do the same?

            – My beard is too shitty to grow out properly.

            – Well, you don’t know unless you try. It might look OK. Go on, just for fun.

            – Alright. But if it doesn’t look like a beard in three months, it’s coming off.

            – Agreed.

 

T H E   R E D U C T I O N   O F   S K I N S   [I]

 

 

 

 

 

            

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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¹ [U.S. = May I beg one of your cigarettes, bud?]

² [= money]