Trevor

 

T R E V O R

A dubitable tale by strzeka

 

At the age of twenty-nine, Trevor Wright had everything. He was tall, trim, handsome with a fashionably full beard, a closet full of good quality clothes which suited him, a trendy media job in a local radio station and fifty square metres of studio apartment in Shoreditch. He had friends of both sexes whose company he enjoyed and who were always happy to see him. Only one thing nagged at his mind, several times every day. He felt like a stranger in his own skin. His body seemed to belong to someone else. It was not Trevor Wright.

 

Trevor suffered from body integrity dysmorphia. He was an imposter. The true Trevor was a triple amputee with one healthy muscular leg and three healthy muscular stumps. His closet concealed two pairs of crutches, several walking sticks and a pair of artificial arms terminating in split hooks, the sockets large enough to accommodate his fists. He would frequently bind his left leg as tight as he could manage and use crutches to move around the apartment until the urge for one‑leggedness eased. Some evenings he spent wearing the hooks until he retired for the night. He felt great satisfaction and calm when he sat in an easy chair and looked at the black sockets on the arm rests. He wanted nothing more out of life than a pair of forearm stumps in order to wear hooks every day, permanently. His leg stump would be a phenomenal bonus but handlessness was his overpowering compulsion. He was frustrated by his lack of confidence in wearing the pretender hooks in public. He wanted to be seen and known as a hook user. He wanted his friends to accept him as a severely disabled man. On the eve of his thirtieth birthday, it was decision time.

 

There were hundreds of ways to lose one’s hands. They could be sliced off by a sheet of steel falling on them. They could be ruined in a car crash. They could be burned by fire or acid. Dry ice would kill them after ten hour’s agony. A hydraulic press. A motor saw. The swipe of a sword, Saudi style. Tourniquets worn all night and all the next morning – ah, but the pain! They were all difficult to arrange and most of them required the active assistance of a trusted friend. Trevor had never met anyone who had ever even hinted at an interest in amputation. He knew very well that he was far from alone but making contact with someone willing to devote their time and effort to help another lose limbs was fraught with the danger of exposure as a madman. He remembered the American who had frozen his hands in dry ice and been immediately outed as having done it deliberately, resulting in the need to relocate and find a new job. Trevor was too comfortable in Shoreditch to want to risk losing his home and career. As a sound engineer, he could easily continue at work with bilateral prosthetic arms. He used his pretender hooks on his own audio equipment at home. It was easy.

 

Trevor reasoned that the first step to achieving his long-term goal was to find a reliable assistant. He reckoned the dry ice method was probably the best way to go. It would be simple enough to find out where the clubs sourced theirs for special effects on stage. Maybe his willing assistant could make a few useful suggestions on how to go about it. And come up with a credible reason for an otherwise healthy man turning up at a hospital with two destroyed hands requiring amputation. He could post a few private messages to Tumblr or Reddit users – will you help me lose my hands? That was no good. If only he knew a voluntary amputee, someone who had already overcome the odds and achieved a stump. He was hardly likely to succeed by advertising for one – contact me if you deliberately caused your amputation. Not many respondents to that one either. It was frustrating and needed further thought. Maybe if he spent more time outside, in the coffee bars and clubs, he might see an amputee flaunting an artificial limb. He was of the opinion that only someone who had wanted to lose a limb would show any enthusiasm for its artificial replacement. Someone wearing a T-shirt and an artificial arm or shorts with a prosthetic leg might understand. There were so few.

 

The station manager knocked and came into the studio where he was compiling the day’s jingles and ad breaks.

            – Hi, Trevor. Hope we’re not disturbing you. I want you to meet our latest employee. This is Dave Gilmore, fresh out of college and we were lucky to land him.

Trevor spun around in his chair and looked at the young guy who stood with his arm outstretched. Trevor grasped the hand and immediately felt something odd. The fingers were only stumps. He glanced down in alarm and saw that the thumb too was only a couple of centimetres long.

            – Dave is joining the research and advertising team – all two of them – so you’ll probably see each other fairly regularly.

            – It’s good to meet you, Dave.

            – Likewise. Great beard, by the way.

Dave gave him a thumbs-up gesture with his fingerless hand. The image burned into Trevor’s memory. They left and Trevor spun back to his console, imagining how it might feel if his own hand had short stumps instead of digits. He lost his concentration completely and went out to tank up with another mug of coffee.

 

Dave started work at the start of the following week. Trevor spotted him in the staff canteen at lunchtime, sitting alone, stirring a coffee with his mutilated hand. Trevor brought his meal over and placed it on the table.

            – Hi Dave! Do you mind if I join you?

            – Course not. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.

            – Trevor.

            – Oh yeah, of course. Sorry.

            – Don’t be. How do you like it so far?

            – It’s a lot of fun. Julie and Frank are really helpful with learning the system. I’m supposed to be watching them this week and next week I’ll be out touting.

            – God, is that what they call it these days?

            – Well, why not? That’s what it is. Touting for business.

            – Yeah, I suppose. What happened to your hand, if you don’t mind me asking?

            – Bit of an accident. Took it to the hospital and they said ‘It’s amputation for you, my boy’. So here I am, six months later with this.

            – It looks quite distinguished. Not ugly. It was a bit surprising when you shook my hand, do you remember?

            – Yeah, most people just forget about it straight after.

            – Oh, really? I didn’t forget. I hope you won’t mind me saying this but I think it looks cool.

            – Great! I wasn’t sure how they would turn out.

            – No, I suppose not.

Trevor’s imagination sparked. He spoke in a low voice.

            – Er, what do you mean by that? I get the idea that you planned it.

Dave was quiet for a moment and looked around and back at Trevor.

            – Promise you won’t ever tell anyone? You look like I can trust you. I did it with a friend. We used a chisel and a mallet and we chopped them off one night. I held the chisel on each finger and he gave it good whack with the mallet. Blood everywhere, but we had a sheet of plastic on the floor.  And then he drove me to the hospital and they tidied my stumps and this is the result.

He waggled his finger stumps in Trevor’s face. Trevor took hold of the hand and inspected the stumps closely. The suture scars were still apparent but would surely fade in time.

            – Your hands are warm. You have a gentle touch.

            – Yeah. You’ve done something which I’ve always wanted to do.

            – What? Lose your fingers?

            – No. I want my hands off. Both of them. Hooks, that’s what I want.

            – Oh, fuck me! So do I! I think of this as an in-between stage. First I wanted to feel what it’s like to be missing something before I take the plunge.

            – What do you mean? What do you want done?

            – I want short stumps at my shoulders and to use full-length prostheses. With hooks, not artificial hands.

Trevor had started to become erect since he fondled Dave’s finger stumps. Now he was dangerously close to ejaculating into his underwear.

            – I’d better go, Trevor. Otherwise they’ll wonder where I am. Talk to you again.

Trevor watched the blond recruit leave and forked the rest of his meal into his mouth without tasting it. Could he have found an assistant at last?

 

Dave’s stumps played on his mind for the rest of the day. What was it like to use such a mutilated hand? It would not grip anything useful. The stumps of the thumb and the forefinger could scarcely touch. All the same, it looked fantastic. Really perfectly shaped and proportioned. A normal hand was something any primate had. Dave’s reshaped hand was something only a man could have. At four o’clock, he compiled the last of the following night’s ad breaks and strolled down the corridor to the publicity department. He stuck his head around the door. Frank was out and Julie was on the phone. Dave noticed him. Trevor mimed drinking a pint. Dave smiled and nodded. He was pretty sure that Trevor might be able to help him arrange a couple of amputations. He was older and must surely have a ton of contacts.

 

They knocked off at five. Julie left at ten to in order to powder her nose and freshen her lipstick. Dave thought she was quite nice on first impression. She was a little on the heavy side but she had a beautiful voice and sounded really friendly on the phone. Frank was alright too, although he seemed a little nervous, like he expected to be reprimanded for something at any moment. They were both about ten years older than he was. Dave waited obediently until five on the dot before daring to leave his desk. He returned to Trevor’s mini-studio, where he was lining up material for the next day – actually, waiting for Dave.

            – Ah, there you are. Ready? Shall we have a pint? I still want to ask you a couple of things.

            – Sure. Do you know a good pub?

            – There’s a decent place near the tube station.

            – Oh, right. That’s where I have to go anyway.

            –Let me get my coat on and we can go.

They left.

 

They did not speak on the way to the White Hart. They already felt a mutual companionship after revealing their shocking secrets to each other after a few minutes’ acquaintance. Dave trusted Trevor because of the way he had touched his stumps. No-one else had been so fascinated or so gentle.

 

            – Sit here and I’ll get the drinks. What do you want?

            – Estrella would be good.

Trevor brought two Estrellas to the table. He picked up his glass and watched as Dave attempted to pick up his with his right hand. Useless. Dave did it only to show off his finger stumps to Trevor. He lifted his beer with his left hand and they clinked their glasses.

            – To the future!

            – Cheers!

            – How was your first day? Did you get on with Julie and Frank alright?

            – Sure, they seem good sorts to me. Frank seems a bit jittery, doesn’t he? But Julie was friendly and explained quite a lot.

            – Well, that’s good. Don’t let on but I think you’re going to be doing Frank’s job in the near future. He had a bit of a breakdown last year and blamed it on work pressure but I think it’s because of his home life. Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if he left before long.

            – So then it would be me touring around town meeting customers.

            – Yeah, I guess so. Have you got a driver’s licence?

            – Yeah. That was practically the first thing the boss asked me at the interview.

            – Oh well, that proves it, then. But time will tell. I wanted to ask you more about your hand.

            – I thought you might. Go ahead. I’ve got a few things I want to ask you, too.

            – Oh, OK. Well, I was wondering what story you told them in hospital.

            – I said I caught my hand in an old book trimmer, trying to dislodge a blockage.

            – And they believed you?

            – Well, why wouldn’t they? There I was with five fingers missing. You don’t suppose they suspected me of doing it to myself, do you? I don’t think medical staff have time to think about the causes of injuries. Actually, I needn’t have said anything. No-one asked. I was taken to surgery and when I woke up next morning, I was in bed with a hand the size of a football. They fucked about with it for three days and then put a sort of hard plastic glove over the whole thing and sent me home. But I still had to go in every day though to change the bandages and whatever.

            – As an outpatient, I suppose. How long did that go on for?

            – Oh, only about three weeks. By that time, the stumps were just about healed.

            – Can I look at your hand again?

Dave held it out.

            – Your stumps are only about half the length of the first bone or whatever you call it. Is that the way you cut them?

            – No. I sliced them off right up next to the first joint. I knew they’d have to take more bone in order to get a bit of flesh to sew over them. Actually, they took a bit more than I expected but I’m happy with these now. I did think they might be slightly longer but it doesn’t matter. With any luck, this’ll only be for a few years.

            – Do you think you’ll go ahead with the other amputations? How are you going to manage those?

            – Don’t know yet. Oh, I’m sure I’ll have the kind of stumps I want. About three inches of stump at my shoulders. Enough to fit into the sockets of artificial arms.

            – You’ll have a lot of difficulty moving your arms.

            – I know. It’s what I want. I want to be practically helpless. Just have hooks which I can barely control and elbows which stick out at ninety degrees. Walk around like that. It would be fantastic.

            – You’d have to have a helper if you were as disabled as that.

            – That’s the main problem. Apart from how to do it, of course. I’m always on the lookout for someone who says they dig arm amputees. The trouble is, most of them are in America. A couple in Germany. There don’t seem to be many men here who want to share their lives with a disabled guy.

            – Does it have to be a man?

            – Yeah, I think so. I’m gay, see? So I’d rather have a man around. How about you? You said you wanted hooks too.

            – I’ll settle for having my hands off mid forearm. You know yourself that keeping your elbows makes quite a difference. I’m fascinated by the sensation of rigid wrists terminating in steel hooks. I have a pair of pretender arms at home which I wear whenever I get the chance.

            – Really? I’d love to see them. I’ve thought about getting a pair but they’re so expensive.

            – They are but well worth the money.

            – Do you wear them in public?

            – No! I haven’t dared. I would like to. I am always angry at myself when I come back from somewhere where I could have worn them without any problems.

            – That wouldn’t bother me. I’d wear them anyway. I mean, some men have lost their hands and wear hooks. And I’m one of them, as far as anyone can tell. No-one would look at you and think, oh, he’s only pretending.

            – That’s the problem, though. The pretender arms are longer than an amputee’s sockets. They have to be to hide your hands. It’s next to impossible to drink from a glass or use a fork because they’re so long. So there’s not much joy in wearing them out if you’re going to a pub or clubbing.

            – I see. But it would be cool to walk around wearing hooks.

            – Why don’t you come round to mine next Saturday and try them on? I’m pretty sure they’d fit you.

            – Thanks very much. I’d like that. I’d love to try them out.

            – That’s settled then. Would you like another?

            – Yes, please.

 

They sat at their secluded table in the hubbub and quietly discussed their fascination and fantasies. Trevor told Dave about his sightings over the years. Dave, seven years his junior, had not travelled far nor been outside the country but spoke enthusiastically about one of his college pals who used an above-knee prosthetic leg as a result of a road accident at sixteen. Trevor imagined what a perfect situation that would be for a wannabe – a young life enhanced by amputation and a future with a wide variety of prosthetic legs from expensive microprocessor-controlled creations to simple, rigid wooden peg legs held to the stump with leather sockets and buckles and belts. Neither of them had ever met a bilateral arm amputee. Their interest was maintained by watching videos of arm amputees, from educational clips about the fitting of artificial limbs to devil-may-care jokers with a prosthesis or two who enjoyed pranking others with the shock value of an unexpected hook. When they left the pub, Trevor was fairly certain that he had found someone who could help him gain the stumps he craved. Dave was looking forward to wearing artificial arms for the first time in his life.

 

They returned to the pub on Friday evening with other members of staff. It was a fairly frequent occurrence, a chance to review the week and bitch about customers, schedules and the general public. Dave’s mutilated hand was noted by everyone present and attracted various comments from horror and sympathy to outright admiration.

 

The next morning, Dave left his bedsit in Earl’s Court and caught a bus to Shoreditch. A more inconvenient route in central London was difficult to imagine but after over an hour on a rattling bus, Dave strode along to Trevor’s address and rang the bell. Trevor buzzed him in and met him on the seventh floor landing.

            – Welcome to my humble abode. How’s your head?

            – Fine, thanks. I didn’t have that much last night.

            – Good. Do you want a beer now?

            – I thought you’d never ask.

            – Haha! Help yourself. The fridge is full.

Dave looked around the flat. Everything was on view. Kitchen and living room were one large space, the bedroom alcove was off to one side, next to the bathroom. Trevor’s furniture was almost all white, almost all plastic, the items famous icons exhibited in museums of modern art all around the world. Fabrics were maroon and lime green, not fashionable colours but an interesting combination. Dave was well impressed. He helped himself to a can of beer, found a glass and joined Trevor in the living room.

            – We may as well start as we mean to go on. Pour your beer first.

Dave did as he was told. Trevor reached down beside his chair and lifted the prosthetic arms linked together on a canvas harness.

            – I want you to wear these for the rest of the time you spend here. If we go out, I want you to wear them. If you want to be an amputee, you had better get used to the idea that other people are going to see you and notice.

            – Wow! So you want me to put them on right now? I’m not sure how to go about it. Will you help?

            –It’s not difficult. Come over here.

They both stood and Trevor asked Dave to put a pair of long athletic socks onto his arms. He had a little trouble pulling the left sock on with his short nubs. Trevor held the sockets as Dave fed his arms into them and pulled the harness into place. He checked the straps and was satisfied for the time being. Dave stood there, artificial arms hanging down.

            – Raise your arms and stretch them out.

Dave obeyed and saw the hooks open. He groaned in ecstasy.

            – How do they feel? Are they too tight? Do the sockets wobble?

            – No, I think everything feels tight. I’m not sure how it’s supposed to feel, exactly.

            – No, I suppose not. Alright, try them like that and we can make adjustments a bit later on.

Dave sat and studied his new arms. The hooks looked incredibly masculine and erotic. He would swap his hands for hooks this instant if it were possible. He felt that he had achieved the image of the man he felt himself to be. This would be his future. Steel hooks for the rest of his life. His penis slowly pumped semen into his underwear. A gentle affirmation from his body of what would be.

            – Try opening and closing the hooks. Push the opposite shoulder forward to open them. Or you can just stretch the arm and the hook will open.

            Dave tried various motions and quickly understood how to operate the hooks. He remembered seeing dozens of training films where injured war veterans struggled to work their new artificial arms. Dave took to it within a couple of minutes, and picked up his beer. He hit his first problem. The arm was too long to let him bring the glass to his face and he could not twist his wrist to allow him to drink.

            – Shit! This isn’t going to work.

            – No, it’s not.

            – So what do I do now?

            – I don’t know, Dave. You are disabled. You have no hands. Or wrists.

Dave looked at Trevor as if he had gone mad.

            – But this is impossible!

            – Not impossible, but it requires some lateral thinking. You have to use your imagination to get the hooks to do what you want, if possible. They’re only about ten percent as useful as natural hands. I can give you a straw or you can try to find something you can hold which you can drink from.

            – Can I have a straw, please?

            – Sure. They’re in the second drawer in the kitchen. Help yourself.

Dave leaned on his hooks and rose, went to the kitchen and found the straws. He was able to pick out two and returned to the sofa. He dropped them onto the table, picked one up carefully and put it into his glass. His hook had squashed it and it did not draw very well but he was able to taste his first beer of the day.

            – I told you yesterday that those sockets are a little too long to be practical for eating. But they work fine for doing other things. You said you’d wear them everywhere so are you ready to go out now? We could go to the market. I need some groceries and then we could have a couple of pints.

            – Well, if you’ll be with me, I’ll come. Will you help me if I need some help?

            – Yes, of course I will. But you have to try first. I’ll help you if something is too awkward.

            – Thanks.

            – Just relax, Dave. You are disabled but that’s the way you want to be. Get used to the hooks. They are rather beautiful, aren’t they? Do you prefer to see the hooks or your finger stumps? Which are most disabling?

            – It’s difficult to say. I love the way the hooks are so – menacing? But, you know, I think the hook would be more useful than my stumps once I learn to use it.

            – That’s interesting. Have you thought about losing the fingers on your left hand? Have a matching pair?

            – Yes, I have. It’s one of the things I was talking about with my friend when we did my right hand. Shall we do both? But it’s difficult to think of an explanation why both hands are fucked up. And we didn’t want to waste time.

            – Yeah, well, as you learned, they don’t ask what happened. They’re just concerned with tidying up the mess. Has anyone offered you any kind of prosthesis? You know you can get artificial fingers for hands like yours?

            – I know. I don’t really want that sort of thing. But it’s an interesting new technology. Purely mechanical. I wonder why nothing like it has been done before.

            – If I remember correctly, it was an engineer who designed it. He was also missing a few fingers. And he kept at it until he had something practical. That’s one of the strengths of the disabled – the determination to succeed. You’ll see later when we’re out. Lots of things you have to adapt to. I’m of the opinion that the world shouldn’t be reshaped to accommodate our needs but it also shouldn’t make things unnecessarily difficult. You’ll see. It’ll be quite an eye-opener.

            – I’m looking forward to it.

            – We’ll have a couple of beers first for Dutch courage and then we can go out.

 

Dave continued to admire his new arms. He enjoyed the quiet click of the hooks when they closed and their effortless grip. He tried opening his next beer himself and succeeded in pouring it into his glass, noticing how the hooks squashed the can. Trevor made a quick inventory of things to buy and put his large hessian shopping bag by the door.

 

They finished their beers and Trevor took the glasses to the kitchen. He walked to the hall, brought Dave’s leather jacket and helped him feed his unfeeling arms into the sleeves. Dave was impressed by his new appearance. If only the sockets weren’t quite so long. But it couldn’t be helped. No-one would suspect that he was pretending. They would never have heard of such a thing.

            – Ready? Come on then. Have you got everything?

            – Yup. We have to come back here anyway, don’t we?

            – We’ll see.

 

They strolled through the crowd of Saturday morning shoppers buying the raw ingredients for a dozen and more different cuisines. Trevor needed the basics. He bought some apples.

            – Dave, pick out a small bunch of nearly ripe bananas, will you?

He looked at the pile of fruit and picked up a pristine hand of six bananas. The trader looked at him expectantly and he raised the bananas in his hook, releasing them at exactly the right moment for the trader to take and weigh them. He felt a rush of pleasure at doing such a simple thing. The trader paid his hook no attention nor made any comment. Trevor paid for his veg and they continued through the crowd. They went into one of the East End’s last independent butchers for pork chops and chicken breasts. Trevor put his purchases into his shopping bag and held it out to Dave.

            – Carry this, will you? It’s not heavy.

Dave grabbed the handles and discovered how the bag twisted in his hook, bumping into his legs with almost every step. It was fairly annoying.

            – Shall we have a drink? I know a nice pub just around the corner.

Trevor led the way and held the door open for Dave. They stepped inside and Trevor deliberately chose a table near the door where everyone who entered or left would pass them. Trevor fetched two pints and a few straws. Dave would never be able to use his two hooks to drink from a traditional British beer mug. It would be difficult to design a glass less suited for use by a bilateral hand amputee. But Dave was an adventurous soul and placed both arms onto the table, cradling his pint and he sipped beer through two straws. It was an unsatisfactory way to drink beer, which needed to be quaffed, not sipped. A couple of newcomers craned their necked as they entered, noticing the glint of steel hooks.

            – How are you feeling about your hooks?

            – They’re a bit long, otherwise I love them.

            – Good. That’s what I think too. They’re fine for doing this and that but next to useless if you have to get close to your mouth. You did very well with the bananas, by the way. I was impressed.

            – Aw shucks! It was nothing.

            – No, seriously. You did very well. You’re obviously not self-conscious about the hooks and seem to have got the knack of working them. Didn’t take you long, did it?

            – Well no, but don’t forget that I’ve seen quite a few videos of hook users.

            – True. Do you think you would get on OK if you genuinely had stumps?

            – I wouldn’t have much choice, would I? Amputation is a fairly permanent situation. The thing is to learn how to function with hooks.

            – Wouldn’t you be interested in bionic hands?

            – I’m not a fan at the moment. I appreciate the work that goes into designing them but I think they’re still pretty much at the experimental stage. I don’t think they’re very strong, either.

            – I think I agree with you. Too much faffing about trying to alter grip patterns and the like. With a hook, you just reach out and grab. With a hand, you plan the grip, move the fingers, grasp the object and close the fingers. I’ve never seen anyone be able to do it so it looks natural.

            – Exactly. I wish these hooks were a little shorter. I’d like to pick that glass up and have a decent drink.

            – If you had a tall thin glass, you might be able to hold it at the base and reach your lips.

            – Yeah, I was thinking of that. Do you think they have any?

            – I’ll ask next time.

 

The bartender found such a glass, four dozen of which had been provided by a foreign brewery for their designer lager. Trevor delivered the next beer in it and Dave practised picking the glass up, gingerly at first and with more confidence once he was sure the hook would grip firmly enough. He asked Trevor to pour most of the beer into his previous glass and tried, successfully, to get the rim to his lips. Trevor poured half the lager back and Dave was able to grip his beerglass and drink normally. It felt much better than sipping through straws. Both of them enjoyed the appearance of the steel hook gripping the glass and Dave felt he had reached another milestone.

 

            – Trev, I need to pee.

            – So do I. Come on. I’ll help if you need it.

Trevor pulled Dave’s fly zip open and let him go into a stall. He would be able to dig his penis out of his underwear with a bit of patience. Needs must. They had two more pints and left before they became intoxicated. They stood outside the pub.

            – Where do you want to go now? You can come back to mine if you like or you can make your way home.

            – Like this, you mean? Wearing the hooks?

            – Sure, why not?

            – I don’t know. I’m thinking about trying to use my keys to get in and fiddling around with the Oyster card on the bus.

            – Get it out now and put it somewhere you can reach it easily. Same with your keys. What else might you need to do on the way back?

            – I can’t think of anything. Are you sure you don’t want these over the weekend?

            – Ha! Yes, I’m sure. Put your card and keys in that pocket and you’ll be able to reach them. Right. Thanks for the company and I’ll see you on Monday.

            – Thanks a lot, Trev. See you.

Dave turned and walked towards the bus stop. Trevor watched the hooks swinging nonchalantly until Dave turned a corner and disappeared from view. He picked up the bag of groceries and made his way home.

 

Dave had no trouble using his travel pass on the bus. He sat as far back as he could, away from inquisitive fellow passengers. He held his phone by its cover and swiped through a few sites. The steel hook worked on the touch screen as well as his fingers. He changed buses halfway home and enjoyed hearing the steel hooks clattering against the bus’s fittings as he moved towards the door. His next challenge was opening the door to his apartment. The lock was fairly high and it was difficult enough to rotate the hooks at the best of times. He needed a pee and got inside after many attempts. He faced the problem of unzipping his fly. After several tries, it opened a little and he was able to pull the fly open by brute force. He fumbled for his cock and opened a hook to hold it as it released a heavy stream mostly into the toilet bowl.

 

He took his jacket off, shrugging it over his shoulders and shaking it loose. The black carbon arms were visible again. He stood in front of the tall hall mirror and admired the way he looked. He crossed his arms and locked the hooks together. He thought about taking them off and getting some supper ready but decided to wear them for the rest of the evening to see what kinds of problems having hooks instead of hands presented.

 

He noticed very soon that plastic packaging was difficult to open. He could not use scissors to open a packet of bacon. He used a sharp knife instead, learning in the process how to position it so it did not slip. He made a mess with the first egg he picked up but controlled his hook well enough to break the next two over the frying pan. Both yolks broke. It could not be helped. He sliced a tomato in half easily enough and dropped the pieces in. His quick fry-up was soon ready. Dave used a fork gripped at an angle in a hook to eat the food, remembering halfway through that he had not washed his hooks after peeing. He mopped up the tomato and the grease with two pieces of white bread, using the fork. He put the plate in the sink and ran hot water over his hooks onto the plate and dried his hooks on the tea towel. It was enough to shake them and grip the cloth.

 

His tv remote was ergonomically designed, curvy and shiny. It was the worst possible shape for use with hooks. It was something to bear in mind when buying his next set. He needed something square and matte with rubber buttons, not the glossy, convex buttons which the tip of his hook slid off, hitting the unwanted adjacent button. He watched a couple of panel shows, paying more attention to his new hooks than to the programmes and decided to have an early night. He went to the bathroom and tried brushing his teeth. The toothpaste tube was a real pain, needing much manipulation before the cap could be unscrewed. Dave’s toothbrush was electric and he decided to squirt a little toothpaste onto the rim of the washbasin and then dip the brush into it. Squeezing the tube was also problematic but not impossible.

 

The next problem arose when Dave wanted to remove his prosthetic arms. The biceps cuffs were held on by Velcro straps and the hooks would never be able to reach them. Trevor had tabbed the ends so there was a centimetre or so to grab with fingers but that was not much help. After trying to use the hook in the hallway from which he hung his umbrella to tease the Velcro apart, he reluctantly phoned Trevor.

            – Hi Trev, it’s Dave. I hope I’m not disturbing you. Listen, I have a bit of a problem here. I’ve been wearing the hooks all evening and I want to take them off before I go to bed. But I can’t open the Velcro straps around my upper arms. How do you do it?

            – Oh shit, I forgot all about that. Sorry, it’s my fault. When I wear them, it’s impossible to close the straps on one of the cuffs so I get by with it being a bit loose. But I closed both of yours, thinking that you’d be coming back to mine after we were in the pub. I forgot completely. Sorry!

            – Well, it’s quite understandable but do you have any ideas?

            – I don’t, I’m afraid. I’ve never been in that situation. Is there no-one else with you? I suppose not.

            – No, I came straight home. It was a bitch opening the front door too, I can tell you.

            – I know. Keys are hard. Well, I’m afraid the only thing I can suggest is that you’ll simply have to sleep wearing the things. It won’t be the last time, I can promise you that. So don’t worry about it. How have you been getting on?

            – Not too bad. I hate the tv remote and once I opened my flies, I just left them open.

            – Ha! Same here. Well, look. I’m sorry I can’t be of more assistance but it looks like you’ll still be wearing the things in the morning. Don’t worry about breaking them. They’re much stronger than you’d think. They won’t break if you roll over onto them. I just hope you can get some sleep.

            – OK, I’ll try. Thanks, Trev. Good night.

 

Dave put himself to bed and tried sleeping with the prostheses clinging to his arms and across his back. His balled fingers began to ache, his fingernails bent against the unyielding socket. He tried forcing the sockets away from his fingers but they were too tightly fixed to move. The steel ring at the back of the harness bit into his spine. Weary from the discomfort, he rose and returned to his armchair in the living room, dragging his top sheet and blankets with him. He prodded the covers over himself and managed to sleep for five hours until the early hours of Sunday morning. His hands hurt. He went to the bathroom, peed and swallowed two Paracetamol tablets. He tried getting back to sleep but after twenty minutes resigned himself to starting the day at five thirty. He put a dressing gown on and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. But how would he drink it? He had no straws nor tall glasses he could grasp with his hooks. As much as he enjoyed using the hooks, the pretender versions were more disabling than normal hooks would be. Shorter sockets would mean he would be able to reach his mouth to drink and to feed himself properly. He twisted the cold tap on and drank several mouthfuls of water, bending down to catch the flow in his mouth, his hook skittering and sliding on the counter-top as he tried to maintain his balance. He made himself a couple of cheese sandwiches and ate them in an awkward and inelegant fashion. He wondered what time Trevor might get up on a Sunday morning. He would have to return to Shoreditch to free himself of the arms.

 

Dave waited until half past eight before calling.

            – Hi Trev, it’s me again. Listen, I’m going to have to come to your place this morning and you can have the hooks back.

            – Christ! Are you still wearing them?

            – Yeah and they’re getting really uncomfortable.

            – Well, there’s no point in you going to Shoreditch. I’m on the way to Southampton for the day and I won’t be back until about ten tonight. Don’t you have another friend who could help?

            – No, I don’t know anyone yet.

            – And you don’t want to ask a neighbour to help?

            – Not really, no.

            – Well, it looks like you’re going to be wearing the things today but I’ll give you a call when I leave Southampton this evening and you can find your way to my place. It’ll take about two and a half hours, so take that into account.

            – Oh shit! Alright, I’ll see you tonight, then.

            – Yeah. Have a couple of painkillers if your hands hurt.

            – OK. Bye.

 

Dave was disappointed and frustrated. His fingertips were painful, jammed into the base of the sockets. There was nothing for it but to grin and bear it. He wanted to change his T-shirt but the harness prevented that. He found a pair of navy blue sweatpants and put them on. He slipped his feet into his trainers and tucked the laces in. He had no intention of attempting to tie them, not yet anyway. He was very conscious of the restrictions on everyday actions which his hooks imposed. There were few things which were genuinely impossible, he supposed, but as a newbie, almost everything posed some kind of problem which might be solved with practice and experience. He decided to make the best of a bad situation and took another couple of painkillers. Twenty minutes later, his hands were not so painful. He still wanted some coffee and looked through his cupboards for something suitable to drink from. Having just moved, and being a young bachelor, he had precious little in the way of crockery – a couple of mugs and one or two beer glasses ‘socialised’ from pubs. But he had a sports bottle with a cap. He could probably use that. He fetched it from the bottom of his sports bag and ran it under the tap to clean the worst of the dust off and half-filled it with water. If he held it near the base, he could get the opening to his mouth if he craned forward. Success! He made a potful of coffee and waited for it to brew for a few minutes. Every action had to be planned and considered, the hooks needed to be twisted into an appropriate position almost every time but since his hands had stopped hurting, he was finding the hooks a fun challenge. He was fairly certain that if he were a genuine amputee with properly fitting sockets which were a sensible length, he would be much more dextrous. He dropped some sugar into his sports cup and soon enjoyed his first coffee of the day.

 

There was a decent fish and chip shop near the tube station where he had planned to get lunch. He bounced the idea around in his mind. He could go and collect a portion or stay inside and order a delivery from somewhere. He did not want to try using the hooks to eat in public. He was pretty sure he could eat fish and chips with the hooks and not bother with a knife and fork. In the end, hunger won out and he put his jacket on, made sure he had his keys and wallet and strolled down to the high street. He ordered battered cod and a large portion of chips to take out, paid with his card and grabbed a large paper bag with his left hook. The people behind the counter had been too busy to pay him any attention so it was unlikely anyone would remember the man with two hooks if he returned in the near future. It was nobody’s business but he did not want to become known as the guy who sometimes had hands and sometimes steel hooks. He had no credible explanation for anyone who asked about such a peculiar situation. Was there such an explanation, apart from the truth? If there were, he could not think of it.

 

His meal was delicious after a couple of minutes in the microwave. The batter had become soggy but the cod was perfect. He ate with a fork and a good deal of acrobatics.

 

Having slept poorly, he was sleepy after lunch and sat in the lounge watching tv. He soon nodded off and woke up at four. Shortly after, Trevor called him.

            – I’m on my way back to town now. Got things sorted a bit earlier than I expected. So I should be home around seven at the latest. If you want to drop by after that, I’ll see you then. Are you still wearing the hooks?

            – Yep. I’m starting to get used to them. I went out to buy some grub at lunchtime and no-one batted an eyelid. I could get used to this. I just wish they weren’t so damned long.

            – I know what you mean. Alright, get yourself around to mine after seven and we’ll have a chat. I have some interesting news.

            – Oh, alright. See you later.

 

Having passed the station on the way to the fish and chip shop, Dave wondered how he could get to Shoreditch by Underground. There was no station called Shoreditch. The nearest was Old Street, according to Google Maps. He worked out how to reach his destination by Tube and realised it would be rather quicker than the bus journey. He was a newcomer to London and the transport system, especially the Underground trains, seemed daunting. But he could always ask someone if he got lost. He ended up taking the southern route and had to change trains twice. He wanted to avoid Bank/Monument and Kings Cross because he was sure he would be confused by all the different lines. He sat on the Circle until it reached Moorgate and went one stop north. He could have walked it in the time it took for the next train to arrive.

 

He pressed Trevor’s doorbell and the door lock buzzed. He pushed his way inside and called the lift. Trevor leaned against his apartment’s door frame waiting for his visitor.

            – Hi Trevor! Boy, am I glad to see you!

            – Come inside.

Dave went in and Trevor helped him remove his jacket. The artificial arms glinted in the remaining light from the setting sun.

            – Please get these off me. I’ve had them on since yesterday and I think my hands are ruined.

            – Yes, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re sore for the rest of the week. I’m sorry you had to go through this. It was something I should have remembered.

            – Not your fault.

Trevor opened the straps holding the prostheses to Dave’s arms. He loosened the shoulder straps and Dave was able to shrug off the sockets. Trevor held the arms as Dave tentatively inspected his hands. His fingernails were bent over and sore. He wiggled his fingers and felt their stiffness.

            – I guess your hands are fairly sore. Come in the kitchen. Let’s have a beer and we can talk.

 

            – How did you like doing everything with hooks?

            – It was alright after I took a few Paracetamol. I went out to buy some fish and chips and ate them without too much trouble. This morning I made coffee and drank it from a sippy cup.

            – Yeah, you have to make a few compromises in the way you do things. But you haven’t been too inconvenienced, I hope.

            – Well, when I think about it, actually no. I haven’t bothered trying to tie my shoelaces and little things like that but otherwise I don’t really think of myself as being disabled enough to want someone else to do stuff for me.

            – Good. Great. I’m glad to hear it.

Trevor handed a can of lager to Dave.

            – Er, would you mind opening it for me? My fingers are too sore at the moment.

Trevor did as asked and looked at Dave.

            – I have something I wanted to talk to you about.

            – Oh? What’s that?

            – I have the chance next weekend to start the process of getting my own hooks.

            – Great! How?

            – Dry ice. Down in Southampton. Everything will be ready next Saturday if I give the word to go ahead. There’s only one problem, though.

            – I can guess. You need a spotter.

            – Right! I wanted to ask you if you’d spend the weekend in Southampton to act as my assistant. I’m going to try for a twelve hour session to make absolutely sure my hands have to be amputated so I need someone to top up the ice, make sure I stay awake, feed me painkillers and hot drinks and that sort of thing. And to call an ambulance and clear up after. Would you be up for it?

            – Are you sure? Next weekend?

            – Yeah, it has to be then because that’s when we can get some dry ice without any questions being asked.

            – OK, I’ll come with you.

            – Good man. And there’s the other thing. I’ll need someone here at home for a couple of weeks afterwards until I get my hooks. Would you consider staying here for a fortnight or so? You needn’t be here during the daytime.

            – Yeah, I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa for a couple of weeks.

            – Oh, I can do better than that. I know it’s an inconvenience. I’ll make it up to you somehow. So I can give the go-ahead, then? Start the ball rolling?

            – Yeah, give them a call.

They clinked their glasses and toasted a successful outcome.

 

Dave stayed for a couple of hours, turning down Trevor’s offer of a meal. He stuffed the long athletic socks he had worn over his hands into his jacket pocket, said goodbye to Trevor and made his way back to the Underground station and home. He mulled the following weekend in his imagination. He had not asked about the venue itself or what the arrangements were. It was probably better not to know.

 

Trevor was especially busy the next week. He tidied his workspace and made certain that all the jingles and ads were clearly marked and labelled. He had no idea who would be lumbered with his duties while he was away – it might even be Dave, giving Frank a reprieve from his looming dismissal. Trevor’s job was simple enough but demanded conscientiousness and dedication to detail. Advertisers were hypercritical of the way their messaging was presented. It was Trevor’s responsibility to ensure that the ads became an integral part of programming. He was sorry that he had to leave the station in the lurch for a month or so but he had the chance of a lifetime to finally become the man he needed to be. This time, the station and its advertisers could take second place.

 

Trevor had already called his contact, Roman Romanescu, in Southampton. Roman ran a disco cum narcotics coven in Calmore, well on the outskirts near a most respectable middle-class residential area. An old barn now served as a stylish bar cum dance floor which often invited local groups for a little extra publicity. Trevor had worked with Roman in his previous job and helped him acclimatise himself in the baffling new society he had immigrated to. Roman’s order for fifty kilos of dry ice to be used for special effects the following Saturday was perfectly normal. The ice would be delivered on Saturday afternoon and stored in a freezer cabinet until needed, exactly as it had been many times before. But there was no venue planned for the following Saturday. Roman had agreed to let Trevor and an assistant into the premises when they arrived and asked them to lock up when they left. He had no idea why Trevor wanted so much dry ice but he was not especially interested. He had more lucrative affairs on his mind.

 

Trevor paid for a single and a return to Southampton from Waterloo and they travelled together to Southampton and from there by taxi to Calmore. Roman was at the barn with a few other men and a team of carpenters making alterations to the second floor seating area. They all shook hands and Roman showed them where the kitchen was and how to operate the coffee machine and the microwave. Dave had brought a good supply of tinned soups and tea bags, as well as a large loaf and stuff from a delicatessen. The dry ice was delivered in early afternoon in five ten kilo bags which the deliveryman lifted into the freezer. It was at minus seventy degrees but should stay usable for the best part of a day. It would certainly remain cold enough for a good display in the evening. Roman paid the man and thanked him. He showed the bill to Trevor who immediately transferred the corresponding amount from his account to Roman’s. Satisfied that everything was in order, Roman wished his old friend a pleasant evening, said goodbye to Dave and left with his friends. The carpenters had already left so Trevor and Dave were alone.

 

            – Shall we get started? I need to find a chair comfortable to sit on until the early hours.

            – What time do you want to start?

            – I was thinking from six to six. With any luck there won’t be too much of a crush at the hospital at six on a Sunday morning. They’ll probably wait all day tying to decide what to do, whether they ought to try saving my hands but I don’t intend leaving them any choice but to amputate. That’s why I want to do the full twelve hours. I reckon six would be enough but I want to be absolutely sure. It’s going to be difficult, Dave. You’ll probably need a strong stomach.

            – Don’t worry about me.

            – But I do. If you pass out or fall asleep, in other words if you stop topping up the ice, this might not work.

            – I know. Don’t worry. We’ll get the job done.

 

Trevor decided to sit on a cushioned dining chair. Dave placed chairs of similar height to each side and put buckets on them. Trevor fed his arms into a couple of bin bags and Dave taped them tightly closed. Trevor did the same thing again. Dave tested the set-up by asking Trevor to plunge his arms into the buckets which he had filled with cold water. After five minutes, Trevor announced no sensation of wetness on his skin and Dave emptied the buckets. It was coming up to six o’clock and Trevor suggested they begin. Dave understood that the amount of ice in the bucket should never exceed a certain level and drew a line around the inside of the bowl with a black marker. Trevor had an ideal image in his mind of his future stumps and hoped that the upcoming session would produce them although he understood that his surgeon might have a different priority. But stumps he would have. Trevor relaxed his hand insides the bin bags and placed them into the buckets to his sides.

            – Are you ready? Comfortable?

Trevor was sitting naked from his waist down apart from thick football socks on his legs and a thick woollen sweater rolled up above his elbows. The nakedness was necessary to catch the copious amounts of urine resulting from the almost continual amount of hot liquids Dave would serve him. It was important for Trevor’s core temperature to remain as normal as possible although his hands and forearms would achieve temperatures rarely seen even in Antarctica.

 

            – OK, mate. I’m ready. Let’s do it. Go ahead.

Dave brought a bucketful of dry ice from the freezer and carefully emptied it into the buckets around Trevor’s hands.

            – Christ almighty! That’s cold! Almost like it’s burning.

            – Do you want some painkillers?

            – Yeah, bring me a couple of what Roman gave you.

Dave fed Trevor a couple of capsules with Cyrillic text on them and helped him swallow them with some water. Trevor squirmed in discomfort, fighting against the overpowering urge to remove his hands from the lethally cold ice. Dave noticed his discomfort and changed tactic. He would be the Master forcing his Boy to obey him. His mission was to destroy the Boy’s hands.

            – Stop squirming! Think of what you are gaining. Don't think of your hands. You have no hands. You have stumps. Enjoy your stumps. Think of your stumps!

            – OK, Dave, I get it. You have no idea how painful this is.

            – You have to tolerate it. Stop complaining. Don’t complain again. I’m going to get more ice.

Dave packed it in tightly around Trevor’s bin bag arms. Trevor’s neck strained until he faced the ceiling. The pain was excruciating.

            – Think of your stumps. You’ll have stumps next week if you take this now. This pain will pass. It is not pain. It is your transition to the man you want to be. Be a man now, take the pain. Take the pain, Trevor! Embrace the pain!

            – I want to take my hands out of the ice. I can’t stand it any longer.

            – Your hands are already useless. The nerves will be dead soon and then it won’t hurt any longer. Jut a while yet, Trevor. You’re doing well. Keep at it.

            – Wait till you try it, mate.

That struck a chord. Dave had been taking mental notes of the process for his own future transformation. It was educational to see Trevor’s experiences with the ice. If this ended successfully with two amputations and a pair of hooks, he would definitely aim for the same results for himself. In the meantime, he had to keep Trevor lucid and as comfortable as possible while his healthy flesh was being killed.

            – I’m going to get you some hot soup. Don’t take your hands out.

            – I don’t think I could move them anyway.

            – Good. Soon you’ll have nothing to move. Imagine your hooks.

Dave went to the kitchen and opened the first tin of soup. He emptied it into a plastic bowl and microwaved it for three minutes. He stood in the doorway watching Trevor’s discomfort. They were not close enough friends for Trevor’s plight to affect Dave emotionally but he kept a close eye on the situation, not only because he had been asked to do so but also because he was imagining himself undergoing the same procedure a few months down the road. It would be ironic if Trevor agreed to spot for him. He picked up the hot soup and returned to Trevor.

            – Time for some supper. I think you ought to have a hot drink every half hour or so from now on. Do you feel cold?

            – Yeah, like when you have a cold sweat.

            – Alright. Open wide. I don’t think this is too hot.

Trevor concentrated on tasting the soup, grateful for a new sensory distraction from the destruction of his hands. He was not sure but he thought he could no longer feel his fingers through the general pain. Maybe the nerves were dead.

 

Dave was attentive and brought a mug of hot tea every half hour. He tried to engage Trevor in conversation but Trevor was not in a talkative mood. He seemed to be concentrating on tolerating pain. It was not the time for small talk. Trevor was quietly grateful for Dave’s presence. He was being a good spotter, never leaving his side except to fetch a drink.

 

Midnight. They were halfway through the process. Neither felt sleepy. Dave made sure the dry ice was kept as fresh and cold as possible. They had ordered far too much of it. Dave had only just needed to open the second bag. Tendrils of vapour from the buckets fell to the floor as the ice sublimated into carbon dioxide gas. Trevor’s expression had gradually evolved from pain to resignation as the nerves in his hands and arms died. The critical point had passed. Trevor’s hands and lower forearms had already suffered irreparable damage and bilateral amputations would be essential for him to survive. Through sheer determination to see the job done and force the amputations he wanted, Trevor had determined to suffer for twelve hours, from six to six. It was literally overkill. The intense chill crept up his arms towards his elbows and by three in the morning, they too had been frozen beyond salvation. Skin, flesh and bone died from loss of blood flow and oxygen.

 

At six in the morning, on the dot, Dave pulled the chairs supporting the ice-filled buckets to one side and lowered the buckets to the floor. Trevor’s plastic-wrapped arms hung uselessly.

            – Let’s get the plastic off and I’ll call an ambulance. You have your story ready, don’t you? Cure for CPRS gone wrong. You passed out from pain and I discovered you this morning, just now.

            – Yeah, that’s it. I passed out and look what happened.

            – Can you feel your arms?

            – No, not really. My biceps ache but I’m used to it.

            – Strange.

Dave unwrapped the bin bags to reveal the maroon and dark blue flesh of Trevor’s arms. The discolouring extended much further up than Trevor had intended. Dave looked in surprise at the damage and thought it was unlikely that Trevor would be leaving the hospital with forearm stumps. He would be lucky to lose only half of his upper arms. They should have stopped hours ago. He cleared away the buckets and ice, repositioned the chairs to where they had come from and looked around for other evidence of the night’s proceedings. He washed the cups and mugs and bowls he had used and put the empty soup tins into his backpack.

            – Are you ready? Shall I call now?

            – Yeah, go ahead.

Dave placed an emergency call. Twenty minutes later, he opened the door to two medics who carried Trevor to the ambulance on a stretcher. Trevor was too tired to react and allowed himself to sleep.

 

Trevor’s arms were x-rayed and studied with ultrasound. Tissue damage extended to within five inches of his shoulder joint. Viable skin was available to close an amputation site if the two humerus bones were severed at three inches from the shoulder. The patient would be able to use standard prosthetic arms with a limited range of motion.

 

Dave accompanied Trevor in the ambulance and answered a few questions in a confused manner. He had indeed removed the patient’s arms from two buckets but no, he had no idea of what the patient had done beforehand. It was almost true – the patient had done precious little. He had done it himself. Grateful for his assistance, the hospital staff dismissed him and he arrived at his home in Earl’s Court soon after one.

 

Trevor’s arms were amputated high up near his shoulders. His stumps extended three inches from his body. It was a severe and radical life-changing injury from which the patient could make a good recovery with determination and skilful rehabilitation. Trevor himself was horrified to discover the extent of his amputations and despaired until he finally reasoned that he had wanted to wear hooks and that he would still be wearing hooks. He would simply have to make more effort in order to control them. They would not be capable of everything he could do with his pretender hooks with their forearm sockets, but he was up for the challenge. His recovery went as scheduled and three weeks later, he was measured for his first bilateral above-elbow prosthetic arms, to be manufactured from black carbon fibre with a full gloss finish. He selected a pair of broad rubber and steel claws since he already owned various standard Hosmer hooks. He was allowed to remain in hospital until his new arms were ready and with some persuasion from the hospital, his prosthetist delivered new arms four weeks to the day after he had arrived. Trevor was given the name and address of a rehab centre in London which he should contact the following day. He called Dave and announced he was being discharged and could he possibly consider coming to Southampton Central Hospital to pick him up and accompany him home. Dave begged off his afternoon duties at the radio station and caught a two o’clock train to Southampton.

 

He found Trevor huddled in a corner of the waiting room leafing aimlessly through a magazine. His thick black and steel matching claws looked very interesting.

            – Hi Trevor! Sorry to keep you waiting for so long. I got here as fast as I could.

            – It’s good to see you. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you could make it. I have a few bits in this bag, otherwise I’m ready.

            – I’ll carry it. Come on then, let’s make a move. I dare say you’re glad to see the back of this place.

 

They caught a taxi for the short ride to the railway station and Trevor insisted Dave use his credit card to pay the fares. A London train was due in twenty minutes. They spent the time slowly walking the length of the platform, talking about the immediate future.

            – We’ll go to Shoreditch first and get you settled and something to eat. Then I’ll go and fetch a few clothes and so on and come back a bit later. Will that be alright?

            – That would be great. It’s a huge relief to have someone there for the next few days. I’m going to be pretty useless until I get the hang of these arms.

            – Let’s take it one day at a time. See how it goes.

Trevor nodded and smiled at his colleague. They sat on a bench, looking expectantly down the line for their train.

 

They arrived in Shoreditch at dusk. They bought a couple of ready meals and some basic groceries from the corner shop. Dave found Trevor’s keys and they entered Trevor’s musty flat. Dave opened a couple of windows and removed some spoiled food from the refrigerator. He heated the meals and set them on the table with knives and forks. Trevor made an effort to pick up a fork and use it to feed himself but it was a little too difficult. He looked at Dave in resignation.

            – I’ll help.

            – Thanks.

Dave alternated between feeding himself and Trevor. The thick rubberised claws rested on the table.

            – I might be able to do a bit better if I had ordinary hooks. Before you go, can you take these claws off and put the hooks on? They’re on the pretender arms at the moment.

            – Yeah, I’ll do that. I like the look of those new claws but maybe they’re not the best for this sort of thing. Shall I make some coffee or something before I go?

            – Yeah, let’s have some coffee and then I’ll have a nap for a couple of hours.

 

Dave took the plates to the kitchen and fetched the pretender arms from Trevor’s room. He unscrewed the two Hosmer Fives and took the sockets back. Trevor rested his arm on the table and Dave detached the claws, replacing them with the familiar steel hooks. Trevor tested them and looked a bit happier.

            – I think these might be a bit more useful.

            – Let’s hope so. Right, I’m off. See you in a couple of hours or so.

            – Yup. Take my keys with you.

 

Dave made his way home and stuffed a few clothes and toiletries into his back pack. He added a few unopened packets of ham and cheese and emptied the fridge of things which would not keep. He had no idea what his routine would be. He might not be back for a week or more. Last of all, he threw his phone charger on top of everything else and heaved the back pack over his shoulders. He checked the lights were off, disposed of his food scraps and walked back to the tube station.

 

Shoreditch was surprisingly lively on a weekday night. There were dozens of ethnic food shops and bars open doing a good trade. Men – almost exclusively men – walked in pairs or small groups along the recently derelict streets, conversing in any of fifty languages. It was quite different from the scene around Earl’s Court. Dave let himself into Trevor’s building and rode up to the top floor. Trevor was sitting in an armchair, gently swinging his shoulders as he swiped through pages on his phone.

            – I made some room in my closet for your clothes if you want to hang them up and there’s an empty drawer for socks and things. Help yourself to anything, Dave. Make yourself at home. I mean it.

            – Thanks very much. I will.

            – It’s getting late so if you want to get some sleep, just say and I’ll go to my bedroom. You can sleep in here. There’s an inflatable mattress in the closet which is apparently comfortable to sleep on, so you can bring it in here. I’ve got some extra blankets and sheets and stuff. I’d give you a hand but I’m a bit inconvenienced at the moment.

It was the first allusion to his amputations which Trevor had made all evening. Dave was curious about the new prosthetic arms and their mechanisms – naturally enough, having yearned for years for exactly the same for himself. He also wanted to see Trevor’s stumps. Trevor must be feeling devastated at having botched the chance to lose his hands. He had lost almost his entire arms instead. Dave intended watching Trevor’s progress very closely before making the final decision concerning his own amputations.

            – I don’t usually go to bed much before midnight. And we’re closer to work so I won’t need to get up at half past five, either. What time do you usually get up for work?

            – Half past seven. An hour to get ready and half an hour to get to work.

            – Oh, great. I’ll probably be awake before then anyway. I’ll try not to disturb you.

            – Don’t bother about that. I’d like you to help me get my arms on before you leave.

            – Sure, no problem.

            – In fact, I’d like us to have breakfast together, not only because I might need a helping hand. It will be nice to have company in the mornings.

            – Alright. I’ll get you up at seven if that’s not too early.

            – Yeah, seven will be fine.

            – We’ll do that, then.

Dave got up and set about emptying his rucksack. It was soon done.

            – Is there anything you’d like now? A cuppa or a drink of something stronger?

            – Would you like a nightcap? There’s some vodka in the kitchen cupboard, first on the left. Get a couple of glasses and we’ll celebrate your arrival.

            – And celebrate your new arms. You must be proud of getting the hooks you’ve always wanted. You look really good with hooks, Trevor. They suit you somehow. Like you always knew you wanted them because they would complete your image.

It was a brave statement from Dave but he was determined not to let Trevor sulk because of his lost opportunities. He would have new ones in their stead.

            – Good of you to say so. I have to admit, having hooks for real is a great pleasure after so many years of wishing and wanting. I’m just going to have to work a lot harder to use them though. That’s what I’m worried about. But I reckon you already guessed that. You haven’t asked anything about the arms all evening.

            – I’m waiting for you, mate. Take your time. Get comfortable with them. Then we can talk about things.

            – Yeah. Go and get the drinks. Bring the bottle!

 

Trevor did his best to hold his glass, practising first without liquid in it. After a couple of minutes, Dave fetched a couple of straws bought for Trevor’s young nephews. They drank to each other’s health and good fortune and to the future which was going to be more challenging than expected. Shortly before midnight, Dave inflated his mattress and made it up with clean sheets. They sat up for another half hour before a slightly drunk Trevor announced he needed to sleep. Dave escorted him to the toilet, brushed his teeth and followed him to his bedroom. Trevor sat on his bed and instructed Dave how to remove his prostheses. Dave pulled the thick cotton stump socks off the short arm stumps and Trevor looked at his expression. Dave stared for a few seconds, surprised that such short stumps could still operate the hooks as well as they already did. But Trevor’s upper body looked balanced and handsome. The stumps themselves were healing well, with their scars to the rear. They were slightly conical.

            – They look alright. They’re not sore or anything, are they?

            – No, they just feel normal. It’s only when I look at them I can see that my arms are missing.

            – OK. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Do you need anything?

            – No, I’m fine now.

Dave helped Trevor settle and pulled the covers over him.

            – Good night, mate. Sweet dreams.

 

Trevor dreamed of many things throughout the night. In all of them he had glistening prosthetic arms and used them to do everything he did with his meat arms. He was awake when Dave came to wake him for breakfast a few minutes past seven the next morning.

            – Good morning. I hope you haven’t got a sore head.

            – Good morning, Dave. No, I feel fine. Can you get my arms and drop them over my stumps?

It was a remarkable thing to hear. Dave did as asked and watched as Trevor shrugged to settle the prostheses comfortably. He stood and went to the bathroom. He peed and used a flannel to swipe night grime from his face. He was very grateful that he had mixer taps installed a couple of years previously which he could operate with a hook. He would never be able to turn a traditional tap on in the normal way.

 

Dave had coffee ready and asked what Trevor wanted.

            – Couple of slices of toast, please. With butter and some cheese.

            – No butter. Will marg do?

            – It will have to. Thanks.

Dave helped Trevor drink his coffee but the toast presented no problems. Trevor managed to get it close to his face and leaned forward to bite mouthfuls out of it. After asking twice if Trevor was sure he had everything he needed before Dave returned after work, he left and Trevor faced the first day at home fending for himself.

 

Dave expressed Trevor’s regards to his workmates with his promises to be back at work in the near future. The extent of Trevor’s injuries had been known but Dave was the first to have been in contact with him since the accident. Dave assured his colleagues that Trevor was not in pain and simply needed a little time to acclimatize himself to his new prosthetics before rejoining the crowd, probably long before the Christmas rush began.

 

Trevor was halfway through his two month furlough but intended to get back to work as soon as possible. Soon after Dave’s departure, Trevor fired up his recording and editing equipment and sat down with the intention of re-editing a song he had recorded a few weeks previously. He sat in front of his home studio deck and adjusted the height of the chair so his elbows were at a suitable height. He dropped his forearms onto the table and used his feet to swivel his chair from side to side to reach various controls and sliders. Not needing to control his elbows, it was easy enough to swing from side to side and to lean forward slightly to adjust the sliders. Things like pitch and gain, adjusted by knobs which needed to be twisted, needed to be set beforehand using both hooks. Even so, they were a bitch to operate. It was easy enough to position the hook tips over various buttons to bring in different tracks and after a couple of hours, Trevor was enjoying doing what he had always enjoyed doing. He was learning, subconsciously, to move his entire body and legs to compensate for his missing arms and concentrated only on the tips of his hooks to adjust the raw material to the degree he wanted. At one o’clock, when his stomach was rumbling, he had a remixed version of the song. It had taken longer than usual but four hours was by no means unheard of for a quick remix and he was elated that he was operating his equipment with few problems. He stood, forearms set at ninety degrees, and went to the kitchen to heat the bowl of soup Dave had left for him. He would eat bread with it. Should be easy enough.

 

It was not. The bowl had a flat rim which he could grip with hooks. It was already in the microwave oven. After heating it, Trevor attempted to lift the bowl across to the table. The bowl tilted and most of the hot soup poured onto the counter and began to drip onto the floor. He was too disgusted with himself to be angry at the mess. He lost his appetite and went to his bedroom. He lay on his bed, wanting to sleep the afternoon away. He fell asleep after his mind calmed. Dave returned soon after five and found the congealed mess in the kitchen. He cleaned it up. The noise of running water woke Trevor who got up and sheepishly went to greet Dave.

            – You’ve not had anything to eat, have you?

            – No. I’m sorry I left the mess for you to clean up, Dave. I was going to do it.

            – Don’t worry about it. It’s done now. What happened?

            – The bowl slipped in my hooks.

            – Guessed as much. I’m sorry, Trevor. We’ll try something else tomorrow. Do you want something to eat now?

Trevor looked miserably at Dave.

            – Shall we order something? What do you fancy? Kebabs or Chinese? Shall we have kebab and chips?

            – Alright. Yes, please. I’m sorry, Dave.

Dave dried his hands on a tea towel and hugged his friend. Trevor sobbed and fought to control his voice.

            – It’s so frustrating. Just trying to do the simplest things. I didn’t want this, Dave. What have I done to myself?

Dave had no answers. He took Trevor into the lounge away from the scene of the crime and made him sit. Trevor tried to swipe his eyes with his carbon resin arms but they would not reach. Dave fetched a sheet of kitchen roll from the kitchen and dabbed at Trevor’s face. He held it against Trevor’s nose.

            – Blow!

Trevor chuckled at the impossible situation and snorted unused tears into the paper. Dave wiped his lip, rose and kissed Trevor’s temple.

            – It’s going to be OK, mate. We’ll be alright. Now let’s get some food inside us.

 

Dave used a food delivery service to order two portions of salad, kebab and chips, no drinks. Trevor had calmed down and was looking forward to having some food at last.

            – When do you go for rehab?

            – Day after tomorrow.

            – OK. Where is it, exactly? Will you be able to get there OK?

            – It’s in Greenwich. I can get there on the tube and DLR.

            – That’s easy enough, then. Have you tried opening the front door yet?

            – Oh shit! I didn’t think of that. I had better practise, hadn’t I?

            – Yeah, it’s an awkward sort of shape to use with hooks. Do you think we ought to look into getting a new lock fitted, something with a handle you can grab?

            – That might be a good idea.

            – Or you could have an electronic lock fitted. That might be best of all. You wouldn’t need to mess around with keys at all.

            – I’ll look into it tomorrow. See what sort of thing is available.

            – We could take a look now, if you want. Shall we?

            – OK.

Dave moved next to Trevor, close enough to touch the right prosthesis. They looked through a variety of locks and sought out local locksmiths who might have suitable locks in stock. Dave looked at electronic locks. Some worked with fingerprint contact. They could be disregarded. Some had a flat touch panel which were better but not easy to use for a man with two hooks, They needed something with physical buttons which could be depressed. There were two models on offer from a British company, one with small convex buttons and the other with flat, broad brushed aluminium buttons in a matching backplate. It looked good and would be easy to use, regardless of what kind of prostheses Trevor was wearing.

            – Let’s get this one, yeah? The price isn’t bad. Agreed? I’ll send a few emails to some locksmiths and ask if they can fit one of these by tomorrow evening.

            – Alright. I’ll still have to practise opening the door though to let the bloke in, won’t I?

            – Yup. Well, now you know what’s on your schedule for tomorrow. What did you do today before lunch?

            – Oh, I remixed one of the songs I was working on before the accident.

            – Really? You could use your mixing table and everything? That’s fantastic! That means you could come back to work, no problem.

            – Yeah, I suppose it does. Except I would need help doing everything else.

            – Well, that’s why you’re going to rehab. Tell them everything you need to do and insist that they teach you. You know what they usually get up to. You have to sit there moving wooden pegs from one hole to another, as if that’s the sort of thing anyone does anyway. Make them show you the practical stuff. How to use cutlery and carry things. It just occurred to me – when you lifted that bowl of soup, were your hooks pointing inwards as usual?

            – Yeah. Oh, I see what you’re getting at.

            – Yep. If you’d turned them to point outwards, you’d have had a much broader surface to grip the edge with.

            – Yeah. I’ll try that as well.

            – Or your new Jaws might have done a better job.

            – They probably would but I can’t change the hooks myself.

            – Something else to work on. It won’t be easy but you ought to be able to swap out your hooks for the claws and vice versa. But leave that for now. Do you think it would be better to have a claw on the left and a hook on the right? Shall I change the left hook now?

            – OK. I think you might be on to something.

            – Let’s do it now.

Five minutes later, Trevor had his original claw on the left and a Hosmer Five on the right. With a little experience, he ought to be able to operate the claw’s variable tension settings with the tip of his hook. The claw might even be able to grip a soup bowl tightly enough by itself. Trevor subconsciously began to feel more confident about his prosthetic hands. Things could only get better.

 

Dave made a pile of sandwiches for lunch the next day. Neither of them were up to cooking, although Trevor had been a decent cook. He was looking forward to being a little better acquainted with his hooks before he attempted a return to the kitchen. Until then, they would eat take‑away meals which Dave brought home each evening. A locksmith arrived in the early afternoon with a new digital door lock. It was operated by a rechargeable battery and the locksmith emphasized the necessity of keeping the battery well-charged. He recommended making it a part of their weekly routine. The conversion took just over an hour. A new five digit pass code of Trevor’s choosing was set and he tried operating the lock a few times, seeing the tongue click into its housing each time. The door opened from the inside by pressing a large flat button, also brushed aluminium, for longer than three seconds. He thanked the locksmith who left an invoice and sat down to read the instruction manual. He sent a text message to Dave containing the code.

 

Trevor had his first appointment at rehab. The clinic was in Greenwich, a ten minute walk from the DLR station. He arrived in good time and announced his arrival at reception. His coach was a tall bald man in his thirties with a handlebar moustache and a prosthetic right arm.

            – Trevor Wright? Good to see you. I’m Jim Bentley. Let’s go to my office and we can have a chat.

Trevor followed him and they entered a room divided into office space and a rehab area. Bentley picked up a clipboard from his desk and asked Trevor to sit in an easy chair.

            – This is your first visit to the clinic, isn’t it? Can I take a few personal details first?

Bentley wrote the information with his left hand.

            – How long since the amputations? And how long have you had the prostheses? Less than a week! How do you find them?

            – The most difficult thing is controlling the elbows. I can use the hooks just fine when they’re in the correct position.

            – OK, we’ll tailor your rehab to concentrate on elbow control but I’d like to see you using the hooks on the standard tests first.

Trevor set his elbows to ninety degrees and demonstrated how he picked up lengths of dowel and placed them in a tray. He was wearing an ordinary hook on his right arm and a claw on the left.

            – I agree with you. You seem to be quite adept at operating the hook. What terminal devices do you have?

            – I have a pair each of these hooks and farmer’s hooks and two of these claws.

            – Quite a collection already.

            – My friend found the steel hooks on eBay and my prostheses came equipped with the claws.

            – And you change them as needed?

            – Yes. Well, my friend does. I can’t manage it yet.

            – No, it’s a little awkward at the best of times. I want to inspect your arms now to make sure they are optimally adjusted so they are as responsive as possible. Would you stand up and move in front of the mirror? Face the mirror and I’ll check your harness. Is it comfortable for you now?

            – Yes, I think so. It doesn’t chafe or anything like that. I’m not sure exactly how it ought to feel. I’m a bit of a novice at this.

            – Ha! Yes, I understand. Lift your arms out to the side as far as you can.

It was not far. Trevor’s stumps were enclosed in sockets which extended over the top of his shoulders. His range of motion was about thirty degrees.

            – Good. Hold it there for a moment.

Bentley ran a finger along the straps of the harness, seeking slack which could be tightened.

            – Right. Now relax your arms and raise them directly in front of you, as high as you can get them.

Trevor managed about seventy degrees before his sockets prevented further motion. Bentley tested a couple of straps and was ready.

            – OK, relax. I want to adjust the harness and inspect your stumps so I’m going to remove the prostheses now. Hold your arms up.

Bentley removed the arms and placed them on his work bench. He delicately peeled Trevor’s stump socks from the short stumps and peered at them. He used his hook to encourage Trevor to move them this way and that, inspecting the still fresh scarring and the tautness of the remaining musculature. He used his natural hand to feel the tip of the severed humerus bones.

            – Will you spread your stumps now as far to the sides as you can? And to the front. And now up. Good, thanks. Well, you’ll be pleased to know that you have an excellent pair of stumps. They are healthy and symmetrical, more muscular than is often the case and you have a good range of motion. Unfortunately, the prosthetic arms which you now have are not optimised for your particular capabilities, although they are adequate for the time being. If you want to live a normal life and do normal things, they are fine. But your next pair of sockets could be better and they would allow you a greater range of motion. So, take a seat and I’ll adjust your harness.

Bentley spread the prostheses along his bench and straightened the harness. He shortened two straps by a quarter of an inch, two others by half an inch.

            – OK, come and try these now. Tell me if they feel uncomfortable, especially your stumps. I’ll help with the stump socks, just a moment.

He helped Trevor don his prosthetic arms as well and they repeated the same series of movements. Trevor’s face broke into a smile as he realised that his arms felt more responsive and more intimate.

            – This feels much better.

            – Good. I thought it would. The straps can loosen with use so it’s good to check them once a month and get someone to tighten them again. You can always drop in here and one of the prosthetists will do it for you if there’s no-one else around to help. We have a complete prosthetics service here as well as rehabilitation and we’d like to help when it’s time for your new set. And also if you need terminal devices, we can order them for you.

            – Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.

            – Just remember, we’re always here for you. Life isn’t always easy for a man in your position and it’s good to have people you can rely on to help. Right. Shall we go on with the exercises? I want you to learn the body motions necessary to move your elbow and then your hook as smoothly as possible. I expect you’ve been doing it in two stages, haven’t you? Well, the idea is to learn the process so well that it becomes second nature and the hook moves through space without stopping halfway and jerking around.

            – I see. I know what you mean. It is a little difficult to position the hook and I’m never sure that I’ll open it without moving my elbow instead.

            – Everyone goes through that. You’re lucky in the sense that the arms are still so new to you that you haven’t picked up any bad habits yet. We can get you using the entire arm so it looks like natural movement.

            – That would be great.

 

Trevor followed Bentley’s instructions for various movements and practised them over and over again. Bentley had a friendly rapport with all his patients despite driving them hard. He had a good repertoire of anecdotes and advice. It made the hours long exercises less of a chore to be endured and more of something to look forward to. They broke for a quarter of an hour halfway through the afternoon and Trevor found it much easier to handle his glass of coffee. Shortly before five, Bentley helped Trevor dress in his shirt and jacket and made an appointment for Monday afternoon the following week.

            – That soon?

            – Oh yes. Let’s keep up the momentum. You’re doing so well already. It’ll be the full four hours again. Bring in your other terminal devices too, and we’ll practise using them. I dare say they have features which you haven’t discovered yet.

            – OK, I’ll remember. Thanks for your help.

            – Don’t mention it. Enjoy your weekend.

 

Trevor strolled back to the station and tried swinging his arms like he always used to. It made walking more comfortable and looked better than having his hooks hanging useless at his sides. He rode the light rail to Bank and changed to the Northern for the extra two stops. It was the height of rush hour and he stood all the way, gripping a pole for support with his rubberised claw which seemed to be designed for exactly such a purpose. He felt in a considerably better mood than he had been earlier. Back home, he was confronted by the new electronic lock. He tapped in the code and the lock clicked open for one second. It worked beautifully. Dave was already home and the smell of Chinese food permeated the hallway and kitchen.

            – How did you get on?

            – Brilliant! I mean, the harness fits right and I’ve got a better idea how to use my arms. I’ve got another session next Monday.

            – So it wasn’t just putting pegs in holes, then?   

            – Oh, we did a bit of that too, just so he could see what I was already capable of. I didn’t tell him I’ve been using hooks for years.

            – No, I don’t suppose so. Listen, I wanted to ask you. I want to try out your claws on the pretender arms, if you don’t mind.

            – Sure. This claw was great on the tube for holding on. The other hook would have slipped around everywhere.

            – Good show. Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll give it a go.

            – He wants me to bring in all my hands on Monday so will you take them all off the sockets on Sunday?

            – No problem. Now, do you want to eat already?

            – Yeah, I’m hungry.

Dave reheated the food in the microwave. He split half the rice onto two plates and then the sweet and sour pork over the top. Trevor altered the position of his hook and used a spoon to feed himself. He dropped it twice but understood what he was doing wrong. He had learned something that afternoon. He also realised he had referred to the hooks as his hands.

 

On Friday morning, Trevor left with Dave for the radio station. He wanted to say Hello to his mates and let them know how he was doing. He put a decent pair of trousers on with Dave’s help and his best jacket. His arms were hidden except for the hooks, poking out from his shirt cuffs. Trevor had been practising the same movements Bentley had shown him earlier in the week and had done each of them hundreds of times. The prostheses began to feel controllable. He could raise a hook to where he wanted it to go and open it without needing to jerk his elbows and he felt he was ready to demonstrate his prostheses in front of his colleagues and employer. He had uploaded the song remix he had made to the station’s server and he would use it to demonstrate that he could still operate ordinary audio equipment despite his injuries. He wanted to assure everyone that the old Trevor would be back in three weeks after some more rehab.

 

Everyone was surprised to see him. A couple of people were a little wary, not sure what to say to a bilateral amputee or where to look despite the man’s hooks being the focus and main topic of conversation. Several of his workmates were curious to know what had happened to him and had to be satisfied with Trevor’s explanation of having been injured in an accident.

            – I’m sorry to seem brusque but I really don’t want to talk about it. I hope you understand.

The station chief dropped in to grab some fresh coffee and saw Trevor.

            – Hello stranger! How are you doing? Good to see you. Listen, will you drop into my office before you go? There are a couple of things we need to talk about.

            – Sure. See you later.

            – I wonder what she wants?

            –Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. I don’t think she can boot me out, can she?

            – No, not unless you’re incapable of doing your job.

            – It won’t come to that. I’ve already used my gear at home to do a remix on the recording we made at Studio Maxx. I’m pretty sure I can still handle our decks here, especially since the rest of this month I’ll be in rehab learning the tricks of the trade.

            – Is the remix online? I want to hear it.

            – Yeah, it’s on our server in Miscellaneous. I can’t remember the filename exactly but it’s logical enough. You’ll find it. Uploaded yesterday.

            – I’ll give it a listen. Well, time to love you and leave you. Great seeing you again, Trev.

The staff soon dispersed to their work stations and offices leaving Trevor and Dave.

            – I’d better get going as well. Are you going to drop in to see Janet? Don’t let her push you around. You know what she’s like.

            – Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about that. Maybe she wants to give me a pay rise.

            – Ha! Chance would be a fine thing. OK, I’m off. See you tonight.

 

Trevor rapped on Janet’s door with a hook and went in.

            – Oh, Trevor. Sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute.

She finished typing what was probably an email and turned to Trevor.

            – How are you doing? You look well.

            – I’m fine, healthwise. No problems. I’m in rehab over the next three weeks to get used to my new hands.

            – I see. Good. So you’ll be able to rejoin us at the start of next month?

            – Yes, that’s what I was intending. I don’t know if you realise it but I have a ministudio at home with some of the same equipment as I use here. I’ve already been using it this week to remix some material we recorded in a club a couple of months back – it’s on our server, by the way, if you’d like to listen to it. Anyway, I didn’t have any major difficulty operating my gear so I ought to be capable of using the station’s systems too.

            – I’m glad to hear it. I’ll give your remix a listen when I have a minute. The other thing was that the station can get a reimbursement from the government for employing a disabled worker but it requires a good amount of red tape up front so I was wondering if we could go through the application together and you can fill out your section at the same time.

            – OK. I didn’t know that.

            – No reason why you should know. You’re not an employer, after all. So that’s settled. We need to get it done in the first week after you rejoin us but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll let you know ahead of time. So how are you finding your artificial arms? You’re learning to use them?

            – Yes, every day they seem to be less alien and more a part of me. It was a shock to find myself without arms but I’m beginning to feel more like my old self as I get used to these new ones.

            – Good. Well, I shan’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang around the station so I’ll see you in three weeks. Nice you could drop in. Bye, Trevor.

It was code for Please leave the building. Trevor stuck his head round a couple of doors on the way out to say goodbye and left.

 

He looked at his reflection in shop windows as he passed them. The glint of his steel hooks most caught his attention but he also noticed that his arms seemed especially unnatural as they hung motionless from his shoulders. He lifted his forearms slightly so they bent at about fifteen degrees and locked them there. It looked less completely alien. He would wear his arms in public like that from now on.

 

He returned home by bus and set about making himself some lunch. Sandwiches would do. But they had started buying good quality fresh loaves and tasty foreign sausage meat and cheeses from the local delicatessen. Trevor enjoyed his simple lunches as anything more elaborate served hot.

 

His rehabilitation continued the following week. In addition to Monday afternoon, he attended another session on Thursday morning. They concentrated on dressing, operating zippers and buttons, and later on kitchen skills at Trevor’s request. The best way to hold a knife and with which hook, the advantages of not needing to beware hot surfaces and rising steam. Bentley was pleased with Trevor’s progress. He had obviously been practising his movements at home and was comfortable with his new steel hooks. It made such a difference to how receptive his clients were to instruction. He made two more appointments for the following week and promised to demonstrate some methods to deal with objects which required rotation or twisting to work. At the end of the session of the sixth day of rehabilitation, Bentley asked Trevor how he felt about his hooks and prosthetic arms.

            – I’m sure you’d prefer to have your natural arms back but how do you feel about the new Trevor?

            – That’s something I’ve tried to avoid thinking. It’s not possible and never will be, not in my lifetime anyway. We’ve seen the disasters which happen with transplants. I’ve had these for two months now and I’m beginning to get used to looking the way I do. I can get a lot more done now than I expected. I wish it was easier to change hooks.

            – Shall we try that next week? How many sessions would you like? I have a couple of hours free on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, actually all afternoon on Friday. You go back to work the next Monday, don’t you?

            – That’s the plan. Book me in for all the time you have available. I definitely feel more accomplished every time I leave here.

            – I’m very glad to hear it. If you bring your spare hooks and claws in next week, we can practise changing them. I might have mentioned it before, but those half inch screw fixtures are a pain in the arse for everyone. But in spite of that, they’re the sturdiest and most reliable connections and I’ve known bilaterals manage to change both their hooks in five minutes, so I know it’s possible. It still think it needs nerves of steel and the luck of the devil. OK, that’s it for today. See you next week, Trevor.

 

That evening, after Trevor described to Dave what he had been doing in rehab and how fulfilling the sessions were, Dave brought up the old subject.

            – I’ve been thinking about my own situation. You remember how I told you my finger stumps were just an introduction to amputations? Well, I’ve decided that I want to keep them, at least for the foreseeable future.

            – Good. I love them. Your hand is unique, well, almost. I love seeing the way you struggle with things when you use it.

            – Not having fingernails is what makes things difficult. I used to bite mine until I cut my fingers off and realised that I had better keep my left hand in working order, if only for work. But since you’ve been home, I’ve changed the way I think.

            – Oh? What conclusion have you arrived at?

            – I want my left hand off below the elbow.

            – You wanted above elbow jobs before. Just like mine.

            – I know. It’s just that, well, don’t take this the wrong way but I don’t want to be as restricted as you are, Trevor. Your arms are so difficult to use and I don’t think I have the patience to learn. I still want a hook but I think a below elbow job would suit me better. At least to start off with. Well, it’s not even a start, is it, but you know what I mean.

            – No, you’ve pretty much lost a hand already. So you want a hook on the left with a socket like on the pretender arms.

            – Yeah, more or less. And I was thinking. Would Roman be able and willing to get another few kilos of dry ice for me? What do you think?

            – Well, he can get the dry ice, no problem. He has a more or less regular order. Is that the way you want to do it?

            – Yeah. But I think six or seven hours will be enough.

            – That’s the lesson we learned. I don’t want to think about what could have been but twelve hours was clearly too long. Shall I contact Roman and see what he can come up with? Do you want to do it in Southampton? We could bring the ice back here and do it at home.

            – What do you think? Do it here?

            – What sort of a back story have you thought of? You need some kind of explanation for why you are turning up at hospital with a block of solid ice instead of a warm handshake.

            – I thought I’d use the one you did, you know, CRPS treatment gone wrong. I’d be taken to a different hospital, I assume.

            – True. When do you want to do it?

            – I thought I’d wait until you’ve been back at work for a few weeks and they can see how well you’re doing. Then if I return after a few weeks with a hook, no-one will bat an eyelid.

            – Ha! I wouldn’t be too certain of that, mate. But thanks for the backhanded compliment. You obviously think I’ll fit back in well enough to make radical amputations just one of those things. Alright. We can do it here. I’ll spot for you. If we can get the dry ice from Southampton to here before it evaporates, there should be no problem.

            – Great. Let’s choose a weekend about two months from now. We ought to clear out the freezer and get it as cold as it goes.

            – Even then, I doubt we’ll get a ten kilo bag of the stuff in there.

            – I could get an insulated cooler thing. You know, a big box the food delivery people have in their cars. And I could rent a car for the day to collect the stuff in.

            – You’ve got it all worked out. I say, go for it!

            – I’m looking forward to it.

 

Trevor returned to work on Monday morning with Dave. His replacement was overjoyed to see him. He had managed the work just fine but found it very tedious. Trevor was surprised to hear it. He found the continual evolution of his two minute segments to be a pleasant process and took pride in the accuracy of his recording work. He set his elbows to a suitable angle and sat down at his desk and began to program the advertising breaks for the next few days. His hooks obeyed him and he began to feel as familiar using his hooks to operate his professional equipment as he had at home while wearing the pretender arms. The only difference being that the pretender hooks could be removed when he needed to use his fingers. The only way he could turn knobs on his deck was by standing and manipulating them from above.

 

At the end of the day, Dave returned to Shoreditch with his friend, packed his belongings and returned to his own flat in Earl’s Court. It seemed dead and empty. He had become used to being with Trevor, helping his disabled friend acclimatise to his new normality. He had enjoyed seeing Trevor’s prosthetic arms and understood that the greatest pleasure from his amputation would be owning his own functioning artificial arm and hook rather than having the stump which he had always presumed he wanted. The focus of his interest was in the prosthetics, not the physiology. Creating his stump was an incidental step on the way to possession of his own artificial arm. He stretched out the remnants of fingers on his right hand and admired their brevity.

            – You’re going to have a big brother soon, my little ones.

Going through life relying on a hook and his almost useless finger stumps was going to be a fantastic adventure. It was also a huge turn-on. Dave went to his bedroom and used his stumps to masturbate himself to climax. He imagined the sleek perfection of Trevor’s black sockets and having his own arm transformed.

 

Trevor was also confronted with a sudden void. He no longer felt reliant on Dave for assistance but missed the friendly banter and the solidarity with another voluntary amputee. He had briefly considered it before but now he began to think about how to rearrange his living quarters to suit two arm amputees sharing the space, living together. Trevor also enjoyed having Dave around because of his physical beauty, his youthful face with the dark eyes and an easy smile revealing perfect teeth. There had been nothing sexual between them so far but there was no telling what the future might bring. At the very least, they might become mutual fuck buddies, groping each other’s bodies with the stumps of once handsome arms. He would suggest his idea of flat-sharing later, before Dave lost his arm. He could move in permanently and be at home when he froze his hand. Trevor allowed himself some time to weigh up the pros and cons.

 

Friday evening was for drinks. His colleagues remained fascinated by Trevor’s amputations and prosthetics and how he managed to continue his work despite not being able to feel anything or even do anything without watching his hooks. Even something as arcane as fumbling for a tv remote and changing a channel was beyond his capabilities. How did he deal with being so disabled? Trevor answered all their questions with good humour. He no longer regarded himself as disabled. He merely did things differently. He was more patient and accepting of himself and his new abilities. His colleagues watched him sink a beer using a hook for a while until they became accustomed to seeing it and lost interest. It was good to have Trevor back. The only matter he did not want to discuss was the accident which had led to the loss of his arms. It was obviously a sensitive subject, not entirely surprising, perhaps. Trevor himself felt immense pleasure and satisfaction at manipulating his new artificial arms with the steel hooks and no longer felt despondent at being so much more disabled than he had intended and always wanted to be. He had never considered possessing short stumps at his shoulders but now that he had them, he found them aesthetically pleasing and functionally adequate. He liked seeing the hooks in place of his natural hands. They signified the achievement of one of his life’s greatest ambitions.

 

Dave accepted Trevor’s invitation to move into the Shoreditch flat. The week before his freezing, he brought his clothes and books and personal belongings, not too many but enough to put a mark on his new home. Trevor rearranged his bedroom slightly, nudging furniture with his knees, so Dave’s inflatable mattress would fit better. It was probably a temporary arrangement until they were comfortable enough with each other to share a bed, which would also need to be replaced. Dave compared the costs of renting a car in London and driving both ways with buying a one-way train ticket and renting a car in Southampton. He rented one locally on Friday evening and eventually found a parking space near Trevor’s building. The next morning, they set off for Southampton and Calmore to collect twenty kilos of dry ice from Roman’s converted barn. The return journey took less than three hours and the dry ice was in good condition on arrival in East London. They set up a similar arrangement in Trevor’s flat to that in the barn several months previously. Dave’s hand and arm were securely wrapped to maintain the integrity of his skin. Dave swallowed a couple of medical grade painkillers which Roman had sold him and plunged his hand into the bucket of dry ice. He shouted in pain. Trevor had little sympathy and used his hooks to compact the dry ice tighter around Dave’s hand and wrist. The first of many cups of hot tea arrived and Trevor helped Dave sip it, Dave’s right hand finger stumps being unable to handle a wide mug.

 

Dave was more fidgety than Trevor had been. The intense pain caused him to shift position in a futile effort to escape it. Trevor occasionally spoke sharply, reminding Dave of the prize at the end of the ordeal, just as Dave had.

            – It’s different when you’re experiencing it yourself.

            – Yes, it is. Do you want another painkiller?

            – Yeah, one more. I feel cold too. Can I have another drink? Is there any soup?

            – You want soup? OK, I’ll get you some.

Trevor sat feeding hot tomato soup to his friend. Dave announced that he could no longer feel his fingers and could move nothing from his elbow down. They were a third of the way through the process. They had both agreed that six hours in dry ice should be enough to achieve the aim.

 

It was. On arrival at hospital, the young surgeon, entirely innocent of the concept of wannabeism and voluntary amputation, explained to Dave that unfortunately there was so much irreparable tissue damage that he would need to amputate about four inches above the wrist in order to save the rest of the arm. Dave conceded with appropriate dignity and became the owner of a well-formed muscular forearm stump. He slept through the rest of the night and much of Sunday morning. He awoke and understood immediately where he was. He looked at his bandaged stump and touched it gently, running his finger stumps up and down the bandage. His arm ached but he felt the joy of fulfilment.

 

Dave’s brother Jon made the journey from Bristol to visit. They were not close – Dave had been more or less disowned by his religious family since revealing that he was gay – but Jon was sympathetic and concerned that his new injury combined with his already maimed right hand would present difficulties. Dave was more upbeat and assured Jon that he fully intended to master prosthetics and carry on as usual. After a couple of hours exchanging other news about the family, including the deaths of both remaining grandparents of which he had heard nothing, Jon left and wished him success in the future with God’s blessing. Dave was happy to see him go.

 

Trevor dropped in every other evening, arriving straight from work. The hospital was only five tube stations along the line so it was easy to get home, too. Dave quietly expressed his satisfaction with his new stump. He liked its length and Trevor agreed that it both looked good and would be eminently suitable for operating a below elbow prosthesis and hook. He was looking forward to seeing how Dave managed with a functional hook and non-functional finger stumps. His right hand had been a fascinating experiment in disablement but it might well be that Dave would find it more of a hindrance and would choose to lose it in favour of a matching stump on his right. They would both be bilateral hook users. Both of them fascinated by the other’s stumps and choice of prosthetic devices.

 

Dave was discharged after two weeks and sent home with a bagful of bandages and stump shrinkers. He would receive daily visits from a nurse who would change his bandages and attend to other medical matters. He also had a list of official state-subsidised prosthetists but Dave thought that after getting his first artificial arm, he would look further afield for more variety and more interesting alternatives. He did not want to go the bionic route. He disliked the idea of having to take care of an electronic arm as if it were a sickly infant. He wanted something robust he could knock about, something which would bear the scars of his activities. Hooks and claws were the only way.

 

Dave’s nervous colleague Frank was kept on for a few extra weeks while he was absent. The station had decided to get rid of the guy after it transpired that he had actually wept in front of a customer who had declined to participate in an advertising campaign on behalf of the station. Janet had had to pay a personal visit to Basildon to make an apology and she was not best pleased. As soon as Dave was back, Frank would get his marching orders. Inadvertently, Dave’s return to work was guaranteed, regardless of his new disability.

 

Trevor was happy to have Dave back. Not only for the company, although Dave was a little quieter and less boisterous than he had been formally, but because it gave Trevor a wonderfully genuine opportunity to shine with his hooks. Dave could walk around and chat but his meat hand with its meagre stumps was next to useless without something on the opposing side. Even a passive hand would be useful for him, which Trevor suggested one evening.

            – What sort of prosthetic hand do you want? You can ask for two different hooks if you want.

            – I know. I’ve been thinking about it. If I ask for the same kind of fitting as your arms have, we could switch and swap our left hooks.

            – Why don’t you get a hand? You know, one that looks like a hand and the thumb closes on the fingers.

            – I don’t think they’re very practical.

            – No, neither do I but they look horny and we haven’t got one yet. Otherwise I’d recommend a Hosmer Triple Five you can grab a glass or bottle with. Ask for one of those and whatever else you want. You don’t need another farmer’s hook because you can use mine. Same goes for the Jaws claw. I don’t need it on the left so much. It would be good if we both had a nice selection of hands to wear and they all fit each other’s sockets.

            – Totally agree. A hand might be interesting. I only really need something I can nudge and push shit with.

            – Yeah, I know what you mean but I have the sneaking feeling that after you discover how much better your hook is at doing stuff than your stumpy hand, you might sort of become left‑handed over time and appreciate something a bit more practical on that side. You can always get a passive hand made if you want to go to church on Sundays without scaring the old ladies.

            – Ha! Fuck ’em! I saw a guy missing a hand once who had a brass ball at the end of his stump. You know the sort of thing in the windows of old-fashoned tailors? The headless half torso models all wearing the smartest shirts but instead of hands, they have these brass balls at the wrists. That’s what I’d like.

            – Just a brass ball? That would look amazing. And it shouldn’t be too difficult to get hold of one. There must be old dummies for sale on eBay or somewhere.

            – Yeah. They were designed to hold up a sleeve, otherwise it would have just hung there. And that’s all I want it for. Just to hold my sleeve so it doesn’t droop.

            – And also looks horny.

            – Well, that goes without saying. It’s all I need in order to be able to use my stumps. Just something to poke and hold things with.

            – Tell your prosthetist all that. Explain you only need a passive hand for a lot of the time. And we can always look for something online.

 

Dave received an actual paper letter inviting him to visit his appointed prosthetist Dr Keith McAllen at Roehampton Hospital and offered a time he needed to confirm. Getting to Roehampton from Shoreditch was even more of a hassle than the Earl’s Court run. Dave looked for the closest Underground station and a linking bus route. The journey took nearly two hours but he had allowed himself three and spent the rest of the time after checking in reading a horny story on his phone. His fingerless hand was just enough to let him scroll using a stump. It would be useful to have a hook to hold the phone with.

 

McAllen was a jovial Scot with a thick Highland accent who walked on two artificial legs. He shook Dave’s hand and immediately felt the lack of fingers. His legs emitted thuds and squeaks as they negotiated their way along several corridors to McAllen’s work space.

            – Take your coat off and sit down. I’ll want to see your stump but you can keep your jumper on for the time being. First I need to go through these papers with you.

Dave went through the preliminaries and confirmed his address and phone number and email address, his age and amputation. McAllen pushed himself to his feet and finished the preparations for Dave’s first scan.

            – I’ll want to get the socket ready for printing this morning and we can talk about hands and hooks later. Have you researched the subject so you have an idea of what you want?

            – Yes I have but I want to talk with a professional before I make any decisions.

            – Very wise. Alright, come over here and sit. Hold your stump out to the front.

McAllen scanned Dave’s arm stump from every angle while he held it straight and bent at forty-five degrees and at ninety. A scan of his upper arm would assist with manufacturing a leather cuff. He took measurements across Dave’s back and shoulders for the harness. Forty minutes later, the process was ready and Dave was told to dress. McAllen busied himself with transferring image data to his desktop computer and checked a few random images of the hundreds of thousands to ensure that they were successful.

            – I’m going to reserve print time for your socket and we’ll have the first version ready for fitting on Friday. Can you come in on Friday morning at ten?

            – Yes, I think so. I’ll have to leave home at seven because of the rush hour but I’ll be here.

            – Where do you live?

            – Shoreditch.

            – Oh, I see. I don’t know what part of town the postcode refers to, you see. Well, I can give you a taxi voucher for a single journey. That way you can leave home about nine and be here for ten.

            – That would be very kind, thank you.

McAllen took out a booklet of vouchers and tore one off. He filled in the exact departure and destination addresses and handed it to Dave.

            – Use this. Just give it to the driver. It does not include a tip! Now, tell me why you want a prosthesis.

            – Well, as you see, my right hand is maimed and I rather need something on the other side I can hold things with. Quite often it would be enough to have a simple passive hand or something for support – my right hand is not completely useless, after all.

            – So I’m thinking that a split hook and a mechanical hand might be useful. The hand will be able to grip, otherwise it will serve as the support your maimed hand needs.

            – That’s exactly what I had in mind, doctor.

            – Good. Now, there are many different kinds of hook available. What sort of use will you put it to?

            – I work in a radio station, actually in sales, so a fake hand will be good for meeting customers. I don’t want to put them off too much right from the outset. My hand is shocking enough without scaring them with a metal hook as well.

            – I see what you mean. I recommend a standard hook like the one on the left in this poster.

            – Actually, I have read that another similar design might be more suitable – the symmetrical one.

            – Ah, you mean this one?

He pointed at a Triple Five with its long curving fingers describing a circular space between them.

            – Yes, I think that would be useful. I don’t know whether I should mention this but my living companion is also an amputee and has a selection of standard hooks which he has promised to lend when necessary, assuming of course that they fit my socket. They have half inch screw attachments.

            – Yes, that’s the standard fitting I was going to give you. Basically, for that exact reason. Well, shall we go with those? The mechanical hand and a Five Five Five. I’ll put an order in and they should be here in ten days or so. I’ll send you a message when the complete prosthesis is ready for you, of course. Otherwise, I’ll see you on Friday at about ten. It was good to see you.

They shook hands again and Dave left for the arduous ride back to Shoreditch.

 

            – How did you get on?

            – Fine. He scanned my stump and the test socket will be ready on Friday so I have to go there again. That journey takes forever.

            – Did you go by bus? The trains are no better. If you change twice, you can get to Clapham and the buses go through there anyway. Not to worry. Once you get your hook, you won’t have to go there for a couple of years.

            – I’m getting a hand. We were talking about needing something I can use to support my stumpy hand and we decided that an artificial hand might be suitable.

            – But you’re getting a hook as well, aren’t you?

            – Yup. He was surprised to hear that I live with another amputee and said he’d make my socket so it’s compatible with your hooks. So we’ll be able to swap around.

            – That’ll be fun. I’ve never tried a hand before. It’ll look cool to have just one hook.

            – Why don’t you get a pair of hands? I’m pretty sure you’d be able to use them just as well as hooks at work.

            – Yeah, maybe. I’ll give yours a go first and see if I like it.

 

Dave took delivery of his prosthesis two weeks after the trial fitting. The socket was a perfect fit, especially with a thin stump sock. The opening was shaped so it enveloped Dave’s elbow, resulting in the socket bending forward about ten degrees. It was extremely comfortable. Dave enjoyed having the extra weight on his arm. He left wearing the artificial hand with the steel hook in his coat pocket. The hand was a reasonable facsimile of a male hand but its glossy surface made it obviously artificial. Dave liked the dichotomy – a lifelike shape but obviously fake. He used the hand to hold his travelcard when boarding the buses on his return journey. Its pincer movement was well suited to handling cards. He entertained himself by playing with it, using his shoulder to operate the movable thumb.

 

He returned to an empty flat. He still had a week of sick leave but wanted to get back to work and phoned Janet.

            – Hi Janet! Listen, I’ve just got my hand and I’m all set and ready to come back in on Monday, if that’s OK with you.

            – Oh, that is good news. Both things, I mean. Yes, we’re just about ready to ask you to come back early anyway.

            – Why? Is it Frank?

            – How did you guess? His nerves are shot. I shouldn’t be saying this but he needs professional help. So the sooner you can make it back, the better.

            – Alright. Thanks. I’ll see you Monday.

            – Bye, Dave.

 

Trevor was delighted to see his flatmate with two hands again, albeit one with missing fingers and one glossy rigid facsimile.

            – How do you like it? It looks fantastic. Almost like a real hand but quite artificial at the same time. Have you tried your hook out yet?

            – No. I wanted to show you this first. It’s alright. It can’t do much. It won’t pick up a glass because it won’t open that wide. It will hold a magazine and that sort of thing but I get the idea that it’s mainly designed to be a sleeve filler.

            – OK, in spite of that, I’d like to try it out. Shall I help you swap that for the hook?

            – Yeah. I’ve been saving the best for last.

            – Do you know what I’d like to do? Let’s go to a pub and get shitfaced. Put your hook on and let me wear the hand.

            – Alright. Let me take your hook off first. Can you hold it open and I’ll try and get the cable off.

Trevor opened the left hook and used the right to keep the steel finger open. It was an awkward position. Dave could use only his stumps to try to grasp the slack cable. A pair of needle pliers would have made the job easy but neither man would be using pliers again. After a couple of minutes effort, the cable was free and Dave used his stumps and the new artificial hand to unscrew Trevor’s left hook. It fell to the floor.

            – If I close the fingers, can you hold them closed somehow? I hope this comes off a bit more easily.

There was enough slack in the cable to make the job simpler. Dave was frustrated by the extreme shortness of his thumb but Trevor enjoyed seeing the almost useless finger stumps struggling to free the cable. It too was finally free and Dave rotated the inoperative hand until it loosened. He stooped and made a few attempts to pick the hook up.

            – I can’t do it. You try!

Trevor bent down and hooked his left hook from the floor and dangled it in front of Dave.

            – Put it on the table and I’ll try to find the thread.

It was both awkward and difficult to hold his socket in position, to find the start of the thread on the half inch screw which fixed hook to socket and rotate the hook. Eventually, Dave knelt on the floor and rested his socket on the table while trying to grasp the hook with his stumps. Inevitably it finally succeeded. Dave found the start of the thread and the hook stayed on firmly enough for him to be able to screw it into the socket. He pulled the movable steel finger open and told Trevor to try to reattach the cable. To their surprise and joy, the end of the cable dropped into position and Dave quickly tensioned it. He tested the hook and grinned.

            – Let’s see if we have better luck with your hand.

With both his mutilated hand and a hook, it was much easier to attach the fake hand to Trevor’s socket.

            – Don’t bother with the cable, Dave. There are some elastic bands in one of the kitchen drawers. Put one over the cable so it doesn’t flap around and that will do. I’ll use this as a cosmetic hand tonight.

            – Are you sure? Let me see if I can get the cable on it, though.

With exaggerated care, Dave nipped the end of the cable with his hook and forced the thumb open with his stumps. Once again, the cable attached to its receptor on the first try and Trevor had an operating fake hand instead of a sleeve filler. He was pleased with its mechanical movement.

            – Well, that only took us half an hour. Let’s go and get that beer.

 

A short while later, they were well into their second beers, mulling over their new prosthetics.

            – I’m not sure I’d want one of these hands, to be honest. It’s not all that versatile for what I need. I think a hook is better and having two which work the same is a bit easier.

Dave had been using the hook to hold his glass and was fairly satisfied with it.

            – I’m beginning to see what you mean. This hook is pretty good.

            – You’d do even better if you’d worn your own hook instead of one of mine. You’d be able to pick that glass up better.

            – I know. Shall we swap them back?

They caught the eye of a young guy who had been watching them for a few minutes.

            – Excuse me! Would you mind lending a hand for a minute?

            – Sure.

He got up and brought his drink over.

            – I’m sure you’ve noticed our hooks. We’ve been trying out each other’s hands, you see, and we want to have our own ones back. I wonder if you’d mind changing them over for us.

            – Oh, well OK. Tell me what I need to do.

Trevor explained how the cable operated the hook and how it needed to be removed before the hook could be unscrewed.

            – That sounds easy enough. Let’s give it a go.

Trevor held his arm out and the stranger detached the cable and unscrewed the artificial hand. He inspected it closely and put it on the table. Dave lifted his arm so Trevor’s hook could be removed.

            – And you want this hook now, right?

            – Yes please. You need to pull the hook open so you can reattach the cable. I can’t open it myself, sorry.

The stranger had a little trouble finding the thread but the hook was soon firmly on Trevor’s arm again and functional. Dave had his artificial hand back and used it in combination with his maimed hand to take a swig of beer.

            – That was very kind of you, thanks very much. Would you like to join us?

            – Yes, thanks. I’d like that. I’m Robert, by the way.

            – This is Dave and I’m Trevor. Can I get you a beer?

            – Thanks very much.

            – Come with me to the bar and help me carry the drinks.

Dave finished his beer and sat with his hands in his lap watching the others being served at the bar. He cradled his stumps with the artificial hand. It looked exciting, exotic. Maybe the hand was not as useful as a hook but he preferred its appearance. Its glossy surface was a dead giveaway. No‑one would think it was a natural hand after more than the most cursory glance. Maybe it would be possible to paint it with a matte varnish. The new round of beer arrived.

            – Do you mind if I ask you about your arms?

            – No, go ahead.

            – How did you come to lose them?

            – Motorbike accident. I was riding around in a T-shirt and skidded. I ran into a crash barrier and it severed my arms.

            – Motorbikes are the worst. I’d love to ride but I don’t dare. I’d always be scared something bad would happen.

            – And I had sepsis. I lost these fingers and they had to take the whole of my left hand.

            – You’ve been very unlucky. Are you able to carry on working or do you get a disability pension?

            – We both work for Radio Ninety-Six. I work in the studio and Dave is in sales.

            – That’s great, being able to carry on like that.

            – There are lots of jobs these days that a guy like myself with two hooks can do. Technology and automation mean that lots of jobs which used to call for dexterity and skill are now all done on the computer. They still require skill, I suppose, but it’s easy enough to operate a computer with these instead of hands. But you’re right – we were lucky not needing to change jobs. What do you do?

            – Studio photographer. Advertising mainly.

            – I don’t think I’d be able to use a camera. Too fiddly.

            – Well, you won’t know until you try. Something like a sports camera might be suitable. They’re rubberised and don’t have many buttons. They’re all adjusted from the screen and most of the functions are automatic after that.

            – That sounds interesting. I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll have to give it a try.

Robert drank the rest of his beer and stood up.

            – I have to leave you now. It was nice talking to you. See you again sometime, I hope.

            – Bye, Robert. Thanks for your help.

 

            – Motorbike accident, eh? Is that going to be your story?

            – Yup. Credible enough, isn’t it? Your sepsis sounds alright but I don’t think it would convince a medical student.

            – Why not?

            – Sepsis leaves a load of scarring. Big red blotches and all that. Your skin is as smooth as a baby’s bum.

            – Oh, alright. I’ll have to come up with a better explanation, in that case. Any ideas?

            – Frostbite?

            – Ha! That will do.

 

L A T E   S U M M E R

 

The two amputees settled back into their work routines. Frank suffered another mental breakdown due to his wife serving him with divorce papers and he was offered a disability pension and a room in a care home. It saved the radio station the inconvenience and expense of dismissing him. Dave was rapidly promoted to Frank’s position with a fifteen percent pay increase and became a familiar and welcome representative among the station’s advertising customers. Revenue rose during the second quarter which was attributed to Dave’s wit, charm and determination.

 

Trevor continued compiling commercial breaks with station idents and jingles. His hooks glinted as he operated computers, consoles, recording decks and audio equipment. His colleagues became used to seeing his long black carbon arms at lunch time and on Friday nights in the pub. Trevor himself lost his self-consciousness about his disability and began to become rather extrovert with his hooks. They did not yet feel completely part of himself. He still realised that he was operating a pair of prostheses rather than using hooks instead of hands but he was becoming more familiar with them and no longer fretted about having lost far more of his arms than he had originally anticipated. He would master his long artificial arms.

 

Both men had unfinished business. Their experiences with limblessness had not quenched their ambition to gain new stumps. Trevor was tormented by the desire to wear a prosthetic left leg on a mid-thigh stump and Dave continued debating whether to keep his natural hand with its five short stumps or to achieve the satisfaction of regained body symmetry. It niggled him to have mismatched arms. He loved the appearance of his maimed hand but was attracted by the idea of using bilateral hooks. He admired Trevor’s image, especially when he wore a jacket and only his hooks were visible. Dave knew from his own experience over the past months that a hook was at least as versatile and useful as his stumps. Maybe he would go ahead with a new amputation. He would have to discuss it with Trevor first, especially since Trevor would have to scrounge some more dry ice from Romanescu. Dave brought the subject up one Sunday morning over brunch.

            – I think I’m going to want to be bilateral. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks trying to decide which would be better.

            – You mean your other arm, I assume. You want the same kind of stump on the right? You’re willing to give up your stumpy hand? It would be a shame to lose that. It looks so good. To be honest, I’d miss not seeing it. But don’t let that affect your decision.

            – No. I know what you mean. It’s what’s been holding me back for so long, I think. I like it too but I’ve started to prefer using my hook and I think I’d generally be better off as a double amputee rather than with this.

            – Well, I’m not going to try and talk you out of it. You know I still have an amputation on the cards, don’t you? When do you want it done? I presume you’re doing the ice method again.

            – Yeah, I think that’s the quickest way to get the result I want. I’ll probably have stumps of different lengths but that won’t matter so much when I’m wearing two hooks. The main thing for me is to be able to use my arms in the same manner, to be balanced and symmetrical, if you know what I mean.

            – Of course I know. I’m glad my stumps are both the same. A bit on the short side but that can’t be helped.

            – The main thing is to wear hooks.

            – Exactly. So you want another one at last. I was wondering when you might get around to suggesting it. If you want my opinion, I can only recommend it. But it’s your body – you make the final decision. I’ll help you every step of the way.

            – Thanks, Trev. I knew I could rely on you.

            – When do you want to do it?

            – Well, if I had a nice new hook under the Christmas tree, it would be the best present ever.

            – Ha! Counting back, that would mean early October at the latest. Another five weeks. Shall we aim for Saturday week? I’ll give Roman a call and see if he can still work his magic. You want to do it here again?

            – Yeah, I think it would be a bit more comfortable being here. That was a grim night we spent in Calmore, wasn’t it?

            – I don’t remember much about it, to be honest. Apart from the fact that I know it hurt, I can’t even remember the pain. I’ve sort of blocked out the memory. What about work?

            – Well, I suppose it means dumping Julie in the shit for a couple of weeks but we have a few new advertisers under our belt which I went out and got, so I deserve a break, wouldn’t you say?

            – I would indeed. Someone will man the phones if Julie has to tout for a couple of weeks. In fact, you could play a double bluff and announce that you’ve got the chance to have an amputation of your useless hand and you’ll regrettably be absent for a couple of weeks or so. Janet is hardly going to kick you out. It also gives her the chance to find someone to stand in.

            – Actually, that’s a pretty good idea. Makes it seem all above board and predetermined. Right, I’ll tell her on Monday. Will you get on to Roman?

            – I’ll call him now.

 

They ran into Robert again the next evening. He spotted them in the pub and came over to wish them a good evening and they sat together. Robert announced that he had just taken possession of a new electric pick-up truck and was impatient for the chance to put it to the test. He had made several short trips around East London and Essex over the past couple of weeks but wanted to see what it was like on the motorway.

            – Er, I know a way for you to test it on the M3 if a run down to Southampton is far enough.

            – That would be perfect! Do go on! What did you have in mind?

            – I have to collect about twenty litres of dry ice from a Southampton suburb next Saturday afternoon. I usually rent a car but if you’d like to give us a lift, that would be the perfect answer to both our problems.

            – Saturday afternoon on the M3? Perfect! Not too far to be towed if we run out of juice halfway.

            – I hope it won’t come to that! Your van can do the return run, can’t it?

            – Yeah. I was only joking. It should be good for five hundred kilometres with a full charge.

            – Well, charge it on Friday night just to be sure, will you?

            – Don’t worry. I will. What are you going to do with twenty kilos of dry ice, anyway?

Trevor looked at Robert for a moment, weighing up the advantages of telling the truth or concocting another burdensome lie.

            – Robert, be honest with me for a moment. You like seeing our hooks, don’t you? I know you’re interested in them.

            – Ah, oh, well, yeah, I guess I do. Yes, I do like them. They look so masculine and businesslike. I don’t know how to describe it. Sometimes I think I’d like to have a hook myself. To be special, you know.

            – Yes, I know. How do you think we lost our arms?

            – You said you lost yours in a motorcycle accident. And Dave lost his due to sepsis.

            – Those were little white lies. The dry ice is for Dave. He wants to advance to using two hooks and the ice is to freeze his hand so the tissue dies and surgeons have to amputate his hand. I got my arms the same way.

Robert stared at them in open-mouthed silence. He looked at his own hands and at Trevor’s hooks.

            – Can you do mine as well?

            – You want hooks?

            – I’ve always wanted hooks. I suppose you might say it’s a bit of a fetish.

            – Well, that’s a surprise. I knew you were a devotee but I didn’t realise you’re a wannabe as well.

            – I hope you aren’t offended.

            – Why would I be offended? Dave, are you offended?

            – Not very much.

He looked at Robert’s confused expression and winked.

            – Why don’t you join us, Rob? Get a pair of hooks for yourself. It hurts like fuck for a couple of hours and then you wake up in hospital with a pair of stumps.

            – I can’t think of anything I’d like more.

            – See, Trev. I told you.

Dave had mentioned before that he thought Robert might be a wannabe. He was far too excited but controlled himself in their company. Dave recognised the same feeling – the desire to be with amputees while needing to suppress the urge to reveal inner emotions in order to avoid giving offence.

            – Robert, let’s get Dave sorted first next weekend and after that we can discuss when and how to go about getting you what you need.

            – OK, thanks. That’s what we’ll do.

            – But if all goes well, you might have a hook or two soon after Christmas. What will your family say?

            – They live in Sicily. There’s no reason for them to ever know.

            – That sounds complicated. Tell us about it some time. But now, who wants another beer? Rob, come and help me carry them while you still can.

 

Trevor fetched their insulated picnic hamper from storage and they waited for Robert to arrive. They were both ready when he knocked and they descended to the street where Robert’s sleek electric pick-up was parked. Trevor lifted the empty hamper onto the truck bed and Robert lashed it down with a couple of elastic straps. There was a good amount of room in the front of the cabin for the three of them. Robert asked more about the freezing process including physiological repercussions which neither of the amputees could answer. As far as they were concerned, it was enough to gain a stump. The biological process requiring the procedure was not a concern.

 

Robert opened up more about his fascination for men wearing hooks. He spoke about his sightings and his longing to have an arm amputee as a friend. He had never managed to talk to any of the amputees he had seen before. They were usually much older than himself, not surprisingly. He loved the simple mechanical beauty of two steel hooks and admitted to masturbating while imagining himself to have stumps in place of his hands. Trevor and Dave listened to him with flashes of recognition of their own fantasies and desires. Robert was gradually becoming less an acquaintance met in the pub and more of a co-conspirator aiming towards the same outcome. It was a genuine relief for the voluntary amputees not to have to conceal the truth.

 

Roman was waiting for them when they arrived. There was going to be a rave that evening and Roman wanted to be sure that everything would be ready. It was the first time since Trevor’s session that he had met his old friend and mentor.

            – What the fuck? What happened to you?

            – Got myself a pair of hooks, Roman. Don’t look so shocked, mate. It’s alright. Had a bit of an accident soon after we met last. This is my good friend Dave. I think you met last time. And this is our new friend who drove us down. Robert.

            – Fuck me. You have a hook as well.

            – Yeah. Quite a coincidence really, when you think about it. Still, shit happens. How are you doing? You don’t happen to have any of those Russian pain killers, do you? They really do the job.

            – How many do you want?

            – Half a dozen, if you can spare them.

            – I can spare them. But it’s fifty quid. The ice is in the freezer. You know where it is.

Swarthy men in poorly designed black leather jackets watched the amputees lift a bag of dry ice from the freezer and carry it together to the hamper in the back of the pick-up. They returned for the second bag. Trevor and Roman turned their backs on the room and completed their financial business. Roman gave Trevor a brief hug, remembering more innocent times when their friendship was based on the simple pleasure of learning a new language and peculiar English customs. Roman had done well for himself and was a multimillionaire but was clearly pushing his luck. The ominous Slavs in lousy clothes watching him had his future in their hands. Trevor thanked his friend and the trio left.

 

            – Are you going to start as soon as you get home, Dave?

            – Yeah. That was the general idea. The ice doesn’t last forever. It just turns into gas and flows around the floor otherwise.

            – I was wondering if you might let me come and watch.

            – What are you expecting to see? I just sit with my hand in a bucket for most of the night. Nothing to see.

            – Er, do you think we could both do it together?

            – What?! You want to freeze your hand off as well? What the actual fuck!

            – No. I want them both off. I want to look like Trevor. I want to look like you, Dave, after you’ve had your amputation and get a new hook. I want to have two hooks and look like men I’ve admired all my life. I want to stop the frustration. I want hooks. I need them.

            – What do you think, Dave? Is there going to be room in your bucket for an extra pair of hands tonight?

Dave looked at Robert’s plaintive face and laughed.

            – The more, the merrier. It’ll save us another trip to Calmore.

 

Dave sat on a chair with another next to him on his right. Robert sat on a third chair, his legs splayed, his plastic-wrapped hands already in the plastic bucket Dave had used last time. Trevor finished winding duct tape around the second layer of bin bags on Dave’s right arm and Dave lowered his hand into the bucket. Trevor scooped a generous amount of dry ice into the bucket, then another, then a third. Both men began to squirm in pain at the intense cold. They looked at each other in the eyes, daring one another to quit first. There was no quitting until two o’clock in the morning at the earliest. Trevor pressed the ice with a hook and ensured that it was as dense as it could be. His friends shook their heads in a vain effort to relieve the pain. Trevor issued both with a capsule of the narcotic Dave had bought from Roman.

 

In Calmore, the rave was raided by the Southampton police, assisted by the SAS. Roman and his staff and the swarthy Slavs were arrested and bundled into military trucks. The public was at first politely requested to leave the premises and shortly after, the last hardnuts were persuaded to depart with liberally applied physical encouragement. The barn doors were locked and sealed. There would be no more dry ice on offer from Roman.

 

Tendrils of carbon dioxide continued to flow from the blue bucket and Trevor carried more ice at regular intervals. He plied his friends with hot drinks, bending at the waist as he used his artificial arms to hold mugs of hot tea to their lips. Dave and Robert managed to lean their heads together in a gesture of solidarity. Their hands were dead. Now the deadly pain was concentrated in their arms. They were halfway through the ordeal. Trevor refreshed the ice. They both sat upright to drink more tea. Robert was almost passing out from pain and fatigue. Trevor held his head between his hooks and shook it.

            – Think of what you will gain from this, Robert. Concentrate on the future. Can you feel my hooks? You are going to have your own hooks, Robert. Just a little while longer. Keep it up, and the hooks will be yours.

It was almost gibberish but the main purpose was to keep the men awake. If either of them toppled off their chairs, the whole set-up might be in jeopardy. Trevor estimated there were five litres of ice left. There were two hours left before the results would match what Dave had suffered last time. There should be enough ice to last. In any event, their hands belonged to the past. The next two hours would determine the length of their forearm stumps. Trevor kept the level of ice in the bucket even as it sublimated into gas. He opened the windows for ten minutes every hour, wary of the gas rising too high.

 

Dave and Robert were delivered to the local hospital early on Sunday morning. The surgeon was an old hand and recognised the injuries. He had two wannabe amputees on his hands, both of them wasting precious time with their narcissism. But he understood the desire to be an amputee. His own son had laid down several years ago on the railway line between Hoxton and the next station in order to sever his right leg. The boy had been seventeen at the time and had later given a tearful but triumphant explanation to his father of the physical impossibility of living without a stump. His amputee son gave him the required patience to sculpt Dave’s right arm and both of Robert’s severely damaged arms into viable, smooth stumps. The bilateral boy would probably be disappointed to find two inch long stumps extending from his elbows. He was going to have problems with prosthetic arms but something would be possible. He would be in a similar situation as a bilateral above elbow amputee. The nubs left to him below his elbows were next to useless for operating a pair of prostheses. He would be reliant on full length prostheses from his shoulders. The men slept on, Dave with half a new forearm, Robert with stubs below his elbows.

 

They were wheeled to adjacent beds and began to awake mid-morning on Sunday. Robert howled in frustration at seeing his bandaged stumps. A nurse was quickly at his side, comforting him with trite words he had heard a thousand times before, experiencing what he had relished hearing from other amputees on awakening to their new limbless reality. Robert would indeed be wearing hooks for the rest of his life but he would not have the sexy long phallic forearms he had always dreamt of. Instead he had nubs at his elbows, useless for anything. He wept for his lost future. Dave’s stump was a little shorter than on his left side. Trevor had been a little too generous with the ice or the surgeon had been a little too cautious in removing damaged tissue. It was no matter. He had two decent forearm stumps and would be able to use steel hooks for the rest of his life. He was elated and intensely grateful that his pain was over and behind him. A few weeks and he would be back to normal wielding his hooks as trophies of his determination to become severely disabled.

 

They healed together and were fitted with prostheses at the same time. Four weeks after the freezing, they both left the hospital in the same taxi, Dave reliant on his left hook and nursing a hidden right stump, Robert handless. Their prostheses would be ready in about two weeks time. Trevor welcomed them back and suggested that Robert spend a few nights with them until he took delivery of his new arms.

 

The inevitable happened. Robert was so despondent about his short stumps that the other amputees had to persuade him to keep his chin up and look forward to what his future held rather than the past and what he had lost. His stumps were shockingly short but not unpleasant to see. They were nicely rounded and the skin was taut and smooth. Two weeks later, both men had their new prosthetic arms. Dave declined the tedious rehab sessions, saying that he had enough experience with a hook to be able to apply his knowledge to a second one. Robert received a pair of prostheses almost identical to Trevor’s. It had biceps cuffs rather than shoulder sockets but the harness held the lower arm sockets tightly against his elbows. Robert tried using them for a few days and gave up in desperation. A new pair was delivered after three weeks which operated in the same way as Trevor’s full length arms. Robert had to relearn how to move his elbows and open the hooks in a useful fashion. He was slow to learn, having lost his joie de vivre as well as his forearms. After his fifth visit to the prosthetist in Greenwich, he threw himself under a DLR train and his life ended.

 

Trevor and Dave did not attend the brief funeral service but paid their respects at Robert’s grave a week later. Trevor laid roses on the grave, their stems gripped by a prosthetic hook.

 

Dave returned to work a week before Christmas. Janet was relieved. Jack, the young apprentice she had hired, was enthusiastic but gormless. She was being unkind. It took a while to learn the ropes. The boy needed a guiding hand and now Dave was back on the job, he could take Jack off her hands. Dave walked along the corridor to his office and pushed it open with a foot to see Julie and Jack going over some papers.

 

            – Hooray! You’re back! Jack, this is Dave and vice versa. Oh, it’s good to see you back. How are you?

            – I’m fine. I swapped my hand for this.

He held up his right hook for inspection. Jack’s eyes widened.

            – Well, you should be used to that sort of thing by now. Jack, go and sit with Dave and he’ll show you the rest of what he does, if anything.

Dave blew her a raspberry and held out his right hook for Jack.

            – Nice to meet you, Jack. You can call me Dave. Careful with that. It’s still a bit tender. Had my arm off just recently, you see, to match my left.

He held his left hook up beside the right one and Jack almost collapsed. Jack had heard his recovering future colleague was disabled but he had no idea that it entailed his ideal configuration.

 

Jack was an over-enthusiastic devotee and longed to be handless. Other visible amputations also fascinated him. He owned three antique prosthetic arms and two artificial legs and one peg leg which he had bought at boot sales and at auctions. He was twenty-three and had been interested in everything prosthetic since he was about five years old and saw his first old gentleman wearing a peg leg. He immediately wanted something similar for himself although it was a couple of years before he discovered what must have happened to the old man – who in reality was about twenty years old and a few weeks out of rehab. It was possible to cut your leg off and have a new metal or plastic one instead and the thought had filled Jack’s dreams and fantasies for the best part of two decades. And now he would be working alongside a man with two hooks. He was close to coming in his underwear.

            – So, Jack. Tell me everything which Janet and Julie have told you and I’ll set you straight.

            – Dave, although I said I was happy to see you, I may have to rescind that.

            – And I love you too. Only joking. Now then, let’s get down to business. You take a call and there’s a prospective customer at the other end. How are you going to deal with him or her? Tell me what you’re going to explain about our customer schemes.

 

Dave had discovered how comfortable it was to link his hooks when he did not expect to use them immediately. He opened the left and threaded it through the fingers of the right hook. Jack was beginning to explain what he had been taught but seeing the clump of entangled metal in Dave’s lap was too much for him and he stuttered and ejaculated into his underwear. Dave noticed what was going on and grabbed him by his sleeve and dragged him to the gents.

            – Not in front of the ladies, Jack. Try to behave yourself. Is it my hooks?

            – Yes. I’m sorry. Look, can I clean myself up first?

            – Go ahead.

Jack went into a stall, leaving the door open. He dropped his trousers and peeled his underpants off his thighs. They were wet with sperm. He had shot a generous dose and the musky smell of male sex filled the room. Dave chuckled to himself. He clacked his hooks together for attention and asked how Jack was doing.

            – I’m sorry. Can you stop doing that, please? It’s making it worse.

            – Haha! What do you like more? My hooks or the idea of my stumps?

            – Oh god. Your hooks.

He stepped out of his soaking underwear and threw it onto the floor. He wiped his genitals with toilet paper and pulled his trousers up. He picked up his underwear and threw them into the washbasin where he rinsed them and wrung them dry. Dave idly tapped his hooks against the wall behind him, watching Jack with amusement.

            – Is this going to happen every time you see me? What are we going to do? Should I hide my hooks in paper bags?

            – I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’ve never seen anyone with two hooks before. You surprised me.

            – My fault, is it?

            – No, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

            – I believe you.

Dave put his left arm around Jack’s shoulder and hugged him.

            – Leave those in here. No-one will touch them. Or know whose they are. We need to have a chat on top of work matters. We should go for a beer later on and you can look at my hooks all you like but first we have work to do so you’d better pull yourself together.

            – I’m alright now. Sorry.

            – Stop saying that. Come on. Let’s get back or Julie will think we’re having an affair.

            – Oh god.

            – Haven’t you seen Trevor yet? He compiles the ad breaks.

            – Well, I was told that Trevor was disabled before we went into his studio but he wasn’t there when we went in. And after that, I haven’t been down there because Julie was showing me stuff.

            – Oh, well, in that case I should warn you that Trevor not only has no hands like me, he also practically has no arms either. He has tiny stumps at his shoulders which he swings around to work his hooks. So don’t cum everywhere when you meet him. He might get the wrong idea. In fact, I might be able to persuade him to come out for a beer tonight, if you’re prepared to see four hooks at the same time.

            – I’d love that – I mean, I’d like that.

            – I know what you mean. Jesus, Jack, you’re the worst case I’ve come across.

            – I’m sorry.

            – I know you are. Stop saying that.

 

They resumed their review of marketing for local radio and Dave shared trade secrets and personal experiences with various customers. Jack was attentive and interested after his initial shock.

            – And that’s about it for this afternoon. Julie, have you heard anything from Westman’s yet?

            – No. I was going to give them a call but you know how it is.

            – No problem. Jack, get on the phone to Westman’s publicity department and ask them if they’ve reviewed the offer we sent last week. Just introduce yourself as Jack from Ninety-Six and they’ll know what you’re on about. Go on, call them!

Jack found the Westman folder and looked briefly at the text of the offer. He clicked the phone icon and put his headset on. Dave listened to the call, which was brief, polite and friendly. Jack had a pleasant phone voice.

            – They’re having a meeting later this morning and she said she’d let us know this afternoon.

            – Did you get her name?

            – Er, no, not really. She said it but it sounded like a foreign name.

            – Try to get people’s names, just in case you need to call back. I think it must have been Jacinda.

            – Yeah, that was it!

            – Move over a bit.

Dave tapped a few keys and found a listing of staff at Westman. Jacinda Subramanian was on the list of administrative staff.

            – There you are. When you speak to her again, mention her name. People like it when you remember them.

Jack nodded. He understood and it was exciting to see Dave’s hooks in action inches in front of his face. Dave went to his own work station and resumed work, reviewing transactions completed in the time he had been away and checking those still outstanding. He kept an eye on Jack, amused by knowing he was fodder for the boy’s erotic fantasies. Jack knuckled down to work. It was a relief to have a new colleague whose mental health need not be a consideration.

 

Dave wandered along to Trevor’s studio just before lunchtime.

            – Hello you. How’re you doing?

            – Not bad. You know how it is. Everything seems new and familiar at the same time. Listen, do you want a couple of beers after work?

            – What? On a Monday?

            – Yeah, well, I think my new mate Jack would like to meet you. He’s the most enthusiastic devotee I’ve ever met. Came in his pants when he saw my hooks.

            – And you think he might like to see mine as well, right?

            – Well, you haven’t met him yet and I want to chat with him some more and I can’t do that with Julie there.

            – Alright. Come and collect me when you’re ready. Shall I take my shirt off and show off my arms?

            – That would probably tip him over the edge. Yeah, do that!

            – See you later, then.

 

As five o’clock approached, Dave sent a message over the intranet to Trevor.

            – get yourself ready. be there in 5.

            – Jack, are you almost ready? Trevor is getting ready and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

            – Oh, yeah. Let me just finish this email.

            – Save it as a draft and send it tomorrow morning. No-one likes getting emails at this time of day.

Jack had the impression that Trevor was someone who commanded respect. He hoped his dick would behave itself. He had checked earlier to see if his underwear had dried and put them on in a toilet stall.

 

Trevor was waiting for them in the lobby. He looked into Jack’s eyes as the young man approached and held out his right hook. Jack tentatively took it and shook gently.

            – I am Trevor Wright. Who are you?

            – Jack Hanrahan, sir.

            – Pleased to meet you, Jack. How are you liking it at Ninety-Six?

            – Very much, sir. Dave has been showing me the ropes.

            – Has he, now? Maybe you can explain what he actually does. Let’s get a move on.

 

They settled around a table in the local over pints of lager. Trevor decided to tease young Jack.

            – I hear you enjoy seeing men with artificial arms, Jack. I hope mine meet with your approval.

            – Er, well, yes, I do. And your arms look very handsome, sir.

            – OK, Jack, you can drop the Sir. I think we have enough in common that you can call me Trevor. So why do you like arms like mine exactly?

            – It’s difficult to say. I feel an attraction, more like a desire to watch the arms moving and seeing the hooks operate.

            – And this is a sexual feeling, is it not?

Jack coloured.

            – Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend.

            – No offence taken. So what happens after you’ve seen a man wearing hooks? Do you keep playing it over in your mind?

            – Yes, I remember all the occasions I have seen men with hooks. Sometimes I think about them during the day if I get distracted.

            – And do you think about them at night when you wank?

Jack looked alarmed at having been sussed.

            – Yes.

            – Well, that is a surprise. How do you feel about sitting here with two men wearing four prosthetic arms? Are you going to wank yourself silly later on?

            – It’s different sitting here talking with you. This is real life. The other sightings were like fantasies.

            – Interesting idea. So do you think you’ll be able to work alongside Dave and me without being distracted all the time by your fantasies?

            – Yes, I think so. After I get used to seeing you.

            – Would I be wrong if I said that I think you’d like a hook or two yourself?

Jack looked almost panicked that his innermost desire and need had been laid bare so quickly by a new colleague whose prostheses glinted on the tabletop before his eyes.

            – Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to have hooks.

            – Are you more interested in how they would look on you or how it would feel to actually wear them twenty-four-seven?

            – Both. I’d love to have stumps instead of hands.

He had said it. Trevor and Dave both looked at him. He glanced at them, ashamed, and lowered his eyes. Trevor noticed and opened his hooks. Jack looked up to see his amused smile.

            – You’re hard core, Jack. You know that. I predict you’ll be using hooks by the end of next year. You’re going to be reminded of what you’re missing out on every single day working alongside Dave. I don’t know how you’ve thought about going about it, but I bet you’ll be joining us before long.

Jack picked up his lager with a trembling hand and slurped a couple of mouthfuls.

            – So now you know. My secret’s out. You must think I’m mad for wanting such a thing.

            – Not at all. We know all about the attraction. It’s just unusual to find such an enthusiastic young devotee suddenly working alongside two men who already have what you want.

            – It’s such a coincidence. I promise not to behave badly. You’re very understanding.

            – Yes, well, perhaps a little later you will understand more. Now, whose round is it?

Jack insisted and brought over three more lagers. They did not discuss their amputations further that evening but Trevor was conscious of being watched and made an effort to wield his cumbersome prostheses as smoothly as possible. It would feed Jack’s mental imagery. Jack had already decided that he wanted to be a bilateral above elbow amputee with full-length arm prostheses. Dave’s short sockets and hooks were cool but Trevor’s equipment was the real McCoy.

 

Jack turned into an efficient and enthusiastic salesman. He had a natural gift for friendly persuasion. Customers liked him and he was a pleasure to work with in the office. Dave trusted him and they frequently spent an hour or two in the pub after work, accompanied on occasion by Trevor. They usually discussed work affairs. Jack’s infatuation was as strong as ever but he did not mention it any more. It was enough to see Dave’s hooks every day, a continual reminder of what his future held.

 

Not having easy access to a supply of dry ice, there was little point in suggesting to Jack that he could have some assistance in becoming an amputee. So he researched methods himself. He knew about the dry ice method but regarded it as too painful and difficult to come by. A surgical nurse on a chat site mentioned that tourniquets left on for far too long would also result in tissue death and amputation. Jack ordered a pair from Amazon and tried applying one to his upper arm. He would need help if he were to go ahead. If he destroyed his hands overnight, he would not be able to summon an ambulance the next morning. He debated asking Dave for help. Finally, he brought the subject up one Friday afternoon, a few minutes before five. Julie had already left and Dave was rearranging a pile of papers.

            – Dave, I think I’m ready for… you know. I am going to wear tourniquets to cut blood supply. A nurse told me about it and how long I need to keep them on. The thing is, I need some help, you know, to call an ambulance or drive me to hospital, whatever.

            – I see. Have you told anyone else about this?

            – No. I was wondering if I could ask you to help.

            – Hmm, were you. Wait here a minute.

Dave walked to Trevor’s studio and found him listening to something with headphones on. Trevor turned round and hooked an earpiece away from his head.

            – What’s up? Beer o’clock?

            – Not that. It’s Jack. He just asked me to spot for him. He wants to use tourniquets to get amputations this weekend. Probably tonight.

            – Didn’t take him long, did it? So are you going to help him?

            – Well, I thought I might but I don’t want to go round to his bedsit. Would you have any objection if he came round to our place for it?

            – Not sure. I don’t want an ambulance turning up at our address tomorrow morning. That might lead to some awkward questions. If he can go in a taxi or Uber or something, that would be fine.

            – Alright, I’ll let him know.

Dave returned to his work space and sat down facing Jack.

            – I’ve had a word with my flatmate who won’t mind if you stay at our place overnight but there will be no ambulance in the morning. You’ll have to make your own way to the hospital.

            – Oh. How am I going to do that?

            – Don’t know. Think about it. We don’t want our flat being associated with you hurting yourself, see.

            – Maybe we could call a taxi and go to my place in the morning and call an ambulance from there.

            – That might work. Do you live alone or share?

            – I share but my flatmate is away for two weeks.

            – Oh, OK. Yeah, we could do that. Have you got any painkillers?

            – Yup, I bought some during the week. They’re in my bag.

            – Show me.

Jack opened his satchel and took out a packet of ten bubble-wrapped painkillers. The text was in Czech or Polish but Dave eyed the ingredients and the active agent. The dosage was a thousand five hundred micrograms, enough to kill a small animal but effective for what Jack had planned.

            – This looks genuine enough. Look at this. I think it probably means one tablet every six hours. I think we can up that to one every four hours. No more than that. Take the first one about an hour before you begin.

            – Alright. It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?

            – Yes Jack, it is. Very badly. You are in for a very bad night, hour after hour of intolerable pain. But I’ll be there to keep you company, so it’s not all bad. Are you ready? You want to do it tonight? OK, let’s go.

Dave stuck his head around Trevor’s door to let him know they were leaving.

            – See you in a couple of hours. I want to get this finished.

 

Dave and Jack walked the half mile or so to Shoreditch and went up to the flat. It was fairly tidy. There were extra hooks and artificial hands scattered around the living space but it was presentable enough. Dave thought he might leave them there. Jack could look at them for inspiration once the tourniquets began to bite.

            – Take your jacket off and I’ll hang it up. You’d better take one of those pills now and we can get started before seven. I assume you have the tourniquets with you.

            – Yeah, they’re in my bag too.

            – So you left home this morning anticipating that tonight was the night.

            – Well, they’ve been in my bag since I got them. I tried one out just to see how it fits on but otherwise, yeah.

            – OK. Do you fancy a beer?

Dave gave a can to Jack who swigged a pill with the first mouthful. Dave poured his beer into a glass and dropped the crushed can into the rubbish bin.

            – Before you start, have you thought this through? Not just tonight, I mean afterwards. You’re going to be severely disabled and there’s no going back. Have you thought about what your parents are going to think? Will you still have a job when you get your hooks? How are other people going to react to you? You’ll have trouble doing all kinds of things you’ve not even thought about.

            – I know. I’m prepared for the inconveniences if I have two stumps. I have thought about it before, lots of times. And I know it’s going to hurt, but it’s just this one night. It’ll all be over this time tomorrow.

            – Alright. Have you checked how long you need to keep the tourniquet on for irreparable damage?

            – The nurse I was chatting with said six hours without oxygen would destroy tissue. But I’m going to try for seven in the morning.

            – Twelve hours. Yeah, that should more or less guarantee it. Where are you going to put the tourniquets?

            – Well, I’ve been watching you and Trevor – you know that anyway – and I decided that instead of losing just my hands, I want artificial arms like Trevor’s so I’m going to put the tourniquets about two inches above my elbows.

            – You surprise me. Wouldn’t you like to have forearm stumps first for a few years?

            – I always thought I did but now I really would prefer stumps at my shoulders. I have thought about it a lot. I’m sure that’s what I want.

            – OK, if you’re sure. You’ll be using hooks whatever you decide. How are you feeling?

            – I don’t feel nervous anymore. Calm and collected.

            – Cool as a cucumber. That’s the pill taking effect. You better go for a pee before we start. I’ll make some sandwiches later on and you can have them through the night. Do you want to watch tv or listen to music? You’d better get everything set up because you won’t be using your hands ever again after you put the tourniquets on.        

            – That sounds very final.

            – It is fucking final, Jack! You are going to lose your arms in less than an hour! And tomorrow they will be removed from your body. You can’t get more final than that. Have another think about what you’re doing. You have forty minutes before you can start. I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.

Dave would have liked to place a reassuring hand on Jack’s crown but he had nothing. He went to the kitchen and made an espresso. It was going to be a long night and would call for many espressos. He drank it from a thick cylindrical piece of porcelain which was intended to be an eggcup. It was useless to try to drink from a traditional espresso cup with hooks. Dave shucked his right prosthesis and let some air get to the stump. Being fairly fresh, the stump was more sensitive to being in a rigid socket for several hours. The prosthetic arm hung down his back. He looked in the fridge to check that they had stuff for sandwiches. There was a fresh loaf in the bread bin. It was twenty minutes to seven. Trevor would probably be home soon. It would help Jack if Trevor could sit with him, facing him, letting Jack gain mental strength against the pain by seeing Trevor’s glossy carbon arms. It occurred to Dave that Jack did not yet know that Trevor was his flatmate.

 

Dave let Jack meditate in peace until the top of the hour. He donned his right prosthesis and walked back to the lounge quietly and sat down next to Jack.

            – Do you want to start?

            – Yes.

            – OK. Good luck.

Jack put a tourniquet onto his left arm, two inches above the elbow, and cinched it fairly tight. He quickly repeated it on his right arm, pulling the tourniquet tighter. A lever was attached to force the band much tighter. He used the lever and urgently tightened the left tourniquet before his right hand lost feeling. He looked at Dave and smiled.

            – Here we go.

            – Tell me if you feel peckish and I’ll make some sandwiches.

 

Ten minutes later, Jack was squirming in pain. His hands and forearms were already an alarming colour. He was breathing heavily. Dave sat next to him with his left socket around Jack’s waist. Every minute or so, Jack let out a cry of pain and resumed gasping for air. It was a disagreeable situation but it would be over soon enough. Soon, the pain would be forgotten but the stumps would remain. Dave wondered if the tourniquets were more painful than dry ice. He had the suspicion that they were. Neither he nor Trevor had suffered quite as much as Jack seemed to. He tried to remember his own pain but the memory was gone. He knew it had been intensely painful on both occasions but it was futile to try to recall the sensation. It had been well worth the hours of agony to achieve his beautiful stumps. He heard Trevor’s hook tapping the door code and the front door opened.

            – Hi! Anyone home?

            – We’re in here, Trev.

Trevor kicked the door shut and strolled into the lounge.

            – Well, it looks like you started without me. How’s it going, Jack? Keep at it, mate. Think of the prize. Let me get my jacket off and I’ll come and join you. Why don’t you have any music on?

Trevor took his leather jacket off and readjusted his harness.

            – What have we got to eat?

            – Just whatever you make plus there’s a load of sandwiches ready but they’re supposed to last all night long.

            – Jack won’t want to eat, will he? When you had an arm in the ice, were you feeling hungry? That was the least of your problems.

            – Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s funny how you forget pain. I was just thinking about that.

            – Good thing too. I wouldn’t want to be able to conjure up that sort of agony just by thinking about it. Well, I’m going to have some of those sandwiches. What’s in them?

            – Cheese and ham.

            – Good show.

            – Did you get your project finished? What was it, anyway?

            – You remember when I got home from the hospital I remixed a song? I’ve been remixing the rest of them because the band preferred my new mix and they’re going to use the new stuff on their album. And I get fifteen percent of the royalties, ta-daa!

            – That sounds alright.

            – Naah, not really. It’ll probably end up being something like five pounds twenty but at least I get a mention. Shall we have some music in here now? Jack. Jack! Listen to me. What sort of music do you like?

Jack looked at Trevor in surprise.

            – What are you doing here? It’s good to see you. Sit down!

            – I live here, mate. It’s my flat. What do you want to listen to?

Jack shook his head slowly.

            – Why don’t you stream what you’ve been remixing? I’d like to hear it.

            – OK, I will.

Trevor took his phone out and tapped his way through to his employer’s server. He found the folder, selected play all and switched on the music system. A new take on a familiar rhythm pulsed through the flat with vocal addition circling around them. It was like being inside a bubble of electronic sound. Jack stopped writhing and his head lolled to the left as he tried to concentrate on the sound rather than the progressive death of his arms.

            – He’s not going to pass out is he?

            – I hope not. Jack! Are you OK? Can you hear me?

            – Hurts so bad. Aaaah!

            – Has he had some painkillers already?

            – He had a thousand five hundred micrograms of this stuff two hours ago.

Dave pointed with his right hook at a packet on the coffee table. Trevor pinched it and tried to make sense of the text.

            – One every six hours, it says. Fuck it. Give him another one now.

            – How do you know that’s what it says?

            – I lived in Prague for six months about five years ago. This is Czech. I hardly learned to speak any but I can understand this much. I’ll get him some water.

Trevor handed the water to Dave and twisted and bent the packet until the foil broke. He nipped the pill and fed it to Jack. Dave lifted the glass of water to Jack’s lips and tilted it. With water dribbling onto his chest, Jack understood enough to open his mouth and swallowed the painkiller.

            – I hope that’s not dangerous, overdosing him like that.

            – No. This is the kind of stuff that really gets you off your head. If you broke your ankle, the doctor might give you a thousand micrograms of this and you’d be happy as a lark. And another one in six hours. Jack’s had three thousand in two hours so he should be pretty much out of it before long. Look at the poor bastard. You’d want to be out of it too.

            – Don’t call me a bastard.

            – Haha! It seems to be working already. Hang in there, mate. Your shiny new carbon arms are on their way and you can choose your hooks. Hooks for the rest of your life. Jack with hooks, that’s the way it’s gonna be. Keep at it, mate. You’re doing great. Just a couple of hours and you’ll get your hooks.

            – It really hurts. It’s like my arms are exploding.

            – Hold out a bit longer and they’ll soon be gone forever. No more pain, just artificial arms with hooks like you always wanted. Everything is fine. You’re doing well.

            – Jack with hooks. That’s the way it’s gonna be.

Trevor and Dave kept an attentive vigil over the young man whose arms were gradually being destroyed. When he grew restless, Trevor fed him another painkiller. He knew from experience that the active agent was narcotic rather than destructive like Paracetamol. Jack would soon be high as a kite but it was all for the best.

            – Jack, can you hear me? Jack?

            – Yes sir, I can hear.

            – If anyone asks, tell them they gave you some drugs and then you woke up like this with your arms all fucked up.

            – Arms all fucked.

            – Yes, all fucked. Tell them some gang did it. A gang gave you drugs and now your arms are all tied up. You don’t know what happened, do you?

            – No. I was drugged and all tied up. It was a gang. All tied up.

            – Yes, that’s right, Jack. You were tied up by a gang and your arms were all tied up.

Jack smiled at the way his arms had been tied up. They were almost black with purple splotches.

 

            – It’s getting on for two. Do you want anything? I’m going to make some coffee.

            – Make espresso.

            – Yeah, I was going to.

Jack was feeling very tired. His thoughts varied between hooks and the street where he lived, the gang and his new arms and his hooks. He wanted to see his hooks but there were only his black hands. He wanted his hooks. He could hear other men, espresso, the street and his hooks. It hurt. He was getting his hooks if he stayed awake and wanted to see his hooks. He lifted his head and dropped it over to the right. Dave extracted his arm from behind Jack and moved himself so Jack could relax against him more comfortably. It was two ten. Trevor carried a small tray holding two mugs of espresso and offered it to Dave. He took both mugs and lowered them carefully onto the coffee table.

            – I reckon his arms are gonners now. That looks a lot worse than ours did.

            – I don’t know. I think we’d better let him go through to the morning just to make sure. I would really be pissed off if the surgeons tried to save his hands. He doesn’t deserve that after so much pain. Let’s make sure. It’s not even three. Turn the tv on and let’s watch the news. Jack won’t mind.

Jack was barely conscious. His hands hurt but he was imagining a forest fire and fireworks, anything which could explain the pain in his arms. He rolled his head erect from Dave’s shoulder.

            – Alright? Are you doing OK? Hurts, don’t it? Espresso, that’s it. Need more espresso.

Trevor snapped open another pill and fed it to Jack with a slug of water.

            – I don’t dare give him any more unless he starts squirming again. I hope you’re watching all this. I think I’m going to do my leg this way. A tourniquet and a ton of painkillers.

            – Really? I thought you’d given up on that. You haven’t mentioned it for ages.

            – It’s the amputation I wanted first. Have my right leg off halfway up my thigh. I still think that’s the perfect configuration. It was only years later that I started to think about losing my hands and then that turned into a compulsion. I never thought about losing my arms though.

            – Are you unhappy, Trevor?

            – No. Wistful, maybe. Even stumps like Jack is going to end up with would be more useful than the nubs I have now.

            – In spite of that, you have a well-proportioned body. I think your arm stumps complement the way you look.

            – I miss not being able to use my stumps for anything, though. I’d have liked to be able to use long forearm stumps for stuff – you know, leave the sockets off and just go around handless.

            – You ought to ask your prosthetist to make you some artificial stumps. Instead of sockets having hooks attached, they’d just be rounded stumps. If they were flesh coloured too, you might have the sensation of using forearm stumps.

            – That’s not a bad idea, actually. Maybe I could have a cosmetic arm or two made with long stumps instead of hands. Yeah, I like the idea of that.

            – So what about your leg? Aren’t you going to have problems looking after a leg stump? You’ll probably not be able to use liners for suspension. I don’t think you’d have a lot of luck trying to roll a liner onto a leg stump with your hooks.

            – Maybe I could have a system of belts and braces to hold a leg on with.

            – That sounds like a real old-fashioned sort of leg, something from the nineteen fifties.

            – Yeah, that would be cool.

            – I think you’d have trouble using crutches and walking sticks too. Your hooks wouldn’t be very useful for holding onto them for support.

            – It sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of it.

            – No, but you have to take things like that into account. It’s one thing to be a leg amputee who uses a prosthesis and quite another to be too disabled to even wear one. You wouldn’t want to use a wheelchair, would you?

            – No, that’s far too restrictive. Hooks wouldn’t be much good with a wheelchair either.

            – You could have an electric chair.

            – Not interested!

            – So when were you thinking of having your leg off?

            – Not sure yet. Within the next couple of years would be good. Before I’m forty, anyway.

            – Oh, alright. I thought it was something which might happen in the next couple of weeks.

            – No. I want to see how Jack turns out first, for one thing. It looks like tourniquets on your arms are effective but I’m not sure one would work on a muscular thigh. That’s why dry ice would be better. It’s a pity we don’t know anyone now who can get us some.

 

Jack was almost unconscious. He was leaning against Dave’s shoulder. Trevor kept an eye on him. His arms were dark and mottled. They were cold to the touch, which the men could not realise. Unknown to them, the critical point had passed during the previous hour. Jack needed bilateral amputations now to save his life. His arms and hands were dead flesh. Jack had calmed and quietened as his dying nerves stopped alerting his brain. It was almost three o’clock. Another three or four hours to go. Trevor collected the coffee cups and went to the kitchen to make some more espresso.

 

            – How are we going to get Jack to hospital?

            – Call an Uber to take him to his address and use his phone to call for an ambulance. We’ll have to just leave him sitting somewhere. I don’t want there to be any link between us and Jack. Did you get his address?

            – Yeah. Lives in Hoxton in a flatshare. The flatmate is away for two weeks.

            – Alright. It’s close to abandonment but we could keep an eye on him from a distance while the ambulance is on its way.

            – I don’t know whether the hospital would notify the police. They probably won’t. They’re too busy these days to want to waste a lot of time with Mr Plod. They’ll patch him up and discharge him as soon as possible, I reckon. They’ll probably suspect self-mutilation regardless of what story Jack gives them.

            – Yeah, I think so too. He’s going to have some problems after he gets out, isn’t he? Do you think we could let him stay here for a few days?

            – I was thinking about that too. He’s going to be helpless until he gets his prostheses and not much less disabled after that for a few weeks. Maybe the boyfriend will take care of him.

            – We’ll have to see.

 

Trevor and Dave continued watching over Jack until six, when Trevor gently woke him from his stupor.

            – Come on, mate. Time to go home. Wake up. It’s all over now.

Dave fetched Jack’s coat and stood by as Trevor helped the groggy invalid to his feet. Dave fed the dead arms into the coat sleeves. Trevor called for a cab. One was promised within ten minutes. He found a ten pound banknote for taxi fare, safer than charging his credit card. With considerable difficulty, they managed to manoeuvre Jack into the lift and downstairs to the street, where a cab was waiting.

            – This young man is a bit the worse for wear, I’m afraid, but we have to get him to Hoxton.

Trevor gave the address. Jack collapsed onto the back seat and Dave sat beside him. Trevor sat beside the driver. It was a short trip. They helped Jack out of the car and walked him slowly to sit on the steps outside his building. The cab disappeared and Trevor used Jack’s phone to place an emergency call. After a brief explanation, an ambulance was on its way. The amputees made Jack lean against the doorway and walked briskly back towards Shoreditch. They were about four hundred yards away when they heard a distant siren. Jack was soon en route for bilateral amputations.

 

The ambulance medics were appalled at the condition of Jack’s arms. Neither of them dared touch the tourniquets. Two senior doctors inspected the arms, both muttering about amputation. The patient was too incoherent to reveal how his injuries had been caused. A quick blood test revealed a high dose of a common painkiller and an increased level of toxins. The doctors discussed the situation briefly with a surgeon who prepared for an urgent double amputation. Jack’s upper arms were severed halfway along their length and he was placed on the amputee ward to recover. His notes contained the terse remark next to Cause of Injury: Unknown/Tourniquets. There were already other pressing matters to deal with and no-one took further action regarding the young man with severe arm injuries. Their priority was to return him to health and pass him along to a prosthetist at the earliest possible time. If the patient wanted to involve the police about his attack, he could do so himself.

 

Jack’s absence was noted on Monday morning. It was a nuisance and a disappointment. He had not seemed irresponsible or unreliable but there was no word of explanation. Trevor and Dave said nothing. Jack was being kept in coma for a couple of days until his body recovered a little from the shock of two major amputations. His wallet had contained no information about next of kin and his phone was locked with a password. No-one had yet been informed about the boy’s injuries.

 

Jack was allowed to awaken slowly from coma on Wednesday morning. A nurse kept an eye on him until he was awake. He soon realised where he was and felt a burning ache in both arms. His stumps were tightly bandaged in thick white cotton and gauze. The nurse alerted a doctor that the patient was awake. She was by his bedside soon after.

            – Good morning, Jack. Good to see you with us again. How do you feel?

            – Thirsty. Sore.

            – Have a drink of water. Sip it!

She held a glass to Jack’s lips until he nodded to indicate enough.

            – We have some questions we’d like answers to about what happened to you and we also need some contact information for your next of kin. We’ll go through that later this afternoon. Do you realise what has happened to you?

            – Lost my hands.

            – More than that, Jack, I’m afraid. Both your arms have been amputated above the elbows and you have five inch long stumps at your shoulders.

            – Oh! How am I going to live like that?

            – Don’t worry about that unnecessarily. You will have artificial arms and it depends on you how well you learn to use them. There’s no reason to feel helpless although let us be honest – you are now a severely disabled young man. For now, your job is to get well and then you can progress to the next stage. Are you hungry, by the way?

            – No but can I have some more water, please?

            – Here you are. Drink slowly! Call for a nurse if you want a drink or something to eat. The next meal is at one o’clock. Well, I must leave you now. I’m glad to see you awake. Today is Wednesday, by the way. You arrived on Sunday morning.

            – Oh! I was out for a long time.

            – Yes. I’ll see you later, Jack. Just relax and rest.

 

Five inch stumps. He hoped they were both the same length. He tilted his head from side to side to see them but the bandages disguised their physical reality. He imagined himself with mechanical arms like Trevor’s, doing all sorts of things with new artificial arms, being admired by his friends for being a disabled guy with hooks. His arms throbbed and ached. Considering his arms had been amputated, it was not as painful as he had expected. An amputee at last! He was a double amputee. Bilateral. That was the word. He was a bilateral.

 

Two other bilaterals had been thinking about Jack’s situation. If he went back to his bedsit, he would be imprisoned until he had his arms, unable to leave the flat or do anything for himself.

            – Do you think we could have him here for a couple of weeks until he gets prostheses? The poor bugger won’t be able to do anything for himself and I don’t suppose his flatmate will be all that willing to look after him.

            – We don’t know who the flatmate is, do we? It could be his lover and there would be no problem. But I agree. If he’s on his own, he’d be better off here. He’d still be on his own during the daytime but at least we could be with him the rest of the time.

            – So you don’t have anything against him being here?

            – No.

            – Alright then. That’s what we’ll do if he’s going to be on his own. Once we know something about where he is, we can go and tell him.

 

Someone from HR spoke to Jack after lunch. Jack said his parents were not interested in his welfare which is why he had moved south. They did not need to be informed. He was more concerned about his job, Radio Ninety-Six. They needed to know where he was and what had happened and when he would be getting out. The assistant promised to let them know and explain the situation.

 

Next morning, Janet dropped by Julie’s and Dave’s room to tell them that Jack had been seriously injured and was recuperating in St Bartholemew hospital. He was not expected to be back for at least six weeks. She had no further details. The hospital refused to divulge medical details although she had been quite insistent. Dave nodded sagely and went to Trevor’s studio as soon as Janet left.

            – He’s in Bartholemew’s. Do you want to drop in for a word?

            – I guessed as much. Yeah, do you want to come with me? Tell him the good news?

            – Yeah. Tonight OK?

            – Yup. Let’s go straight after work. Visiting hours will have begun by the time we get there.

 

Jack was sitting up watching the goings on in the ward. He had made friends with two other young amputees. One had lost his feet and the other his right hand. Jack was allowed short periods out of bed but since he was unable to do anything for himself and needed someone to carry his piss bag, he stayed close to his bed.

            – Hi Jack! Long time no see! How’re you doing?

            – Ah, this is a surprise!  Thanks for coming. I’m OK. They feed me and I’ve made some friends. No problems.

            – Glad to hear it. Have you heard anything about getting prostheses?

            – Not really, other than that I will be getting a pair.

            – Well, that’s a relief. I was worried that they’d kick you out without any recourse to prosthetics.

            – Well, no-one knows what happened to me, you see. And I can’t remember anything of last weekend because I was high on something. All I have now is these.

He lifted his stumps carefully and revolved them.

            – Is that what you wanted?

            – I think so. Yes, I think my stumps are what I wanted. I haven’t really seen them properly yet.

            – Jack, we have to ask you this. Is the boy you live with your lover? Will he take care of you when you come out of hospital?

            – No, we’re not lovers. He was sent a message letting him know where I am but he hasn’t been in to see me.

            – So he probably won’t want to take care of you when you leave.

            – No, I don’t suppose so.

            – That’s what we were afraid of. Dave and I have decided that when you leave, you can come to our flat and stay there until you get your first artificial arms. Then you’ll have to fend for yourself, alright? But someone is going to have to help out for the first couple of weeks.

            – That’s very kind of you. Thanks a lot, both of you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

            – Don’t worry about that. Just so as you know you have a place to come. You’ll still be alone and fairly helpless during the day when we’re at Ninety-Six but we’ll be together the rest of the time.

            – That sounds great. Thank you.

            – So how are you? Are your stumps painful?

Jack explained how he was feeling and his stumps twitched and pointed as he expressed his feelings. They were healing well. Judging by the bandages, they seemed to be a useful length. His future artificial arms would probably be more versatile than Trevor’s due to the longer stumps. If he learned to operate the elbows, he’d be doing fairly well in six months.

 

Jack was making a good recovery. Dave or Trevor usually visited him for an hour or so during the week after work but left him alone at the weekends. He got on very well with the footless guy. He was often with Jack when one of the bilateral men appeared.

 

His stumps healed well. He wore shrinker bandages on them, otherwise he was free to expose his naked stumps. He had not yet been able to appraise his complete appearance in a full-length mirror but he felt balanced and symmetrical. When he got his artificial arms, he would always display them. He was impatient to get back to normal life. Twenty days after his arrival, he was released from the hospital and sat for several hours in the hospital’s waiting room until Dave came after work to collect him and take him back to their Shoreditch flat.

            – Thank you very much for letting me stay with you.

            – It’s alright. I suppose we have a responsibility for you. What did they say about your amputations in the hospital? Did they think you did it deliberately?

            – I don’t know. No-one said anything. I thought they might call the police about it but I don’t think they did.

            – Too busy, I suppose. Just as well, really. The police would have spent a lot of time searching for a non-existent gang. One of the nurses asked me what had happened and I said I couldn’t remember. I was too drugged to be able to remember anything.

            – That much was true, I reckon. Has anyone explained anything about getting prostheses?

            – Not really but I said I knew someone who might be able to help.

            – Trevor, you mean?

            – Yeah. I thought I could got to the same place where he got his arms from.

            – You’ll have to ask him. One of us will probably have to take you there. You’re going to be pretty helpless until you get some arms.

            – I know. I’m sorry to be such a bother.

            – Don’t worry abut it. We knew what we were letting ourselves in for. Like I said, we feel responsible to some extent.

 

Being a little more dextrous than Trevor, Dave took on the job of caring for Jack. He fed him and held glasses of water and mugs of tea, brushed his teeth and combed his hair and dressed him. Jack was satisfied with wearing a T-shirt. His stumps poked through the sleeves. He had tried wearing a hoodie but did not like the way the sleeves hung empty. On his second evening in Shoreditch, Trevor sat him down and quizzed Jack about his plans and wishes regarding prosthetic arms.

            – I want a pair exactly like yours, sir.

            – Yes, I think you’ve mentioned that before. Alright. I’ll get in touch with my prosthetist and see if he can book us an appointment for a Saturday morning. Otherwise you’ll either have to go alone or one of us will have to take a day off work.

            – I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.

            – Look, we expected to be in this situation beforehand and we still went ahead with it. So don’t feel so guilty about it all, OK? Of course you need new arms so that’s what we’ll do. I’ll call my man tomorrow and see if he can fit you in outside normal working times.

 

Trevor called the next day at lunchtime.

            – I’m afraid all the Saturday slots have been booked for the next five weeks but we work late on Wednesdays, until eight o’clock in the evening, and I have a three hour slot available next week for a new patient. Is that any good to you?

            – That would be perfect. Next week on Wednesday.

            – Yup, at five. What’s the patient’s name?

            – Jack Hanrahan. Twenty-three year old bilateral above elbow amputee.

            – Oh. In pretty desperate need of prostheses, I guess.

            – You could say so. The lad is staying with us for a few days which we don’t mind but we’d like to see him more independent again.

            – Of course. Well, I’ll expect you next week, then.

            – If I can’t make it, my flatmate will accompany him. But I dare say I’ll see you next week. Bye.

 

Trevor worked late that evening and Jack learned of his upcoming appointment after Trevor arrived home at eight.

            – Oh, that’s great! Thank you ever so much. Will someone come with me?

            – Yes of course. We can’t have you running around town armless. I’ll try and leave an hour early and we can go by taxi from here.

            – I was wondering about work. Do you think I’ll be able to go back?

            – It’s very much your decision, Jack. You know it would be illegal to sack you simply for being disabled but it would not be illegal if you are clearly unable to do the work after a few weeks. That wouldn’t be fair on Dave and Julie, would it? They’re already having to do the work of three between the two of them.

            – I’m sure I’ll be able to use the computer and go out to meet customers like before.

            – Well, let’s hope so. Anyway, let’s see how you go with your new arms first. It’ll be a while before they’re ready.

 

Jack was naturally severely restricted in what he could do in the flat. After Dave and Trevor left home in the mornings, he could only sit around watching tv. He learned to use the remote with a pencil in his mouth. Dave made him a few sandwiches which he could snaffle without hands and he could knock the tap on and off when he wanted a drink of water. He often looked at himself in the tall mirror in the hallway, appraising his new proportions and learning to know his new body image. He would look better when he no longer needed to wear stump shrinkers. It would be good if the final shape of his stumps was like the one he saw in the mirror now. Slightly conical and slightly muscular. He was excited by the thought of using prosthetic arms and especially hooks. He would collect a series of all the different types to experiment with. Trevor had shown him the three different sorts which he had. The wide rubber claws looked really interesting but he thought that artificial hands with a movable thumb might be best at work..

 

The days passed slowly, inevitably. The weekend was best when the others were home and he had someone to talk to. He was grateful for every little attention they gave him– helping him drink a cup of tea, eating together. He rarely asked them for anything. Dave kept him abreast with things going on at work so he would not feel completely out of his depth on his return.

 

Trevor explained what was going on with Jack’s recovery and requested permission to knock off an hour early on Wednesday in order to take Jack for his first consultation with his prosthetist. Janet nodded absent-mindedly and scribbled something in her diary.

 

He arrived home and called out for Jack who came from the living room dressed in T-shirt, jeans and trainers. His flies were undone and he was not wearing underwear. Trevor zipped him up carefully and threw a jacket over the boy’s shoulders. They walked towards Old Street and hailed a cab within a couple of minutes. The rush hour was just beginning but flowed reliably. Fifty minutes later they arrived at Roehampton Hospital with five minutes to spare and checked in. Trevor had not yet met Dr Keith McAllen, who had manufactured Dave’s arms, but knew of him and his artificial legs. The receptionist answered an intranet message and instructed Trevor and Jack to go upstairs to room Two Eleven.

 

            – Hello! I’m Keith McAllen and you must be Jack Hanrahan. And you are..?

Trevor introduced himself and smiled at McAllen’s surprise in noticing his hooks.

            – Come in and sit down. I need to take a few details first.

They completed the preliminaries and Jack explained how he was being cared for by Trevor and Dave in their apartment.

            – It’s very kind of you to help out – and utterly essential, of course. Jack would be in a very precarious situation otherwise. Now then, young man. Let’s have a look at you and see what we have to work with.

McAllen took Jack’s jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair. He peeled the shrinkers off of the stumps and inspected them carefully.

            – Can you windmill your arms for me? I want to see what range of motion you have. Good. Nothing wrong with that. Your prostheses will restrict your range of motion somewhat but I shall try to minimize the problem. It’s a compromise between range of motion and amount of control. But we’ll have you with arms again in short order. Since these will be your first pair, it will be up to you to experiment a little to help us improve the design for your next pair, OK?

Jack nodded. He understood the process, having listened intently to what both Trevor and Dave had explained about their experiences.

 

McAllen scanned his stumps and shoulders and checked a few images on his laptop.

            – I’m going to make shoulder sockets with a little leeway to the front and rear. The prostheses will be securely held on with pin-locking liners on your stumps – do you understand what I mean?

Jack nodded.

            – Yes. I’ve seen that sort of system in videos.

            – Good. With the sockets locked in place, you’ll have a greater range of motion. Now let’s talk about the other end. What sort of hooks do you want? You must have looked at what we have available.

            – Yes. Trevor has shown me his, but I work in customer relations and I think it would be best if I could wear artificial hands at work – you know, artificial hands which look like hands.

            – I see. The hands we can offer you are mechanical. You do understand that, don’t you? They’re not like expensive bionic hands. The thumb and first two fingers can move to hold a sheet of paper. That sort of movement is possible.

            – Yes, those are the ones I want.

            – Well, in addition to those, you can have another pair. Would you like hooks or claws?

            – I’d like broad rubber claws too but I think it would be better to have ordinary steel hooks with the hands, if I may.

            – You certainly may. Alright, I’ll put in an order for a pair of hands and a pair of Hosmer Fives. Now let’s discuss your arms. This first pair will be printed because it makes it easy to make adjustments if your stumps alter in shape, for instance. Later on, you’ll have a set made of carbon fibre which you can think of as permanent. What colour would you like your arms to be? The choices are black, grey, white, natural or red.

            – Red? Really? No, I think black looks best.

            – One popular combination with amputees such as yourself is to have the upper arm black and the forearm natural. It matches with the artificial hand, you see.

            – Yes, I can see that. It sounds like a good idea. What do you think, Trevor?

            – Well, if you’re going to use hands, it would look better if the rest of your arms were the same colour. I’d say go with the natural colour for the forearms but I do agree that black upper sockets would look better.

            – That’s what I’ll have, please. Black with natural forearms.

            – Very good. Now, I want to work out a schedule of appointments for your rehabilitation. I recommend two sessions a week over a six week period after which you should be able to control your prostheses for all the functions they are able to perform.

            – Doctor, I’m sorry to interrupt but my partner and I are both recent amputees and we can well remember the rehabilitation which we underwent. Might I suggest that we coach Jack in using his arms, instead of leaving you with the responsibility?

            – When you put it like that, I do rather tend to agree. What do you think, Jack? Would you prefer to let Trevor and his friend coach you?

            – I know they would do a very good job, sir.

            – Very well. Thank you, Trevor. That is a very civically-minded thing to do.

            – Don’t mention it. Another thing, dare I ask for Jack’s prostheses to receive priority treatment? My partner and I work during the day and Jack is left alone, safe but unable to fend for himself.

            – I see. The prints will be ready in two days time at the latest – I mean Jack’s first sockets, of course. If you can drop in again on Friday evening before six, you can test the sockets and if they fit, your first pair of prosthetic arms will be ready by the end of next week. I will message to let you know the exact time or if they are ready earlier. I hope that is good enough for priority treatment. You do realise that we depend on the delivery of the hands and hooks from an external party.

            – Perfect! Thank you. We have spare hooks at home which we could bring with us in case the ones we ordered are delayed somewhere.

            – Oh good. Yes, please do. Well, that’s all I have for you this time. Thank you for coming.

            – Thank you, doctor.

Trevor shook, hook to hand and Jack bowed his head with a radiant smile. Trevor dropped the jacket over his shoulders and they returned home by bus and train.

 

Jack was quiet, respectful of Trevor’s seniority and grateful for the help the two men afforded him. Trevor was also impressed by the young man with his positive outlook and undemanding nature. It was no trouble to have him in their flat. He was happy to sleep on the sofa and waited until he and Dave had gone to their room. Dave enjoyed the moments he spent with Jack in the shower, feeding him a meal, helping him drink and making sure he could toilet himself after he took a dump in the morning. Dave washed the boy’s anus with a flannel to keep him clean. There were two self-adhesive plastic hooks at cock height on the toilet wall Jack could use to get his dick out if he needed a pee, the same ones he and Trevor used when they were not wearing prostheses.

            – Jack, I was thinking. Have you been in touch with your flatmate since you’ve been staying with us?

            – I’ve sent him a couple of text messages, that’s all.

            – Do you think if we had a bit of a party next weekend that he might like to come along to see you?

            – I don’t know. I could ask him.

            – Yeah, do that. Ask him if Saturday evening is free and if he’d like to come round for drinks, say six o’clock or so. I’d like to meet him before I send you back to your flat. I want to know a few things about him first.

            – Alright, I’ll do that. He doesn’t go out very often, so he’ll probably be free. It would be nice to have a party.

            – Yeah, it would. We haven’t had people round for ages. What’s his name, by the way?

            – Aaron.

 

Back home again, they waited in the living room while Dave made a fry-up. Bacon, fried eggs, fried tomatoes, fried bread. It was an easy meal to make. No extra kitchen implements were needed – Dave used his hooks instead. He dissolved grease spatters off his sockets under running hot water. He was pleased to hear that Jack would be getting arms far sooner than he had expected and that they would be meeting the mysterious flatmate, who obviously was not a lover, and having a booze-up into the bargain.

 

Two more days passed. Jack had begun to read again, mainly out of sheer boredom, partly because he wanted to try using his body to its fullest capability. He found a copy of Carrie on the bookshelf and used his nose to pry it out. The book dropped to the floor. Jack used his toes to put it on a chair and then lifted it with his teeth to the table where he could turn the pages again with his nose. He dropped a knife across the open book to keep the pages open. Halfway through the afternoon, he leaned back in his chair and napped for forty minutes. It was nice to be able to fall asleep in the afternoon just when you needed it. Siesta, that was what they called it.

 

Dave accompanied Jack to the prosthetist on Friday afternoon. Jack was excited to be wearing sockets on his stumps for the first time and had some idea of how he would be able to move his arms afterwards. The prosthetist was satisfied and promised that Jack’s first set of prostheses would be waiting for him at the same time next week.

 

They all went out together on Saturday morning with the intent of buying enough alcohol to float a small boat. Trevor and Dave both liked a drink but had not had liquor at home for many weeks. Jack liked a tipple now and then but usually stuck to beer. They bought no beer but three litres of vodka, two of whisky and a bottle each of rum and gin. Now when they asked what their guest would like to drink, they could be fairly sure of having the makings. Jack insisted he help and Dave let him borrow a small rucksack which easily took four bottles. Jack was pleased to be able to hold the rucksack on with his stumps. Dave bought a selection of what he called finger food which could easily be dumped into bowls and served. They would not soon run out of meatballs or cheesy nuggets.

 

They had lunch in a local kebab place. Chips and kebab with nondescript salad. It was fresh and easy.

            – With any luck, I’ll be able to feed myself this time next week.

            – It’s quite possible, I suppose. Jack, you have to understand that it takes a while before someone like us gets used to using hooks. They don’t do what you want, like your hands. They’re very complicated pieces of equipment which only work if you control them properly with your shoulders. Have you ever used your shoulders to pick up a fork before? No? Well, your new arms are designed to let you do that but first you have to learn how to do it. So although you may have your arms next Saturday, don’t be too surprised if they don’t seem to do everything you expect of them.

Jack looked to Dave for confirmation.

            – What Trevor says is true, I’m afraid. Your hooks are just tools, metal tools like the ones in your dad’s tool box. You have to know how to use them before you can do much with them. And on top of using hooks, you and Trevor also have to learn to use your elbows. I’m lucky. I still have my own.

            – So are you saying I won’t be able to feed myself?

            – No, just that it will be more difficult at first than you seem to expect. Don’t worry about it, Jack. As long as you keep at it and practise a lot, you’ll be an expert this time next year. But next Saturday, I’m not going to help you any longer until you’ve made a good attempt at using your hooks first. I’ll help if you need it, not if it’s just difficult.

            – I think I understand. It’s probably best if I try things first.

            – Yes, it is. I’m glad you agree. It’s going to be a lot of fun having hooks and tremendously frustrating. The better you get at it, the more fun it is and the less frustrating.

Jack looked at Dave’s earnest face to read his expression and smiled. They were wise words coming from a man whose own hooks still gleamed like new. He would obviously have a lot to learn all at once.

 

The next week dragged by for Jack. Now he knew his new arms and hands were on the way, he wanted them immediately and his impatience frustrated him. He stood in front of the mirror and shook his stumps as if he were brandishing his fists. The stumps moved an inch or so. Everything would become possible if only he had his artificial arms. Why did time pass so slowly? It was four o’clock and he was hungry. He was unable to even make himself a snack.

 

Friday afternoon eventually arrived and Jack was practically spinning in circles with excitement. As soon as Trevor was home, they would be off to the prosthetist and he would come away with his new arms. He heard the sound of steel on aluminium as Trevor tapped in the key code to open the door. Within seconds Jack was in the hall ready. Trevor needed only to throw his jacket around his shoulders, call a cab and they could be off.

            – You look very pleased about something. Are you expecting someone?

            – Stop teasing! I’m so glad to see you.

            – Alright. Wait a moment while I take a slash and we can go.

Trevor took far too long in the bathroom. What was he doing? Even a crap would not take this long. Trevor was writing an email to Jack’s room-mate Aaron to come and pick him up at around eight that evening. They could all escort Jack back to his home with his clothes and dirty laundry and the two bilateral amputees could have their space to themselves again after many weeks of Jack’s presence. He had never been demanding and had never behaved other than a perfect guest but enough was enough. Trevor had slowly become more intimate with Dave over the time they had been hosts and Trevor, for one, was keen to explore their new relationship further. Trevor reappeared and draped Jack’s leather jacket around his shoulders and they left to wait on the street for their ride.

 

            – How are you? Eager to try the arms out, I’m sure. Hello, Trevor. Good to see you again. You’ll be happy to know that your new arms are ready, Jack. Come along to the lab and you can try them on.

Jack almost skipped along, frustrated by the regular but slow footfalls of his legless prosthetist. They entered the lab and McAllen asked them to sit while he fetched the prostheses.

            – Jack, come over here to the bench and we’ll try these on for size. I’ve put a hand on the left and a hook on the right so you can compare them but you can always exchange them for some other terminal devices. Stand still and I’ll help you don them.

Jack swung around with his back to McAllen holding his stumps up. McAllen held the prostheses and fed the sockets over Jack’s stumps. He stood back and looked at the young man with the brand new artificial arms. Jack inspected them, turning his head from side to side, excited to be wearing his new arms for the very first time. McAllen started to make minor adjustments to the harness and ordered Jack to extend his arms and to shrug his shoulders. He made gradual adjustments to the dual cable system which allowed Jack to move either his elbow joints or his terminal devices. Jack knew well enough the theory behind prosthetic arms for a double above  elbow amputee but was finding the reality rather more novel. It was difficult. McAllen concentrated next on the hook on his right arm. With the elbow locked somehow, Jack practised opening and moving the hook. It closed of its own volition as soon as tension was released. The hook carried only two rubber bands to make testing easy.

 

Four would be necessary before the hook was practical. The hook opened effortlessly and Jack thought that this was simplicity itself. Later, with more rubber bands added to increase the hook's utility, he would almost weep with frustration and fatigue. Operating his hooks, doing the work of his elbows, wrists and fingers with only shoulder movements would be exhausting. But that would come later. Jack was currently happy to have arms, something he could wear inside the sleeves of his leather jacket.

 

            – Just keep practising those movements as often as you can. Stretch and hold, then relax. Do you remember what we practised?

            – Yes, I think so. I can understand the reason for the exercises.

            – Good. It’s quite simple. The more you practise, even if you don’t always succeed, the better you will be able to use your new hands. I don’t really have anything more to tell you. Thank you for coming this evening. I hope you learn quickly, Jack. Keep it up and I’ll see you again before long, I expect. And thank you Trevor for helping out. I’m sure it will be invaluable help.

            – It’s a pleasure. Bye. See you.

 

Aaron arrived shortly before eight. Trevor and Jack had been home for an hour and Jack had already requested that his artificial hand be removed in favour of the second hook. Dave helped him and the pair of artificial hands rested on the kitchen table.

            – Sounds like there’s someone at the door, Jack. Would you get it, please?

Jack walked with both arms held out at ninety degrees and pressed the lock release button. He pulled the door open and faced his flatmate, who stood silent, looking at Jack’s new hooks.

            – Come in, Aaron. It’s alright. They won’t bite.

Trevor came to greet his guest and indicated where Aaron could leave his jacket.

            – It’s good to meet you at last, Aaron. I’m Trevor and my flatmate is Dave.

Trevor extended his right arm and Aaron shook the proffered hook.

            – Let’s go and sit down. We have a few things to discuss but let’s have a drink first. What would you like?

            – Do you have gin and tonic?

            – We do indeed. Dave! Two G&Ts. Jack, what do you want?

            – A neat vodka, please.

            – And a vodka neat, Dave!  Come on. Let’s sit down.

Dave brought them their drinks and one for himself. He held out his right hook for Aaron to shake.

            – You’ve all lost your hands!

            – That’s right but we think of it as having got hooks. We’re fine with it. And pretty soon, Jack is going to be fine with it, too. But he’s just a novice and is going to need a little bit of help to get started. Do you think you could lend him a hand for a few weeks if he needs some help with something?

            – Yes, I suppose so.

            – Good. First of all I think Jack should give you a demonstration of his new arms and you can ask as many questions as you like. Stand up, Jack, and tell us about your new arms.

            – Well, you can see that they both go all the way up my arms. And they’re held on by these straps across my back. It’s called a harness and I have to put the arms on first thing before I can do anything.

            – Why don’t you try taking them off and putting them on again so Aaron understands?

            – Alright.

Jack lifted his arms high above his head and the harness rode up. He twisted his upper body to loosen the harness and ducked his head, bringing his arms forward. The harness mussed his hair and dropped over his head. He shook his left stump until the socket loosened and caught it by the straps. He loosened the right socket and his new arms hung, twisting slowly, from the left stump.

            – And to put them back on again, I have to put the arms on a table first and straighten out the harness.

            He took the arms to the table, lowered them and bent down to straighten them with his stumps.

            – Come and see, Aaron. Look at my stumps. They’re what’s left of my arms. They fit into these black sockets, see?

            – Do they hurt?

            – No, not any more. They were sore at first but that didn’t last long. Sometimes it feels like I still have the rest of my arms even thought they’re not there. Anyway, here is how I put my arms on.

Jacks scrabbled with his stumps, rearranging the harness. He fed his arms through the loops and inserted his stumps into the sockets. He raised his arms and ducked his head again, trying to get the harness to fall over his shoulders and across his back. After three attempts, he succeeded.

            – That’s the awkward part. Now my arms are on and ready to use.

The arms had straightened and hung lifeless from Jack’s shoulders. He shrugged and twisted a few times to seat his harness more comfortably and looked at Aaron to read his expression.

            – I don’t really need help with getting these on and off but sometimes it would be easier if you could just lift the harness up for me. There’s a metal ring in the middle of my back, see it? If you just lift it up over my head, I can get the arms off really easily.

            – I can do that. So how do you move the arms without elbows?

            – I only have my shoulders now to control the elbows and the hooks. Oh, I have some hands as well. I’ll show you in a minute.

            – Actually, Jack, it would be good if you showed Aaron how to change your hooks and hands because that’s something that we all struggle with. Maybe Aaron could put your hands on for you a bit later.

            – So I have these cables connected to my harness around the back, you see? And they go to the lower part of the arm, the pink bit and all the way down to the hooks. You see how it’s connected? And to raise my arm, I have to tighten one cable first by stretching my shoulders…

He demonstrated.

            – … and then I have to lock the elbow, like this, and now I can operate the hook – open it up to grab something. It closes by itself, you see. It has rubber bands around it, can you see? Sometimes they need to be changed and that’s something else which is difficult for us to do.

            – We’ll show you that a bit later, Aaron. All hooks work more or less the same way. Dave has slightly different ones from Jack but mine are the same at the moment.

Jack’s arm was bent at about thirty degrees and he lifted it up so Aaron could see the hook better. He stretched his arm forward slowly and the hook opened.

            – And that’s how my arms work. Now all I need to do is get used to using them.

            – And the more you practise, the better you’ll get.

            – It’s quite interesting really. I’ve never seen anyone with hooks before except on tv.

            – And all of a sudden there are three of us! Well, come and enjoy your drink. Jack, see if you can manage your drink. Take it easy. Remember what you’ve just explained to Aaron. Forearm first, then hook. Then forearm again.

Jack sat down next to Dave and leaned across to pick up his glass. Dave immediately spotted a problem.

            – That won’t work, Jack. You hook is pointing the wrong way. You need to twist the fingers so they point up.

            – Oh yeah.

Jack used his other hook to twist it around. Getting the hooks into a position where he could attempt it took half a minute.

            – Well done. That’s one of the things that you always have to bear in mind, mate. Later on you’ll only need to glance at your hooks to see if you need to alter the position.

Jack shrugged and jerked his forearm forward and locked it. He leaned across the coffee table again and pushed his arm out so the hook opened. He carefully moved his upper body to envelope the glass with the hook and allowed it to close.

            – Now be careful, Jack. You need to operate the elbow only. If you operate the hook by accident you’ll drop the glass.

            – Yeah, I know. I think I’m alright.

With the drink resting on the table, Jack stretched his shoulders and the forearm rose, holding his drink. He brought it as close to his face as he could and craned his neck so his lips touched the glass. He leaned back and tasted his vodka.

            – Well done, Jack. That’s what you call beginner’s luck.

Jack beamed and lowered his forearm but held onto the glass. He finished his drink in a few minutes and sat back, opening and closing his hooks.

            – So what do you think, Aaron? If Jack comes home with you tonight, will you feel comfortable helping him until he gets used to his arms?

            – Yes, I think so. Seeing you using your arms so well makes it seem like Jack will soon be able to fend for himself. I don’t mind helping now and then.

            – That’s good of you. There are a few things which are always difficult for us which makes it all the more important to have someone we can trust who understands. I think you’ll be surprised how quickly Jack learns to take care of himself, though. He might have to do things in a different manner but that’s only to be expected. Right! Who’s hungry?

 

They partied on until midnight when Aaron began to make noises about having to get home. Aaron had been shown how to exchange Jack’s hooks for the fake hands and he helped Jake get his arms into his leather jacket. Jack stood for a moment admiring himself in the mirror with the slightly odd hands on display. Aaron picked up his rucksack of clothes and waited while Jake hugged his hosts.

            – Come round on Sunday morning, Jack and we’ll go through a few things.

            – I will. Thanks very much for everything. Good night!

They left and walked to Aaron’s flat through streets still thronged with revellers. Jack kept an eye out for anyone he noticed paying attention to his hands but no-one did. Perhaps it would be better to wear the hands at work after all, even though the hooks were far more useful.

 

Dave quickly cleared the living room of empty glasses and they ate the rest of the sandwiches, or petits fours, as Dave called them. They were both pleased that Jack would have someone to rely on but most they felt relief at having the flat back in their own possession. They left the washing up, doffed their arms and jumped into bed to cuddle as best they could with the remnants of their masculine arms.

 

Jack arrived shortly after ten on Sunday. He had changed his clothing. He was wearing a grey hoodie and black sweatpants with white trainers. Trevor guessed that the looser clothes were easier to dress and sweatpants were a better alternative when urinating.

            – I hope you’re set for your first session. What do you have most problems with?

            – It’s difficult to know when my arms are locked before I switch to moving the hooks.

            – Yeah, I had the same problem at first. Let’s work on that, shall we?

Trevor stood facing Jack. He was wearing a singlet. The full extent of his prosthetic arms were on display so Jack could see his movements.

            – You can keep your hoodie on if you want. Right, to start with, I want you to put your arms straight down by your sides. Let’s concentrate on the right arm first, OK? Make sure it’s not locked. What I want you to do is raise it, keep the elbow straight and open the hook. Then drop your arm. Understand? OK, let’s see it.

Jack shrugged to settle his harness more securely and followed Trevor’s instructions. The elbow remained unlocked. Jack repeated the action a dozen times.

            – Next, raise your arm and bend the elbow about thirty degrees and lock it. Then unlock it and drop your arm.

The next exercise was to repeat the previous one but to open the hook with a bent and locked elbow. Trevor watched Jack falter halfway through the motion each time. He had practised hundreds of times making the transition between functions as smooth and inconspicuous as possible. He demonstrated the same action to Jack and pointed out the difference. Jack was quite conscious of it.

            – I want you to try to get rid of the jerk halfway through. Be very conscious of the position of the forearm and your shoulder movements, OK? Try it a dozen times.

Jack obeyed. His forearm halted and locked. Not quite right. Again. And again. Jack began to feel a rhythm to what he was doing and tried to anticipate the locking motion he needed to make. Trevor encouraged him. After fifty attempts, there was an improvement. Jack noticed too and was pleased with the improvement.

            – You’re doing fine. Keep at it. As smooth as possible.

Jack realised that the locking motion could become part of the movement to raise his arm rather than a separate phase. He slowed the pace until he found the action he needed to make and continued with the new method. Gradually, the arm rose and the elbow bent without halting. Trevor looked at Jack’s face, concentrating, determined.

            – Stop now. What do you think?

            – It’s better now, isn’t it?

            – It is. You’re getting it. Do you think you could do the same motion and open the hook at the end? Give it a try.

Jack found that with the elbow already locking as part of the arm’s motion, the hook was available to move immediately. He held it open for a second and let it click shut, moved his arm to unlock the elbow and let his arm drop to his side.

            – It’s like missing out the locking phase.

            – Yup. You’re still doing it but you’re disguising it so it’s not so obvious. It feels better too, doesn’t it?

            – It does. I’m surprised.

            – Well, keep at it.

Jack did as he was told. When Trevor noticed some improvement, he suggested that Jack increase the angle of his elbow to about sixty degrees and to continue to open the hook. After an hour, Jack began practising the same exercises with his left arm. Trevor left him to it and joined Dave in the kitchen who was starting to make a meal for the three of them. It was something Dave called a risotto but it was merely fried pork and onions with a packet of frozen peas emptied into the pan, topped up with three hundred grams of boiled rice. Easy to eat with a fork or spoon. It was part of Jack’s training.

 

In the afternoon, Jack learned how to hold a paperback book and turn the pages and how to handle a sheaf of papers. With the light fading outside, Jack and Trevor sat at a work desk and Jack practised writing the alphabet with a felt-tip pen. At six o’clock, Trevor called a halt to the exercises and offered Jack a beer. Jack was able to reach for the glass and grip it as well as Dave could with his own elbow. It was difficult to tilt the glass and it involved a lot of leaning back but Jack was impressed by his own progress and grateful again to Trevor and Dave for their patience.

 

            – Next week, keep practising those movements until you don’t need to think about what you’re doing. And spend about an hour every day writing, even if it’s just block letters and the same letter over and over again. Don’t throw the papers away – you might like to compare them with what you can do in a month’s time.

            – Thanks ever so much for helping and for a super lunch. I promise to keep practising.

            – Good. I hope you will. Then when you come back to work, you’ll be able to carry on like before but with the prosthetic arms you’ve always wanted. You’ll always be disabled but that’s no reason to be an invalid. Show everyone what you can do.

            – I will. Shall I come around again next weekend?

            – I’ll let you know later in the week.

Jack left and Trevor sat beside Dave.

            – Thanks for being patient. You’ve hardly said a word all day.

            – Well, it’s mainly in my own interest to have Jack back at work able to do his job, isn’t it?

He’s a quick learner though, isn't he?

            – All down to motivation. I think he’ll be OK.

 

Jack returned to work two weeks later. The rest of the staff were astonished that another member of staff returned wielding a pair of hooks. Now there were three members of staff like that. Jack was actually enjoying his prosthetics. Trevor’s useful advice had paid off, along with many hours of continual practise. Jack was almost infatuated with the image he presented – a young, good-looking guy rocking a pair of hooks. Thanks to the team effort, Jack was several months ahead of where a typical bilateral amputee might expect to be. He used his hooks openly and unselfconsciously, letting people admire him for his prowess. The customers he met were fascinated by the way he conducted himself and tremendously impressed when he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a pen and used it to sign a paper. Jack knew he was making a good impression which he would be able to build on in the future.

 

As the months passed, Trevor began to feel a familiar yearning, a niggling dissatisfaction with everyday life. He had settled into a familiar routine, spiced up by his prosthetic arms for sure, but his desire to lose his right leg began to intensify. He was thirty-two years old and wanted to achieve his ideal body while he could still enjoy his stumps as a comparatively young man. As far as being one-legged with an artificial leg was concerned, he had already squandered a decade. He could have walked on a prosthesis since he left school, in fact. No more compulsory athletics or rugger. Just the distinctive, comforting limp of a prosthetic leg with its rigid ankle and foot, and its smooth and shiny surface. It played on his mind more and more often every day.

            – I think I’m going to do something about my leg stump.

            – Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re going to go through yet another amputation! Haven’t you had enough yet?

            – I can’t help it. I’m not complete. I still have both legs and I only want one. And that’s only to help propel a prosthetic leg. I want a leg stump more than anything else right now. It’s taking up all my thoughts. I can't concentrate on anything at work because I’m just imagining having a thigh stump. I wish Roman was still around.

            – Well, he’ll be out of it for another couple of decades, I reckon. What are you going to do? Surely not the tourniquet method?

            – No. I don’t think it would even work. I’m going to use the railway method but I’m going to need your help. I dare not do it alone. It’s going to be a fairly drastic procedure but if I had an assistant, I reckon it might work.

            – And you want me to help.

            – Yeah. You could call an ambulance and apply a tourniquet or something.

            – Yeah, I could. So where is this going to take place?

            – I thought about a shunting yard somewhere, you know, where they run carriages and wagons back and forth to make up the trains.    

            – And what would we be doing in a place like that?

            – Taking a shortcut. Instead of detouring around a load of houses.

            – OK, where?

            – I don’t know yet. I’ll look into it. But would you be willing to help me get a stump?

            – I suppose so. Alright, I’ll help. But you have to work out the when and where, alright?

 

Trevor discovered a shunting yard used by Eastern Rail just south-east of Leyton. It was a passenger train depôt and encircled by Victorian residential areas. It had been the scene of many accidents, involving both railway staff and the general public who tried to cross the shunting yard despite abundant notices to Keep Out. Trevor planned his accident meticulously, learning of regular traffic on various lines and finally chose a date away from holidays, pressure at work and weekend casualties.

            – Tomorrow evening. Straight after work. Instead of coming home, I’m going to jump on the tube and go to Leyton and get the job done. Coming with me?

            – I guess I’ll have to.

            – Good. That’s what we’ll do. And by this time on Friday, I should have my third stump, the one I’ve wanted all my life.

 

It was dark by the time they left the tube station in Leyton. The mainline trains ran parallel to the local tracks and the marshalling yard was squeezed in between two roads lined with Victorian houses. It was fenced off with chicken wire which youngsters continually tore open in order to save a quarter mile detour. The amputees soon found such a hole to climb through. Dave took note of the name of the road for the ambulance call. Trevor knew exactly where he needed to go. On weekdays, there was a set of four passenger coaches waiting for a complement of two extra carriages before it was coupled to a passenger locomotive and backed into Liverpool Street for a run later in the evening to Ipswich. Trevor’s plan was to conceal himself until the shunter pushed the two carriages ahead of it for coupling to the existing train. He would position himself so that the rear two axles of one carriage and the first two of the second would pass over his right leg just above his knee. It should ensure complete severance of all tissue and leave a surgeon no possible alternative other than a mid-thigh amputation. Dave knew what the plan was and had all possible necessary equipment in his pockets. He would need to work fast and hope that his hooks were up to the job.

 

Trevor was feeling fairly high. He had taken two of the tablets from the same packet which Jack had used during his process. The painkiller not only acted to reduce discomfort, it also removed caution and anxiety. Trevor was elated when they saw the extra carriages being pushed by a short locomotive through a series of points. When they reached the same stretch of track, Trevor hopped into position. He lay alongside the rail and after seeing the first bogie pass him, opened his thighs. Dave knelt on his chest to prevent him from moving and a second later, Trevor’s femur cracked under the weight of the first wheel. The second severed it completely. The third split his trouser leg and the fourth finished the job. Trevor’s lower leg, still in his jeans, lay between the rails as his eyes bulged with shock. Dave clicked hold of his phone and tapped the Emergency Call button.

            – I need an ambulance immediately to Station Road shunting yard. Someone’s been run over by a train and lost his leg.

            – An ambulance is on its way. Make sure someone can flag it down on the street.

Dave pulled Trevor away from the track and wrapped a length of rope around his upper thigh. It was impossible to tell what effect it had in the darkness. Dave left his friend and went back to the street. The engine driver jumped out of his locomotive and strolled down the track on the opposite side of the train to see to the coupling. Trevor remained unseen and he returned to his cabin. The train of six carriages moved slowly over Trevor’s severed limb and the ambulance arrived.

 

Medics applied a proper tourniquet and carried Trevor to the ambulance. After a brief appraisal, Trevor underwent an amputation of his right femur, leaving him with very slightly more than half his thigh. The stump was closed and tightly wrapped, the patient taken to a ward to begin recovery. His arm prostheses were in a locker near the operating theatre.

 

Dave was left on Station Road and watched the ambulance speed away into the evening traffic. He made his way home and drank most of a bottle of vodka.

 

Trevor arrived home in a taxi twenty-five days later. He fumbled with his axillary crutches, his hooks not quite suitable for handling the crossbars. The driver waited until his passenger was upright and drove slowly away. Trevor approached the door of his building and waited until someone left before he could enter. He rode to the fifth floor, poked in the key code and made his way inside. Pushing the door shut with the crutch tip, he went to the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa where he slept, waiting for Dave to return. He hated being one-legged on crutches and was frustrated by the time it would take for him to acquire a prosthetic leg. That would finally make him the man he had always imagined himself to be.

 

            – Are you pleased with yourself now? How do you like the new stump?

            – It’s pretty much what I wanted. Thanks for giving me a hand.

            – You’re welcome. So when will you be back at work?

            – Oh, I was going to tell you about that. I had a letter waiting for me. They want to terminate my employment for being absent for too long and for a few other things relating to efficiency and work standards. To tell you the truth, I’m just about ready to accept their severance offer. I’ve been thinking about another line of work which one of my mates has put me on to.

            – What’s that?

            – Modelling. I’m going to be a disabled model. Apparently they’re all the rage these days. I know someone who can get me onto the schedule and maybe I’ll be able to forge a career as a catwalk model, showing off my artificial leg, swinging a pair of hooks or fake hands.

            – That sounds great. So when might this be happening?

            – Well, obviously I have to get my new leg first and then I have to leave Ninety-Six but I’d imagine that I’d be logged in with the other amputees who get called out for modelling jobs .

            – I’d like to see you modelling swimwear without your arms. Just a leg pros.

            – That’s exactly the sort of thing they’re after. I’m not bad looking for thirty-three, am I? I reckon I’d have a good few years in me yet before I start losing my good looks, such as they are, and after that I could still be used in advertising for niche products. It all pays pretty well.

            – Yeah, I reckon you’d be on to something.

 

He was. His already handsome beard was trimmed, emphasizing his broad, thick moustache which was trained into a trademark handlebar. His prosthetic arms were replaced with another pair, which not only looked natural but were equipped with prosthetic sleeves bearing curly hair. Only the cabling to operate his realistic hands hinted at the fact that the handsome man with the artificial leg was also missing both arms. Trevor became famous through a series of posters for summerwear, one of which showed him in a striped sailor shirt with his arm stumps spread wide and with ripped knee-length jeans exposing his hairy leg and a wooden peg leg attached to his right thigh. His beautiful smile and the enviable moustache made it one of the great advertising campaigns of the late Thirties. Trevor not only had the body which he wanted, he had a body which millions of other men around the world admired and envied. All the pain had been worth it.

 

T R E V O R