Read Online By My Side by Alice Peterson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alice Peterson
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perches on the end of my bed. ‘OK. What’s worrying you most about being away?’
I chew my lip. ‘I don’t want to have an accident, Mum. I’m nervous.’
‘I understand,’ Mum says. ‘But if you have any kind of problem, you must talk to someone. Also, darling, they’ll make sure you have plenty of breaks during the training so you can have something to eat or go to the bathroom. Try not to worry.’
‘Um.’
‘You can always call home if you need us, too,’ she continues. ‘But don’t ring after nine.’ She nudges me. ‘You know what your old dad and I are like, falling asleep in front of the TV. Seven thirty isn’t a good time either because it’s
EastEnders
and it’s getting to a juicy part.’
I nudge her back. ‘So that leaves me a free slot at eight?’
‘Oh, Cass, you know you can call any time. Now, you won’t forget to pack your alarm clock, will you? You won’t have me knocking at your door.’
Dad runs upstairs with my mobile. ‘It’s Guy,’ he says, handing it to me. Mum leaves, telling me she’ll be back in five minutes, otherwise the fish pie will burn.
‘Wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow, Princess.’
I twist a strand of my hair. ‘Thanks.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s two weeks, Guy.’
‘You survived four months in hospital with Perky and me so you can survive fourteen days with a cute dog.’
I breathe deeply.
‘Look, it’s all you’ve been banging on about recently. Ticket this … Ticket that. You’ll regret it if you don’t go.’
He’s right. Of course I would.
‘You can do it,’ he says. ‘Besides, Ticket would never forgive you if he gets landed with that Trevor bloke because you couldn’t be bothered to show up.’ Trevor is one of the other applicants.
I laugh now. ‘Since when did you become so wise?’
‘Always have been, just hidden it well. So, what are you waiting for? You go get that dog, Princess.’
10
It’s the first morning of the training course and I’m having breakfast with the rest of the group. Unlike last night, we’re far too nervous to talk or eat because finally we find out which dog we’re going to train for the remainder of the course and take home afterwards. Last night Lindsey had warned us again that occasionally it doesn’t work out the way we think, but that she’ll make sure we are all happy with the dog we’re matched with.
Sitting opposite me is Jenny. Jenny is in her fifties and has a rare disease where the brain sends the wrong messages to the muscles. She has short silvery grey hair, wears glasses and loose clothing and looks as if the slightest breeze could blow her over.
Tom sits at the end of the table; he was born with cerebral palsy. It’s hard to understand what he says because his speech is badly affected. He desperately wants to communicate but the disease fights against him to make sure no words come out. However, he did manage to tell me that I was as pretty as Michelle Pfeiffer. I could feel myself blush, surprised by how lovely it was to be given such a compliment. Tom is twenty years old and is studying for a broadcasting degree at Leeds University. He wants to be a journalist or radio producer. His small pale hands are contorted and look painful. He writes his essays with a head pointer that fastens around his forehead. ‘What … do … you do?’ he’d asked me, when we first met.
‘Nothing,’ I said, before adding, ‘I used to study medicine.’ I think of Sarah, now in her final year at King’s. Was I wrong to give it all up?
Then there’s Alex who lives in London. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. ‘Don’t you want to give people a right old slap when they ask what’s wrong with you? I feel like turning round and asking what’s wrong with them, you know? It’s like a family tree, yeah, with us cripples in our own little box and the rest of them branching off into who married who and whatever. Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with me;
I chew my lip. ‘I don’t want to have an accident, Mum. I’m nervous.’
‘I understand,’ Mum says. ‘But if you have any kind of problem, you must talk to someone. Also, darling, they’ll make sure you have plenty of breaks during the training so you can have something to eat or go to the bathroom. Try not to worry.’
‘Um.’
‘You can always call home if you need us, too,’ she continues. ‘But don’t ring after nine.’ She nudges me. ‘You know what your old dad and I are like, falling asleep in front of the TV. Seven thirty isn’t a good time either because it’s
EastEnders
and it’s getting to a juicy part.’
I nudge her back. ‘So that leaves me a free slot at eight?’
‘Oh, Cass, you know you can call any time. Now, you won’t forget to pack your alarm clock, will you? You won’t have me knocking at your door.’
Dad runs upstairs with my mobile. ‘It’s Guy,’ he says, handing it to me. Mum leaves, telling me she’ll be back in five minutes, otherwise the fish pie will burn.
‘Wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow, Princess.’
I twist a strand of my hair. ‘Thanks.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s two weeks, Guy.’
‘You survived four months in hospital with Perky and me so you can survive fourteen days with a cute dog.’
I breathe deeply.
‘Look, it’s all you’ve been banging on about recently. Ticket this … Ticket that. You’ll regret it if you don’t go.’
He’s right. Of course I would.
‘You can do it,’ he says. ‘Besides, Ticket would never forgive you if he gets landed with that Trevor bloke because you couldn’t be bothered to show up.’ Trevor is one of the other applicants.
I laugh now. ‘Since when did you become so wise?’
‘Always have been, just hidden it well. So, what are you waiting for? You go get that dog, Princess.’
10
It’s the first morning of the training course and I’m having breakfast with the rest of the group. Unlike last night, we’re far too nervous to talk or eat because finally we find out which dog we’re going to train for the remainder of the course and take home afterwards. Last night Lindsey had warned us again that occasionally it doesn’t work out the way we think, but that she’ll make sure we are all happy with the dog we’re matched with.
Sitting opposite me is Jenny. Jenny is in her fifties and has a rare disease where the brain sends the wrong messages to the muscles. She has short silvery grey hair, wears glasses and loose clothing and looks as if the slightest breeze could blow her over.
Tom sits at the end of the table; he was born with cerebral palsy. It’s hard to understand what he says because his speech is badly affected. He desperately wants to communicate but the disease fights against him to make sure no words come out. However, he did manage to tell me that I was as pretty as Michelle Pfeiffer. I could feel myself blush, surprised by how lovely it was to be given such a compliment. Tom is twenty years old and is studying for a broadcasting degree at Leeds University. He wants to be a journalist or radio producer. His small pale hands are contorted and look painful. He writes his essays with a head pointer that fastens around his forehead. ‘What … do … you do?’ he’d asked me, when we first met.
‘Nothing,’ I said, before adding, ‘I used to study medicine.’ I think of Sarah, now in her final year at King’s. Was I wrong to give it all up?
Then there’s Alex who lives in London. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. ‘Don’t you want to give people a right old slap when they ask what’s wrong with you? I feel like turning round and asking what’s wrong with them, you know? It’s like a family tree, yeah, with us cripples in our own little box and the rest of them branching off into who married who and whatever. Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with me;
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