Chapter 33 Dangerously Healthy by Malcolm Birkenshaw

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Chapter 33.

The radiators began to warm up. All those years wedded to
Lena with sex as jolly as being on the dole, sort of once a
fortnight if one applied in good time except that, like a political
party once the election is over, all promises were subject to
cutbacks.

Other things were different too. Isabel was open, gave without
counting the cost or keeping a tally. Perhaps this is what women are
really like. Would I have known more about girls had my childhood
been different? Would a mixed school have helped?

`I don't see why everyone else should have Yorkshire pudding,'
she said one day after lunch. `I'll get some gluten-free flour next
time I'm in town.'

`It's very expensive.'

`Not if you know somebody who used to use it, like I do.'

Her parents were similarly generous, always welcoming often
with a bottle of wine waiting. We went there for lunch once a week,
though before we ate it was politic to tour the garden, see where
the vegetables and herbs for the lunch had been grown, and admire
the herbaceous borders about which I knew nothing. He had spent his
best years killing the enemy by the score. Now he was creating
life, though was more comfortable with plants which could be trained
to remain upright, especially when their rows were planted in
platoons.

Finally there was the pond, that was more me. `My movement
seems to have scared your fish,' I apologised.

`I do not have any fish.'

`Oh.' What do I say next?

`Damned heron. I got up early one morning, early as usual, and
caught the bounder stamping up and down on the water lilies until it
panicked them into escaping, which is the last thing the poor
blighters did. Ate the damned lot, blast it.'

`A kind of condemned fishes' last meal, from a bird's point of
view,' I muttered.

`What, what?'

`Just wondering how to hide the fish from its view.'

`Can't be done, can't be done.'

`You could, of course, get a plastic heron.'

`A plastic heron!' his back straightened until steel girder
rigid.

`Well, it would keep the real herons away, and you could again
have fish.'

`Plastic herons! They're worse than garden gnomes,' he towered,
though I could tell by the ripples running through his moustache
that a heron, perhaps one of concrete, was an idea he could think up
for himself once we had gone.

`Oh,' I looked up, deciding it safer to find something to
divert the conversation, just as a gaggle of house martins swooped
round the old stables, claiming last year's homes. They were back,
they were back, the house martins had returned. Would they or the
spiders get that fly which had spent its winter circling Isabel's
ceiling?

By summer there were flies everywhere so it was impossible to
know. `Probably great, great grandchildren of that fly I was
forbidden to kill.'

`Martin, don't be cruel,' Isabel laughed, whilst Claire took
her side, the children having become an extended family for much of
the time.

`Do you think you could put up with someone having M.S.?' I
asked Isabel one late Saturday night. `Permanently, that is?'

She smiled, thinking a discrete time before whispering, `Only
if I go to university for some qualifications in case you become
ill?'

`I won't, but you should,' I agreed, dismissing thoughts of my
health failing as we pushed the settee nearer the fire.

`Everything seems to be a very good idea,' we both agreed, many
times that night, following which I cycled home, pedalling on air,
butterflies at dawn rising over my shoulders, just like a teenager
again.

Across distant fields, through the slumbering mist, carried the
sounds of rooks cawing. They were wasting their beaks, their black
days were past, today was inviolate and fresh whilst forgotten
emotions blossomed. Would I ever sleep again?

`This is Mrs Mytholmroyd,' Isabel introduced my mother to her
parents, my prospective in-laws, several weeks later.

`How do you do,' Mother held out her hand, resisting the
temptation to curtsy. `You were an officer, in the guards? How
nice, how very interesting.' I could see her eyes swelling, his
picture centre position on the Welsh dresser. `At Buckingham
Palace? Only a small sherry, thank you, I don't really drink,' she
was beginning to worry about royal etiquette and as to whether she
should remove her hat for the meal. `Oh, you've got a dog, how
nice,' she hid her ankles in case it had fleas.

I never noticed anyone pressing for the date to be fixed, not
unless it was brought up during one of those conversations between
mother and mother or mother and daughter in the kitchen, that
Masonic lodge of womanhood where their legs were bared and secrets
shared. Perhaps our parents knew their children too well.

Isabel and I left it for fate to direct us, filling in time at
parties and friends whilst fortune, which had served me so well in
the past, secretly began to build up a backlog of problems.

During that cycle ride at daybreak those rooks had been feeding
their fledglings. Now the first fledgling flew from its nest and I
was fined for parking in Ponteby.

`Idiots,' I swore when the summons arrived, `They've fined me
for parking in the Princess after I had started driving the Fiat.'

But the fledgling returned with a bigger fine for my refusing
to tell them who was driving the Princess.

`Dear sirs, you tell me who was driving it. I'd like to know
how they did it. I couldn't get the damned thing to start, that's
why I'm now driving an old Fiat.'

The fledgling's wings were now strong and its papers were
accompanied with copy of a sworn affidavit from a traffic warden,
together with an even larger fine for still refusing to tell them
who was driving the Princess.

Be buggered if I was going to be beaten by a rook. But it came
back a fourth time, together with a statement from the D.V.L.C.
Swansea, plus a much, much bigger fine for being the registered owner
of the Princess and for still refusing to tell them who was driving
it.

Then one of the other fledglings took to the air, bringing a
letter from Hadzik. `Your wife wants her half of the house. She is
not prepared to wait. She also refers to your health.'

`She already knows I'd pay her if I had it. This pressure is
intended to get me out of the house, in a wheelchair,' I said,
having rushed to see him.

`She does not believe you. If the children are persuaded to
leave she can have you evicted.'

That hurt, using the children as pawns. `Can't she wait a bit
longer, she's already bought a new house using the money she's been
stashing away.'

`Your wife was compelled to borrow the deposit from her
mother.'

`That's to make it look good. I've seen her bank and building
society books.'

`She denies it. She's instructing her solicitor to press for
possession of the house. Surely you must have some source of money?
An interim offer might get them off my back,' he swung round in his
chair, dealing with other papers whilst I made up my mind.

I winced. The rooks had got me pecked up against the wall. This
was like a crook's charter, an old boys' network, obviously Hadzik
did not believe me.

I left his office furious at being disbelieved, and also
desolate that a solution did not exist, only for a third rook to
have struck whilst I was up in his office, my Fiat being booked for
being parked on a single yellow line.

“Dear Chief Constable,
The car that I left was displaying my orange Mobility badge
and was parked correctly in an area reserved for disabled.”

The police ignored this letter. You're not going to catch me
that way, I thought, as I saw time running out. I'll telephone them
tomorrow. The rooks must have been crowing when the desk sergeant
recommended that I should pay the money or risk an even bigger fine
plus administration costs.

Next, rook number four, an instalment for my household rates
was not paid on time. The Council ignored my letter, returned my
cheque, and issued a distress warrant for their bailiff to distrain
on my goods and chattels for the full amount demanded plus costs.

`The rest of the year's rates all in one? All I've got is a
disabled pension,' I explained when I called at their thick-carpeted
offices.

`That's your problem, sir.'

It was a problem, and so was the return of rook number one with
another non-payment of fine in respect of the Princess, plus notice
that a warrant for my arrest would be issued within seven days.

Ah, I thought, smiling confidently as I wrote another letter,
that is where the rooks have finally come unstuck,

“Dear Social Security,

They are intending to arrest me over an incorrect parking
fine despite the fact that I am looking after my children.”

The rooks must have preened their ragged rotten feathers when a
social security officer sent the reply: Let us know when they
arrive to arrest you and we'll arrange for your children to be taken
into care.‘

Bloody hell. That was the final blow, the casting of mustard
seeds having repeatedly failed to bear fruit. There was no way out,
even my health might start to crumble if I did not take care.

`What can we do?' Isabel asked.

`I don't know,' I shrugged my shoulders, then decided to take
personal control over matters instead of relying solely in faith.
`At least fitness is one problem I know how to deal with. I'll go
cycling, just like I did after being in hospital.'

Against the winds I fought, and sixteen miles later I limped
back into the kitchen. Isabel smiled, she had often seen me return
in that state. `Do you feel any better?' she asked, expecting me to
recover whilst she was preparing the meal.

`No,' I shook my head, a shaft of darkness escaping whilst
rooks circled. `Damn,' I gripped my fists, refusing to let the
light be blocked from my spirit, determined to smash myself back to
full health, `I'll try going swimming this evening, on the way
back to Adderton after giving you a lift home. That should do the
trick.'

But that black bolt of lightning struck again after the
swimming tired me out. Even a night's sleep did little to help and
next morning I was still in bed when the telephone rang, `Wait,
don't stop ringing,' I held out my hand, staggering to reach it.

`How are you now?' It was Isabel, cheerful as ever, wondering
if my legs had improved. `Will I be seeing you later this morning?'

`I'm sorry,' I answered, hesitating a while before telling her
the truth. `The only way I can get around is by walking along the
walls.'

`Walking along walls!' she exclaimed, her voice showing
panic. `What's wrong, have you fallen?'

`No. I'm just too weak. Feels a bit like flu, very bad flu, but
not exactly. I suppose it might be M.S., although I've never been
as poorly as this before.' The line fell silent, there was nothing
more we could say.

Tractors put put putted along the lane, heading late for the
fields. I made a beaker of tea and returned to the bedroom, all
having become silent, except for the whine of a gearbox as a bus
wormed its way through the village. `Hi,' the door opened, it was
Isabel, she had caught the next bus to Adderton. `What would you
like to eat?' she wedged onto the edge of my bed, leaned across,
opened her arms, gave me a kiss.

`Nothing, thanks,' I mumbled, hanging onto the kiss. `Don't
take offence, but I'm not hungry. In fact I'd rather stay like
this,' my arms tightening weakly about her whilst I felt too poorly
for food.

`I'll phone the doctor,' she whispered, making an effort to
wriggle away.

`He'll be busy, give him another minute,' I pulled her back, my
spirits lifting, and ran my hands over her shoulders, following the
curves of her back. `Just checking.'

She snuggled closer. `I... think... the... doctor... should...
be... called,' punctuating each word with a kiss.

`Never, mind, the, doctor. They're, coming, to, arrest, me,
in,....'

`What!' she thrust her head back, pushing away with her arms,
parting our chests.

`They're coming to arrest me in a couple of days for not paying
that fine,' my grip slackened, feeling the shape of her arms.

`You're too greedy. Doctor first,' she brushed the creases out
of her skirt.

First call after surgery the doctor arrived, stethoscope poking
out of his pocket. `Yes, definitely,' he confirmed, `It is your
multiple sclerosis,' closing his bag, unable to prescribe anything.
`Just rest, that's the best thing to do.'

Damn him, I held my breath, furious that he had finally proved
me wrong. I'll show him, I'll show him I'm right, I'll recover
again.

Isabel accompanied him to the door, exchanging words in the
kitchen like doctors do. Why the hell is the patient not told, they
are the one who is having to battle?

`It's sunny outside,' Isabel returned and blew me a kiss. `He's
told you to rest. I'll help you into the garden. Try relaxing on
your sunbed until Claire gets home,' she tidied the bed to save me a
job. `I'd like to stay, but the new term has started, Zena will be
wondering where I've gone. When I get home I'll ring the social
services,' she left me with a parting embrace and ran for the bus.

The air was still, I settled down, watching a blackbird hopping in
and out beneath the hedge with a beak filled with food for the chicks.
It was the kind of weather sun worshippers thrive upon, I thought,
remembering how I loved heat. Then I thought again, realising that I
must be ill, the sun was not helping, in fact I was becoming worse.
I crawled back to the house, hauling myself like a walrus onto the
bed.

Next morning Claire made breakfast before leaving for work.
`I'm setting off now. John,' she called up the stairs, `Your
scrambled egg will be cold if you don't get up soon.'

`Cheerio,' I raised my head.

`Cheerio, Dad,' she raced for the bus.

John, left to his own devices, surprisingly was soon ready for
school. `Bye,' he spluttered, gulping down the rest of his egg.

Strange, I thought, him following Claire's instructions. `Just
a minute, let's have a look at that bulge in your pocket,' I called
him back. He grimaced, pulling a tennis ball free. `Leave that
here,' I dangled my hand from the bed, `I don't want you playing
football in the road.'

Good lad, not complaining, obviously he realised that I was
ill. `Just a minute,' I shouted after his shadow when I saw the
speed with which he was escaping, his undeclared pocket also having
a bulge.

Too late, damn, he had raced into the village where the first
boys to arrive crammed into a telephone box, waiting for the school
bus to arrive, whilst the girls sheltered opposite inside the Jolly
Poacher's urinals.

Damn, damn, damn I struggled along the wall hoping to be in
time to call him back when there was a tap, tap, tap and a `Hello,'
as a woman's voice poked round the kitchen door. She was a social
worker. `We've received an urgent telephone call, so I've come to
see what help you require.'

She stayed an hour, making notes, filling in forms, copying
details of the legal actions which were eating into my health. `You
should be receiving mobility benefit,' she said, sifting through the
files in her brief case for an application form. `Send this off
before next time I see you.'

I never discovered what happened in her office. She might have
waved a fairy wand because every summons was scrapped now that I had
been accepted into the security system. My health lifted a notch, no
longer under black stress.

Isabel still came to Adderton, but not as often whilst I was
unable to give her a lift. `I'm starting university next month,' she
showed me her papers and looked slightly worried, `Are the social
services providing a home help? I won't be able to cook for you once
term begins.

`They've already been, although I've told them things won't
recover unless I get myself moving. I've got this book of exercises
for people with multiple sclerosis from ARMS.'

`ARMS?'

`Yes, the charity for which I cycled to London to raise funds.'

`Do you think it will work?'

`WHAT will?'

`The book of exercises.'

`Stand back, just watch, look at the way I'm walking again.'

By the time Isabel started at Hull university - where I had
graduated despite those attacks of M.S. twenty years earlier - I was
well enough to drive her the fifty miles there, and walk round my
old haunts with but a slight limp.

`We're all having trouble with the work that's been set,'
Isabel said on the way home.

`Let's have a look,' I said when we arrived at her house and
dug out my spectacles to read the fine print. From now on she was
intending to travel each day on the train.

`You didn't do philosophy.'

`No, but I've read logic and scientific method of thinking,'
I said, dictating my reasoning in detail. She impressed the
lecturers, leaving the other students struggling.

We continued to spend weekends together, and evenings whenever
possible, but friction was growing over Claire. Two women under the
same roof syndrome. Is that what it is? I remained puzzled, for
Claire was still but a youngster, obviously suffering from nerves
going by the way her hands shook on occasions, whilst Isabel was an
adult who was issuing hints to tempt about a large sum of wealth she
had in the pipeline.

`There was no talk about money being involved when we started,'
I snapped, refusing to take sides. `We've struggled this far,
salvaging a family. I'm not going to sell my daughter for thirty
pieces of silver.' Besides, having been freed from one rookery of
stress, I was not prepared to go nesting if that meant starting with
trouble all over again.

Claire left home again, this time permanently, at least for the
time being, I suspect in the hope that Isabel and I should come
together again. It meant that I was alone again, but this is the way
it just had to be. Besides, Isabel was now established on her way
to a degree, there were plenty of suitors waiting to take care of
her wealth.

Not for me, all that money she had coming. There were other
things in life, like urgently finding out what went wrong last
August, if I were to become fit again.

Read the following chapters that tell of how Martin "cured" his M.S. and climbed mountains by the following year.

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