Page 11 of Just Like That

‘Yes… and… rubber.’

‘Oh, like rubber.’ I cringe.

‘Don’t worry.’ The nurse pats my arm reassuringly. ‘Seth has made no secret of what he thinks of the food here. It’s pretty obvious he’s a foodie, so this place would never measure up.’

‘We’re a family of foodies.’ I confirm. ‘About the only thing he and I have in common with our parents. Right, Seth?’

‘Yup.’ He nods agreement. ‘So… food?’

‘I’m glad to see you have your priorities straight, Seth,’ says the nurse. ‘I tell you, we’re going to miss you around here. You’ve certainly brightened my days.’

‘See…’ Seth tries to wink at me, but it turns out a bit lopsided. ‘I… am… a… bit… bro… bro-ken… but… I… can… still… pull.’

The nurse hoots with laughter, making it clear how much he does indeed brighten her days.

‘All right, Casanova.’ I shake my head at him. ‘Let’s get you home. Where do you want to get food on the way?’

‘Bur… Bur-ger… King.’

‘I should have known. My money’s on a bacon double cheeseburger.’

‘Yes. A… meal. Large.’

‘Your wish is my command.’

The nurse helps Seth off the bed and into the waiting wheelchair, and we say our goodbyes. There’s actually quite a turnout to see him off, which brings a tear to my eye, as it reminds me of everything we’ve been through in the last eight weeks. I’m careful to hide this though, because if Seth gets wind of it, he’ll give me a right slagging for being a soft arse.

It takes a bit of getting used to having Seth living with me in my flat on Montgomery Street. The biggest adjustment being that my first thought always has to be about him before myself, which is strange after enjoying an independent lifestyle for so long. It’s also a bit disconcerting seeing how little he can do for himself and how much he depends on me. But we muddle on through and get on great, just as we always have. That’s probably the one silver lining to all this. Seth is one laid-back guy, which works in his favour in this situation. He’s patient and relaxed, and he’s OK with the fact that his recovery is going to take time. The complete opposite to how I would be if things were the other way round.

It almost seems like he really is taking it all in his stride. Almost. When he doesn’t think I’m looking, I see the odd moment of frustration – mostly when he doesn’t manage to do something he’s trying to do – or a hint of sadness in his eyes as he watches non-disabled young people on TV, but I don’t let on. The last thing I want is to accidentally say something that he perceives to demean him – or worse, that makes him feel like a burden on me. In a nutshell: I don’t ever want to break his spirit.

By the time Tuesday comes, I’m exhausted and in need of another weekend to recover from the one I’ve apparently just had. It’s not just the running around after Seth. It’s the learning curve I’m on. I’m learning how to be a carer, which is essentially like taking on a new job in an area I have literally no skills in. And I don’t even have the luxury of going through training, I have to learn as I go. It’s utterly draining, but the good thing in it all is that I can see how relieved Seth is to be out of the hospital with some normality and proper comfort around him again. The doctors were bang on: this is exactly where he needs to be.

Zooming along the A1 from Edinburgh to my first meeting with the management team at the East Lothian Wildlife Park, my mind is creating a list of things I need to pick up on my way home from work later. Having worked up a meals schedule at the weekend, and put in an online order to save me having to go out to the supermarket, I’ve since discovered that I’m missing about eight dry store items I assumed I either had or were in date. I’ve barely given any thought at all to my impending meeting because: 1) I don’t expect this to go beyond a first meeting – they’ll surely realise they need to call in the administrators rather than an events planner; and 2) on a personal level, I’m not remotely interested in this becoming my pet project (excuse the pun). My focus needs to be on helping Craig realise that he’s made an enormous error taking me off the biggest contracts and putting Isla and Ravi on them instead.

After a short drive, I pull into the near-empty car park of the wildlife park, which is situated along a particularly beautiful and open stretch of country road between Haddington and the coastal towns and villages of East Lothian. The place itself is a bit inconspicuous. I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t plugged my route into Google Maps, I might have missed it and driven right past. The only thing that gives it away as a recreational destination is a large(ish) faded billboard sign that’s partially covered by foliage from the surrounding bushes.

Climbing out of my car, I admire the tall pine trees flanking either side of the park while breathing in the fresh country air and enjoying the view. OK, this I can appreciate. The surroundings are stunning. The question is, what lies beyond the nondescript ticket booth and entry barrier? I’m about to approach and find out, when I remember yet another food item I’ve forgotten to buy (and start to wonder what I actually did remember to order), so I pull out my phone to add it and the other items to my notepad app. As I’m doing this, a stout, handsome woman in her late fifties or early sixties, with short wavy greying hair and a kind smile, appears in front of me.

‘You’re not Jess, are you?’ she asks.

‘I sure am.’ I quickly stuff my phone back in my bag, switch into work mode and reach out my hand with a smile to the woman I assume is the owner. ‘You must be Gwen.’

‘Delighted to meet you,’ she practically hollers at me, nearly breaking the bones in my hand as she clamps it with the strength of a bear. ‘Come this way. The team are looking forward to meeting you.’

I follow Gwen through the now open barrier and into the park, which is more appealing than I would have first expected. It has a spacious, cobbled courtyard of sorts, which is framed by a gift shop, a cafe, customer toilets, another building that doesn’t appear to be open to the public and a small entertainment arcade with the kind of games machines that are aimed at children. There’s also a kiddie ride – a sort of merry-go-round, but with zoo-style animals – that takes pride of place right in the middle.

‘This is cute.’ I look around, pleasantly surprised.

‘I’m glad you think so.’ Gwen seems pleased by my comment. ‘I always think it’s important to create a good first impression. Show people what you have in store for them and help them have a positive experience right from the off.’

‘I absolutely agree.’ I decide now is not the time to mention that first impressions start from before people have even walked inside. ‘What is it they say about job interviews… it only takes some hiring managers about ninety seconds to decide if they’re willing to take you on.’

‘That’s the one. Do you mind if we make a quick detour so I can pass on a piece of kit to a colleague?’

‘Not at all.’

I wander along beside Gwen, getting my first experience of the park’s residents. The first thing I notice, as we move further away from the noise of the cafe and amusement arcade, is the sound of animals all around me, hooting and chirping, trumpeting and caterwauling. The place feels alive and exotic with what I’d describe as the noises of the jungle. It’s a very different feeling to the one I got when I pulled into the nondescript car park with the faded sign. We pass a couple of giant anteaters, the otter enclosure, and some adorable mammals I don’t recognise, but that look like a cross between a mouse and a kangaroo.

---