Page 26 of The Flowers of Bay C
‘I’ll have a little word with him,’ Nicki says. ‘I’ll tell him what’s what, don’t you worry.’ She strolls out of the bay, humming a little tune.
Jodie perches on my chair with her phone in her hand. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah. Bit worn out.’
‘You did good.’
I shrug. ‘One day at a time.’
Jodie scrolls through her phone, then stops, her face creasing up, dark shadows flickering in her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘Just this.’ She shows me her phone. ‘On my Facebook. Some loser started a petition about disabled parking spaces.’
I take the phone and read through the post. It’s not fair on normal people, the post claims, all those spaces, too many of them. I look up at Jodie. ‘Normal people?’
‘Right? And about two thousand people have signed it, too.’
‘I bet whoever started it parks in them anyway,’ I say.
‘His type are always so entitled.’
‘Like Harold,’ Violet pipes up. Jodie’s mouth twists with something like amusement. Violet, setting entitled people to rights? I can’t help smiling, too.
Kat leans forward in her chair. ‘People shouldn’t judge. Not all disabilities are visible.’
???
It’ll be a great girls’ night, Jen says to me. It’ll be good for you.
I get myself ready, psyching myself up for a rare night out. I’ll only have to sit down for a couple of hours, after all, watching a play won’t be too taxing, surely? It’sCalendar Girls, Jen says. You know, like the film, and that was funny, right? I nod along. Yeah. Great idea. I’m strong enough for this.
By the time I arrive at the venue, the exhaustion is setting in. I drag myself too slowly through the narrow corridor, other people jostling me to get to their seats on time. The foyer rings with raging whispers, bouncing back at me and hitting me square in the gut.
The theatre is all faded opulence; heavy red brocade velvet curtains and gold swirls dancing on the walls, seating in steep tiered layers, and we’re up on the balcony at the top, up in the heavens with the angels, Jen says, up two long and windy flights of stairs. I have nothing left when I get to my seat, and I sink down, head in hands. Jen brings me a glass of wine and tells me to relax. Jen and Pen, Jenny and Penny, partners in crime, let’s have a good laugh tonight. We deserve it.
By the interval I need the loo and regret the wine. When I stand up my bones are molten liquid, draining down my legs and through my feet until I stagger and grip hold of the back of the seat. ‘You need some help?’ Jen asks, but I shake my head. It’s only going to the loo, for heaven’s sake.
I stumble down the two sets of stairs, heading for the ladies’, but stop short at the straggly queue snaking up the hallway towards me, gaggles of giggling women, stumbling in their stilettos and shrieking with mirth.
I can’t stand there. I can’t. My legs won’t hold me up.
The disabled access toilet is back down the corridor to my left. No one’s in there, so I lurch in and lock the door behind me before sinking onto the toilet seat. Deep breaths. Get a hold of yourself, Penny. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
Why did I think I could do this?
I close my eyes and rest my aching head on the grab rail next to me. Dig in my bag for more painkillers, swallow them down.
A knock on the door.
I need to sort myself out. Get out of here. Someone else needs it.
Every movement is like forcing myself through a vat of setting fudge, undoing my jeans too difficult for clumsy, aching fingers. I push myself through, sweat forming in beads on my brow.
I manage to turn the lock after several failed attempts. A woman is sitting there in her wheelchair staring at me, her friend standing next to her with arms folded and an expression full of antipathy. ‘You’re in the disabled toilet.’
I don’t know what to say. I should stand up for myself, say I am disabled, too, that I need it, too. But I don’t. I push the door wider and try to move out of their way.
