CARRY ON JACKSON

"Aaron! AARON!" Jackson yelled into his phone, his frustration almost unbearable. "Have you seen the postie yet?"

"No, not yet." Aaron's voice said from the Bluetooth headset tucked into his ear.

"Are you watching out for him?" Jackson questioned urgently.

"Yes Jackson! I'm watching out for him. Cain's watching out for him, Debbie's watching out for him," Aaron answered him. "We're all watching out for him. Where are you anyway?"

"In the sun porch."

Standing at the door into the garage, Aaron heard Jackson's tone turn suddenly sheepish as he answered him. Walking along the short lane by the gable end of Dale Head towards the main street, in thirty seconds, less, half that time, he could see Jackson in the new sun porch, built less than a year ago; Jackson's eyrie, his viewpoint on the village.

Still keeping the phone to his ear, Aaron waved. He saw Jackson's head move, saw his wheelchair swing from side to side, saw the smile on Jackson's face.

"As soon as he's spotted, I'll be home like a shot," promised Aaron. "I'll be there before the letter hits the carpet."

"Okay, sorry," replied Jackson.

"No worries, but just chill," said Aaron, "it'll be fine. Honestly. Look, gotta go, but I'm keeping a look out."

"Bye then." Jackson heard the click as Aaron hung up, leaning his head to one side; he pushed the buddy button against the headrest of his chair with his chin, ending the call.

Aaron had gone from his sight; crossly he thumped his head hard against the movement control, burling the chair wildly round. The waiting was driving him crazy; this was when he wished he could get up and knock a wall down. He could hear Hazel crashing around in the kitchen; he knew she was just as uptight as he was and was taking it out on the innocent pots and pans.

He saw the orange day-glo jacket of the postie at the same time as he saw Aaron racing up the lane from the garage, stopping the postie in his tracks, receiving the letter from his hand. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

Even before he had got through to the sun porch, Jackson was yelling at him.

"Open it! OPEN IT!"

Aaron skidded to a halt in front of him. "You sure? I'll hold it if you want to rip it."

"Just do it!" exclaimed Jackson.

Needing no further encouragement, Aaron tore open the envelope, pulled the single sheet of paper from it, read for a second, read for eternity.

"YEAY!" yelling with delight, Aaron launched himself at Jackson, leaping, his knees landing on the armrests, his hands cupping Jackson's face, his lips planted excited kisses on Jackson's forehead, his face, reaching his lips.

"You passed then?" said Hazel cheerfully, appearing at the door.

"Of course he passed!" exclaimed Aaron, twisting his body so that for a few brief seconds, he was balanced on Jackson's lap, his hands on his shoulders, steadying himself. "Whoever doubted it?"

"I did!" protested Jackson.

"Well you were the only one," said Hazel. "A little celebration I think." Turning, she left the room.

"Here," said Aaron easing himself from Jackson's lap, picking up the letter. "Have a read; I'm gonna wash my hands before I cover you with any more oil." He wiped at a dark smudge on Jackson's face, smiling down at him.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've covered me with oil," Jackson smirked.

"And it won't be the last; although old engine oil doesn't have quite the same appeal."

"Engine oil is your default smell," stated Jackson.

"Won't be a sec," said Aaron, disappearing out of sight.

Jackson looked at the letter lying on his lap, he couldn't help but smile; and he knew he was smiling on the inside too, he could feel that. Reading the words, reading his life; it could all have been so different, it very nearly was different. He could have been dead four years ago; a cold shudder swept through his mind, his body, well! what he could feel of his body, at the thought of what he had been so close to doing, of begging Aaron, Hazel, to do.

And then a miracle had happened; a miracle had come to him; a tenacious dragon had come to him; a guardian angel who had changed his life, given him his life back. Mary.

...

The knock at the door was loud and demanding; Aaron began to move to answer it but Hazel beat him to it; Jackson didn't even look up, staring, unseeing at his lap.

"Mary Coggins," the voice at the door said. "Occupational Therapist. Here to see Jackson Walsh." She strode into the room, not waiting to be invited. A tall, broad woman, perhaps not quite ages with Hazel, a year or five younger, her short, dark hair was gently gelled and tweaked into stylish peaks; gold rimmed specs were perched halfway down her nose.

She moved quickly towards Jackson, ignoring Hazel, ignoring Aaron; she bent her knees, crouched, bringing her to Jackson's eye level. Reaching out, she clasped Jackson's unresponsive hand between her two hands, shook it gently.

"We'll have a little chat; I'll see what you can do, and what we can do to help you. Alright?"

Even before Jackson could say anything – if he had been going to say anything, Aaron interrupted.

"What d'you mean? What he can do? Haven't they told you, he's tetraplegic, he can't do anything!" Aaron cried, his voice cracking with emotion, with bitterness.

"And you are?" asked Mary, an edge of ice to her voice.

"I'm Aaron, his boyfriend," defensive, aggressive, Aaron bristled with anger as he spoke, disliking the woman already.

"If I were you," Mary said in a conspiratorial whisper to Jackson, dropping to his level again, "I'd get rid of him and get a more positive model."

A ghost of a smile touched Jackson's lips. "He's okay really," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "once you get to know him."

"Ah well, if you're keeping him..." she winked quickly at Jackson before rising, "he'll need to buck his ideas up." She looked pointedly at Aaron, "I can't stand negative folk about me at my work."

Scowling, Aaron said nothing.

"Now! Mrs Walsh!" began Mary.

"Rhodes," interrupted Hazel. "Ms. Hazel. Call me Hazel."

Right Hazel! Seeing as this looks like Hotton General, is there a tea bar anywhere? I could murder a cup of coffee."

"I'll make you a cup," said Hazel, unsure how to take the woman in front of her. Looking back over her shoulder as she moved away, reluctant to leave, dreading what she might say to Jackson, that she might upset him, push him over the edge; further over the edge.

The conversation of the previous evening; the row, the shouting, the tears, the anguished begging of the previous evening were still raw, rattling round in her head, even as she knew they would be tormenting Aaron. Even as they had had to listen to Jackson desperate for them to help him end his life; to insist that he couldn't live, exist, like this, that he just wanted it over, for himself, for them. She couldn't do it, she wouldn't do it. Ever. But why did this woman have to barge her way in now, today, when everyone's nerves were frayed, jangling? Cursing the slowness of the kettle under her breath, she prepared the coffee for everyone; coffee! They lived on coffee.

"So Jackson, your accident was in the first week of October and you got home on Christmas Day," Mary glanced at her notes, refreshing her memory as she spoke. "Tell me, what do you do with your days?"

"Do! You keep on about do!" exclaimed Aaron, jumping to his feet, pacing the floor. "He can't DO anything!"

Mary said nothing, only peered over the top of her specs, only waited for Aaron to sit again, biting his tongue, struggling to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Now I understand from your notes that you have no residual brain damage from your head injury, so we must assume your brain's working, and I know you can speak, so why don't you tell me. And you," she looked at Aaron, "just hold on for a minute, eh?"

"Watch telly," said Jackson quietly, without meeting her eye.

Mary waited, her eyes flicking over Jackson's wheelchair, looking.

"What else?" she said when it became obvious he was going to say no more. "Do you listen to music? Where's your computer?"

"Mum's computer's upstairs," he replied.

"No Jackson, I mean your computer, adapted for you?"

"What computer?" Aaron burst out. "What do you mean, adapted?"

"Jackson," began Mary slowly; suddenly, dreadfully, everything was beginning to add up, the light beginning to dawn, the horror beginning to wash over her. "Jackson, have you had a full OT assessment?"

"There was a bloke, an old chap, wasn't there Aaron?" he turned to Aaron for confirmation, wanting him to take over the conversation.

"Yeah," agreed Aaron. "He came about the wheelchair, to assess you for it."

Mary shook her head, dismayed beyond words.

"Jackson, I am so sorry. Something has gone very wrong, I don't know how it happened, and I can't apologise enough. Somehow you must have slipped through the system; you've got your chair, yes, but that chair should be bursting with attachments, with gizmos to help you by now. Heads will roll for this, believe me, but meantime, we must get as much as we can as quickly as we can. Then we'll go on to tackle the big stuff. You okay with that?"

For the first time since Mary had entered Dale Head, Jackson raised his eyes to meet hers; he couldn't allow himself to think, to hope. But for now he couldn't fight her too; he hadn't the strength for that.

Returning with the coffee, Hazel listened, unusually quietly, while Mary explained the situation to her. Then, firing questions at them all, Mary began making copious notes.

Watching as Aaron carefully held Jackson's coffee as Jackson drunk, she told them that it was the easiest thing to get an arm with a holder that could be attached to the chair, so Jackson could take his drink when he wanted.

"Now Jackson," she continued, "are you a push kind of a guy, or would you prefer to suck and puff?"

Behind her, Aaron choked on his coffee.

"I hope that's not you being smutty young man," she said, turning to face Aaron in time to see the rosy blush colouring his cheeks. "I don't know what you are thinking about, but I'm talking about mobile phones and the ultimate hands free; Bluetooth with either a buddy button to press to activate, answer and end calls, or with a mouth attachment, sucking or puffing. Personally I think the buddy buttons are better, but they both come with voice recognition dialling."

"Wait a minute," said Aaron. "Are you saying he can use a mobile phone?"

"If he can hit the buddy button with his chin and shout your name at it, then yes he can," confirmed Mary. "And we'll get you a computer; again, a lot of voice recognition software is available, the technician will advise you further when he sets it up for you, but I think the mouse you use with your mouth is more accurate in this case."

"Now," she continued relentlessly. "What other rooms are there in the house? What's upstairs? When did you last go upstairs Jackson?"

Jackson huffed quietly, wryly; it was another lifetime ago.

"When I was renovating it for Declan, the owner, last year."

"Renovating it?" questioned Mary.

"I was a builder," the sadness that flooded through Jackson's quiet words as he answered reached all of them gathered in the room as he spoke.

"Ah," said Mary, as though it explained everything, as she kept scribbling her notes. "We'll come back to that, but another day I think. So you've not been upstairs since...you never thought of carrying him up...strong lad like you." She nodded at Aaron.

"No...never...I.." Aaron bumbled, mumbled, confused and unsure.

"I couldn't possibly advocate doing it, of course," she continued, "but I'm surprised you've never thought of it. Better with a stair lift, of course, and a small chair and hoist upstairs."

"Right! Wait a minute here!" Hazel interrupted. She had been quiet, listening but she couldn't bear it any longer. "This all sounds very good, but you're talking thousands here; we can't afford that. The phone and computer maybe, but stair lifts, more hoists, chairs...I can't afford that." She fought the tears back, the catch in her voice, as she finished speaking.

"Oh Hazel, no!" exclaimed Mary. "You don't pay for this, any of this, all you do is sign the forms, I'll do the rest. Actually," she continued, turning to look at Jackson, "you can practice a signature, a mark, that we can get legally recognised as your signature, then you can sign for yourself. I'll give you some mouth guides to try."

Hazel said nothing, just shook her head, bemused; it was too much to take in. Reaching into her pocket searching, not finding the tissue she needed; mumbling she excused herself.

Watching her go, Mary was glad not to have to find an excuse to speak to the two lads alone; lads, they were just lads; two scared and hurting lads, betrayed by fate, betrayed by the system. Well she couldn't change fate, but she could fight it, she could fight the system too.

"So Aaron," she began, "where do you sleep?"

"At Smithy," he said it as though it explained everything, but seeing her confusion, he continued, "just at the top of the main street there."

"No, I mean when you are here; that bed is a bit small for both of you; isn't it?"

"We don't...I mean...I've fallen asleep in the chair a couple of times. Aaron said awkwardly.

Shaking her head again, Mary added more notes to those already made. "I think we should keep your bedroom downstairs for the moment, but we can do better with the bed."

"You mean..." began Aaron incredulously

"Well you tell me you're his boyfriend," she answered, "although I admit I am making the assumption that you slept with him before and you want to sleep with him again." For the first time, she saw Jackson smile, really smile, saw, for a second, his face transformed. In her mind, to herself, she vowed it wouldn't be the last time, but the first of many.

"Well, I think that is enough to start with, don't you?"

"You mean there's more you can do?" asked Aaron, disbelievingly.

"Oh boys," laughed Mary. "I've barely started yet! Aaron, will you come out to the car with me while I rummage for these mouth guides, then you can make sure he starts practicing. I expect him to be able to write a 'J' for me by the time I call again."

After saying her goodbyes, she followed Aaron to her car. Opening the boot, she began hunting through bag, boxes.

"You're not going to hurt him, you know, sharing his bed. Things are never going to be the same as before his accident, and you both have to accept that, but that little bit of normality that closeness, the cuddling, will do as much for his mood, his morale, as all the gadgets and gizmos I can give him." Piling a selection of small plastic bags into his hands, she smiled at him. "Everything is in his head now; everything he feels has to be through the thoughts in his head, and you can put some good ones in there, Aaron, remember that. And you take care too, we're are just at the very start of this regeneration; prepare to be amazed; I'm Jackson's Fairy Godmother. And yours too maybe?"

Watching her drive away, Aaron felt as if the last hour – he glanced at his watch – the last three hours – had been a dream, surely he was due to wake up at any minute and find nothing had changed. But looking at his hands, they were still clutching the small plastic bagged objects; that must mean he wasn't dreaming, mustn't it.

...

The evening had been awkward; the ghost of Mary Coggins haunted them, yet they hardly spoke of her, none of them wanting the fracture the glimmer of hope, of change, that she had spread over them. Eventually Hazel had taken herself off to the Woolie, desperate for a few moments escape from the tension in Dale Head; even for the length of time it took to drink a double G & T.

A DVD chattered mindlessly into the room, Aaron didn't bother even trying to follow the story, his mind was elsewhere, his mind was about five feet to the right of the chair he was sitting in, his mind was in Jackson's bed as he wondered if it was really possible.

"Can I stay then?" he asked eventually, his voice barely above a whisper, his face averted from Jackson's. "In your bed?"

"Of course."

Even before he turned to look at him, Aaron could hear the smile in his voice; when their eyes met, he saw more light in Jackson's eyes, more life, than he had seen in months.

He turned the overhead light off before he climbed into the bed, leaving only the subdued light from a small side lamp giving a warm glow to the room. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the anxiety building as he slid under the covers, lying rigid beside Jackson. He had taken off his trackkies, his hoodie, kept only his tee shirt and boxers on; he could feel Jackson motionless beside him, could hear his breathing, loud in the quiet of the house.

"I'm not gonna break, Aaron." Jackson's quiet words into the darkness seemed to echo between them. "Kiss me."

Aaron raised himself on one elbow, cupping Jackson's face in his other hand, letting their lips gently meet.

"Properly," whispered Jackson, finding his lips again, letting his tongue flick into Aaron's mouth, letting Aaron's tongue into his own mouth, exploring, twisting together; dancing again.

"Aaron," began Jackson, a few minutes later. "Can you turn me round a little? No don't bother with the slide sheet thing that Joe uses," he added quickly as Aaron moved to get out of the bed. "Just pull my bum round, then my shoulders; then you can cuddle in behind me."

Reaching over Jackson, Aaron pulled at the safety side, rattling it, checking it; then sliding his hands, his arms underneath Jackson, gently grasping, gently pulling, easing him round, then moving, following round with his shoulders. Running his hands over him, quickly, confidently now, checking the position of his arms, his legs; how many times had he done this in the last few months? But never from the bed, cuddled beside him.

Satisfied that his body was safe, was comfortable, Aaron snuggled in behind him, letting his arm lie across his stomach, cradling him. Gently, he began to nuzzle at Jackson's neck, knowing he was above the level of his paralysis, knowing that he could feel him.

"I'm lying so close to you," he murmured. "Our bodies are touching, all the way from our toes to my lips, kissing you. It's like you are sitting on my lap and I've got my arm around your waist, holding you close, keeping you safe."

"I feel safe," Jackson answered, his voice as quite in the dimness as Aaron's had been. "Will you keep talking?"

"I'll talk all night long if you want me to," smiled Aaron. "It just feels so good to have you properly in my arms again."

"It feels good to be here," said Jackson, "and it is like I can feel you, I can't, but my mind is feeling you; I know you're holding me, so it's like my mind's feeling you on the inside. That's not making any sense, is it?"

"Not really," said Aaron, "but then, when do you ever make sense!"

"Git!"

"Div!"

Aaron smiled, his head tucked into the curve between Jackson's shoulder and neck, he kissed the soft skin, feeling the cropped curls of his hair tickling him a little. It had been a long time since Jackson had teased him, had done more than say the minimum number of words to ask for what he wanted. Even as he lay there, he felt a chill flood through him; last night, he couldn't even let himself think back to the words Jackson had spoken - yelled - then. At the ending he wanted, the end of everything. Pushing the anguished memories as far away as he could, he began speaking again, murmuring gently, tender, nothing words; words of love, of comfort, of hope. In a very few minutes, he heard Jackson's breathing change, steadying, deepening, as he sank into sleep. At last, Aaron lay quietly, quietly delighting in the moment, until he too drifted into sleep.

...

Nothing happened for most of the next day, but there was a tension in the air, a sense of waiting, anticipation. Nobody said anything, nobody wanted to be the one to jinx it – whatever 'it' might turn out to be. It was evening when the telephone rang; answering it Jackson and Aaron heard Hazel say little more than bemused affirmatives, waiting impatiently until she came into the room, shaking her head in wonderment.

"She said someone has to be in tomorrow as things will be start being delivered," she began. "No! I don't believe it! Not that quickly! I'm sorry Jackson, I shouldn't have said anything, she shouldn't get your hopes up." Her voice took on an edge of anger, of hurt.

"It's fine mum," soothed Jackson, "let's just wait and see."

Waiting and seeing was hard; waiting and seeing took the rest of the evening, a whole night, but another night secure against Aaron's comforting body. Waiting and seeing took half of the next morning.

It was only a car, a small car that drew up outside Dale Head shortly before lunchtime. Looking out of the window, Hazel felt a plunge of disappointment, dragging her down, deflating the tiny spark of hope she now knew was false; she should have trusted her instincts, it had all been too good to be true.

Disheartened she opened the door.

"Hazel Rhodes?" the smart woman on the step in front of her asked.

"She nodded. "Yes, that's me."

"And Jackson Walsh? I'm Cathy Clermont, from Clermont Stair Lifts, here to do a lift assessment."

Bemused, astounded, Hazel looked at her. "Already...how? I don't understand?"

"Let me say two words to you, Ms Rhodes. Mary. Coggins. Have you ever tried saying no to that woman?"

Hazel shook her head, saying nothing, but standing back, letting the other woman by her into the house.

"Let me guess, it's not that long since you met Mary?"

"Two days ago," said Hazel. "The day before yesterday."

"Well believe me," Cathy Clermont laughed, "you will soon find it makes life a whole lot easier to do anything Mary asks, as soon as she asks. The woman is formidable. However, she is the very best person to have on your side too. If she says it will happen, it happens. Hi! You must be Jackson." Coming fully into the room, she knelt in front of Jackson's chair, as Mary had done, gently touching his hand.

"I'll do the stairs first, then we'll have a look at you Jackson." She began opening her briefcase.

"Me?" questioned Jackson, puzzled.

"We need to see which chair would suit you best; we have a number of designs which we can modify to suit you."

"Do you want a coffee? Tea?" asked Hazel.

"Coffee would be good. If you just show me the stairs, it really doesn't take very long these days with the computer."

Hazel directed her to the stairs, then retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment. Hardly had she filled the kettle when the doorbell rang again.

Slightly dishevelled, in his shirt sleeves, a youngish man greeted her. "John MacDonald, Yorkshire Motorbility, to see Jackson Walsh."

"But how...I don't understand...come in anyway." Hazel pointed towards Jackson.

"Hi John," called Cathy Clermont from halfway up the stairs. "They only met Mary two days ago." She laughed.

"Ah!" exclaimed John in a tone of immediate understanding. "Right, I'd better explain then. Jackson, with your level of paralysis, we can't do any adaptations to let you drive the car yourself; I need to tell you that straight out."

"Wait a minute," said Jackson, stopping the flow of John's talk, needing to make sure he was understanding him right. "Are you telling me I'm getting a car? She didn't say. Nobody said"

"That's exactly what I'm saying; Mary phoned me yesterday. Yorkshire Motorbility will provide you with a car – actually it will be more like a pope-mobile – so you will need someone to drive you. But it will have a motorised ramp at the back and you chair can be secured in. I'm afraid, at the moment, that's the best we can do for you. And it will probably be two months or so until we can deliver it."

"Mum! Mum!" said Jackson urgently. "Get Aaron for me, I need him to hear this. Just phone him."

"But I still don't understand," said Hazel as she searched fruitlessly for her phone. "How is this happening? I've never heard of Yorkshire Motorbility."

"Very few people have," replied John, smiling wryly. "We're a charity, we struggle, but we always manage to do something, even if it's not a top of the range Ferrari."

"Mum! Aaron!" repeated Jackson, agitation, frustration, beginning to show in his face.

"I'm as quick opening the door and shouting him," said Hazel, flustered.

"Do it! Do it!"

In minutes Aaron was beside him, briefly touching his face with his fingers in greeting, meeting Cathy Clermont and John MacDonald, learning about stair lifts and pope-mobiles; grinning delightedly, unexpectedly at Jackson.

"Right, I could just do with seeing you in your hoist Jackson," said Cathy. "And I need the serial number of your chair, then I can get all the specs from the manufacturers."

In a whirlwind equal to their arrival, soon both John and Cathy had left, promising to be in touch the moment they had any news; but there was no peace, not that day. Hardly had they caught their breaths, reviving coffee not finished, when glancing out of the window, Aaron saw a large van pulling up outside.

Without waiting for the knock at the door, he opened it wide.

"For Jackson Walsh," the driver called.

"Inside mate," replied Aaron.

The room really wasn't big enough for all the boxes, but that afternoon, nobody cared. Hazel and Aaron didn't care if they had to climb over them for a week; still bemused by the speed of change, Jackson felt as though it was Christmas, every perfect Christmas of his childhood with the joy of anticipation.

"You signing yet, mate?" the driver asked Jackson after the last box was safely piled up.

Jackson shook his head.

The driver made a sucking noise, drawing in his breath, shaking his head. "You will; she won't let you get away with not. Right; I'll just phone Dean, then that's me away."

"Who's Dean?" asked Hazel.

"Techy geek; he'll set this lot up, get you using it. But I know he's the other side of Leeds just now, so it will probably be a couple of hours until he gets here."

"A couple of hours? Today?" asked Jackson. "Tonight?"

"Well you can't move for boxes in here can you, and they're not for decoration." Wandering, he made a call on his mobile, talking quickly for a minute or two. "Right, that's me away then. Good luck with it, lad."

"I don't believe it," murmured Hazel, as much to herself as to either Jackson or Aaron, as the door closed behind the driver. "I didn't believe her."

"You hungry?" Aaron asked Jackson. "Hazel?"

"No, I'm...listen. Do you mind if I go out, get a breath of air, just for half an hour or so. Clear my head. Will you be alright?"

"So long as he doesn't poison me if he's cooking," Jackson replied quickly, smiling.

"Mmmm. Poison him or starve him," mused Aaron teasingly. "What d'you reckon Hazel?"

Hazel smiled; she'd missed the banter, missed it more than she could ever believe. To hear it now...well...she needed to get out, just for a few minutes, before she made a complete fool of herself.

"Is there any chicken curry in the freezer mum?" asked Jackson. "You could manage defrosting that and cooking rice, couldn't you?" He looked towards Aaron for confirmation.

"Yes, there's plenty. Do you want me to sort it for you?"

"No! I can manage that. You go Hazel, take your time, away to the Woolie," said Aaron, reassuring her.

It didn't really take long; soon he was carrying a steaming plate of food back into Jackson's room, sitting on the bed, as close to Jackson's chair as he could, sharing the plateful between them, giving Jackson a mouthful, then taking one for himself. They ate in companionable silence, for once they didn't bother with the television, only the quiet tunes from Hazel's radio in the kitchen stemming the silence.

The knock at the door surprised them.

"Dean Smith," said the man, flashing his ID card as Aaron opened the door. "Here to set your computer and phone up."

"Is it ok to spread the kit on the bed while we unpack the boxes?" he asked. In no time at all, with Dean unpacking, checking, Aaron taking the boxes outside, out of the way, the computer was set up, the monitor and keyboard on a chest of drawers meantime.

"Right Jackson," said Dean. "At the moment all you are gonna have is the head controls for the computer and your mobile. We'll get to the mobile in a minute, but which ear will you want the Bluetooth in, bearing in mind there's a buddy button too. Ideally we want you having the phone on one side and the computer controls on the other; and there's a suck and puff with the computer to think about."

"I used to hold the phone to my left ear," said Jackson, hesitantly, "so probably that one for the mobile."

Quickly Dean hung a small soft mesh over the right hand end of the headrest of Jackson's chair using it to secure a selection of attachments. Turning the computer on, his hands flashed across the keyboard, entering keys, codes; unlocking a new world. Then he turned his attention to the attachments, methodically linking them.

Next the mobile; taking the handset from its new place, hooked onto the chair, ensuring the Bluetooth was hooked over Jackson's ear, again Dean began pressing the keys.

"What's your number?" he asked Aaron, typing it in as he reeled it off. "Right, say his name, Jackson, really firmly." He held the hand set towards Jackson. "So, this has voice recognition softwear." He hung the phone back on its hook. "Tilt your head, press the buddy button against the headrest, that turns the phone on to make a call, and will answer and end a call. Right? Pressed it?"

Jackson nodded.

"Ok, now say Aaron's name, firmly, just like you did before."

"Aaron!"

In the expectant silence, suddenly Aaron's phone began ringing. Taking it from his pocket, Aaron moved away from Jackson, moved into the kitchen before pressing the accept button.

"Hey!" he said.

"Hey yourself!"

He could hear him; hear his voice drifting through from his room, but he could hear him speaking through the phone too.

"I'll show you how to enter numbers," Dean said to Aaron, running slowly through the steps. "This is my number; if you have any problems, just call. Now, just say my name, Dean Smith, just like you did before."

Jackson did as he was told and again they checked it worked.

"We'll put Mary's number in now; oh she'll check you've got it, believe me, so we might as well do it now; brownie points for us all," He grinned, then guided Aaron through the process; then asking for more numbers Jackson wanted entered.

"Right guys," he said at last. "It's getting late. If it's okay with you, I think I would be better coming back tomorrow and going over the computer with you then; there is a bit more to it than the phone."

"That's fine by me," said Jackson. "I'll be happy playing with this tonight."

"In that case, that's the instructions, Aaron, keep them safe for reference. And we'll get back to the computer in the morning, ten-ish?"

"Sound," said Jackson. Secretly glad, he was tired, but bubbling inside, excitement keeping him going for the moment. He felt his brain was buzzing with so much to take in; so many new and unexpected changes in such a short time.

"Good," said Dean. "I'll just attach your drinks holder and paper rest to your chair before I go. Which do you want on which side?"

With the expertise of years of practise, Dean quickly fastened the two attachments. "These are quite basic," he explained. "You just tug on these pulley-toggles with your teeth to move either of them in towards you."

"You gonna phone Hazel?" Aaron asked after Dean had gone.

"Do you mind putting me to bed first?" he asked. "I'm tired, and if I drop off once I'm there it's ok," he paused, suddenly shy. "Are you staying again tonight?"

"Do you want me to? I didn't disturb you too much."

"I'd like you to, please," said Jackson, a slight, hopeful smile touching his lips.

"Let's get you sorted then," said Aaron. Used to it now, he quickly positioned the hoist, lifted Jackson into bed, eased the clothes from his upper body, slipping a clean tee shirt over his head. Undoing his jeans, he moved his hips, sliding them down. Reaching for a small lidded bucket, he emptied Jackson's catheter bag, attaching the larger night bag and fixing it to its stand.

And all the while Jackson kept his eyes tightly shut, hiding from this reality, not wanting to see Aaron as he did the things he hated thinking about. Only once the covers were up, did he open his eyes.

Saying nothing yet, Aaron slipped from the room with the bucket, emptying it; he left it at the door, out of Jackson's sight for the moment. Washing his hands, he brought back toothbrush, water and a bowl with him.

Teeth done, Aaron perched on the bed and set the Bluetooth earpiece in place.

"Oh wait a minute!" said Jackson. "I haven't got the headrest to press the buddy button against," he twisted his head sideways, "and I can't press it against my shoulder either. Damn!" Suddenly thwarted, Jackson felt tears of frustration picking behind his eyes; it had been such a good day, now all he wanted to do was cry.

"Wait a minute," said Aaron; he wanted nothing more than to reach out and press the button for him, yet he knew that wouldn't help. "Try and catch it in your mouth, use your lips though, not your teeth."

At last, with a bit of a struggle, Jackson had caught the button on its short, rigid lead, had pressed it.

"Mum!" he said, as firmly as he could.

Seconds later, Hazel answered, hesitant, not recognising the number, struggling to stop the tears flowing as she heard his voice, as she spoke to her son on the phone for the first time in months.

They were in bed by the time she returned home, glad of the evening's escape, of the mindless, gossipy banter at the Woolie. She whispered their names, then peeked behind the curtain hiding the bed; both of them were sleeping, Aaron wrapped around Jackson, all the pain, the stress of the last months banished from their faces. She could swear Jackson was smiling.

...

It was tea time the following day when the loud and demanding knock came at the door again. Opening it, ushering Mary Coggins into the room, standing back while Mary Coggins marched into the room, Hazel felt again the overwhelming presence of the woman and wondered how it was that in three days, everything felt so different.

Mary's eyes flicked quickly round the room, noting the changes already in place, noting the attachments beginning to appear on Jackson's wheelchair.

"Now Hazel," she began, after the initial greetings had been exchanged. "The furniture is coming tomorrow, but I don't know what time, but just to warn you, it might be quite early."

"Furniture?" questioned Hazel. "Plural?"

"The bed I spoke of;" Mary explained. "It can move, rather like this one, but it doesn't look quite so much as though it would be more at home in Hotton General. It does have a safety side panel though. Then there is a computer desk; you can't use it properly where it is. This one comes at the right height to get your wheelchair under. I think you'll like it Jackson." She looked at Jackson. "How did you get on with Dean?"

"Fine," said Jackson. "He was here until mid afternoon and said he'll be back tomorrow. I was getting a bit tired."

"It's a lot to learn," agreed Mary. "He got your phone set up I take it?" she asked, nodding at the phone on its holder, the earpiece.

"Yeah, it's magic," said Jackson, grinning at her.

"I'll programme my number in before I go," she said.

"Already done," smiled Jackson.

"Well why haven't you phoned me then!" she demanded, her eyes sparkling, teasing.

"Erm, I... I didn't think...didn't know," said Jackson uncertainly.

"I'm joking," laughed Mary. "Although you phone me if you ever want to; if you need something or just want a chat. Okay?"

"Okay," smiled Jackson.

"Just out of interest; what has Dean set the voice rec name tag for me as? The last one he did, he set to 'Dragon'; I told him he'd be mince if he did that again."

Jackson coloured, Dean had told him the story, insisting it was a compliment, really. "It's just 'Mary'; is that okay?"

"Perfect. Now, what about that signature; have you had time to practice?"

Leaning his head forward; searching for the pulley-toggle with his mouth, Jackson carefully moved the paper rest round in front of him.

"It's not very good," he apologised, gazing at the paper, at the tentative pencil marks covering it.

"For a first attempt, it's jolly good," said Mary cheerfully. "Now, I'll give you a couple of weeks to keep practicing, then we'll go to the bank and get it witnesses. Try and add a 'W' to the 'J', keep it distinctive."

"Jackson nodded, but said nothing.

"Are you okay with everything so far Jackson," Mary asked, aware that so much had happened for Jackson, aware that maybe he needed time to catch his breath.

"No, it's fine, honestly," Jackson smiled at her. "It's just unbelievable."

"Good. Right; I'll give you peace over the weekend, but I'll call on Monday morning; we need to have a bit of a chat about what you are going to do with your life."

"Do?" questioned Jackson, puzzled.

"Watching daytime telly isn't a career option as far as I'm concerned, so think on lad."

Seeing her out, walking down the path with her, Hazel questioned Mary.

"How can he possibly work Mary; he was a builder for goodness sake!"

"Hazel," Mary paused, leaning against her car. "You must think I am a bully, talking rubbish, expecting too much. But believe me, leaving him sitting there with nothing to do with his life will kill him. I know he's been depressed, it's only to be expected, but the tablets can't do it all. He needs a purpose, to do something with his time, keep his mind busy in a worthwhile way. We've just got to match what he wants to do with what he can do."

"He can't stand it, you know." admitted Hazel slowly, sadly. "He was wanting to...you know..." she let the words trail away into the air as shuddering sobs took their place.

Mary pulled Hazel towards her, hugged her, waited as the sobs subsided, as she turned away, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"I'm not surprised, Hazel; it's something most people in Jackson's situation think about. Which is why he needs to be occupied, feel useful, to feel like a son, a boyfriend again, not to feel like someone who has carers now where once he had a mother and a lover."

"I'm sorry...about this," sniffed Hazel.

"You're allowed a wobble now and then," smiled Mary, reassuringly. "But trust me, this time next year, he won't even know what's on day time telly, let alone want to watch it. You've got through the worst of it, Hazel, so has Jackson. The lows will never be as low again. As the song says, 'the only way is up'."

Hazel watched as she drove away, wanting to believe her, desperate to believe her.

...

Aaron stretched in the bed, the new bed, their new bed. It was Sunday morning, no need to rush, he didn't have to go to his work. Turning, he saw Jackson's eyes open, watching him.

"Thought you were still asleep," murmured Aaron, reaching his hand out, running his fingers through the soft hair on Jackson's chin.

Jackson moved his head a fraction, capturing Aaron's fingers in his mouth, nipping them gently before letting them slide away as he spoke.

"Been awake a while, watching you."

"You should have woken me,"

"Nah, I was fine."

"I'll get coffee in a minute."

"I can wait," said Jackson, smiling at him. "Last night; it was ok, wasn't it?"

Aaron grinned at him, moved, slid his legs over Jackson, held himself over his chest letting him look down on him, into the dark, sparkling eyes gazing up at him.

"It was lovely...I never thought we..." he stopped.

"You talk dirty so well," teased Jackson.

"Oh shut up!" exclaimed Aaron, burying his head in Jackson's shoulder. "I can't believe I said some of those things."

"Well you certainly kept me coming and coming in my head; it was good. Like when you said you had hold of me, were touching me, were tossing me off; yet your hands were on my face, I could see them, really feel them, but it was like you had four hands! But if you're gonna lie on top of me, you could at least kiss me."

"Oh God! Am I hurting you?" Aaron pushed himself up.

"Well I'm still breathing, dunno about anything else," said Jackson pragmatically.

"A kiss, then coffee," said Aaron, leaning over, kissing him deeply, before sliding from the bed, padding through to the kitchen.

What a difference a week made, he reflected, as he let water pour into the kettle. A week ago, Jackson had been despairing, wanting to end his life; a week ago, they hadn't slept together since before Jackson's accident, a week ago Jackson didn't have a phone he could use, a computer he could use. What a difference a week had made; what a difference Mary had made.

"What about the Woolie for lunch?" asked Aaron, holding Jackson's coffee for him a few minutes later, thinking that he would need to ask Mary for another one of the arms with the cup holder to attach to the bed, or near the bed.

"For a Marlon roast? You're on."

"You want a shower or bath this morning?" asked Aaron, tentatively. Usually Jackson didn't like him doing too much for him, preferring to leave it to Joe. But Joe didn't come on a Sunday, and this week, everything was different.

"Can you be bothered?" asked Jackson.

"Have a bath and I'll come in with you," teased Aaron.

"You can't!" exclaimed Jackson.

"A week ago we didn't think we would ever sleep together again," pointed out Aaron.

"Well if you drown me, I'll kill you!" said Jackson seriously, before laughing at the expression on Aaron's face.

It took longer than Aaron expected, and was more awkward, but they giggled and laughed as they hadn't for months.

Upstairs, enjoying lazing in her bed for once, Hazel could hear them, had no idea what they were doing, didn't guess, didn't care; the noise they were making was her miracle of the day.

The following day, Jackson was back in the Woolpack; this time with Mary Coggins. She had suggested the small outing, interested to see Jackson out of Dale Head, away from Hazel or Aaron. She was pleased at the change in him, at the light in his eyes; she had done the emergency repairs, now she had to build on that.

"So Jackson," she said, sipping her coffee, "you told me before you were a builder; tell me about it, did you like it, who did you work for?"

"Worked for myself," said Jackson wistfully, remembering. Loved it, though I wanted to be an architect when I was younger, my maths let me down though, I was hopeless."

"And did you get plenty of work?"

"Yeah, kept well busy," admitted Jackson.

"So what's happened to the business?" asked Mary.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, did anyone else work for you? Are they still? What about its status now, its finances?"

"It was just me, no one else," said Jackson. "I don't understand what you're getting at?"

"Well, do you want to go back to it; obviously you can't do the actual building now, but you can still run the business, employ people, tender for jobs."

"I hadn't even thought about it," said Jackson.

"Or you could re-train; you have a think about it and so will I."

A while later, as they were heading back to Dale Head, Mary stopped, leaned against a wall.

"Jackson," she began, for once not looking directly at him, "there is something else I wanted you to think about; it's not really my area, but I think, having given you and Aaron a nudge..." she looked at him now, looking at him in time to catch a brief flush of embarrassment, of pleasure, colour his face.

"Your notes say you still have an indwelling urinary catheter." It was a statement, not a question. "I just wanted to remind you there are other options; maybe you would want to talk to your GP about them; or the hospital, the next time you are there."

"Can I get rid of it?" asked Jackson awkwardly; he hated seeing it, thinking about it.

"You will always need something," said Mary, not sugaring the pill. "But you could have the catheter entering through your abdomen. Or there are sheaths; like condoms with a bag attached, but they can be leaky."

Jackson nodded, not wanting to speak about it anymore, but understanding why Mary mentioned it.

Moving on, Mary walking beside Jackson's chair, they soon reached Dale Head.

"Don't let me forget to ask Dean to organise a door remote for you," said Mary as she opened the front door for him.

Back in her car, Mary sat quietly, thinking, for a few minutes; before firmly starting her car, her plan already in place in her mind.

...

Jackson was already in bed when his phone rang later that evening; it was still early, but he was tired, his head was buzzing, and mindless telly had far more of an appeal from their new bed.

"D'you want me to get that?" asked Aaron, knowing the Bluetooth headset was by the computer.

"Yeah. Who is it," asked Jackson.

"Mary," replied Aaron, squinting at the screen. "Bit late, I wonder what she wants?"

"Well answer it then and find out."

Pressing the accept key, Aaron held the phone to Jackson's ear; listening to one side of the conversation, he could make no sense of it as Jackson answered as if brevity was a virtue.

"What?" he asked impatiently as Jackson said goodbye

"She said John is coming to collect me at eleven tomorrow, I've to be smart, and you can come if I want."

"John," questioned Aaron. "John who? Did she say where we're going?"

"John. Yorkshire Motorbility, And no, she didn't; it's probably just the signature thing," said Jackson. "I know she's keen to get that sorted."

"Yeah," agreed Aaron, sliding under the covers beside him. "What d'you want to watch?"

"Do we have to watch anything?" asked Jackson, smiling at him.

...

Jackson's head was aching; he hadn't slept very well, for the first time since Aaron returned to his bed, he had been unsettled, needing to wake him, needing to say his name several times before he woke, before he could ask him to move him. Having to ask made him irritable; lack of sleep made him irritable, not knowing where they were going was preying on his mind, making him irritable. He tried to make Aaron phone Mary, say he wasn't well enough to go; Aaron had just looked at him; didn't quite ignore him.

"Do you think she'll fall for that one?" was all he said, raising an eyebrow to emphasise his point.

"At the moment, I don't really care," snapped Jackson. "Can't be bothered with it today."

"Well it's too late now; here's John. Let's head."

Still grumbling, Jackson waited until Aaron had opened the door, then moved slowly down the ramp towards the waiting car.

"Yours'll be the newer version of this," said John, by way of greeting, "but in black. Delivery four weeks or so now."

"As quick as that!" whistled Aaron, watching intently as John secured Jackson's chair after raising it on the integral ramp. "How come?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," chanted John, sliding into the driver's seat.

Ignoring Jackson's silence, Aaron and John talked cars as they headed towards Hotton. Expecting them to turn towards the town centre, Jackson was surprised as they went in the other direction.

"Haven't you gone the wrong way?" he asked. "I thought we were going to the bank."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" asked John. "We're heading into Leeds; Mary will meet us there."

"Where though?"

"Stoddart & Chambers," answered John shortly as a car cut close in front of him.

"Never heard of 'em," said Aaron cheerfully.

"I have," said Jackson slowly. "They're architects."

Jackson felt like his head was spinning, buzzing with his thoughts twirling, tumbling over themselves, trying to make some sense of their destination. What the hell was Mary Coggins playing at? Surely she wasn't going to rub his nose in what he couldn't have; what he could never have had, even when he had a body that worked. He closed his eyes, dreading what was coming; if it was to talk about doing more renovations to Dale Head, well! they could have come to him; a site visit would have been so much less painful than this. Saying nothing, biting his lip, needing the sharp pain to stop the tears that threatened to betray him from falling, Jackson watched as they travelled relentlessly onwards.

Sooner, far sooner than he wanted, they arrived, drawing up outside a shiny modern office building. Mary Coggins was pacing impatiently in the foyer; Jackson could see her through the bank of glistening glass that fronted the building.

"You alright?" Aaron asked as John lowered the ramp for Jackson to move towards the building. "What do you think we're doing here?" he continued, gently resting his hand on the curve between Jackson's neck and shoulder as feelings of uncertainty began to wash over him.

Jackson couldn't speak; didn't dare trust himself to speak; he shook his head, a tiny movement against the rigid control of his emotions as he struggled to keep his face impassive.

The automatic doors opened as they approached them; Mary rushed towards them.

"Come on! This way!" she said, without even greeting them, immediately leading them towards a lift. The doors opened as they approached.

"Automatic. Linked to a CCTV system," she stated briefly. "We're going to the 4th floor; say '4th floor' into the microphone Jackson."

"Mary. I'm not sure..." began Aaron as the lift doors closed behind them, as he heard the struggle in Jackson's voice as he did as Mary asked. Looking down, catching his eyes, he saw despair returned.

"Mary, no," said Aaron more firmly, shaking his head.

Pausing then in her own excitement, her agitation, bending her knees, kneeling, she really looked at Jackson for the first time since they arrived.

"Oh Jackson, I'm so sorry, I should have explained, but it is just too good an opportunity to miss. This company..."

But whatever she was going to say was cut off as the lift doors swung open.

A man was waiting as the lift doors opened; early sixties perhaps, his salt and pepper hair giving an air of distinction.

"Chris Stoddart," he said, walking towards Mary, his hand out held in greeting.

"Mary Coggins," announced Mary, "and Jackson Walsh and Aaron Livsey. Thank you for seeing us so quickly, Mr Stoddart."

"You are a very hard lady to say no to, Mrs Coggins." He stood back, allowing them to enter a spacious office ahead of him.

"You were never going to say no to me, Mr Stoddart; I've read your company bio."

He laughed, rumbling deep and genuine. "So Jackson, what do you think?" he asked.

"Think?" said Jackson, confused. "I don't..."

"I haven't actually had chance to say anything to Jackson yet," interrupted Mary, suddenly sounding vaguely awkward, embarrassed.

Chris Stoddart laughed again. "So you're wondering what on earth is going on!" The notion seemed to amuse him, the rumbling laughter continued.

"Mrs Coggins tell me you were a builder before your accident," he said.

"Hardly relevant now, though, is it?" sneered Jackson.

"And before you were a builder, as a youngster, you wanted to be an architect. So here's the deal; though I warn you, it's a long haul. Work experience here to begin with, get the maths grades you need and your computer skills up to scratch. Then we'll sponsor you through the course; in the first three years there is a bit of flexibility, but gives you a degree at the end of it, then the remaining years are split between academic and practical." He paused. "What do you think?"

"Wait a minute," said Aaron, unable to believe what he was hearing, needing to get it clear in his mind. "Are you saying he can actually be an architect? Even though he can't move?"

"If he's prepared to put the work in, yes!" Chris Stoddart answered Aaron, but smiled at Jackson. "You need to be able to use the various computer programmes, and you need the ideas, the vision; that most of all."

"But why?" questioned Jackson. Surely this was a dream, he reasoned, he'd wake up any minute to find everything – the last two weeks – was a dream; his own nightmare.

"I think I can answer that one," began Mary, "if that's alright with you?" She glanced at Chris Stoddart; continuing at his nod. "You have a son, don't you; like Jackson, he has very limited movement, although not through an accident. All through your working life you have tried to make a practical difference to his life; and people in similar situations, hence all the automatic doors and voice recognition technlogy you integrate into your buildings." She paused; he wasn't looking at her now, instead was staring at something on the ground.

"And as for the sponsorship, well another company did that for him, I believe, years ago now and since your company became successful enough, you have done the same. Does that about cover it?"

"Very eloquently, Mrs Coggins," he replied, visibly taking a deep breath. "You certainly did read the company bio – very carefully. But how did you find out about us?"

"Goggle is my best friend," smiled Mary. "Plus a phone call to my predecessor in the office; I had very vague memories of her mentioning you, your company. So Jackson? What do you think?"

"It seems too good to be true," he replied slowly. "I'm looking for strings, catches."

"No strings attached, no catches," assured Chris quietly. "Come in a few times, get to know folk, see how we work; see how you feel. There's no need to commit yourself to years of study straight away."

Jackson bit his lip; it wouldn't be sore if it was a dream, would it. He smiled.

...

Jackson looked at the letter lying on his lap; he'd done it, he'd got his degree, metaphorically jumped over the first hurdle. Actually, he reflected, it must have been the second, third, fourth hurdle at least; the maths, he smiled, remembering the agony of trying to understand. The computer; the myriad of complex programmes to learn, to become familiar with, to become comfortable with; let alone actually controlling the mouse. Even just getting into the office; the exhaustion that initially overwhelmed him, working a couple of days a week for a few hours at a time, gradually building his strength, his stamina, until he could work a full week, was an obstacle to overcome.

What a difference four years made; four years that in the months after his accident, in those black months of despair when there seemed no light of life at the end of his tunnel, would have seemed like an impossible dream had anyone been able to tell him of them.

He was working, studying hard, now able to embark on the next stage towards realising his dream of becoming an architect.

And Aaron. He had Aaron, Aaron had him. Their relationship was good, fulfilling; perhaps not sexual in the accepted sense, but sensual, erotic, satisfying them both.

Impatiently, Jackson waited for Aaron to come back; how long did it take him to scrub the engine oil from his hands. There was something he wanted to ask him; something he had promised himself, months ago, to ask him, if he passed his exams and got his degree.

He already had the ring in his pocket.