International Player(10)

“We won’t go into the ward, but the activity room is what I want to show you anyway. You immediately see where the need is.” Abigail led the way through two sets of double doors.

As we walked into the cavernous room, I glanced up to see the ceiling stained with chunks of plaster missing. “Wow.” A thousand memories hit me like a sucker punch, and I found myself unable to speak. A dull ache coursed through my body like a scar deep within me was reminding me the pain was still there.

“I know. The place is a mess,” Abi said from beside me. “The roof needs replacing—who am I kidding, the entire place needs replacing. They have a target of twenty-five million.”

“They’re trying to raise twenty-five-million pounds?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard her right. I knew they were trying to raise money but that was a tremendous amount.

“Yep. We’re doing what we can but . . .” Abi shook her head. “It’s a lot. And I know the building’s a mess, but that’s only the start of it.”

I might have money but that was more than I was worth. I was a dick for thinking my check of five thousand would make a difference.

“The equipment is broken and there’s just not enough of it to cope with the number of patients,” Abi continued as we made our way further into the activity room, and as if to prove her point, we passed a broken set of parallel bars that looked like they’d not been replaced since I was using them.

The floor was divided into distinct areas centered around pieces of equipment, just like it had been when I’d been there. Physiotherapists, doctors, and other adults were interspersed between the children, some working with kids one on one and others in groups. It even looked like some kind of martial arts class was being taught at the far end of the room.

The place was noisy, which was how I remembered it, but it was gloomy and dull and lacked the energy and laughter I’d enjoyed while I was here. It hadn’t all been pain and suffering during my stay. Underneath there’d been hope, an undercurrent of determination, and finally success.

To our left was a boy of about fifteen walking tentatively on a treadmill that was on the lowest speed. He could have been me—lanky and stumbling but with the tightness of his jaw suggesting a steel that I recognized.

“That’s the only treadmill they have now. These two are broken,” Abi said as she caught me watching the boy gain confidence with the aid of the physio who was helping him.

“They struggle to recruit physios because the pay is so low. The ones who are here haven’t had a raise in seven years.”

“So what happened?” I asked. “It didn’t used to be like this.”

Abi shot me a confused look, and I realized I’d given too much away. I didn’t want to answer any questions or become the focus of our visit.

“I mean, you can tell that at some point they had more resources.” Most of the equipment had been new when I’d been here. And by the looks of it they’d had nothing since. How on earth did they manage?

“It’s a combination of government cuts and some of the charities funding them moving their support to other, more-fashionable causes.”

While I was here, I never thought about where the money was coming from to fund this place. I’d never felt lucky to be in the situation I was. But compared to what these kids had to work with, I’d been more than lucky.

“And then there’s all this new stuff that the medical director wants to do but just can’t. There’s this thing called a spinal stimulation . . . something that they use in America and would make a big difference apparently.”

I was pretty sure she meant epidural stimulation. I wasn’t sure what made me keep up with developments in the area, but I did. I even had some shares in the company that had developed the epidural stimulation treatments. And given the success they’d had in other countries, there was no doubt they’d make a difference here.

“Let me show you over here,” Abi said, guiding us past the free weights that were set up in the left-hand corner, just like they had been while I was here, except the mats they sat on were badly frayed.

I followed, still a little dazed by the activity in front of me and how eerily familiar it all was.

“Rob mentioned that you had some kind of issue when you were young. Did you have to have rehab like this?”

I scraped my hand through my hair. “Yeah.” I didn’t mention the months of just lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to block out the doctors who’d told me I’d never walk again. I didn’t mention the hours and hours I’d spent in this very room.

“I wanted to show you what Emily’s doing.” Abi led the way over to the nearest set of parallel bars.

A woman in a track suit hovered in front of a young, blonde girl of about twelve who was taking slow but steady steps, her hands gripping the parallel bars.

“Girl, I can see that work you’ve done on your quads. It’s really paying off,” the physio said.

The blonde grinned through her grimace. “I wish it felt like it.”

I understood. It was difficult to see incremental progress when you were constantly pushing yourself. But every now and then you’d hit a milestone where you’d know you were moving forward—the first time you stood, even if your legs weren’t taking all the weight, the first step. I shook my head. Fuck, I’d forgotten this stuff. Deliberately. The struggle had been so difficult, had required everything I had. I didn’t like to remember it. I preferred to concentrate on my future.