Chapter 13

13

Gio could see the attraction of being a physiotherapist, putting patients through their paces, clocking their progress, encouraging them when they needed it, backing off when that was required.

In her late twenties, his physio Aysha was enthusiastic, he'd give her that, and she wasn't stuck in her ways; she didn't treat him like someone she had to fix but rather a person who was working alongside her to improve. It was an approach that kept her on his good side.

It might be December but he was wearing shorts, necessary for the session and for close inspection of his injury. They were in his small dining room, which had never had a table in and instead housed gym equipment including free weights, a rowing machine and a multi gym with its enormous stack of weights to take him through gruelling workouts to keep his fitness levels as they should be. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd looked over at it since he was injured, especially when he'd set up a camp bed in here when he was first discharged from hospital and unable to take the stairs. He'd looked at the apparatus from his horizontal position and longed to pound out a load of reps, work every inch of his body. He'd sat on the seat a couple of times as he began to improve, done what he could with his arms, the temptation to do the same with his legs almost getting the better of him, but he'd backed off at the thought of making his knee even worse and having a setback that would do him in.

‘Are you still taking the painkillers as required?' Aysha felt his knee when he made a sound that went beyond an effort-filled groan after the last exercise.

‘When I need them,' he answered.

Aysha finished examining his knee. ‘The swelling and bruising have faded; everything is heading in the right direction.'

Vagueness. Nobody would give him a straight answer when it came to the question of how long it would be before he was back to himself. Gio was used to standing tall, strong, the fireman heading towards a crowd to save lives, put out fires, using his brute strength for the greater good. He wasn't a weak person, moaning at how his knee felt when he was sitting on his arse merely bending and straightening it.

‘In the right direction,' he repeated. ‘What does that even mean?'

‘You know the answer to that.'

He did because they'd been through this many, many times before.

They spent the next hour going through a number of exercises – legs bending in different ways, creating flexion to the knee, knee extensions. They used bands, body positioning, he did some half wall squats, making sure the middle of his kneecap was in line with his middle toe.

He was so pleased with the session that he pushed himself and tried to go down into a full squat but the pain stopped him and Aysha was there hooking her arms under his shoulders until he pushed himself up to standing.

‘Too much,' she said, although she didn't need to.

‘I didn't think so,' he grumped.

‘Your body says otherwise.' She hovered over him until he got the message and sat on the weights bench.

‘What am I doing wrong?' He wanted to persist – perhaps he'd let his knee go off course, maybe if he focused again after a minute to rest, he'd get it in the bag.

Once upon a time, when something pissed him off, he'd pound the pavements to solve a problem, he'd bash out a workout with some of the heaviest weights he could lift, the blood would pump through his veins and make him feel alive. But right now, he was this weaker version of himself and he hated it. If Bess ever agreed to going to dinner with him, on a date, he wanted to be more than this. He wanted to be himself.

‘You're not doing anything wrong.' Aysha's nose stud glinted beneath the light overhead. ‘You pushed yourself a little too far and your body reminded you, that's all.'

‘I feel like this body is the boss of me, not the other way round.'

‘For now, it is. Be patient. One step at a time. It's the approach that will pay off in the end.'

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one taking what felt like baby steps when all he wanted to do was make a giant leap, back to work, back to a normal life.

‘I want to try again,' he said.

‘Just half squats.'

‘Let me try the full.'

She shook her head. ‘Half squats and take it slow; stop the second it hurts. You know the difference between discomfort and pain?' He wasn't sure if it was a question or a reminder. ‘Some discomfort is expected but pain is your body telling you to stop. There's a difference.'

Over at the wall, he easily got to half squat. He put everything he had into concentrating on the correct form but he hadn't moved much further down when the pain began again and no way could he disguise it.

Aysha had him sitting on the bench within seconds. ‘We're done for today. Do not push it when I'm gone either.' She knew him too well. ‘Promise me or you'll set yourself back and how annoyed will you be then?'

He reluctantly agreed but cursed.

Aysha obviously heard him. ‘It's okay to be frustrated and if swearing helps, go for it.'

‘It does help. But I shouldn't do it around you.'

‘Hey, you could've gone a step further and, rather than swear at the universe or yourself, called me something terrible – patients have before, you know.'

That, for some reason, made him chuckle. ‘You should claim for emotional stress on the job.'

‘Sometimes, I'm tempted. Honestly, though, you're one of my easier patients.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Believe me, it's harder to work with someone who can't be bothered, who thinks this is their lot in life and the road to recovery is too hard to follow. When a person is in that mindset, my job is very hard.'

‘You know what a buddy at work said to me when I was in hospital?'

She waited to hear.

‘He said, listen to every single thing your physiotherapist says. '

She laughed. ‘Good advice and at the same time, I listen to you; that's the way it works best.'

When they finished the session, he couldn't help asking the same question he delivered almost every time – even though every session, he told himself he wouldn't bring it up this time. ‘Have you any idea when I'll be back on the job?'

She packed up her things. ‘You and I both know the answer to that.'

He did and he didn't like it. It'll take as long as it takes wasn't a proper answer, neither was every patient is individual . They were fast becoming two of his least-favourite phrases.

‘You're improving every day, remember that.' She shrugged on her coat. ‘The work we're doing is restoring your joint range of motion, improving ankle, knee and hip strength. All of that takes time. And it's a process – we need to get you able to function in your everyday life before we even think about a work environment, especially the one you're used to.'

‘But I'll get back there, right?'

‘You know I wouldn't be doing my job if I made promises I couldn't keep. I've seen firefighters with far more extensive injuries make a full recovery, back at work inside six months. Others I've seen swap to desk duties.'

On his crutches to see her to the door, he still managed to lift his fist and put it to his heart before he got a grip on the walking aids again. ‘The dreaded desk duties. Never seen myself as an office boy.'

‘I hope we can get you to where you want to be, Gio.'

He didn't hope. He prayed. Not a religious person, he willed any God out there listening to do him a favour and come through on this.

Marianne hadn't given up looking for rooms to rent. Gio had had no choice but to explain why he was reticent about the one she'd been excited about and rather than make things awkward, it actually made it easier because she did the due diligence after that and looked at properties on a map, noted the surrounding area before she enquired any further.

Gio agreed to go and view another room with her, this time nowhere near a pub or an off licence.

‘You need a second opinion, Mum,' he told her when she said yet again that she didn't need a babysitter as they made their way there in a taxi.

The taxi driver pulled up outside a Victorian terrace on the outskirts of Whistlestop River.

‘It looks nice,' she said.

When they got out, Gio led the way up the path on his crutches. The property looked respectable and he had a good feeling about it. At least he did until the man with the room to rent opened up the front door and the focus was no longer the enormous bay window and the comfy-looking armchairs beyond; it was a beer belly exposed at the bottom of an ill-fitting shirt and the stains on the shirt that almost blended into the fabric.

‘What do you want?' the man barked. He'd been expecting a woman, Gio realised, so stepped aside so the man could see his mum, who'd closed the gate behind them as Gio got a head start given his predicament.

‘You must be Marianne.' The guy immediately tried to turn on the charm. The smarmy git. Too late, mate. Gio had already made his judgement and it didn't change when they were looking around the interior and Gio caught the man leering at his mother more than once, his eyes way south of her face.

‘We'll let you know,' Gio said before his mother could say anything when they got back to the front door after their little tour around. ‘Thank you for your time.' He nodded for his mum to go out first.

As soon as they got to the front gate, he said, ‘You are not moving in there.'

‘But it was a lovely room. Reasonable rent too.'

‘Didn't you notice the way the guy was looking at you?' He'd already gone onto his app to book the taxi when they were midway between the main bedroom and the shared bathroom but there were none available, so they made their way towards the bus stop.

‘What do you mean, the way he was looking at me?'

‘Like you could do some negotiating for a lower room price if you get my drift.'

‘Well, it's nice to feel wanted at my age.' She seemed pleased rather than offended.

‘Not with someone like that it isn't.'

Once they were on the bus, Gio felt his mum reach out to him and put her hand over his.

‘Thank you for looking out for me.' She said it quietly enough that only he and nobody else could hear. ‘I'll keep looking; something will turn up soon.'

‘I'm sure it will.' And when they passed a house with a man out front looping Christmas lights around his front fence, Gio pushed the bell conveniently located right near their seats and got up gingerly. He knew where they were and what was close by.

‘Where are we going?' Marianne asked.

‘You'll see. Come on.'

Once they were off the bus, they walked about a hundred metres and when they turned into the next street, her face took on a warmth that was hard to look away from.

‘It's the best street in Whistlestop River for Christmas lights,' said Gio. ‘And you don't have to worry about me racing too fast and you not getting to see enough,' he added, noting the crutches.

‘Oh, this is wonderful.' Her eyes lit up like she was a five-year-old waiting for Father Christmas. ‘Look at this one, the polar bear, the penguins. Oh, Gio!'

They hovered outside every single house like that on the busy street with other people doing exactly the same. And the only thing that made Gio sad was that Marco wasn't here to share this with them.

And so when his mum was watching a moving Father Christmas climb up a ladder on a roof towards the chimney, a big sack slung over his shoulder, Gio sent his brother a message along with a photograph of Marianne, her face almost as bright as the lights, and told him again that this time, it was different. This time, she really had got herself together.

His brother's text came back in seconds:

We'll sort a date soon.

It was all Gio could ask for.