A Very Special Need. Caroline Anderson

children under sixteen.’

      Christine managed a wan smile. ‘Softy,’ she murmured.

      He grinned. ‘That’s me. Just a sucker for a sob-story. Rest now. I won’t be long.’

      She nodded, and he took the tea back to the waiting room and handed it to Edward’s mother. ‘Here—one cup of tea, white, no sugar.’

      ‘Thanks.’ She flashed that dazzling smile at him again, and he had to swallow hard and dredge in a great lungful of air before he could make his legs work again. How his system could have gone from years of near-coma to absolute screaming wakefulness in such a short time, he didn’t know, but it certainly had.

      He shook his head to clear it, went back into his consulting room and shut the door. There, propped against the edge of the couch in some pain, was the reason this beautiful woman had come into his life—the only reason, he reminded himself—and he would do well to remember it.

      ‘Right, Edward, let’s see what we can do for you,’ he said briskly, and banished his intrusive libido from his thoughts.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘RIGHT, Edward, if you could stand up and turn round so I can see your back, perhaps we’ll be able to sort this pain out a bit for you. Can you tell me where it hurts?’

      The boy put a finger on his back, just below his waist and slightly to one side, over the lumbosacral joint which linked his flexible spine to the less flexible ring of his pelvis. It was a common spot for difficulties, being the junction between the two areas and so subject to more stresses than the other joints.

      Hugh watched as Edward bent slowly forwards, tipped sideways, rotated, straightened up and tipped back, generally showing a grossly restricted range of movement in that whole area. It wasn’t all due to the current injury—that much Hugh could see at a glance—but certainly the injury was compromising the movement Edward did have, and making the situation much worse.

      ‘Right, if you could lie on the couch for me on your right side facing me,’ he said, making it perfectly obvious which way he wanted the boy to lie by taking up his position beside the couch, and waited to see if he was able to follow instructions.

      He could tell by the brightness of his eyes and the few things he had said that he was certainly intelligent. How much his brain had been damaged in the trauma which had caused his cerebral palsy Hugh didn’t know, but he wanted to find out for himself and not from the boy’s mother. He wanted no preconceptions.

      Edward lay down exactly as asked, and when Hugh bent his knees up, propped them against his hip and rocked the boy gently, curling and uncurling his spine with slow, careful movements, he could feel the pull of the taut, spastic muscles fighting him all the way. ‘I just want to get this area moving a little,’ he explained. ‘See if I can get some freedom back into this joint.’ He supported the spine with the flat of his hand, rocked away gently for a while and gradually the muscles began to give a little and he was able to get more movement through the joint.

      ‘It’s very tight, isn’t it?’ he said to Edward. ‘Is it often?’

      ‘It always is,’ the boy replied. ‘I have a lot of spasticity in my psoas muscles as well.’

      No flies on this kid, Hugh thought with interest as he worked on the tight muscles. What a damn shame he’d been damaged at birth. He made a mental note to ask Judith—no, Miss Wright—the circumstances. ‘Who does your physio?’ he asked.

      ‘Mum—and the physio comes to school once a week to see how things are going. I have a special session with her when the others have got games.’

      ‘Do you do any games?

      ‘I work out in the gym a little with some special exercises when the others are there, but I can’t play football, of course. I go riding on Thursday with the RDA.’

      Hugh had heard of the RDA—the Riding for the Disabled Association—a charity which with the help of volunteers and fundraisers offered an opportunity for disabled children and adults to ride carefully chosen ponies and horses. The Princess Royal was a great supporter of the organisation, he knew.

      ‘Do you enjoy it?’ he asked.

      ‘Yeah.’ There was an enthusiasm in his tone Hugh hadn’t heard before, and he guessed this was one part of being disabled that Edward didn’t find too irksome! ‘Although,’ he continued in his slow, careful speech, ‘sometimes I’m not sure who’s disabled, the ponies or the riders.’

      Hugh laughed. ‘Are the ponies all old crocks, then?’

      ‘Not really. Some of them are quite young, but most of them have arthritis. There’s one, Pipkin, who’s new. He’s only nine but he can’t do much any more because of his leg. He’s a lot like me. He’d like to do more—I can feel it in him. He was sort of boiling inside with enthusiasm, but his body just won’t do it any more.’

      ‘I guess you would identify with that,’ Hugh said gently.

      Edward gave a little snort. ‘Just a bit. I get so sick of everyone thinking I’m thick, just because I talk slowly and can’t move fast. People talk down to you—patronise you. It makes me mad. I get so frustrated.’

      Hugh moved round to the other side of the treatment couch and spread some cream on Edward’s back, then turned on the ultrasound machine and ran the head lightly over the area of his sacrum and lumbar spine.

      ‘Do you get bullied much at school?’ he asked casually.

      Edward stiffened a little, and Hugh rested a warm hand on his hip and squeezed gently. ‘Don’t tense up. Just let the ultrasound do its work. Just breathe deeply and let go.’

      Gradually the boy relaxed again.

      Hugh tried a different tack. ‘So, tell me again how you fell,’ he said softly.

      The silence was broken only by the ticking of the timer on the ultrasound machine. For a long time Hugh didn’t think Edward was going to answer, then he drew in a shuddering breath and let it out.

      ‘This kid tripped me up on the stairs. He’s a new kid in my year. He’s been gunning for me all week, trying to prove something to the others—make his place or something.’ There was a wry chuckle. ‘Big mistake. They’re all used to me now, and they get a bit defensive. That’s why I don’t want to say anything. They’ll trash him if they know.’

      ‘They?’

      ‘Al and his mates. He’s my best friend. He’s Jamaican—his kid sister Flora’s got CP too. He gets really mad if anybody messes with me—makes the Mafia look like kindergarten. He’ll get in trouble if he’s caught sorting this kid. He’s done it before for me.’

      ‘And you think he would again?’

      Edward snorted again. ‘I know he would.’

      ‘Perhaps you need to have a quiet word with the one who tripped you up—warn him off.’

      ‘Yeah, right—like he’ll really listen to me!’

      ‘He might—it’d be worth a try if it’ll keep your friend Al out of trouble.’ Hugh put the ultrasound head down and, using his knuckles, kneaded gently into the taut muscles.

      ‘That feels a little better. How does it feel from your side?’

      ‘Easier. Thanks.’

      ‘I won’t manipulate it today—it’s too fresh and fragile at the moment. What I want you to do is go home, ice-pack it three times a day for ten minutes and rest as much as possible. I’ll see you again on Monday evening at the end of surgery so I can spend as long as I need without time restrictions. I think the diary’s looking a bit hectic for early next week and I don’t want to just cram you into a little