By the time we reached the hospital I had actually broken out into a fine sweat. I drove around the hospital car park three times, too afraid to reverse into any but the largest of spaces, until I could sense that the two men were beginning to lose patience. Then, finally, I lowered the ramp and Damion helped Derek’s chair out on to the tarmac.
‘Good job,’ Damion said, clapping me on the back as he let himself out, but I found it hard to believe it had been.
There are things you don’t notice until you accompany someone with a wheelchair. One is how rubbish most pavements are, pockmarked with badly patched holes, or just plain uneven. Walking slowly next to Derek as he wheeled himself along, I noticed how every uneven slab caused him to jolt painfully, or how often he had to steer careful
