...And I’m in! that’s it, I’ve made it. Everyone’s here and now I’m here too. Noone’s
questioning me , there’re women everywhere and the drink’s free. Would I enjoy
myself more if I’d been invited? I don’t think so.

The others must have split up. Funny, they were right in front of me when we came
through the door. Now I can’t see them anywhere. There’s a room full of people to my
left. The doors open and there’s music thumping out. It’s dark and as I look through
the doorway I don’t recognise anyone, not that I can see much in the darkness.
There’s a girl standing at the end of the hallway looking straight at me. She looks
about 27, 28, tall, slim, beautiful and she’s looking straight at me. Either I’ve been
sussed or this is going to be a good night. As I walk down the hallway towards her, she
goes through another doorway. This place is enormous. I hadn’t noticed before but
there seems to be doors leading off everywhere. I follow the girl and find myself in the
kitchen, which looks like a lager shop with a cooker in it. There must be 20 people in
the room and I don’t recognise any of them.

They say the difference between an
Oxford man and a Cambridge man is that when an Oxford man walks into a room, he
looks as though he owns the place, and when a Cambridge man walks into a room, he
looks as though he couldn’t give a f**k who owns it. Me, I go for the Cambridge man
every time. I take a bottle of beer from a table and the girl appears in front of me. I
ask her name.

'Emmess' she replies as she takes my beer from me, opens it with a
smile - which I call showing off, she could have used a bottle opener like anyone else -
and hands it back to me. I drop it and it lands on the table. That’s the second time
that’s happened tonight and I’m not even p**sed. I grab it before too much spills out and look to see Emmess’ reaction. She’s gone.

I go back into the hallway. It’s darker in here than the kitchen but I can clearly see a
few people standing around chatting and drinking. There’s a couple sitting on the
floor, slouched against the wall. They’re trying to have a puff but they’re so far gone
they look like the Olympic staring-into-space finalists. The bloke loses because he arrives back from wherever he’s been and offers me a puff. I take it from him and he tells me to keep it, as if he’s found it a good home. I head for the room with the music,
taking a couple of puffs on the joint before it gets too hot and I drop it into a half full bottle of Bud.

As I walk into the room I stumble against the door. I haven’t drank that much have I?
Emmess is dancing with a group of people and she sees me leaning against the door.
At least I hope she sees me leaning against the door and doesn’t realise it’s holding me
up.

She comes over and holds my arm, just enough to support me. She doesn’t say
anything but I know she can see through my imaginary leaning act. It’s like she wants
to help a little but not too much. She seems to understand what’s going on even if I
don’t. There’s a chair against the wall behind me and I half lower myself, half fall into it. Emmess moves away, leaving me sitting in the chair. I’ve never been so glad to just
sit down. This is weird, must be the drink and the puff but it just feels like there’s a hole in the sole of my foot where my strength’s leaking out. I just want to sit in my chair and watch the world happen. I’ll join it in a minute.

Emmess is across the room dancing with a group of people. I’ve decided she’s my Emmess now. I think this state of affairs has been brought about by a cocktail of drink and soft drugs along with their ally, a false sense of well-being. I can’t decide whether the people she’s dancing with are her friends or if she’s just having a good time. I notice every time a bloke tries to catch her interest by subtly staring straight at her
while bringing his best moves off the subs bench she just moves on far enough for him to know she’s not interested. Funnily enough they all seem to accept this polite rejection by seeking out fresh prey within oh, lets say ten seconds. Her long black hair seems to be dancing with her, but it’s one beat behind all the time.
She moves very easily, comfortable with herself. Watching her dance I realise how awkward I feel in comparison. I’m enjoying watching and I notice that I don’t feel so tired now. It’s funny, it’s not a feeling of tiredness because I want to sleep, it’s more that I’ve got no energy. It’s such a different feeling I can’t believe anyone would
understand if I tried to explain what it’s like. I’ve certainly never felt like this before.
I’m thinking it’s no good sitting like this when all of a sudden it hits me -- “I’VE GOT
TO GO FOR A P**S!” This is no gentle acknowledgment of 3 or 4 hours of drinking. This is 'I’ve got to get to a toilet in the next 30 seconds or you’re going to regret it
almost as much as I am.' Considering I could hardly stand 10 minutes ago I must say I’m pretty impressive at getting up the stairs and finding the door for the toilet, all in
less time than it would take to say, 'Oh look Mum, that man’s just wet himself.' The feeling of relief is unbelievable. Heaven must be like this, one giant p**s. How could I have got myself in this state? I can’t keep blaming it on the drink, can I?

Disaster...doing my flies up, my trousers feel damp. No! I’ve p**sed myself. Oh Jesus, this is getting ridiculous. Maybe it’s not as bad as I first thought. My trousers are black so it doesn’t really show. Next door behind one of the doors I’ve already tried is the bathroom. I go and have a look and yes, lying on the floor there’s a hairdryer and some towels. Thank you, God - sorry about the crack about your gaff, I’m sure it’s lovely. I plug the hairdryer in, switch it on and with great care I dry my trousers off in the offending area. Yes folks, I give myself a blowjob. When they’re dry I have a rummage around in a wallcabinet and in amongst the vaseline and veruca ointment I
strike gold. Never has one man been so glad to see an almost empty bottle of Tweed eau de parfum. I shake it up and spray some on my trousers. It doesn’t smell too bad actually, maybe I’ll get some for my Mum’s birthday. No, that wouldn’t do. Every
time she put it on to go to Bingo, it’d bring back memories.

And that’s me. Warm, dry and Tweeded up. I’m in better nick than when I arrived. I go out onto the landing where I see Emmess talking to one of her stalkers. She doesn’t see me but to get downstairs I’ll have to walk past her. Although I’m not too
tired anymore I feel a bit unsteady on my feet and I don’t fancy Emmess watching me wobbling past her like a music hall drunk before falling down the stairs. I decide to duck through one of the doors along the landing, but which one. This place is like one
of those Russian dolls that when you open them up, you keep finding another one inside, except in here it’s doors. They’re everywhere, it’s like a bloody maze. No wonder I haven’t seen any of the others. They’ve probably ended up in the East Wing looking for their mate, Charlie.

In a sudden moment of decisiveness I open the door directly opposite me. I enter what looks like a bedroom. A bedroom with just enough room for a bed and rehearsal space for the Russian State Circus. The walls have what look like original paintings hanging on them. It looks very impressive to a philistine like me - I don’t know much about what I like, but I know Art. There’s someone sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. He sees me before I have time to turn and leave. For the first time tonight, I feel
like an intruder. It’s true, you can get lost in a crowd but when a room’s only got two people in it, it’s difficult to hide.

'You’re late,' He says.

'No, mate, I’m looking for the bathroom. Looks like I’ve got the wrong place unless you’ve got a toilet in here.' I try a friendly laugh.

'I have actually.' His voice sounds quiet, weak. I go across the room towards him so I can hear what he says more easily. He doesn’t say anything. I’m standing in front of him now and for the first time I can see that he’s sitting in a
wheelchair. He’s sort of slumped forward, like he can’t quite sit up straight. His hair is dark and short, like mine. I notice how thin his arms and legs are. It seems incongruous to find him sitting up here like this when there’s so much going on
downstairs. Mind you, it’s dead quiet up here. There’s a television switched on in front of him but the sound’s turned down.

I’m standing next to a bed which makes me think that because of where he’s sitting I’ve interrupted him when he was getting into it. He doesn’t say anything, which makes me feel like I should.

'I’m sorry to have barged in on you, mate. I’ll get back
downstairs.'

'Give me a hand before you go.

'Err, sure. What do you need?' Oh s**t. What if he wants me to do some disabled thing like wipe something, or plug him into something?

'Don’t sound so nervous, I only want you to light a spliff for me.' He tries to point towards the bed but his arm is shaking. I see the spliffs lying on the bed. They’re laid out in a row with a lighter and an ashtray. There’s a small lamp on a bedside table
which is the only light on in the large room. This makes the bed look like it’s marooned against the wall, with the rest of the room in shadow. 'Can you lay that newspaper on my lap, so I can have the ashtray on it?' He motions toward the bed again.

I take the newspaper from the bed and do as he says. He’s not ordering me as such, but it’s plain this is non-negotiable. I don’t mind doing it, I mean, look at the state of him. He must be about 6 foot on a good day. I reckon he weighs about 12 stone and it looks like 2 stone of that is round his middle. His arms and legs
look like they’d like to know why their share of the nourishment doesn’t get past the stomach and one of his arms doesn’t stop shaking. Jesus, you’ve got to feel sorry for him.

'You feel sorry for me, don’t you?' he says looking straight at me. All this and he’s a mind reader too.

'Err, no mate, I was just wondering if you wanted me to light one of those for you?' I say, picking up one of his spliffs.

'Sure. You can have some if you want, two’s enough for me. I like a couple before I go to bed. They help me sleep. I find that if I have the three it makes getting into bed a bit dodgy.'

I didn’t think of that. I wonder how he gets into bed. I suppose someone helps him.

'Tell you what, if you hang on a minute, I’ll get into bed while you’re here in case I fall again,' he says while trying to move himself forward in the chair.

His wheelchair is about half way along the bed, pressed tight alongside it. He pushes the newspaper onto the floor and does something, which I can’t really see, to the right arm of his chair. This looks like it frees the arm because he then pulls it free from the chair and lies it on the bed. He starts to edge himself forward in his chair, holding on to the left armrest and putting most of his weight through his right arm, which is braced against the bed. He looks like he’s going to fall so I reach forward quickly and
put my hands on his shoulders to stop him falling forward.

'There’s no need for that,' he says a bit too quickly for my liking. 'I’m O.K. If I need a hand I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can just leave me to it.'

'I was just trying to help. You looked like you were going to fall.' Jesus, I was only trying to stop him from hurting himself. Ungrateful git. I stepped away from the wheelchair and left him to it. I’d already moved the spliffs and his bits and pieces so
the bed was empty. He’s free to fall and break his f**king neck for all I care. In fact, b*****ks to this. I’m going back to the party.

'Hello, Emm,' he said, a lot more cheerfully than when he’d been speaking to me. I looked towards the door where Emmess was standing looking at the two of us. She was dangling a bottle of Bud at her side, holding the neck of the bottle with her fingertips....Maybe I wouldn’t go back to the party just yet.

'How’s it going, Emmess? I was just chatting to....sorry, mate, I don’t know your name.' I apologised to my new mate.

'Andy.'

'I was chatting to Andy,' I called across to her.

As she crossed the room towards us, Andy swang himself across from his wheelchair to the bed. My instinct was to try and help him, he looked so unsteady, but I remembered what he’d said so I left him to it. Emmess sat next to Andy and put her hand on his leg, giving it a gentle squeeze. He’s wearing a T-shirt and a pair of boxers and when she squeezed his leg, I expected it to cause him pain but it didn’t seem to. I didn’t understand all this. There was this guy looking like death warmed up, stuck up here on his own, with this woman who looked like she belonged on a catwalk treating him with an intimacy that you’d usually find in... Oh s**t, it’s just dawned on me, they can’t be married can they?

Emmess is helping Andy into bed now. She lifts his legs up at the ankles and swings them round as he leans back, all in one movement, so he’s lying in the bed. They look at ease doing this. You could tell they’d done it before. Andy looks settled in the bed.
He’s pulled the duvet over himself but he’s left his legs uncovered from the knees down. Now I notice a bag strapped to his leg full of p**s. Uuuurgh, Emmess is undoing the straps that attach the bag to his leg and now she’s emptying the p**s into one of those bottles that I’d seen in hospital when I broke my leg. She took the bottle and left the room, hopefully to get rid of it.

'Emmess seems to give you a lot of help. Bet you’d be lost without her,' I said, fishing.

'Yeah, it’s handy she’s here,' Andy said distractedly. He was looking around for something.

'So she’s not here all the time then?' Jesus, it was like pulling teeth.

'Oh, she’s always around.' He’d found what he was looking for, it was the puff, but he couldn’t reach it.

'D’you want a spliff?' I asked, knowing he obviously did.

'Please. Could you light me one?'

'No problem.' I took one of the spliffs from the bedside cabinet and lit it, taking a nice big drag. 'So have you been together long?'

Andy was looking at the spliff. I took another drag. It was certainly working for me. I held it as if to give it to him, but as he
moved as if to take it from me, I took another drag. 'Good stuff, this. You and Emmess like a puff then?'

'I do.... We’re not together you know.'

Fair exchange is no robbery. I handed him the spliff and an ashtray.

The door opened and Emmess came back with the empty bottle in her hand. She was dangling it at her side in the same way that she’d been carrying her bottle of Bud. As she closed the door behind her the faint sound of the party downstairs was shut out again. It was so quiet and still up here I’d almost forgotten about the party. I liked it, especially now Emmess was back...a couple of spliffs, a bottle of beer and a beautiful girl, who can ask for anything more....

Emmess came over and put the empty bottle in the bedside cabinet. She took her beer from the top of the cabinet and sat on the edge of Andy’s bed.

'How are you feeling?' she said looking straight at me. I felt as though she knew everything I was thinking, her gaze was so direct. It didn’t make me feel uncomfortable though. She had a very calming way about her, I felt like there would be no point in keeping any secrets from her. 'Why don’t you sit down, I’ll sit in the chair,' she said moving to sit in the wheelchair.

'You don’t mind, mate,' I said to Andy, 'actually, I do feel a bit tired again.' I sat on the edge of the bed, grateful for the rest. This feeling had come over me again, the tiredness, the fatigue. That was it, fatigue, that was the word for it. My strength had
seeped out of me again and I wanted to rest, not sleep, just rest.

'Are you O.K.?' Emmess said, holding one of my hands. 'Tired,' she said to Andy.

'Here, have some of this mate,' Andy handed the spliff to me. 'Finish it, it’s nearly gone.'

I took the spliff from him. I’d only had a bit before but things seemed a bit blurry. Still, I took a couple of puffs and things seemed clearer, sharper. Maybe puff’s good for your eyesight. The spliff was nearly finished so I took the last puff and then, oh s**t, I haven’t offered Emmess any.

'I didn’t want any,' she said to me.

Well, it must be working because I didn’t realise I’d said that out loud! I was getting a nice buzz off the puff and Emmess holding my hand when I came back and suddenly felt like nobody had said anything for a long time. 'So how come you’re in a
wheelchair then Andy?' I blurted out, tactfully.

'I’m not, I’m in bed. Do you mean how come I use a wheelchair to get around?'

'Err, yes mate. That’s what I meant....' Jesus, you had to think a bit before you spoke to this bloke.

'Emmess,' at least I thought that’s what he said.

'Andy’s got M.S.... Multiple Sclerosis, so he uses his wheelchair to get around,' Emmess explained to me.

I’ve heard of that, M..S. I think that’s what Pauline, Dad’s sister’s got. 'I’ve got an Aunt who’s got that, but she’s not in a wheelchair.'

'It effects everyone differently. One person might need to use a wheelchair quite soon after they’ve been diagnosed, another person may never need to use one. Everyone’s
different,' Emmess explained.

'Can you tell which person you’re going to be?' I asked her.

'Not really,' Andy said '...That’s what makes life so interesting. You can’t predict exactly how it’s going to effect you but you can get a rough idea...and then it
surprises you and puts you flat on your back.'

'Do they know how you get it?' I asked.

'No. If they knew that, it would probably lead to a cure.'

'So there’s no cure?' I asked him, in a moment of brilliance.

'Not at the moment, but there are some new drugs around that might help with slowing it down.'

It was a shame to see anyone like this but to be honest I was more concerned about myself at the moment. I felt like s**t! In the space of the evening I’d gone from feeling my normal self to this....I kept feeling tired, I was unsteady on my feet, my eyesight, which had always been perfect, was blurred and I kept getting this desperate need to go for a p**s; talking of which....

'Scuse me, people, but I’ve got to go and turn my bike round again.' I made a move for the door as quickly as my recent 'accident' demanded. I couldn’t risk another hairdryer incident.

I watched him leave the room. He was already starting to lose his inhibitions, you could see by the way he walked to the door. I could almost feel him trying not to grab hold of himself as he rushed out. Poor sod, you had to have some sympathy for him. I’d been through it but he hadn’t even worked out what was happening to him, it was too early. Did I sympathise or empathise, I don’t know. I just remember how it was difficult to see anything good in the early days? All I did was think about what I’d lost, or was losing, and at the same time, I’d listen to a resounding chorus of 'think positive,' as if this Christmas Cracker slogan was going to be my salvation. All I knew was after this ground breaking advice had been freely dispensed, I was left feeling slightly worse than I already did, while my own personal 'spirit raiser' had moved on to get on with their own life. I soon learnt that the sharp people told you specific things without using specific words.

What could I do for our new friend? What had I needed at the beginning? It’s hard to think, there was so much going on at the time. The first thing was to get it diagnosed, so at least then you knew what you were dealing with. After that, I certainly couldn’t say. If there were a set of rules to follow, then somebody would have written them down and made their fortune. You’d probably find them on morning television using bumper sticker talk for the huddled masses, in between an item about 'The Toffee Crisp Diet - Munch Your Way To A Trimmer You' and a phone-in on '...My husband's a peanut, should I have his children?'

I may not be able to get to see him that easily but there’s always the phone. I could give him a call now and again, to see how he’s getting on. I could quite easily tell him now about the neurologists and the GPs, the physios and the continence advisers and the OT’s, the social workers and the independent living advocates and everyone’s favourites, the homecarers. I suppose we could talk about the progression of the condition, about the deterioration of eyesight, the reduction in muscle strength and tone, the loss of bladder and bowel control, the subtle difference between breezing into the pub and life viewed from a wheelchair. Of course, it really isn’t that bad, but somehow I don’t think he’d be too open to that idea at the moment. I could ask him to try and imagine not having to drag yourself out of a nice, warm bed at 6 a.m. to go and do a job you don’t enjoy and would never believe you could miss doing, having a laugh with the nurses, the flirting with an attractive doctor, the liaison with the voluntary helper, even the homecarer who thought Kilmarnock was a fish! I could tell him about all of these things but what would it achieve - more harm than good I reckon? No, I think the best I could do would be to visit him when I was able and just keep in touch so we could tell each other as many lies as was necessary.

That was close, nearly p**sed myself again. Christ I’m tired. I don’t know if Andy and Emmess have even heard me come back in the room. Anyway, I’ll just lean against this wall for a second to get my strength up before I try and get back over to them. I feel
so weak. That must be why I’m so unsteady. It can only be 20 feet to those two but I honestly don’t think I’ll make it. This is ridiculous.... I’ve had enough of this.

He’s leaning against the wall by the door now. I’ll go and help him. As I get close he smiles gently. He looks so lost. I take his arm and he uses me as a support as we walk slowly across the room. He’s very unsteady now, I can really feel his weight as he leans against me, clinging to me with both hands. I help him lower himself back onto the bed and I have to keep hold of his hands for a moment until he’s able to balance. He’s still very unsteady so I stand between him and the wheelchair with one hand on
his shoulder to steady him. His body is slumped under the weight of trying to sit up straight. He looks so small.

'Good of you to join us.....we wondered when you’d be back.' Andy’s talking to me but I’m too tired to answer. I just want to get out of here but I can’t even walk across the room. This doesn’t make any sense, I can hardly sit up straight.

'Come and sit here.' Emmess takes my arm with both of her hands and helps me into the wheelchair. I slump back in it and it feels so much easier than trying to sit up straight on the bed. 'Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you.' Emmess is crouched by my side, holding my hand to stop it shaking. I don’t want to sit in this thing but the way I’m feeling I can’t get out of it. I’ll just stay here for a minute, until I’m feeling better.

Emmess looks at me. 'Yes, you stay there....I’ll stay with you.'