J Raynor - Blind Fright

When the kitchen had been extended, the main appliances had been built in to the kitchen units and these still worked well enough to make them usable for me. I did have a tube of “rubbery” material which could be used to stick on the controls of oven, microwave and washing machine. This was used to create little “bumps” to assist in setting oven temperature, timer and anything else which could be improved by the addition of tactile markers to assist me with their programming. Hannah had offered to add these markers for me and, once done, she showed me the controls on each appliance. I just hoped that I could remember the various settings, yet Hannah was very patient with me as I tried to master all the controls

My possessions did include two prints of famous paintings. Dad had carried these pictures from the car and asked, “Are you certain that you still want to keep these paintings, Tonie?” He was wondering why I should wish to keep these as I was, obviously, unable to see them.

“Of course, Dad. I wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind.”

“But…”

I interrupted him as I knew exactly what he was going to say. “I know that I can’t see them now, but that is no reason for getting rid of them. I bought those paintings when I was seventeen, Dad. I could just about make out the bigger details, then, but, just because I can’t see them, now doesn’t mean that I don’t want them.”

I had bought something to remind me of my grandfather, who was a great fan of steam locomotives. “The Flying Scotsman” and “The Evening Star”, prints of Terence Cuneo’s famous paintings, had been my choice when my uncle on my mother’s side had left me a few hundred pounds after he died in 2007.

“Okay, where do you want me to hang them?”

I had already decided just where these pictures should be hung. “The Flying Scotsman in the front room, facing the chimney breast and the Evening Star in the next room in the same place, please.”

Accepting my decision, armed with hammer and picture hooks, he began to fix them on the walls, even using a spirit level to ensure correct positioning.

When this job was done, Mum and Dad showed me where all the items from home had been placed. They knew well enough, by now, that a little information about the location of potential hazards was essential for me to manage on my own.

As my family were leaving, I could hear the emotion in my mother’s voice as she gave me a warm hug, saying, “Take good care of yourself, Tonie. Remember, if there is anything you need, just give me a call.”

“Don’t worry about me, mum. I’ll be fine.”

Hannah also gave me a parting hug, “Take care, Tonie. Let me know if there is any help you may need with anything.” Thankfully, I knew that she really meant it. In some families, brothers and sisters really hated each other, but, in our case, Hannah and I never had any such problem, perhaps because of the nine-year gap between us. I had always been there to protect my little sister and, equally, she was always ready to assist me, whenever I needed help.

“Thanks for all your help, Hannah. I’ll try not to pester you too much.”

It did feel quite strange to be on my own, after so many years of falling over each other in my parents’ cluttered house. My mother did think that she kept the rooms clear for me, but I had not told her of the many times I had caught my shins on something that was out of place or tripped over an item left carelessly, cursing as I did my best to keep my balance.

I was determined that there should be absolutely no such clutter in my own home. The most difficult decision to make was which bedroom I should use. Both were of a similar size, with the front room facing north on the road side of the house, while the rear room with its southerly aspect would receive much more sunlight. Eventually, I had decided on the rear bedroom, overlooking the long garden, thinking I was less likely to be disturbed by traffic noise, although there would probably not be that many vehicles on my road.

This decision had to be made before delivery of my double bed, a few days earlier, as the company had to remove the old bed and assemble the new one in the chosen room before I moved in. Mum had helped me to select and order new bedding, again, before the actual moving-in day.

Since it was Sunday, I had plenty of time to get organised and spent the rest of the day unpacking all my clothes and transferring them into the wardrobes. There was still plenty of space. “Future expansion?”, I mused.

Kelly, meanwhile, lay half asleep, curled up, presumably watching me as I busied myself trying to make the house into a home.

My mother had spoiled me by leaving me a home-made steak and kidney pie and roasted potatoes for my main evening meal. All I had to do was heat these up in the oven. I could not expect this level of pampering every day, yet I did enjoy this meal, especially when accompanied by a glass of red wine. Never a big drinker of alcohol, I had bought several small bottles of a good Chilean red wine, each of which would fill one medium-sized glass.

Satisfied from my enjoyable meal, I relaxed for the rest of that first evening in the living room of my very own home, watching television. Kelly was relaxing near my feet, always preferring to stay close to me. At one point, she sat up, handing me an outstretched paw. This almost-human action is what makes the bond between dog and owner so special. It reminded me of an unfortunate incident in the previous autumn. Kelly and I had been queueing at a Metro stop at Saint Peter’s Square in Manchester. It was a Tuesday evening and, since there was going to be a football match at Manchester United’s home ground, that evening, there were many happy, already intoxicated fans waiting for the Metro. As Kelly and I approached the platform, the crush of fans allowed us through, where we tried to find a space for us to wait. I had never encountered so many people waiting for transport. As the Metro arrived, the fans surged forward as one body mass. As we were carried along, I was worried about Kelly’s feet being trampled. It came as a relief when a woman’s commanding voice called, “Take it easy, everybody and make way for the blind gentleman with his guide dog. Come on, guys, there will be another Metro in a few minutes.” I think that she must have been a Metrolink employee, judging by the authority in her voice, together with the fact that the fans actually seemed to take notice of her.

It came as a relief when the crush eased slightly and we were allowed through the open doors of the Metro. Unfortunately, the mass of bodies appeared to fill almost all the available space. Kelly was brilliant, as usual, and led me to a slightly-less crowded area.

I guessed, from the shouts of the many fans, that some were unable to fit into the over-crowded Metro as the doors began to close. Careful not to grab hold of another passenger, I tried to find a rail to hold, as the Metro lurched forward. Thankfully, one person moved a little and a middle-aged woman took hold of my hand, placing it on the upright rail used by many passengers. “There you go love, hold on tight.”

I thanked the woman and tried to protect Kelly with my own body, as the Metro was already slowing down for the next station.

I had hoped that some passengers would get off, but, when the doors opened at the Deansgate stop, even more passengers tried to squeeze in. Judging from the smell, these were more noisy, drunken football fans.

I felt a punch in my arm as one man made a grab for the same rail that I was holding, again as the Metro lurched forward.

He made no apology and began a noisy conversation with his friends, while some of them were chanting support for their team.