In this case, possibly a third. They make a striking couple - Em, with her short but very red hair, and Ollie, who is black, much taller and extremely good-looking.
‘Hiya,’ he says, holding out his hand to shake mine, then Harry’s. ‘Nice to meet you both at last. I’m dying for a cuppa.’
He has a broad Liverpool accent, and a loud voice. Loud enough that the waitress immediately dashes over and takes his order, now far more fascinated by Ollie than Harry.
‘Forgive him,’ says Em, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘He does his professional Scouser thing all the time when he’s in places like this. He just likes the attention.’
‘I can’t imagine getting attention is a problem he has,’ I reply, smiling.
‘You’re right there, love,’ he says with a wink.
He is funny, and confident, and I immediately like him.
Their drinks are delivered, and I realise that Em is staring at Harry. He is aware of her scrutiny, and I laugh a little inside as I see him do another subtle biceps flex.
‘You look a lot better than you did last time I saw you, Harry,’ she says, eventually.
‘That wouldn’t be hard, Em, would it?’ he responds. ‘As I’m guessing I was in a hospital bed coming to terms with waking up as a prisoner in my own body.’
He has never said those particular words out loud to me, never expressed those feelings of being trapped, held hostage. It’s interesting that he has said it, so openly and so quickly, to a virtual stranger.
Perhaps, I realise, he has always hidden as much of his own sadness from me as I have from him, either in an attempt to protect me, or out of the pride that used to so much define his character. Perhaps seeing Em, talking to someone who was there but who isn’t his wife, is having the same liberating effect on him as it did me.
‘You look amazing now,’ she says. ‘And I’ve been reading up on the work you do – also amazing.’
‘Do I sense some surprise there?’ he asks, quirking his head to one side in a way he knows is cute. ‘Almost as though I was a bit of an arsehole back then?’
He’s trying to catch her off guard, but the good ship Em isn’t that easy to rock.
‘To be fair I barely knew you, but you did seem a bit full of yourself now you mention it. Maybe you still are, but the work you’re doing is very impressive. Quite the change from what you did before.’
Of course, she will have done her research already.
‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘The whole experience was very humbling, in a lot of ways – not least of which was feeling like my career was over, feeling like there was nothing left for me to contribute. Realising that I needed to expect more, and that I could help others to expect more as well.’
It wasn’t just the way he was treated by his former employers that inspired him – it was also experiencing the everyday difficulties of life in a chair: the frustrations and the casual prejudice; the thoughtless actions of people parking in the wrong places; the lack of ramps and facilities; the lack of understanding that just because part of his body didn’t work in the same way, it didn’t automatically follow that he was happy to be some kind of helpless hermit.
He is, no surprises, a master at fundraising – if there is a grant out there to be got, he will get it. If there is a potential donor to be charmed, he will charm them. If there is a room to be worked, he will work it. He is, himself, a shining example of why disabled people should never be discounted.
‘I know you set up training schemes and work placements for people,’ Em says, ‘and we’d be glad to consider anyone you think would be interested.’
I see him start to run Em’s offer through his internal matrix and know he will have a plan in place, within seconds.
‘That’s wonderful, thank you,’ he says simply. ‘I already have a few people in mind you could meet.’
She nods, and folds her arms down onto the table, leaning forward. She looks immediately more focused and serious, switching into work mode. I feel decidedly unprofessional in comparison to these two go-getters, but am also proud of Harry, of seeing how his dedication is paying off.
‘So,’ she says. ‘Thank you again for doing this. I know it’s not easy, and I know that you in particular had your doubts, Elena. It’s been hard for me too, to be honest, when I’ve been interviewing people – harder to stay objective when their stories are all related to mine. I know I need to be interviewed myself as well, which is disconcerting. I’ve been getting Ollie to ask me questions on camera, and it hasn’t always been straightforward.’
‘She threw her boot at my head,’ he adds, conversationally.
‘Yeah, well, that’s the risk you run when you’re in a relationship with me, Ollie.’
‘It’s worth a million boots to the head, my love, you know that,’ he replies, winking again. It seems to be his thing.
She winks back and they share a smile, and they seem so very happy and so very relaxed that it almost makes me envious. Harry and I rub along well enough, but it’s clear that Em and Ollie adore each other in a way that makes the rest of the world disappear.
‘So how will this work?’ I ask. ‘And what have you done so far, apart from the clips you sent me? Have you spoken to a lot of people?’
