Anthony feels his way around the chessboard and a picture reforms in his mind. He makes an aggressive move. Checkmate. He reclines in his armchair and cherished moments float in his memory as he smells the fragrance of fresh cut grass at the tennis club. It is early afternoon in June 2019. Silent pigeons coo in nearby trees. Strangers occupy his childhood home in Fernbrook Road. His family have long since gone. Now all is still. He senses the presence of Chrissie and therefore she is there. He sees the Thames glistening in the sunlight as he replaces a mechanical water meter while balancing on a narrow concrete ridge. He sees the uniform of Squadron Leader John Shaw and admires his father with the eyes of a child.
Angry frustration
He speaks and his mother corrects his pronunciation to the point of angry frustration. Out of sight but thronging around him the dinghy fleet competes for the finishing line. He holds his nerve and his position amongst the hearing and able sighted. Along a converted railway track he cycles at full speed feeling the movement of pebbles spitting beneath the tyres of his tandem. He is racing with friends. TV and press chase him for a story about his extreme charity-supporting adventures. ‘My condition does not stop me and I refuse to be different. Some days I struggle…’ he tells the journalist.