Me Before You

JOJOMOYESMeBeforeYou

PENGUINBOOKSTableofContents
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Q&AwithJojoPENGUINBOOKSMeBeforeYou
JojoMoyeswasbornin1969andbroughtupinLondon.Ajournalistandwriter,sheworkedforTheIndependentnewspaperuntil2001.ShelivesinEastAngliawithherhusbandandthreechildren.Sheistheauthorofninenovels,twoofwhich,TheLastLetterFromYourLover(2010)andForeignFruit(2003),havewontheRNANoveloftheYearaward.
www.jojomoyes.com
www.twitter.com/jojomoyesToCharles,withlovePrologue2007
Whenheemergesfromthebathroomsheisawake,proppedupagainstthepillowsandflickingthroughthetravelbrochuresthatwerebesidehisbed.SheiswearingoneofhisT-shirts,andherlonghairistousledinawaythatpromptsreflexivethoughtsofthepreviousnight.Hestandsthere,enjoyingthebriefflashback,rubbingthewaterfromhishairwithatowel.
Shelooksupfromabrochureandpouts.Sheisprobablyslightlytoooldtopout,butthey’vebeengoingoutashortenoughtimeforitstilltobecute.
‘Dowereallyhavetodosomethingthatinvolvestrekkingupmountains,orhangingoverravines?It’sourfirstproperholidaytogether,andthereisliterallynotonesingletripinthesethatdoesn’tinvolveeitherthrowingyourselfoffsomethingor–’shepretendstoshudder‘–wearingfleece.’
Shethrowsthemdownonthebed,stretcheshercaramel-colouredarmsaboveherhead.Hervoiceishusky,testamenttotheirmissedhoursofsleep.‘HowaboutaluxuryspainBali?Wecouldliearoundonthesand…spendhoursbeingpampered…longrelaxingnights…’
‘Ican’tdothosesortsofholidays.Ineedtobedoingsomething.’
‘Likethrowingyourselfoutofaeroplanes.’
‘Don’tknockittillyou’vetriedit.’
Shepullsaface.‘Ifit’sallthesametoyou,IthinkI’llstickwithknockingit.’
Hisshirtisfaintlydampagainsthisskin.Herunsacombthroughhishairandswitchesonhismobilephone,wincingatthelistofmessagesthatimmediatelypushesitswaythroughontothelittlescreen.
‘Right,’hesays.‘Gottogo.Helpyourselftobreakfast.’Heleansoverthebedtokissher.Shesmellswarmandperfumedanddeeplysexy.Heinhalesthescentfromthebackofherhair,andbrieflyloseshistrainofthoughtasshewrapsherarmsaroundhisneck,pullinghimdowntowardsthebed.
‘Arewestillgoingawaythisweekend?’
Heextricateshimselfreluctantly.‘Dependswhathappensonthisdeal.It’sallabitupintheairatthemoment.There’sstillapossibilityImighthavetobeinNewYork.NicedinnersomewhereThursday,eitherway?Yourchoiceofrestaurant.’Hismotorbikeleathersareonthebackofthedoor,andhereachesforthem.
Shenarrowshereyes.‘Dinner.WithorwithoutMrBlackBerry?’
‘What?’
‘MrBlackBerrymakesmefeellikeMissGooseberry.’Thepoutagain.‘Ifeellikethere’salwaysathirdpersonvyingforyourattention.’
‘I’llturnitontosilent.’
‘WillTraynor!’shescolds.‘Youmusthavesometimewhenyoucanswitchoff.’
‘Iturneditofflastnight,didn’tI?’
‘Onlyunderextremeduress.’
Hegrins.‘Isthatwhatwe’recallingitnow?’Hepullsonhisleathers.AndLissa’sholdonhisimaginationisfinallybroken.Hethrowshismotorbikejacketoverhisarm,andblowsherakissasheleaves.
Therearetwenty-twomessagesonhisBlackBerry,thefirstofwhichcameinfromNewYorkat3.42am.Somelegalproblem.Hetakestheliftdowntotheundergroundcarpark,tryingtoupdatehimselfwiththenight’sevents.
‘Morning,MrTraynor.’
Thesecurityguardstepsoutofhiscubicle.It’sweatherproof,eventhoughdownherethereisnoweathertobeprotectedfrom.Willsometimeswonderswhathedoesdownhereinthesmallhours,staringattheclosed-circuittelevisionandtheglossybumpersof￡60,000carsthatnevergetdirty.
Heshouldershiswayintohisleatherjacket.‘What’sitlikeoutthere,Mick?’
‘Terrible.Rainingcatsanddogs.’
Willstops.‘Really?Notweatherforthebike?’
Mickshakeshishead.‘No,sir.Notunlessyou’vegotaninflatableattachment.Oradeathwish.’
Willstaresathisbike,thenpeelshimselfoutofhisleathers.NomatterwhatLissathinks,heisnotamanwhobelievesintakingunnecessaryrisks.Heunlocksthetopboxofhisbikeandplacestheleathersinside,lockingitandthrowingthekeysatMick,whocatchesthemneatlywithonehand.‘Stickthosethroughmydoor,willyou?’
‘Noproblem.Youwantmetocallataxiforyou?’
‘No.Nopointbothofusgettingwet.’
MickpressesthebuttontoopentheautomaticgrilleandWillstepsout,liftingahandinthanks.Theearlymorningisdarkandthunderousaroundhim,theCentralLondontrafficalreadydenseandslowdespitethefactthatitisbarelyhalfpastseven.Hepullshiscollaruparoundhisneckandstridesdownthestreettowardsthejunction,fromwhereheismostlikelytohailataxi.Theroadsareslickwithwater,thegreylightshiningonthemirroredpavement.
Hecursesinwardlyashespiestheothersuitedpeoplestandingontheedgeofthekerb.SincewhendidthewholeofLondonbegingettingupsoearly?Everyonehashadthesameidea.
Heiswonderingwherebesttopositionhimselfwhenhisphonerings.ItisRupert.
‘I’monmywayin.Justtryingtogetacab.’Hecatchessightofataxiwithanorangelightapproachingontheothersideoftheroad,andbeginstostridetowardsit,hopingnobodyelsehasseen.Abusroarspast,followedbyalorrywhosebrakessqueal,deafeninghimtoRupert’swords.‘Can’thearyou,Rupe,’heyellsagainstthenoiseofthetraffic.‘You’llhavetosaythatagain.’Brieflymaroonedontheisland,thetrafficflowingpasthimlikeacurrent,hecanseetheorangelightglowing,holdsuphisfreehand,hopingthatthedrivercanseehimthroughtheheavyrain.
‘YouneedtocallJeffinNewYork.He’sstillup,waitingforyou.Weweretryingtogetyoulastnight.’
‘What’stheproblem?’
‘Legalhitch.Twoclausesthey’restallingonundersection…signature…papers…’Hisvoiceisdrownedoutbyapassingcar,itstyreshissinginthewet.
‘Ididn’tcatchthat.’
Thetaxihasseenhim.Itisslowing,sendingafinesprayofwaterasitslowsontheoppositesideoftheroad.HespiesthemanfurtheralongwhosebriefsprintslowsindisappointmentasheseesWillmustgettherebeforehim.Hefeelsasneakingsenseoftriumph.‘Look,getCallytohavethepaperworkonmydesk,’heyells.‘I’llbethereintenminutes.’
Heglancesbothwaysthenduckshisheadasherunsthelastfewstepsacrosstheroadtowardsthecab,theword‘Blackfriars’alreadyonhislips.Therainisseepingdownthegapbetweenhiscollarandhisshirt.Hewillbesoakedbythetimehereachestheoffice,evenwalkingthisshortdistance.Hemayhavetosendhissecretaryoutforanothershirt.
‘AndweneedtogetthisduediligencethingworkedoutbeforeMartingetsin–’
Heglancesupatthescreechingsound,therudeblareofahorn.Heseesthesideoftheglossyblacktaxiinfrontofhim,thedriveralreadywindingdownhiswindow,andattheedgeofhisfieldofvisionsomethinghecan’tquitemakeout,somethingcomingtowardshimatanimpossiblespeed.
Heturnstowardsit,andinthatsplitsecondherealizesthatheisinitspath,thatthereisnowayheisgoingtobeabletogetoutofitsway.Hishandopensinsurprise,lettingtheBlackBerryfalltotheground.Hehearsashout,whichmaybehisown.Thelastthingheseesisaleatherglove,afaceunderahelmet,theshockintheman’seyesmirroringhisown.Thereisanexplosionaseverythingfragments.
Andthenthereisnothing.12009
Thereare158footstepsbetweenthebusstopandhome,butitcanstretchto180ifyouaren’tinahurry,likemaybeifyou’rewearingplatformshoes.Orshoesyouboughtfromacharityshopthathavebutterfliesonthetoesbutneverquitegriptheheelattheback,therebyexplainingwhytheywereaknock-down￡1.99.Iturnedthecornerintoourstreet(68steps),andcouldjustseethehouse–afour-bedroomedsemiinarowofotherthree-andfour-bedroomedsemis.Dad’scarwasoutside,whichmeanthehadnotyetleftforwork.
Behindme,thesunwassettingbehindStortfoldCastle,itsdarkshadowslidingdownthehilllikemeltingwaxtoovertakeme.WhenIwasachildweusedtomakeourelongatedshadowshavegunbattles,ourstreettheO.K.Corral.Onadifferentsortofday,Icouldhavetoldyouallthethingsthathadhappenedtomeonthisroute:whereDadtaughtmetorideabikewithoutstabilizers;whereMrsDohertywiththelopsidedwigusedtomakeusWelshcakes;whereTreenastuckherhandintoahedgewhenshewaselevenanddisturbedawasp’snestandweranscreamingallthewaybacktothecastle.
Thomas’stricyclewasupturnedonthepathand,closingthegatebehindme,Idraggeditundertheporchandopenedthedoor.Thewarmthhitmewiththeforceofanairbag;Mumisamartyrtothecoldandkeepstheheatingonallyearround.Dadisalwaysopeningwindows,complainingthatshe’dbankruptthelotofus.HesaysourheatingbillsarelargerthantheGDPofasmallAfricancountry.
‘Thatyou,love?’
‘Yup.’Ihungmyjacketonthepeg,whereitfoughtforspaceamongsttheothers.
‘Whichyou?Lou?Treena?’
‘Lou.’
Ipeeredroundtheliving-roomdoor.Dadwasfacedownonthesofa,hisarmthrustdeepbetweenthecushions,asiftheyhadswallowedhislimbwhole.Thomas,myfive-year-oldnephew,wasonhishaunches,watchinghimintently.
‘Lego.’Dadturnedhisfacetowardsme,pucefromexertion.‘WhytheyhavetomakethedamnedpiecessosmallIdon’tknow.HaveyouseenObi-WanKenobi’sleftarm?’
‘ItwasontopoftheDVDplayer.IthinkheswappedObi’sarmswithIndianaJones’s.’
‘Well,apparentlynowObican’tpossiblyhavebeigearms.Wehavetohavetheblackarms.’
‘Iwouldn’tworry.Doesn’tDarthVaderchophisarmoffinepisodetwo?’IpointedatmycheeksothatThomaswouldkissit.‘Where’sMum?’
‘Upstairs.Howaboutthat?Atwo-poundpiece!’
Ilookedup,justabletohearthefamiliarcreakoftheironingboard.JosieClark,mymother,neversatdown.Itwasapointofhonour.Shehadbeenknowntostandonanoutsideladderpaintingthewindows,occasionallypausingtowave,whiletherestofusatearoastdinner.
‘Willyouhaveagoatfindingthisbloodyarmforme?He’shadmelookingforhalfanhourandI’vegottogetreadyforwork.’
‘Areyouonnights?’
‘Yeah.It’shalffive.’
Iglancedattheclock.‘Actually,it’shalffour.’
Heextractedhisarmfromthecushionsandsquintedathiswatch.‘Thenwhatareyoudoinghomesoearly?’
Ishookmyheadvaguely,asifImighthavemisunderstoodthequestion,andwalkedintothekitchen.
Granddadwassittinginhischairbythekitchenwindow,studyingasudoku.Thehealthvisitorhadtoldusitwouldbegoodforhisconcentration,helphisfocusafterthestrokes.IsuspectedIwastheonlyonetonoticehesimplyfilledoutalltheboxeswithwhatevernumbercametomind.
‘Hey,Granddad.’
Helookedupandsmiled.
‘Youwantacupoftea?’
Heshookhishead,andpartiallyopenedhismouth.
‘Colddrink?’
Henodded.
Iopenedthefridgedoor.‘There’snoapplejuice.’Applejuice,Irememberednow,wastooexpensive.‘Ribena?’
Heshookhishead.
‘Water?’
Henodded,murmuredsomethingthatcouldhavebeenathankyouasIhandedhimtheglass.
Mymotherwalkedintotheroom,bearingahugebasketofneatlyfoldedlaundry.‘Aretheseyours?’Shebrandishedapairofsocks.
‘Treena’s,Ithink.’
‘Ithoughtso.Oddcolour.IthinktheymusthavegotinwithDaddy’splumpyjamas.You’rebackearly.Areyougoingsomewhere?’
‘No.’Ifilledaglasswithtapwateranddrankit.
‘IsPatrickcomingroundlater?Heranghereearlier.Didyouhaveyourmobileoff?’
‘Mm.’
‘Hesaidhe’safterbookingyourholiday.Yourfathersayshesawsomethingonthetelevisionaboutit.Whereisityouliked?Ipsos?Kalypsos?’
‘Skiathos.’
‘That’stheone.Youwanttocheckyourhotelverycarefully.Doitontheinternet.HeandDaddywatchedsomethingonthenewsatlunchtime.Apparentlythey’rebuildingsites,halfofthosebudgetdeals,andyouwouldn’tknowuntilyougotthere.Daddy,wouldyoulikeacupoftea?DidLounotofferyouone?’Sheputthekettleonthenglancedupatme.It’spossibleshehadfinallynoticedIwasn’tsayinganything.‘Areyouallright,love?Youlookawfullypale.’
Shereachedoutahandandfeltmyforehead,asifIweremuchyoungerthantwenty-six.
‘Idon’tthinkwe’regoingonholiday.’
Mymother’shandstilled.HergazehadthatX-raythingthatithadheldsinceIwasakid.‘AreyouandPathavingsomeproblems?’
‘Mum,I–’
‘I’mnottryingtointerfere.It’sjust,you’vebeentogetheranawfullongtime.It’sonlynaturalifthingsgetabitstickyeverynowandthen.Imean,meandyourfatherwe–’
‘Ilostmyjob.’
Myvoicecutintothesilence.Thewordshungthere,searingthemselvesonthelittleroomlongafterthesoundhaddiedaway.
‘Youwhat?’
‘Frank’sshuttingdownthecafe.Fromtomorrow.’IheldoutahandwiththeslightlydampenvelopeIhadgrippedinshocktheentirejourneyhome.All180stepsfromthebusstop.‘He’sgivenmemythreemonths’money.’
Thedayhadstartedlikeanyotherday.EveryoneIknewhatedMondaymornings,butInevermindedthem.IlikedarrivingearlyatTheButteredBun,firingupthehugeteaurninthecorner,bringinginthecratesofmilkandbreadfromthebackyardandchattingtoFrankaswepreparedtoopen.
Ilikedthefuggybacon-scentedwarmthofthecafe,thelittleburstsofcoolairasthedooropenedandclosed,thelowmurmurofconversationand,whenquiet,Frank’sradiosingingtinnilytoitselfinthecorner.Itwasn’tafashionableplace–itswallswerecoveredinscenesfromthecastleuponthehill,thetablesstillsportedFormicatops,andthemenuhadn’talteredsinceIstarted,apartfromafewchangestothechocolatebarselectionandtheadditionofchocolatebrowniesandmuffinstotheicedbuntray.
ButmostofallIlikedthecustomers.IlikedKevandAngelo,theplumbers,whocameinmostmorningsandteasedFrankaboutwherehismeatmighthavecomefrom.IlikedtheDandelionLady,nicknamedforhershockofwhitehair,whoateoneeggandchipsfromMondaytoThursdayandsatreadingthecomplimentarynewspapersanddrinkingherwaythroughtwocupsoftea.Ialwaysmadeanefforttochatwithher.Isuspecteditmightbetheonlyconversationtheoldwomangotallday.
Ilikedthetourists,whostoppedontheirwalkupanddownfromthecastle,theshriekingschoolchildren,whostoppedbyafterschool,theregularsfromtheofficesacrosstheroad,andNinaandCherie,thehairdressers,whoknewthecaloriecountofeverysingleitemTheButteredBunhadtooffer.Eventheannoyingcustomers,likethered-haired
Iwatchedrelationshipsbeginandendacrossthosetables,childrentransferredbetweendivorcees,theguiltyreliefofthoseparentswhocouldn’tfacecooking,andthesecretpleasureofpensionersatafriedbreakfast.Allhumanlifecamethrough,andmostofthemsharedafewwordswithme,tradingjokesorcommentsoverthemugsofsteamingtea.Dadalwayssaidheneverknewwhatwasgoingtocomeoutofmymouthnext,butinthecafeitdidn’tmatter.
Franklikedme.Hewasquietbynature,andsaidhavingmetherekepttheplacelively.Itwasabitlikebeingabarmaid,butwithoutthehassleofdrunks.
Andthenthatafternoon,afterthelunchtimerushhadended,andwiththeplacebrieflyempty,Frank,wipinghishandsonhisapron,hadcomeoutfrombehindthehotplateandturnedthelittleClosedsigntofacethestreet.
‘Nownow,Frank,I’vetoldyoubefore.Extrasarenotincludedintheminimumwage.’Frankwas,asDadputit,asqueerasabluegnu.Ilookedup.
Hewasn’tsmiling.
‘Uh-oh.Ididn’tputsaltinthesugarcellarsagain,didI?’
HewastwistingateatowelbetweenhistwohandsandlookedmoreuncomfortablethanIhadeverseenhim.Iwondered,briefly,whethersomeonehadcomplainedaboutme.Andthenhemotionedtometositdown.
‘Sorry,Louisa,’hesaid,afterhehadtoldme.‘ButI’mgoingbacktoAustralia.MyDad’snottoogood,anditlookslikethecastleisdefinitelygoingtostartdoingitsownrefreshments.Thewriting’sonthewall.’
IthinkIsattherewithmymouthactuallyhangingopen.AndthenFrankhadhandedmetheenvelope,andansweredmynextquestionbeforeitleftmylips.‘Iknowweneverhad,youknow,aformalcontractoranything,butIwantedtolookafteryou.There’sthreemonths’moneyinthere.Weclosetomorrow.’
‘Threemonths!’Dadexploded,asmymotherthrustacupofsweetteaintomyhands.‘Well,that’sbigofhim,givenshe’sworkedlikearuddyTrojaninthatplaceforthelastsixyears.’
‘Bernard.’Mumshothimawarninglook,noddingtowardsThomas.MyparentsmindedhimafterschooleverydayuntilTreenafinishedwork.
‘Whatthehellisshesupposedtodonow?Hecouldhavegivenhermorethanaday’sbloodynotice.’
‘Well…she’lljusthavetogetanotherjob.’
‘Therearenobloodyjobs,Josie.YouknowthataswellasIdo.We’reinthemiddleofabloodyrecession.’
Mumshuthereyesforamoment,asifcomposingherselfbeforeshespoke.‘She’sabrightgirl.She’llfindherselfsomething.She’sgotasolidemploymentrecord,hasn’tshe?Frankwillgiveheragoodreference.’
‘Oh,feckingmarvellous…“LouisaClarkisverygoodatbutteringtoast,andadabhandwiththeoldteapot.”’
‘Thanksforthevoteofconfidence,Dad.’
‘I’mjustsaying.’
IknewtherealreasonforDad’sanxiety.Theyreliedonmywages.Treenaearnednexttonothingattheflowershop.Mumcouldn’twork,asshehadtolookafterGranddad,andGranddad’spensionamountedtoalmostnothing.Dadlivedinaconstantstateofanxietyabouthisjobatthefurniturefactory.Hisbosshadbeenmutteringaboutpossibleredundanciesformonths.Thereweremurmuringsathomeaboutdebtsandthejugglingofcreditcards.Dadhadhadhiscarwrittenoffbyanuninsureddrivertwoyearspreviously,andsomehowthishadbeenenoughforthewholeteeteringedificethatwasmyparents’financestofinallycollapse.Mymodestwageshadbeenalittlebedrockofhousekeepingmoney,enoughtohelpseethefamilythroughfromweektoweek.
‘Let’snotgetaheadofourselves.ShecanheaddowntotheJobCentretomorrowandseewhat’sonoffer.She’sgotenoughtogetbyfornow.’TheyspokeasifIweren’tthere.‘Andshe’ssmart.You’resmart,aren’tyou,love?Perhapsshecoulddoatypingcourse.Gointoofficework.’
Isatthere,asmyparentsdiscussedwhatotherjobsmylimitedqualificationsmightentitlemeto.Factorywork,machinist,rollbutterer.ForthefirsttimethatafternoonIwantedtocry.Thomaswatchedmewithbig,roundeyes,andsilentlyhandedmehalfasoggybiscuit.
‘Thanks,Tommo,’Imouthedsilently,andateit.
Hewasdownattheathleticsclub,asIhadknownhewouldbe.MondaystoThursdays,regularasastationtimetable,Patrickwasthereinthegymorrunningincirclesaroundthefloodlittrack.Imademywaydownthesteps,huggingmyselfagainstthecold,andwalkedslowlyoutontothetrack,wavingashecamecloseenoughtoseewhoitwas.
‘Runwithme,’hepuffed,ashegotcloser.Hisbreathcameinpaleclouds.‘I’vegotfourlapstogo.’
Ihesitatedjustamoment,andthenbegantorunalongsidehim.ItwastheonlywayIwasgoingtogetanykindofconversationoutofhim.Iwaswearingmypinktrainerswiththeturquoiselaces,theonlyshoesIcouldpossiblyrunin.
Ihadspentthedayathome,tryingtobeuseful.I’mguessingitwasaboutanhourbeforeIstartedtogetundermymother’sfeet.MumandGranddadhadtheirroutines,andhavingmethereinterruptedthem.Dadwasasleep,ashewasonnightsthismonth,andnottobedisturbed.Itidiedmyroom,thensatandwatchedtelevisionwiththesounddownandwhenIremembered,periodically,whyIwasathomeinthemiddleofthedayIhadfeltanactualbriefpaininmychest.
‘Iwasn’texpectingyou.’
‘Igotfedupathome.Ithoughtmaybewecoulddosomething.’
Helookedsidewaysatme.Therewasafinefilmofsweatonhisface.‘Thesooneryougetanotherjob,babe,thebetter.’
‘It’salloftwenty-fourhourssinceIlostthelastone.AmIallowedtojustbeabitmiserableandfloppy?Youknow,justfortoday?’
‘Butyou’vegottolookatthepositiveside.Youknewyoucouldn’tstayatthatplaceforever.Youwanttomoveupwards,onwards.’PatrickhadbeennamedStortfoldYoungEntrepreneuroftheYeartwoyearspreviously,andhadnotyetquiterecoveredfromthehonour.Hehadsinceacquiredabusinesspartner,GingerPete,offeringpersonaltrainingtoclientsovera40-milearea,andtwoliveriedvansontheHP.Healsohadawhiteboardinhisoffice,onwhichhelikedtoscrawlhisprojectedturnoverwiththickblackmarkers,workingandreworkingthefiguresuntiltheymetwithhissatisfaction.Iwasneverentirelysurethattheyboreanyresemblancetoreallife.
‘Beingmaderedundantcanchangepeople’slives,Lou.’Heglancedathiswatch,checkinghislaptime.‘Whatdoyouwanttodo?Youcouldretrain.I’msuretheydoagrantforpeoplelikeyou.’
‘Peoplelikeme?’
‘Peoplelookingforanewopportunity.Whatdoyouwanttobe?Youcouldbeabeautician.You’reprettyenough.’Henudgedmeasweran,asifIshouldbegratefulforthecompliment.
‘Youknowmybeautyroutine.Soap,water,theoddpaperbag.’
Patrickwasbeginningtolookexasperated.
Iwasstartingtolagbehind.Ihaterunning.Ihatedhimfornotslowingdown.
‘Look…shopassistant.Secretary.Estateagent.Idon’tknow…theremustbesomethingyouwanttodo.’
Buttherewasn’t.Ihadlikeditinthecafe.IlikedknowingeverythingtherewastoknowaboutTheButteredBun,andhearingaboutthelivesofthepeoplewhocamethroughit.Ihadfeltcomfortablethere.
‘Youcan’tmopearound,babe.Gottogetoverit.Allthebestentrepreneursfighttheirwaybackfromrockbottom.JeffreyArcherdidit.SodidRichardBranson.’Hetappedmyarm,tryingtogetmetokeepup.
‘IdoubtifJeffreyArcherevergotmaderedundantfromtoastingteacakes.’Iwasoutofbreath.AndIwaswearingthewrongbra.Islowed,droppedmyhandsdownontomyknees.
Heturned,runningbackwards,hisvoicecarryingonthestill,coldair.‘Butifhehad…I’mjustsaying.Sleeponit,putonasmartsuitandheaddowntotheJobCentre.OrI’lltrainyouuptoworkwithme,ifyoulike.Youknowthere’smoneyinit.Anddon’tworryabouttheholiday.I’llpay.’
Ismiledathim.
Heblewakissandhisvoiceechoedacrosstheemptystadium.‘Youcanpaymebackwhenyou’rebackonyourfeet.’
ImademyfirstclaimforJobseeker’sAllowance.Iattendeda45-minuteinterview,andagroupinterview,whereIsatwithagroupoftwentyorsomismatchedmenandwomen,halfofwhomworethesameslightlystunnedexpressionIsuspectedIdid,andtheotherhalftheblank,uninterestedfacesofpeoplewhohadbeenheretoomanytimesbefore.IworewhatmyDaddeemedmy‘civilian’clothes.
Asaresultoftheseefforts,Ihadenduredabriefstintfillinginonanightshiftatachickenprocessingfactory(ithadgivenmenightmaresforweeks),andtwodaysatatrainingsessionasaHomeEnergyAdviser.IhadrealizedprettyquicklythatIwasessentiallybeinginstructedtobefuddleoldpeopleintoswitchingenergysuppliers,andtoldSyed,mypersonal‘adviser’thatIcouldn’tdoit.HehadbeeninsistentthatIcontinue,soIhadlistedsomeofthepracticesthattheyhadaskedmetoemploy,atwhichpointhehadgoneabitquietandsuggestedwe(itwasalways‘we’eventhoughitwasprettyobviousthatoneofushadajob)trysomethingelse.
Ididtwoweeksatafastfoodchain.Thehourswereokay,Icouldcopewiththefactthattheuniformmademyhairstatic,butIfounditimpossibletosticktothe‘appropriateresponses’script,withits‘HowcanIhelpyoutoday?’andits‘Wouldyoulikelargefrieswiththat?’Ihadbeenletgoafteroneofthedoughnutgirlscaughtmedebatingthevaryingmeritsofthefreetoyswithafour-year-old.WhatcanIsay?Shewasasmartfour-year-old.IalsothoughttheSleepingBeautiesweresappy.
NowIsatatmyfourthinterviewasSyedscannedthroughthetouchscreenforfurtheremployment‘opportunities’.EvenSyed,whoworethegrimlycheerfuldemeanourofsomeonewhohadshoehornedthemostunlikelycandidatesintoajob,wasstartingtosoundalittleweary.
‘Um…Haveyoueverconsideredjoiningtheentertainmentindustry?’
‘What,asinpantomimedame?’
‘Actually,no.Butthereisanopeningforapoledancer.Several,infact.’
Iraisedaneyebrow.‘Pleasetellmeyouarekidding.’
‘It’sthirtyhoursaweekonaself-employedbasis.Ibelievethetipsaregood.’
‘Please,pleasetellmeyouhavenotjustadvisedmetogetajobthatinvolvesparadingaroundinfrontofstrangersinmyunderwear.’
‘Yousaidyouweregoodwithpeople.Andyouseemtolike…theatrical…clothing.’Heglancedatmytights,whichweregreenandglittery.Ihadthoughttheywouldcheermeup.ThomashadhummedthethemetunefromTheLittleMermaidatmeforalmostthewholeofbreakfast
Syedtappedsomethingintohiskeyboard.‘Howabout“adultchatlinesupervisor”?’
Istaredathim.
Heshrugged.‘Yousaidyoulikedtalkingtopeople.’
‘No.Andnotosemi-nudebarstaff.Ormasseuse.Orwebcamoperator.Comeon,Syed.TheremustbesomethingIcandothatwouldn’tactuallygivemydadaheartattack.’
Thisappearedtostumphim.‘There’snotmuchleftoutsideflexi-hourretailopportunities.’
‘Night-timeshelfstacking?’Ihadbeenhereenoughtimesnowtospeaktheirlanguage.
‘There’sawaitinglist.Parentstendtogoforit,becauseitsuitstheschoolhours,’hesaidapologetically.Hestudiedthescreenagain.‘Sowe’rereallyleftwithcareassistant.’
‘Wipingoldpeople’sbottoms.’
‘I’mafraid,Louisa,you’renotqualifiedformuchelse.Ifyouwantedtoretrain,I’dbehappytopointyouintherightdirection.Thereareplentyofcoursesattheadulteducationcentre.’
‘Butwe’vebeenthroughthis,Syed.IfIdothat,IlosemyJobseekermoney,right?’
‘Ifyou’renotavailableforwork,yes.’
Wesatthereinsilenceforamoment.Igazedatthedoors,wheretwoburlysecuritymenstood.IwonderediftheyhadgotthejobthroughtheJobCentre.
‘I’mnotgoodwitholdpeople,Syed.Mygranddadlivesathomesincehehadhisstrokes,andIcan’tcopewithhim.’
‘Ah.Soyouhavesomeexperienceofcaring.’
‘Notreally.Mymumdoeseverythingforhim.’
‘Wouldyourmumlikeajob?’
‘Funny.’
‘I’mnotbeingfunny.’
‘Andleavemelookingaftermygranddad?Nothanks.That’sfromhim,aswellasme,bytheway.Haven’tyougotanythinginanycafes?’
‘Idon’tthinkthereareenoughcafeslefttoguaranteeyouemployment,Louisa.WecouldtryKentuckyFriedChicken.Youmightgetonbetterthere.’
‘BecauseI’dgetsomuchmoreoutofofferingaBargainBucketthanaChickenMcNugget?Idon’tthinkso.’
‘Well,thenperhapswe’llhavetolookfurtherafield.’
‘Thereareonlyfourbusestoandfromourtown.Youknowthat.AndIknowyousaidIshouldlookintothetouristbus,butIrangthestationanditstopsat5pm.Plusit’stwiceasexpensiveasthenormalbus.’
Syedsatbackinhisseat.‘Atthispointinproceedings,Louisa,Ireallyneedtomakethepointthatasafitandableperson,inordertocontinuequalifyingforyourallowance,youneed–’
‘–toshowthatI’mtryingtogetajob.Iknow.’
HowcouldIexplaintothismanhowmuchIwantedtowork?DidhehavetheslightestideahowmuchImissedmyoldjob?Unemploymenthadbeenaconcept,somethingdroninglyreferredtoonthenewsinrelationtoshipyardsorcarfactories.Ihadneverconsideredthatyoumightmissajoblikeyoumissedalimb–aconstant,reflexivething.Ihadn’tthoughtthataswellastheobviousfearsaboutmoney,andyourfuture,losingyourjobwouldmakeyoufeelinadequate,andabituseless.Thatitwouldbehardertogetupinthemorningthanwhenyouwererudelyshockedintoconsciousnessbythealarm.Thatyoumightmissthepeopleyouworkedwith,nomatterhowlittleyouhadincommonwiththem.Oreventhatyoumightfindyourselfsearchingforfamiliarfacesasyouwalkedthehighstreet.ThefirsttimeIhadseentheDandelionLadywanderingpasttheshops,lookingasaimlessasIfelt,Ihadfoughttheurgetogoandgiveherahug.
Syed’svoicebrokeintomyreverie.‘Aha.Nowthismightwork.’
Itriedtopeerroundatthescreen.
‘Justcomein.Thisveryminute.Careassistantposition.’
‘ItoldyouIwasnogoodwith–’
‘It’snotoldpeople.It’sa…aprivateposition.Tohelpinsomeone’shouse,andtheaddressislessthantwomilesfromyourhome.“Careandcompanionshipforadisabledman.”Canyoudrive?’
‘Yes.ButwouldIhavetowipehis–’
‘Nobottomwipingrequired,asfarasIcantell.’Hescannedthescreen.‘He’sa…aquadriplegic.Heneedssomeoneinthedaylighthourstohelpfeedandassist.Ofteninthesejobsit’sacaseofbeingtherewhentheywanttogooutsomewhere,helpingwithbasicstuffthattheycan’tdothemselves.Oh.It’sgoodmoney.Quitealotmorethantheminimumwage.’
‘That’sprobablybecauseitinvolvesbottomwiping.’
‘I’llringthemtoconfirmtheabsenceofbottomwiping.Butifthat’sthecase,you’llgoalongfortheinterview?’
Hesaiditlikeitwasaquestion.
Butwebothknewtheanswer.
Isighed,andgatheredupmybagreadyforthetriphome.
‘JesusChrist,’saidmyfather.‘Canyouimagine?Ifitwasn’tpunishmentenoughendingupinaruddywheelchair,thenyougetourLouturninguptokeepyoucompany.’
‘Bernard!’mymotherscolded.
Behindme,Granddadwaslaughingintohismugoftea.2
Iamnotthick.I’djustliketogetthatoutofthewayatthispoint.Butit’squitehardnottofeelabitdeficientintheDepartmentofBrainCells,growingupnexttoayoungersisterwhowasnotjustmovedupayearintomyclass,butthentotheyearabove.
Everythingthatissensible,orsmart,Katrinadidfirst,despitebeingeighteenmonthsyoungerthanme.EverybookIeverreadshehadreadfirst,everyfactImentionedatthedinnertableshealreadyknew.SheistheonlypersonIknowwhoactuallylikesexams.SometimesIthinkIdressthewayIdobecausetheonethingTreenacan’tdoisputclothestogether.She’sapulloverandjeanskindofagirl.Herideaofsmartisironingthejeansfirst.
Myfathercallsmea‘character’,becauseItendtosaythefirstthingthatpopsintomyhead.HesaysI’mlikemyAuntLily,whoIneverknew.It’sabitweird,constantlybeingcomparedtosomeoneyou’venevermet.Iwouldcomedownstairsinpurpleboots,andDadwouldnodatMumandsay,‘D’yourememberAuntLilyandherpurpleboots,eh?’andMumwouldcluckandstartlaughingasifatsomesecretjoke.Mymothercallsme‘individual’,whichisherpolitewayofnotquiteunderstandingthewayIdress.
Butapartfromabriefperiodinmyteens,IneverwantedtolooklikeTreena,oranyofthegirlsatschool;Ipreferredboys’clothestillIwasaboutfourteen,andnowtendtopleasemyself–dependingonwhatmoodIaminontheday.There’snopointmetryingtolookconventional.Iamsmall,dark-hairedand,accordingtomydad,havethefaceofanelf.That’snotasin‘elfinbeauty’.Iamnotplain,butIdon’tthinkanyoneisevergoingtocallmebeautiful.Idon’thavethatgracefulthinggoingon.Patrickcallsmegorgeouswhenhewantstogethislegover,buthe’sfairlytransparentlikethat.We’veknowneachotherforcominguptosevenyears.
Iwastwenty-sixyearsoldandIwasn’treallysurewhatIwas.UpuntilIlostmyjobIhadn’tevengivenitanythought.IsupposedIwouldprobablymarryPatrick,knockoutafewkids,liveafewstreetsawayfromwhereIhadalwayslived.Apartfromanexotictasteinclothes,andthefactthatI’mabitshort,there’snotalotseparatingmefromanyoneyoumightpassinthestreet.Youprobablywouldn’tlookatmetwice.Anordinarygirl,leadinganordinarylife.Itactuallysuitedmefine.
‘Youmustwearasuittoaninterview,’Mumhadinsisted.‘Everyone’sfartoocasualthesedays.’
‘BecausewearingpinstripeswillbevitalifI’mspoon-feedingageriatric.’
‘Don’tbesmart.’
‘Ican’taffordtobuyasuit.WhatifIdon’tgetthejob?’
‘Youcanwearmine,andI’llironyouaniceblouse,andjustforoncedon’twearyourhairupinthose–’shegesturedtomyhair,whichwasnormallytwistedintotwodarkknotsoneachsideofmyhead‘–PrincessLeiathings.Justtrytolooklikeanormalperson.’
Iknewbetterthantoarguewithmymother.AndIcouldtellDadhadbeeninstructednottocommentonmyoutfitasIwalkedoutofthehouse,mygaitawkwardinthetoo-tightskirt.
‘Byelove,’hesaid,thecornersofhismouthtwitching.‘Goodlucknow.Youlookvery…businesslike.’
TheembarrassingthingwasnotthatIwaswearingmymother’ssuit,orthatitwasinacutlastfashionableinthelate1980s,butthatitwasactuallyatinybitsmallforme.Ifeltthewaistbandcuttingintomymidriff,andpulledthedouble-breastedjacketacross.AsDadsaysofMum,there’smorefatonakirbygrip.
Isatthroughtheshortbusjourneyfeelingfaintlysick.Ihadneverhadaproperjobinterview.IhadjoinedTheButteredBunafterTreenabetmethatIcouldn’tgetajobinaday.IhadwalkedinandsimplyaskedFrankifheneededasparepairofhands.Ithadbeenhisfirstdayopenandhehadlookedalmostblindedbygratitude.
Now,lookingback,Icouldn’tevenrememberhavingadiscussionwithhimaboutmoney.Hesuggestedaweeklywage,Iagreed,andonceayearhetoldmehe’duppeditabit,usuallybyalittlemorethanIwouldhaveaskedfor.
Whatdidpeopleaskininterviewsanyway?Andwhatiftheyaskedmetodosomethingpracticalwiththisoldman,tofeedhimorbathhimorsomething?Syedhadsaidtherewasamalecarerwhocoveredhis‘intimateneeds’(Ishudderedatthephrase).Thesecondarycarer’sjobwas,hesaid,‘alittleunclearatthispoint’.Ipicturedmyselfwipingdroolfromtheoldman’smouth,maybeaskingloudly,‘DIDHEWANTACUPOFTEA?’
WhenGranddadhadfirstbegunhisrecoveryfromhisstrokeshehadn’tbeenabletodoanythingforhimself.Mumhaddoneitall.‘Yourmotherisasaint,’Dadsaid,whichItooktomeanthatshewipedhisbumwithoutrunningscreamingfromthehouse.Iwasprettysurenobodyhadeverdescribedmeassuch.IcutGranddad’sfoodupforhimandmadehimcupsofteabutasforanythingelse,Iwasn’tsureIwasmadeoftherightingredients.
GrantaHousewasontheothersideofStortfoldCastle,closetothemedievalwalls,onthelongunpavementedstretchthatcomprisedonlyfourhousesandtheNationalTrustshop,banginthemiddleofthetouristarea.Ihadpassedthishouseamilliontimesinmylifewithouteveractuallyproperlyseeingit.Now,walkingpastthecarparkandtheminiaturerailway,bothofwhichwereemptyandasbleakasonlyasummerattractioncanlookinFebruary,IsawitwasbiggerthanIhadimagined,redbrickwithadoublefront,thekindofhouseyousawinoldcopiesofCountryLifewhilewaitingatthedoctor’s.
Iwalkedupthelongdrive,tryingnottothinkaboutwhetheranybodywaswatchingoutofthewindow.Walkingupalongdriveputsyouatadisadvantage;itautomaticallymakesyoufeelinferior.Iwasjustcontemplatingwhethertoactuallytugatmyforelock,whenthedooropenedandIjumped.
Awoman,notmucholderthanme,steppedoutintotheporch.Shewaswearingwhiteslacksandamedical-lookingtunicandcarriedacoatandafolderunderherarm.Asshepassedmeshegaveapolitesmile.
‘Andthankyousomuchforcoming,’avoicesaid,frominside.‘We’llbeintouch.Ah.’Awoman’sfaceappeared,middle-agedbutbeautiful,underexpensiveprecision-cuthair.ShewaswearingatrousersuitthatIguessedcostmorethanmydadearnedinamonth.
‘YoumustbeMissClark.’
‘Louisa.’Ishotoutahand,asmymotherhadimpresseduponmetodo.Theyoungpeopleneverofferedupahandthesedays,myparentshadagreed.Intheolddaysyouwouldn’thavedreamtofa‘hiya’or,worse,anairkiss.Thiswomandidnotlooklikeshewouldhavewelcomedanairkiss.
‘Right.Yes.Docomein.’Shewithdrewherhandfrommineassoonashumanlypossible,butIfelthereyeslingeruponme,asifshewerealreadyassessingme.
‘Wouldyouliketocomethrough?We’lltalkinthedrawingroom.MynameisCamillaTraynor.’Sheseemedweary,asifshehadutteredthesamewordsmanytimesthatdayalready.
IfollowedherthroughtoahugeroomwithfloortoceilingFrenchwindows.Heavycurtainsdrapedelegantlyfromfatmahoganycurtainpoles,andthefloorswerecarpetedwithintricatelydecoratedPersianrugs.Itsmeltofbeeswaxandantiquefurniture.Therewerelittleelegantsidetableseverywhere,theirburnishedsurfacescoveredwithornamentalboxes.IwonderedbrieflywhereonearththeTraynorsputtheircupsoftea.
‘SoyouhavecomeviatheJobCentreadvertisement,isthatright?Dositdown.’
Whilesheflickedthroughherfolderofpapers,Igazedsurreptitiouslyaroundtheroom.Ihadthoughtthehousemightbeabitlikeacarehome,allhoistsandwipe-cleansurfaces.Butthiswaslikeoneofthosescarilyexpensivehotels,steepedinoldmoney,withwell-lovedthingsthatlookedvaluableintheirownright.Thereweresilver-framedphotographsonasideboard,buttheyweretoofarawayformetomakeoutthefaces.Asshescannedherpages,Ishiftedinmyseat,totrytogetabetterlook.
AnditwasthenthatIheardit–theunmistakablesoundofstitchesripping.Iglanceddowntoseethetwopiecesofmaterialthatjoinedatthesideofmyrightleghadtornapart,sendingfrayedpiecesofsilkthreadshootingupwardsinanungainlyfringe.Ifeltmyfacefloodwithcolour.
‘So…MissClark…doyouhaveanyexperiencewithquadriplegia?’
IturnedtofaceMrsTraynor,wrigglingsothatmyjacketcoveredasmuchoftheskirtaspossible.
‘No.’
‘Haveyoubeenacarerforlong?’
‘Um…I’veneveractuallydoneit,’Isaid,adding,asifIcouldhearSyed’svoiceinmyear,‘butI’msureIcouldlearn.’
‘Doyouknowwhataquadriplegicis?’
Ifaltered.‘When…you’restuckinawheelchair?’
‘Isupposethat’sonewayofputtingit.Therearevaryingdegrees,butinthiscasewearetalkingaboutcompletelossofuseofthelegs,andverylimiteduseofthehandsandarms.Wouldthatbotheryou?’
‘Well,notasmuchasitwouldbotherhim,obviously.’Iraisedasmile,butMrsTraynor’sfacewasexpressionless.‘Sorry–Ididn’tmean–’
‘Canyoudrive,MissClark?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cleanlicence?’
Inodded.
CamillaTraynortickedsomethingonherlist.
Theripwasgrowing.Icouldseeitcreepinginexorablyupmythigh.Atthisrate,bythetimeIstoodupIwouldlooklikeaVegasshowgirl.
‘Areyouallright?’MrsTraynorwasgazingatme.
‘I’mjustalittlewarm.DoyoumindifItakemyjacketoff?’Beforeshecouldsayanything,Iwrenchedthejacketoffinonefluidmotionandtieditaroundmywaist,obscuringthesplitintheskirt.‘Sohot,’Isaid,smilingather,‘cominginfromoutside.Youknow.’
Therewasthefaintestpause,andthenMrsTraynorlookedbackatherfolder.‘Howoldareyou?’
‘I’mtwenty-six.’
‘Andyouwereinyourpreviousjobforsixyears.’
‘Yes.Youshouldhaveacopyofmyreference.’
‘Mm…’MrsTraynorhelditupandsquinted.‘Yourpreviousemployersaysyouarea“warm,chattyandlife-enhancingpresence”.’
‘Yes,Ipaidhim.’
Thatpokerfaceagain.
Ohhell,Ithought.
ItwasasifIwerebeingstudied.Notnecessarilyinagoodway.Mymother’sshirtfeltsuddenlycheap,thesyntheticthreadsshininginthethinlight.Ishouldjusthavewornmyplainesttrousersandashirt.Anythingbutthissuit.
‘Sowhyareyouleavingthisjob,whereyouareclearlysowellregarded?’
‘Frank–theowner–soldthecafe.It’stheoneatthebottomofthecastle.TheButteredBun.Was,’Icorrectedmyself.‘Iwouldhavebeenhappytostay.’
MrsTraynornodded,eitherbecauseshedidn’tfeeltheneedtosayanythingfurtheraboutit,orbecauseshetoowouldhavebeenhappyformetostaythere.
‘Andwhatexactlydoyouwanttodowithyourlife?’
‘I’msorry?’
‘Doyouhaveaspirationsforacareer?Wouldthisbeasteppingstonetosomethingelse?Doyouhaveaprofessionaldreamthatyouwishtopursue?’
Ilookedatherblankly.
Wasthissomekindoftrickquestion?
‘I…Ihaven’treallythoughtthatfar.SinceIlostmyjob.Ijust–’Iswallowed.‘Ijustwanttoworkagain.’
Itsoundedfeeble.Whatkindofpersoncametoaninterviewwithoutevenknowingwhatshewantedtodo?MrsTraynor’sexpressionsuggestedshethoughtthesamething.
Sheputdownherpen.‘So,MissClark,whyshouldIemployyouinsteadof,say,thepreviouscandidate,whohasseveralyears’experiencewithquadriplegics?’
Ilookedather.‘Um…honestly?Idon’tknow.’Thismetwithsilence,soIadded,‘Iguessthatwouldbeyourcall.’
‘Youcan’tgivemeasinglereasonwhyIshouldemployyou?’
Mymother’sfacesuddenlyswamintoview.Thethoughtofgoinghomewitharuinedsuitandanotherinterviewfailurewasbeyondme.Andthisjobpaidmorethan￡9anhour.
Isatupabit.‘Well…I’mafastlearner,I’mneverill,Ionlyliveontheothersideofthecastle,andI’mstrongerthanIlook…probablystrongenoughtohelpmoveyourhusbandaround–’
‘Myhusband?It’snotmyhusbandyou’dbeworkingwith.It’smyson.’
‘Yourson?’Iblinked.‘Um…I’mnotafraidofhardwork.I’mgoodatdealingwithallsortsofpeopleand…andImakeameancupoftea.’Ibegantoblatherintothesilence.Thethoughtofitbeinghersonhadthrownme.‘Imean,mydadseemstothinkthat’snotthegreatestreference.Butinmyexperiencethere’snotmuchthatcan’tbefixedbyadecentcupoftea…’
TherewassomethingabitstrangeaboutthewayMrsTraynorwaslookingatme.
‘Sorry,’Ispluttered,asIrealizedwhatIhadsaid.‘I’mnotsuggestingthething…theparaplegia…quadriplegia…with…yourson…couldbesolvedbyacupoftea.’
‘Ishouldtellyou,MissClark,thatthisisnotapermanentcontract.Itwouldbeforamaximumofsixmonths.Thatiswhythesalaryis…commensurate.Wewantedtoattracttherightperson.’
‘Believeme,whenyou’vedoneshiftsatachickenprocessingfactory,workinginGuantánamoBayforsixmonthslooksattractive.’Oh,shutup,Louisa.Ibitmylip.
ButMrsTraynorseemedoblivious.Sheclosedherfile.‘Myson–Will–wasinjuredinaroadaccidentalmosttwoyearsago.Herequirestwenty-four-hourcare,themajorityofwhichisprovidedbyatrainednurse.Ihaverecentlyreturnedtowork,andthecarerwouldberequiredtobeherethroughoutthedaytokeephimcompany,helphimwithfoodanddrink,generallyprovideanextrapairofhands,andmakesurethathecomestonoharm.’CamillaTraynorlookeddownatherlap.‘ItisoftheutmostimportancethatWillhassomeoneherewhounderstandsthatresponsibility.’
Everythingshesaid,eventhewaysheemphasizedherwords,seemedtohintatsomestupidityonmypart.
‘Icanseethat.’Ibegantogatherupmybag.
‘Sowouldyoulikethejob?’
ItwassounexpectedthatatfirstIthoughtIhadheardherwrong.‘Sorry?’
‘Wewouldneedyoutostartassoonaspossible.Paymentwillbeweekly.’
Iwasbrieflylostforwords.‘You’dratherhavemeinsteadof–’Ibegan.
‘Thehoursarequitelengthy–8amtill5pm,sometimeslater.Thereisnolunchbreakassuch,althoughwhenNathan,hisdailynurse,comesinatlunchtimetoattendtohim,thereshouldbeafreehalfanhour.’
‘Youwouldn’tneedanything…medical?’
‘Willhasallthemedicalcarewecanofferhim.Whatwewantforhimissomebodyrobust…andupbeat.Hislifeis…complicated,anditisimportantthatheisencouragedto–’Shebrokeoff,hergazefixedonsomethingoutsidetheFrenchwindows.Finally,sheturnedbacktome.‘Well,let’sjustsaythathismentalwelfareisasimportanttousashisphysicalwelfare.Doyouunderstand?’
‘Ithinkso.WouldI…wearauniform?’
‘No.Definitelynouniform.’Sheglancedatmylegs.‘Althoughyoumightwanttowear…somethingabitlessrevealing.’
Iglanceddowntowheremyjackethadshifted,revealingagenerousexpanseofbarethigh.‘It…I’msorry.Itripped.It’snotactuallymine.’
ButMrsTraynornolongerappearedtobelistening.‘I’llexplainwhatneedsdoingwhenyoustart.Willisnottheeasiestpersontobearoundatthemoment,MissClark.Thisjobisgoingtobeaboutmentalattitudeasmuchasany…professionalskillsyoumighthave.So.Wewillseeyoutomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?Youdon’twant…youdon’twantmetomeethim?’
‘Willisnothavingagoodday.Ithinkit’sbestthatwestartafreshthen.’
Istoodup,realizingMrsTraynorwasalreadywaitingtoseemeout.
‘Yes,’Isaid,tuggingMum’sjacketacrossme.‘Um.Thankyou.I’llseeyouateighto’clocktomorrow.’
MumwasspooningpotatoesontoDad’splate.Sheputtwoon,heparried,liftingathirdandfourthfromtheservingdish.Sheblockedhim,steeringthembackontotheservingdish,finallyrappinghimontheknuckleswiththeservingspoonwhenhemadeforthemagain.Aroundthelittletablesatmyparents,mysisterandThomas,mygranddad,andPatrick–whoalwayscamefordinneronWednesdays.
‘Daddy,’MumsaidtoGranddad.‘Wouldyoulikesomeonetocutyourmeat?Treena,willyoucutDaddy’smeat?’
TreenaleantacrossandbeganslicingatGranddad’splatewithdeftstrokes.OntheothersideshehadalreadydonethesameforThomas.
‘Sohowmessedupisthisman,Lou?’
‘Can’tbeuptomuchifthey’rewillingtoletourdaughterlooseonhim,’Bernardremarked.Behindme,thetelevisionwasonsothatDadandPatrickcouldwatchthefootball.Everynowandthentheywouldstop,peeringroundme,theirmouthsstoppingmid-chewastheywatchedsomepassornearmiss.
‘Ithinkit’sagreatopportunity.She’llbeworkinginoneofthebighouses.Foragoodfamily.Aretheyposh,love?’
Inourstreet‘posh’couldmeananyonewhohadn’tgotafamilymemberinpossessionofanASBO.
‘Isupposeso.’
‘Hopeyou’vepractisedyourcurtsy.’Dadgrinned.
‘Didyouactuallymeethim?’TreenaleantacrosstostopThomaselbowinghisjuiceontothefloor.‘Thecrippledman?Whatwashelike?’
‘Imeethimtomorrow.’
‘Weird,though.You’llbespendingalldayeverydaywithhim.Ninehours.You’llseehimmorethanyouseePatrick.’
‘That’snothard,’Isaid.
Patrick,acrossthetable,pretendedhecouldn’thearme.
‘Still,youwon’thavetoworryabouttheoldsexualharassment,eh?’Dadsaid.
‘Bernard!’saidmymother,sharply.
‘I’monlysayingwhateveryone’sthinking.Probablythebestbossyoucouldfindforyourgirlfriend,eh,Patrick?’
Acrossthetable,Patricksmiled.Hewasbusyrefusingpotatoes,despiteMum’sbestefforts.Hewashavinganon-carbmonth,readyforamarathoninearlyMarch.
‘Youknow,Iwasthinking,willyouhavetolearnsignlanguage?Imean,ifhecan’tcommunicate,howwillyouknowwhathewants?’
‘Shedidn’tsayhecouldn’ttalk,Mum.’Icouldn’tactuallyrememberwhatMrsTraynorhadsaid.Iwasstillvaguelyinshockatactuallyhavingbeengivenajob.
‘Maybehetalksthroughoneofthosedevices.Likethatscientistbloke.TheoneonTheSimpsons.’
‘Bugger,’saidThomas.
‘Nope,’saidBernard.
‘StephenHawking,’saidPatrick.
‘That’syou,thatis,’Mumsaid,lookingaccusinglyfromThomastoDad.Shecouldcutsteakwiththatlook.‘Teachinghimbadlanguage.’
‘Itisnot.Idon’tknowwherehe’sgettingitfrom.’
‘Bugger,’saidThomas,lookingdirectlyathisgrandfather.
Treenamadeaface.‘Ithinkitwouldfreakmeout,ifhetalkedthroughoneofthosevoiceboxes.Canyouimagine?Get-me-a-drink-of-water,’shemimicked.
Bright–butnotbrightenoughnottogetherselfuptheduff,asDadoccasionallymuttered.Shehadbeenthefirstmemberofourfamilytogotouniversity,untilThomas’sarrivalhadcausedhertodropoutduringherfinalyear.MumandDadstillheldouthopesthatonedayshewouldbringthefamilyafortune.Orpossiblyworkinaplacewithareceptiondeskthatdidn’thaveasecurityscreenaroundit.Eitherwoulddo.
‘WhywouldbeinginawheelchairmeanhehadtospeaklikeaDalek?’Isaid.
‘Butyou’regoingtohavetogetupcloseandpersonaltohim.Attheveryleastyou’llhavetowipehismouthandgivehimdrinksandstuff.’
‘So?It’shardlyrocketscience.’
‘SaysthewomanwhousedtoputThomas’snappyoninsideout.’
‘Thatwasonce.’
‘Twice.Andyouonlychangedhimthreetimes.’
Ihelpedmyselftogreenbeans,tryingtolookmoresanguinethanIfelt.
ButevenasIhadriddenthebushome,thesamethoughtshadalreadystartedbuzzingaroundmyhead.Whatwouldwetalkabout?Whatifhejuststaredatme,headlolling,allday?WouldIbefreakedout?WhatifIcouldn’tunderstandwhatitwashewanted?Iwaslegendarilybadatcaringforthings;wenolongerhadhouseplantsathome,orpets,afterthedisastersthatwerethehamster,thestickinsectsandRandolphthegoldfish.Andhowoftenwasthatstiffmotherofhisgoingtobearound?Ididn’tlikethethoughtofbeingwatchedallthetime.MrsTraynorseemedlikethekindofwomanwhosegazeturnedcapablehandsintofingersandthumbs.
‘Patrick,whatdoyouthinkofitall,then?’
Patricktookalongslugofwater,andshrugged.
Outside,therainbeatonthewindowpanes,justaudibleovertheclatterofplatesandcutlery.
‘It’sgoodmoney,Bernard.Betterthanworkingnightsatthechickenfactory,anyway.’
Therewasageneralmurmurofagreementaroundthetable.
‘Well,itcomestosomethingwhenthebestyoucanallsayaboutmynewcareeristhatit’sbetterthanhaulingchickencarcassesaroundtheinsideofanaircrafthangar,’Isaid.
‘Well,youcouldalwaysgetfitinthemeantimeandgoanddosomeofyourpersonaltrainingstuffwithPatrickhere.’
‘Getfit.Thanks,Dad.’Ihadbeenabouttoreachforanotherpotato,andnowchangedmymind.
‘Well,whynot?’Mumlookedasifshemightactuallysitdown–everyonepausedbriefly,butno,shewasupagain,helpingGranddadtosomegravy.‘Itmightbeworthbearinginmindforthefuture.You’vecertainlygotthegiftofthegab.’
‘Shehasthegiftoftheflab.’Dadsnorted.
‘I’vejustgotmyselfajob,’Isaid.‘Payingmorethanthelastonetoo,ifyoudon’tmind.’
‘Butitisonlytemporary,’Patrickinterjected.‘YourDad’sright.Youmightwanttostartgettinginshapewhileyoudoit.Youcouldbeagoodpersonaltrainer,ifyouputinabitofeffort.’
‘Idon’twanttobeapersonaltrainer.Idon’tfancy…allthat…bouncing.’ImouthedaninsultatPatrick,whogrinned.
‘WhatLouwantsisajobwhereshecanputherfeetupandwatchdaytimetellywhilefeedingoldIronsidetherethroughastraw,’saidTreena.
‘Yes.Becauserearranginglimpdahliasintobucketsofwaterrequiressomuchphysicalandmentaleffort,doesn’tit,Treen?’
‘We’reteasingyou,love.’Dadraisedhismugoftea.‘It’sgreatthatyou’vegotajob.We’reproudofyoualready.AndIbetyou,onceyouslidethosefeetofyoursunderthetableatthebighousethosebuggerswon’twanttogetridofyou.’
‘Bugger,’saidThomas.
‘Notme,’saidDad,chewing,beforeMumcouldsayathing.3
‘Thisistheannexe.Itusedtobestables,butwerealizeditwouldsuitWillratherbetterthanthehouseasit’sallononefloor.ThisisthespareroomsothatNathancanstayoverifnecessary.Weneededsomeonequiteoftenintheearlydays.’
MrsTraynorwalkedbrisklydownthecorridor,gesturingfromonedoorwaytotheother,withoutlookingback,herhighheelsclackingontheflagstones.ThereseemedtobeanexpectationthatIwouldkeepup.
‘Thekeystothecararehere.I’veputyouonourinsurance.I’mtrustingthedetailsyougavemewerecorrect.Nathanshouldbeabletoshowyouhowtherampworks.AllyouhavetodoishelpWillpositionproperlyandthevehiclewilldotherest.Although…he’snotdesperatelykeentogoanywhereatthemoment.’
‘Itisabitchillyout,’Isaid.
MrsTraynordidn’tseemtohearme.
‘Youcanmakeyourselfteaandcoffeeinthekitchen.Ikeepthecupboardsstocked.Thebathroomisthroughhere–’
SheopenedthedoorandIstaredatthewhitemetalandplastichoistthatcrouchedoverthebath.Therewasanopenwetareaundertheshower,withafoldedwheelchairbesideit.Inthecorneraglass-frontedcabinetrevealedneatstacksofshrink-wrappedbales.Icouldn’tseewhattheywerefromhere,butitallgaveoffafaintscentofdisinfectant.
MrsTraynorclosedthedoor,andturnedbrieflytofaceme.‘Ishouldreiterate,itisveryimportantthatWillhassomeonewithhimallthetime.Apreviouscarerdisappearedforseveralhoursoncetogethercarfixed,andWill…injuredhimselfinherabsence.’Sheswallowed,asifstilltraumatizedbythememory.
‘Iwon’tgoanywhere.’
‘Ofcourseyouwillneed…comfortbreaks.Ijustwanttomakeitclearthathecan’tbeleftforperiodslongerthan,say,tenorfifteenminutes.Ifsomethingunavoidablecomesupeitherringtheintercom,asmyhusband,Steven,maybehome,orcallmymobilenumber.Ifyoudoneedtotakeanytimeoff,Iwouldappreciateasmuchnoticeaspossible.Itisnotalwayseasyfindingcover.’
‘No.’
MrsTraynoropenedthehallcupboard.Shespokelikesomeonerecitingawell-rehearsedspeech.
Iwonderedbrieflyhowmanycarerstherehadbeenbeforeme.
‘IfWillisoccupied,thenitwouldbehelpfulifyoucoulddosomebasichousekeeping.Washbedding,runavacuumcleaneraround,thatsortofthing.Thecleaningequipmentisunderthesink.Hemaynotwantyouaroundhimallthetime.Youandhewillhavetoworkoutyourlevelofinteractionforyourselves.’
MrsTraynorlookedatmyclothes,asifforthefirsttime.IwaswearingtheveryshaggywaistcoatthingthatDadsaysmakesmelooklikeanemu.Itriedtosmile.Itseemedlikeaneffort.
‘ObviouslyIwouldhopethatyoucould…getonwitheachother.Itwouldbeniceifhecouldthinkofyouasafriendratherthanapaidprofessional.’
‘Right.Whatdoeshe…um…liketodo?’
‘Hewatchesfilms.Sometimeshelistenstotheradio,ortomusic.Hehasoneofthosedigitalthings.Ifyoupositionitnearhishand,hecanusuallymanipulateithimself.Hehassomemovementinhisfingers,althoughhefindsithardtogrip.’
Ifeltmyselfbrightening.Ifhelikedmusicandfilms,surelywecouldfindsomecommonground?IhadasuddenpictureofmyselfandthismanlaughingatsomeHollywoodcomedy,merunningtheHooveraroundthebedroomwhilehelistenedtohismusic.Perhapsthiswasgoingtobeokay.Perhapswemightendupasfriends.Ihadneverhadadisabledfriendbefore–onlyTreen’sfriendDavid,whowasdeaf,butwouldputyouinaheadlockifyousuggestedthatmeantdisabled.
‘Doyouhaveanyquestions?’
‘No.’
‘Thenlet’sgoandintroduceyou.’Sheglancedatherwatch.‘Nathanshouldhavefinisheddressinghimnow.’
WehesitatedoutsidethedoorandMrsTraynorknocked.‘Areyouinthere?IhaveMissClarktomeetyou,Will.’
Therewasnoanswer.
‘Will?Nathan?’
AbroadNewZealandaccent.‘He’sdecent,MrsT.’
Shepushedopenthedoor.Theannexe’slivingroomwasdeceptivelylarge,andonewallconsistedentirelyofglassdoorsthatlookedoutoveropencountryside.Awoodburnerglowedquietlyinthecorner,andalowbeigesofafacedahugeflat-screentelevision,itsseatscoveredbyawoolthrow.Themoodoftheroomwastasteful,andpeaceful–aScandinavianbachelorpad.
Inthecentreoftheroomstoodablackwheelchair,itsseatandbackcushionedbysheepskin.Asolidlybuiltmaninwhitecollarlessscrubswascrouchingdown,adjustingaman’sfeetonthefootrestsofthewheelchair.Aswesteppedintotheroom,themaninthewheelchairlookedupfromundershaggy,unkempthair.Hiseyesmetmineandafterapause,heletoutabloodcurdlinggroan.Thenhismouthtwisted,andheletoutanotherunearthlycry.
Ifelthismotherstiffen.
‘Will,stopit!’
Hedidn’tevenglancetowardsher.Anotherprehistoricsoundemergedfromsomewherenearhischest.Itwasaterrible,agonizingnoise.Itriednottoflinch.Themanwasgrimacing,hisheadtiltedandsunkintohisshouldersashestaredatmethroughcontortedfeatures.Helookedgrotesque,andvaguelyangry.IrealizedthatwhereIheldmybag,myknuckleshadturnedwhite.
‘Will!Please.’Therewasafaintnoteofhysteriainhismother’svoice.‘Please,don’tdothis.’
OhGod,Ithought.I’mnotuptothis.Iswallowed,hard.Themanwasstillstaringatme.Heseemedtobewaitingformetodosomething.
‘I–I’mLou.’Myvoice,uncharacteristicallytremulous,brokeintothesilence.Iwondered,briefly,whethertoholdoutahandandthen,rememberingthathewouldn’tbeabletotakeit,gaveafeeblewaveinstead.‘ShortforLouisa.’
Thentomyastonishmenthisfeaturescleared,andhisheadstraightenedonhisshoulders.
WillTraynorgazedatmesteadily,thefaintestofsmilesflickeringacrosshisface.‘Goodmorning,MissClark,’hesaid.‘Ihearyou’remylatestminder.’
Nathanhadfinishedadjustingthefootrests.Heshookhisheadashestoodup.‘Youareabadman,MrT.Verybad.’Hegrinned,andheldoutabroadhand,whichIshooklimply.Nathanexudedanairofunflappability.‘I’mafraidyoujustgotWill’sbestChristyBrownimpression.You’llgetusedtohim.Hisbarkisworsethanhisbite.’
MrsTraynorwasholdingthecrossatherneckwithslimwhitefingers.Shemoveditbackwardsandforwardsalongitsthingoldchain,anervoushabit.Herfacewasrigid.‘I’llleaveyoualltogeton.Youcancallthroughusingtheintercomifyouneedanyhelp.NathanwilltalkyouthroughWill’sroutines,andhisequipment.’
‘I’mhere,mother.Youdon’thavetotalkacrossme.Mybrainisn’tparalysed.Yet.’
‘Yes,well,ifyou’regoingtobefoul,Will,Ithinkit’sbestifMissClarkdoestalkdirectlytoNathan.’Hismotherwouldn’tlookathimasshespoke,Inoticed.Shekepthergazeabouttenfeetawayonthefloor.‘I’mworkingfromhometoday.SoI’llpopinatlunchtime,MissClark.’
‘Okay.’Myvoiceemergedasasquawk.
MrsTraynordisappeared.Weweresilentwhilewelistenedtoherclippedfootstepsdisappearingdownthehalltowardsthemainhouse.
ThenNathanbrokethesilence.‘YoumindifIgoandtalkMissClarkthroughyourmeds,Will?Youwantthetelevision?Somemusic?’
‘RadioFourplease,Nathan.’
‘Surething.’
Wewalkedthroughtothekitchen.
‘Younothadmuchexperiencewithquadriplegics,MrsTsays?’
‘No.’
‘Okay.I’llkeepitfairlysimplefortoday.There’safolderherethattellsyouprettymucheverythingyouneedtoknowaboutWill’sroutines,andallhisemergencynumbers.I’dadviseyoutoreadit,ifyougetasparemoment.I’mguessingyou’llhaveafew.’
Nathantookakeyfromhisbeltandopenedalockedcabinet,whichwaspackedfullofboxesandsmallplasticcanistersofmedication.‘Right.Thislotismostlymybag,butyoudoneedtoknowwhereeverythingisincaseofemergencies.There’satimetablethereonthewallsoyoucanseewhathehaswhenonadailybasis.Anyextrasyougivehimyoumarkinthere–’hepointed‘–butyou’rebesttoclearanythingthroughMrsT,atleastatthisstage.’
‘Ididn’trealizeIwasgoingtohavetohandledrugs.’
‘It’snothard.Hemostlyknowswhatheneeds.Buthemightneedalittlehelpgettingthemdown.Wetendtousethisbeakerhere.Oryoucancrushthemwiththispestleandmortarandputtheminadrink.’
Ipickeduponeofthelabels.Iwasn’tsureIhadeverseensomanydrugsoutsideapharmacy.
‘Okay.Sohehastwomedsforbloodpressure,thistoloweritatbedtime,thisonetoraiseitwhenhegetsoutofbed.Theseheneedsfairlyoftentocontrolhismuscularspasms–youwillneedtogivehimonemid-morning,andagainatmid-afternoon.Hedoesn’tfindthosetoohardtoswallow,becausethey’rethelittlecoatedones.Theseareforbladderspasms,andthesehereareforacidreflux.Hesometimesneedstheseaftereatingifhegetsuncomfortable.Thisishisantihistamineforthemorning,andthesearehisnasalsprays,butImostlydothoselastthingbeforeIleave,soyoushouldn’thavetoworry.Hecanhaveparacetamolifhe’sinpain,andhedoeshavetheoddsleepingpill,butthesetendtomakehimmoreirritableinthedaytime,sowetrytorestrictthem.
‘These–’heheldupanotherbottle‘–aretheantibioticshehaseverytwoweeksforhiscatheterchange.IdothoseunlessI’maway,inwhichcaseI’llleaveclearinstructions.They’reprettystrong.Therearetheboxesofrubbergloves,ifyouneedtocleanhimupatall.There’salsocreamthereifhegetssore,buthe’sbeenprettygoodsincewegottheairmattress.’
AsIstoodthere,hereachedintohispocketandhandedanotherkeytome.‘Thisisthespare,’hesaid.‘Nottobegiventoanyoneelse.NotevenWill,okay?Guarditwithyourlife.’
‘It’salottoremember.’Iswallowed.
‘It’sallwrittendown.Allyouneedtorememberfortodayarehisanti-spasmmeds.Thoseones.There’smymobilenumberifyouneedtocallme.I’mstudyingwhenI’mnothere,soI’drathernotbecalledtoooftenbutfeelfreetillyoufeelconfident.’
Istaredatthefolderinfrontofme.ItfeltlikeIwasabouttositanexamIhadn’tpreparedfor.‘Whatifheneeds…togototheloo?’Ithoughtofthehoist.‘I’mnotsureIcould,youknow,lifthim.’Itriednottoletmyfacebetraymypanic.
Nathanshookhishead.‘Youdon’tneedtodoanyofthat.Hiscathetertakescareofthat.I’llbeinatlunchtimetochangeitall.You’renothereforthephysicalstuff.’
‘WhatamIherefor?’
Nathanstudiedthefloorbeforehelookedatme.‘Trytocheerhimupalittle?He’s…he’salittlecranky.Understandable,given…thecircumstances.Butyou’regoingtohavetohaveafairlythickskin.Thatlittleskitthismorningishiswayofgettingyouoffbalance.’
‘Isthiswhythepayissogood?’
‘Ohyes.Nosuchthingasafreelunch,eh?’Nathanclappedmeontheshoulder.Ifeltmybodyreverberatewithit.‘Ah,he’sallright.Youdon’thavetopussyfootaroundhim.’Hehesitated.‘Ilikehim.’
Hesaiditlikehemightbetheonlypersonwhodid.
Ifollowedhimbackintothelivingroom.WillTraynor’schairhadmovedtothewindow,andhehadhisbacktousandwasstaringout,listeningtosomethingontheradio.
‘That’smedone,Will.YouwantanythingbeforeIgo?’
‘No.Thankyou,Nathan.’
‘I’llleaveyouinMissClark’scapablehands,then.Seeyoulunchtime,mate.’
Iwatchedtheaffablehelperputtingonhisjacketwitharisingsenseofpanic.
‘Havefun,youguys.’Nathanwinkedatme,andthenhewasgone.
Istoodinthemiddleoftheroom,handsthrustinmypockets,unsurewhattodo.WillTraynorcontinuedtostareoutofthewindowasifIweren’tthere
‘Wouldyoulikemetomakeyouacupoftea?’Isaid,finally,whenthesilencebecameunbearable.
‘Ah.Yes.Thegirlwhomakesteaforaliving.Iwonderedhowlongitwouldbebeforeyouwantedtoshowoffyourskills.No.No,thankyou.’
‘Coffee,then?’
‘Nohotbeveragesforme,justnow,MissClark.’
‘YoucancallmeLou.’
‘Willithelp?’
Iblinked,mymouthopeningbriefly.Iclosedit.DadalwayssaiditmademelookmorestupidthanIactuallywas.‘Well…canIgetyouanything?’
Heturnedtolookatme.Hisjawwascoveredinseveralweeksofstubble,andhiseyeswereunreadable.Heturnedaway.
‘I’ll–’Icastaroundtheroom.‘I’llseeifthere’sanywashing,then.’
Iwalkedoutoftheroom,myheartthumping.FromthesafetyofthekitchenIpulledoutmymobilephoneandthumpedoutamessagetomysister.
Thisisawful.Hehatesme.
Thereplycamebackwithinseconds.
Youhaveonlybeenthereanhour,
youwuss!M&Dreally
worriedaboutmoney.Justgetagrip
&thinkofhourlyrate.X
Isnappedmymobilephoneshut,andblewoutmycheeks.Iwentthroughthelaundrybasketinthebathroom,managingtoraiseapaltryquarterloadofwashing,andspentsomeminutescheckingtheinstructionstothemachine.Ididn’twanttomis-programmeitordoanythingwhichmightpromptWillorMrsTraynortolookatmelikeIwasstupidagain.Istartedthewashingmachineandstoodthere,tryingtoworkoutwhatelseIcouldlegitimatelydo.Ipulledthevacuumcleanerfromthehallcupboardandranitupanddownthecorridorandintothetwobedrooms,thinkingallthewhilethatifmyparentscouldseemetheywouldhaveinsistedontakingacommemorativephotograph.Thesparebedroomwasalmostempty,likeahotelroom.IsuspectedNathandidnotstayoveroften.IthoughtIprobablycouldn’tblamehim.
IhesitatedoutsideWillTraynor’sbedroom,thenreasonedthatitneededvacuumingjustlikeanywhereelse.Therewasabuilt-inshelfunitalongoneside,uponwhichsataroundtwentyframedphotographs.
AsIvacuumedaroundthebed,Iallowedmyselfaquickpeekatthem.Therewasamanbungeejumpingfromacliff,hisarmsoutstretchedlikeastatueofChrist.TherewasamanwhomighthavebeenWillinwhatlookedlikejungle,andhimagaininthemidstofagroupofdrunkenfriends.Themenworebowtiesanddinnerjacketsandhadtheirarmsaroundeachother’sshoulders.
Therehewasonaskislope,besideagirlwithdarkglassesandlongblondehair.Istooped,togetabetterviewofhiminhisskigoggles.Hewasclean-shaveninthephotograph,andeveninthebrightlighthisfacehadthatexpensivesheentoitthatmoneyedpeoplegetthroughgoingonholidaythreetimesayear.Hehadbroad,muscularshouldersvisibleeventhroughhisskijacket.Iputthephotographcarefullybackonthetableandcontinuedtovacuumaroundthebackofthebed.Finally,Iturnedthevacuumcleaneroff,andbegantowindthecordup.AsIreacheddowntounplugit,Icaughtamovementinthecornerofmyeyeandjumped,lettingoutasmallshriek.WillTraynorwasinthedoorway,watchingme.
‘Courchevel.Twoandahalfyearsago.’
Iblushed.‘I’msorry.Iwasjust–’
‘Youwerejustlookingatmyphotographs.Wonderinghowawfulitmustbetolivelikethatandthenturnintoacripple.’
‘No.’Iblushedevenmorefuriously
‘Therestofmyphotographsareinthebottomdrawerifyoufindyourselfovercomewithcuriosityagain,’hesaid
Andthenwithalowhumthewheelchairturnedtotheright,andhedisappeared.
Themorningsaggedanddecidedtolastforseveralyears.Icouldn’trememberthelasttimeminutesandhoursstretchedsointerminably.ItriedtofindasmanyjobstooccupymyselfasIcould,andwentintothelivingroomasseldomaspossible,knowingIwasbeingcowardly,butnotreallycaring.
AtelevenIbroughtWillTraynorabeakerofwaterandhisanti-spasmmedication,asNathanhadrequested.Iplacedthepillonhistongueandthenofferedhimthebeaker,asNathanhadinstructedme.Itwaspale,opaqueplastic,thekindofthingThomashadused,exceptwithoutBobtheBuilderonthesides.Heswallowedwithsomeeffort,andthen
Idustedsomeshelvesthatdidn’treallyneeddusting,andcontemplatedcleaningsomewindows.Aroundmetheannexewassilent,apartfromthelowhumofthetelevisioninthelivingroomwherehesat.Ididn’tfeelconfidentenoughtoputonamusicstationinthekitchen.Ihadafeelinghewouldhavesomethingcuttingtosayaboutmychoiceinmusic.
Attwelvethirty,Nathanarrived,bringingwithhimthecoldairofoutside,andaraisedeyebrow.‘Allokay?’hesaid.
Ihadrarelybeensohappytoseesomeoneinmylife.‘Fine.’
‘Great.Youcantakeahalf-hournow.MeandMrThaveafewthingsweattendtoatthispointintheday.’
Ialmostranformycoat.Ihadn’tplannedongoingoutforlunch,butIwasalmostfaintwithreliefatgettingoutofthathouse.Ipulledupmycollar,stuckmyhandbagonmyshoulder,andsetoffatabriskwalkdownthedrive,asifIhadsomewhereIactuallywantedtogo.Infact,Ijustwalkedaroundthesurroundingstreetsforhalfanhour,breathinghotcloudsofbreathintomytightlywrappedscarf.
Therewerenocafesatthisendoftown,nowthatTheButteredBunwasclosed.Thecastlewasdeserted.Thenearesteatingplacewasagastropub,thekindofplacewhereIdoubtedIcouldaffordadrink,letaloneaquicklunch.Allthecarsinthecarparkwerehugeandexpensivewithrecentnumberplates.
Istoodinthecastlecarpark,makingsureIwasoutofviewofGrantaHouse,anddialledmysister’snumber.‘Hey.’
‘YouknowIcan’ttalkatwork.Youhaven’twalkedout,haveyou?’
‘No.Ijustneededtohearafriendlyvoice.’
‘Ishethatbad?’
‘Treen,hehatesme.HelooksatmelikeI’msomethingthecatdraggedin.Andhedoesn’tevendrinktea.I’mhidingfromhim.’
‘Ican’tbelieveI’mhearingthis.’
‘What?’
‘Justtalktohim,forcryingoutloud.Ofcoursehe’smiserable.He’sstuckinabloodywheelchair.Andyou’reprobablybeinguseless.Justtalktohim.Gettoknowhim.What’stheworstthatcanhappen?’
‘Idon’tknow…Idon’tknowifIcanstickit.’
‘I’mnottellingMumyou’regivingupyourjobafterhalfaday.Theywon’tgiveyouanybenefits,Lou.Youcan’tdothis.Wecan’taffordforyoutodothis.’
Shewasright.IrealizedIhatedmysister.
Therewasabriefsilence.Treen’svoiceturneduncharacteristicallyconciliatory.Thiswasreallyworrying.ItmeantsheknewIdidactuallyhavetheworstjobintheworld.‘Look,’shesaid.‘It’sjustsixmonths.Justdothesixmonths,havesomethingusefulonyourCVandyoucangetajobyouactuallylike.Andhey–lookatitthisway,atleastit’snotworkingnightsatthechickenfactory,right?’
‘Nightsatthechickenfactorywouldfeellikeaholidaycomparedwith–’
‘I’mgoingnow,Lou.I’llseeyoulater.’
‘Sowouldyouliketogosomewherethisafternoon?Wecoulddrivesomewhereifyoulike.’
Nathanhadbeengoneforalmosthalfanhour.Ihadspunoutthewashingoftheteamugsaslongashumanlypossible,andIthoughtthatifIspentonemorehourinthissilenthousemyheadmightexplode.
Heturnedhisheadtowardsme.‘Wheredidyouhaveinmind?’
‘Idon’tknow.Justadriveinthecountry?’IwasdoingthisthingIsometimesdoofpretendingI’mTreena.Sheisoneofthosepeoplewhoarecompletelycalmandcompetent,andasaresultnooneevermesseswithher.Isounded,tomyownears,professionalandupbeat.
‘Thecountry,’hesaid,asifconsideringit.‘Andwhatwouldwesee.Sometrees?Somesky?’
‘Idon’tknow.Whatdoyounormallydo?’
‘Idon’tdoanything,MissClark.Ican’tdoanythinganymore.Isit.Ijustaboutexist.’
‘Well,’Isaid,‘Iwastoldthatyouhaveacarthat’sadaptedforwheelchairuse?’
‘Andyou’reworriedthatitwillstopworkingifitdoesn’tgetusedeveryday?’
‘No,butI–’
‘AreyoutellingmeIshouldgoout?’
‘Ijustthought–’
‘Youthoughtalittledrivewouldbegoodforme?Abreathoffreshair?’
‘I’mjusttryingto–’
‘MissClark,mylifeisnotgoingtobesignificantlyimprovedbyadrivearoundStortfold’scountrylanes.’Heturnedaway.
HisheadhadsunkintohisshouldersandIwonderedwhetherhewascomfortable.Itdidn’tseemtobethetimetoaskhim.Wesatinsilence.
‘Doyouwantmetobringyouyourcomputer?’
‘Why,haveyouthoughtofagoodquadriplegicsupportgroupIcouldjoin?QuadsRUs?TheTinWheelClub?’
Itookadeepbreath,tryingtomakemyvoicesoundconfident.‘Okay…well…seeingaswe’regoingtospendallthistimeineachother’scompanyperhapswecouldgettoknowsomethingabouteachother–’
Therewassomethingabouthisfacethenthatmademefalter.Hewasstaringstraightaheadatthewall,aticmovinginhisjaw.
‘It’sjust…it’squitealongtimetospendwithsomeone.Allday,’Icontinued.‘Perhapsifyoucouldtellmealittleofwhatyouwanttodo,whatyoulike,thenIcan…makesurethingsareasyoulikethem?’
Thistimethesilencewaspainful.Iheardmyvoiceslowlyswallowedbyit,andcouldn’tworkoutwhattodowithmyhands.Treenaandhercompetentmannerhadevaporated.
Finally,thewheelchairhummedandheturnedslowlytofaceme.
‘Here’swhatIknowaboutyou,MissClark.Mymothersaysyou’rechatty.’Hesaiditlikeitwasanaffliction.‘Canwestrikeadeal?Wherebyyouareveryun-chattyaroundme?’
Iswallowed,feelingmyfaceflame.
‘Fine,’Isaid,whenIcouldspeakagain.‘I’llbeinthekitchen.Ifyouwantanythingjustcallme.’
‘Youcan’tgiveupalready.’
Iwaslyingsidewaysonmybedwithmylegsstretchedupthewall,likeIdidwhenIwasateenager.Ihadbeenupheresincesupper,whichwasunusualforme.SinceThomaswasborn,heandTreenahadmovedintothebiggerroom,andIwasintheboxroom,whichwassmallenoughtomakeyoufeelclaustrophobicshouldyousitinitformorethanhalfanhouratatime.
ButIdidn’twanttositdownstairswithMumandGranddadbecauseMumkeptlookingatmeanxiouslyandsayingthingslike‘Itwillgetbetter,love’and‘Nojobisgreatonthefirstday’–asifshe’dhadaruddyjobinthelasttwentyyears.Itwasmakingmefeelguilty.AndIhadn’tevendoneanything.
‘Ididn’tsayIwasgivingup.’
Treenahadbargedinwithoutknocking,asshedideveryday,eventhoughIalwayshadtoknockquietlyonherroom,incaseThomaswassleeping.
‘AndIcouldhavebeennaked.Youcouldatleastshoutfirst.’
‘I’veseenworse.Mumthinksyou’regoingtohandinyournotice.’
Islidmylegssidewaysdownthewallandpushedmyselfuptoaseatedposition.
‘OhGod,Treen.It’sworsethanIthought.Heissomiserable.’
‘Hecan’tmove.Ofcoursehe’smiserable.’
‘No,buthe’ssarcasticandmeanwithit.EverytimeIsaysomethingorsuggestsomethinghelooksatmelikeI’mstupid,orsayssomethingthatmakesmefeelabouttwoyearsold.’
‘Youprobablydidsaysomethingstupid.Youjustneedtogetusedtoeachother.’
‘Ireallydidn’t.Iwassocareful.Ihardlysaidanythingexcept“Wouldyouliketogooutforadrive?”or“Wouldyoulikeacupoftea?”.’
‘Well,maybehe’slikethatwitheveryoneatthestart,untilheknowswhetheryou’regoingtostickaround.Ibettheygetthroughloadsofhelpers.’
‘Hedidn’tevenwantmeinthesameroomashim.Idon’tthinkIcanstickit,Katrina.Ireallydon’t.Honest–ifyou’dbeenthereyouwouldunderstand.’
Treenasaidnothingthen,justlookedatmeforawhile.Shegotupandglancedoutofthedoor,asifcheckingwhethertherewasanybodyonthelanding.
‘I’mthinkingofgoingbacktocollege,’shesaid,finally.
Ittookmybrainafewsecondstoregisterthischangeoftack.
‘OhmyGod,’Isaid.‘But–’
‘I’mgoingtotakealoantopayforthefees.ButIcangetsomespecialgranttoo,becauseofhavingThomas,andtheuniversityisofferingmereducedratesbecausethey…’Sheshrugged,alittleembarrassed.‘TheysaytheythinkIcouldexcel.Someone’sdroppedoutofthebusinessstudiescourse,sotheycantakemeforthebeginningofthenextterm.’
‘WhataboutThomas?’
‘There’sanurseryoncampus.Wecanstaythereinasubsidizedflatinhallsintheweek,andcomebackheremostweekends.’
‘Oh.’
Icouldfeelherwatchingme.Ididn’tknowwhattodowithmyface.
‘I’mreallydesperatetousemybrainagain.Doingtheflowersisdoingmyheadin.Iwanttolearn.Iwanttoimprovemyself.AndI’msickofmyhandsalwaysbeingfreezingcoldfromthewater.’
Webothstaredatherhands,whichwerepinktinged,eveninthetropicalwarmthofourhouse.
‘But–’
‘Yup.Iwon’tbeworking,Lou.Iwon’tbeabletogiveMumanything.Imight…Imightevenneedabitofhelpfromthem.’Thistimeshelookedquiteuncomfortable.Herexpression,whensheglancedupatme,wasalmostapologetic.
DownstairsMumwaslaughingatsomethingonthetelevision.WecouldhearherexclaimingtoGranddad.Sheoftenexplainedtheplotoftheshowtohim,eventhoughwetoldherallthetimeshedidn’tneedto.Icouldn’tspeak.Thesignificanceofmysister’swordssankinslowlybutinexorably.IfeltlikeaMafiavictimmustdo,watchingtheconcretesettingslowlyaroundtheirankles.
‘Ireallyneedtodothis,Lou.IwantmoreforThomas,moreforbothofus.TheonlywayI’llgetanywhereisbygoingbacktocollege.Ihaven’tgotaPatrick.I’mnotsureI’lleverhaveaPatrick,giventhatnobody’sbeenremotelyinterestedsinceIhadThomas.IneedtodothebestIcanbymyself.’
WhenIdidn’tsayanything,sheadded,‘FormeandThomas.’
Inodded.
‘Lou?Please?’
Ihadneverseenmysisterlooklikethatbefore.Itmademefeelreallyuncomfortable.Iliftedmyhead,andraisedasmile.Myvoice,whenitemerged,didn’tevensoundlikemyown.
‘Well,likeyousay.It’sjustamatterofgettingusedtohim.It’sboundtobedifficultinthefirstfewdays,isn’tit?’4
Twoweekspassedandwiththememergedaroutineofsorts.EverymorningIwouldarriveatGrantaHouseateight,calloutthatIwasthereandthen,afterNathanhadfinishedhelpingWilldress,listencarefullywhilehetoldmewhatIneededtoknowaboutWill’smeds–or,moreimportantly,hismood.
AfterNathanhadleftIwouldprogrammetheradioortelevisionforWill,dispensehispills,sometimescrushingthemwiththelittlemarblepestleandmortar.Usually,aftertenminutesorsohewouldmakeitclearthathewaswearyofmypresence.AtthispointIwouldekeoutthelittleannexe’sdomestictasks,washingteatowelsthatweren’tdirty,orusingrandomvacuumattachmentstocleantinybitsofskirtingorwindowsill,religiouslypoppingmyheadroundthedooreveryfifteenminutesasMrsTraynorhadinstructed.WhenIdid,hewouldbesittinginhischairlookingoutintothebleakgarden.
LaterImighttakehimadrinkofwater,oroneofthecalorie-filleddrinksthatweresupposedtokeephisweightupandlookedlikepastel-colouredwallpaperpaste,orgivehimhisfood.Hecouldmovehishandsalittle,butnothisarm,sohehadtobefedforkfulbyforkful.Thiswastheworstpartoftheday;itseemedwrong,somehow,spoon-feedingagrownman,andmyembarrassmentmademeclumsyandawkward.Willhateditsomuchhewouldn’tevenmeetmyeyewhileIwasdoingit.
Andthenshortlybeforeone,NathanwouldarriveandIwouldgrabmycoatanddisappeartowalkthestreets,sometimeseatingmylunchinthebusshelteroutsidethecastle.ItwascoldandIprobablylookedpatheticperchedthereeatingmysandwiches,butIdidn’tcare.Icouldn’tspendawholedayinthathouse.
IntheafternoonIwouldputafilmon–WillhadamembershipofaDVDclubandnewfilmsarrivedbyposteveryday–butheneverinvitedmetowatchwithhim,soI’dusuallygoandsitinthekitchenorinthespareroom.Istartedbringinginabookormagazine,butIfeltoddlyguiltynotactuallyworking,andIcouldneverquiteconcentrateonthewords.Occasionally,attheendoftheday,MrsTraynorwouldpopin–althoughsheneversaidmuchtome,otherthan‘Everythingallright?’towhichtheonlyacceptableanswerseemedtobe‘Yes’.
ShewouldaskWillifhewantedanything,occasionallysuggestsomethinghemightliketodotomorrow–someouting,orsomefriendwhohadaskedafterhim–andhewouldalmostalwaysanswerdismissively,ifnotwithdownrightrudeness.Shewouldlookpained,runherfingersupanddownthatlittlegoldchain,anddisappearagain.
Hisfather,awell-padded,gentle-lookingman,usuallycameinasIwasleaving.HewasthekindofmanyoumightseewatchingcricketinaPanamahat,andhadapparentlyoverseenthemanagementofthecastlesinceretiringfromhiswell-paidjobinthecity.Isuspectedthiswaslikeabenignlandownerdiggingintheoddpotatojust‘tokeephishandin’.Hefinishedeverydayat5pmpromptlyandwouldsitandwatchtelevisionwithWill.SometimesIheardhimmakingsomeremarkaboutwhateverwasonthenewsasIleft.
IgottostudyWillTraynorupclose,inthosefirstcoupleofweeks.Isawthatheseemeddeterminednottolookanythinglikethemanhehadbeen;hehadlethislight-brownhairgrowintoashapelessmess,hisstubblecrawlacrosshisjaw.Hisgreyeyeswerelinedwithexhaustion,ortheeffectofconstantdiscomfort(Nathansaidhewasrarelycomfortable).Theyborethehollowlookofsomeonewhowasalwaysafewstepsremovedfromtheworldaroundhim.SometimesIwonderedifitwasadefencemechanism,whethertheonlywaytocopewithhislifewastopretenditwasn’thimitwashappeningto.
Iwantedtofeelsorryforhim.Ireallydid.IthoughthewasthesaddestpersonIhadevermet,inthosemomentswhenIglimpsedhimstaringoutofthewindow.AndasthedayswentbyandIrealizedthathisconditionwasnotjustamatterofbeingstuckinthatchair,ofthelossofphysicalfreedom,butanever-endinglitanyofindignitiesand
ButohLord,hewasviletome.EverythingIsaid,hehadasharpanswerfor.IfIaskedhimifhewaswarmenough,hewouldretortthathewasquitecapableoflettingmeknowifheneededanotherblanket.IfIaskedifthevacuumcleanerwastoonoisyforhim–Ihadn’twantedtointerrupthisfilm–heaskedmewhy,hadIworkedoutawaytomakeitrunsilently?WhenIfedhim,hecomplainedthatthefoodwastoohotortoocold,orthatIhadbroughtthenextforkfuluptohismouthbeforehehadfinishedthelast.HehadtheabilitytotwistalmostanythingIsaidordidsothatIseemedstupid.
Duringthosefirsttwoweeks,Igotquitegoodatkeepingmyfacecompletelyblank,andIwouldturnawayanddisappearintotheotherroomandjustsayaslittletohimasIpossiblycould.Istartedtohatehim,andI’msureheknewit.
Ihadn’trealizeditwaspossibletomissmyoldjobmorethanIalreadydid.ImissedFrank,andthewayheactuallylookedpleasedtoseemewhenIarrivedinthemorning.Imissedthecustomers,theircompany,andtheeasychatterthatswelledanddippedgentlylikeabenignseaaroundme.Thishouse,beautifulandexpensiveasitwas,wasasstillandsilentasamorgue.Sixmonths,Irepeatedundermybreath,whenitfeltunbearable.Sixmonths
AndthenontheThursday,justasIwasmixingWill’smid-morning,high-caloriedrink,IheardMrsTraynor’svoiceinthehall.Exceptthistimetherewereothervoicestoo.Iwaited,theforkstilledinmyhand.Icouldjustmakeoutawoman’svoice,young,well-spoken,andaman’s.
MrsTraynorappearedinthekitchendoorway,andItriedtolookbusy,whiskingbrisklyatthebeaker.
‘Isthatmadeupwith60:40waterandmilk?’sheasked,peeringatthedrink.
‘Yes.It’sthestrawberryone.’
‘Will’sfriendshavecometoseehim.Itwouldprobablybebestifyou–’
‘I’vegotlotsofthingsIshouldbedoinginhere,’Isaid.IwasactuallyquiterelievedthatIwouldbesparedhiscompanyforanhourorso.Iscrewedthelidontothebeaker.‘Wouldyourguestslikesometeaorcoffee?’
Shelookedalmostsurprised.‘Yes.Thatwouldbeverykind.Coffee.IthinkI’ll…’
Sheseemedevenmoretensethanusual,hereyesdartingtowardsthecorridor,fromwherewecouldhearthelowmurmurofvoices.IguessedthatWilldidn’tgetmanyvisitors.
‘Ithink…I’llleavethemalltoit.’Shegazedoutintothecorridor,herthoughtsapparentlyfaraway.‘Rupert.It’sRupert,hisoldfriendfromwork,’shesaid,suddenlyturningtowardsme.
Igotthefeelingthatthiswasinsomewaymomentous,andthatsheneededtoshareitwithsomeone,evenifitwasjustme.
‘AndAlicia.Theywere…veryclose…forabit.Teawouldbelovely.Thankyou,MissClark.’
IhesitatedamomentbeforeIopenedthedoor,leaningagainstitwithmyhipsothatIcouldbalancethetrayinmyhands.
‘MrsTraynorsaidyoumightlikesomecoffee,’IsaidasIentered,placingthetrayonthelowtable.AsIplacedWill’sbeakerintheholderofhischair,turningthestrawsothatheonlyneededtoadjusthisheadpositiontoreachit,Isneakedalookathisvisitors.
ItwasthewomanInoticedfirst.Long-leggedandblonde-haired,withpalecaramelskin,shewasthekindofwomanwhomakesmewonderifhumansreallyareallthesamespecies.Shelookedlikeahumanracehorse.Ihadseenthesewomenoccasionally;theywereusuallybouncingupthehilltothecastle,clutchingsmallBoden-cladchildren,andwhenwouldcarry,crystalclearandunselfconscious,astheyasked,‘Harry,darling,wouldyoulikeacoffee?ShallIseeiftheycandoyouamacchiato?’Thiswasdefinitelyamacchiatowoman.Everythingabouthersmeltofmoney,ofentitlementandalifelivedasifthroughthepagesofaglossymagazine.
ThenIlookedathermorecloselyandrealizedwithajoltthata)shewasthewomaninWill’sskiingphotograph,andb)shelookedreally,reallyuncomfortable.
ShehadkissedWillonthecheekandwasnowsteppingbackwards,smilingawkwardly.Shewaswearingabrownshearlinggilet,thekindofthingthatwouldhavemademelooklikeayeti,andapale-greycashmerescarfaroundherneck,whichshebegantofiddlewith,asifshecouldn’tdecidewhethertounwrapherselfornot.
‘Youlookwell,’shesaidtohim.‘Really.You’ve…grownyourhairabit.’
Willdidn’tsayathing.Hewasjustlookingather,hisexpressionasunreadableasever.Ifeltafleetinggratitudethatitwasn’tjustmehelookedatlikethat.
‘Newchair,eh?’ThemantappedthebackofWill’schair,chincompressed,noddinginapprovalasifhewereadmiringatop-of-the-rangesportscar.‘Looks…prettysmart.Very…hightech.’
Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Istoodthereforamoment,shiftingfromonefoottoanother,untilWill’svoicebrokeintothesilence.
‘Louisa,wouldyoumindputtingsomemorelogsonthefire?Ithinkitneedsbuildingupabit.’
ItwasthefirsttimehehadusedmyChristianname.
‘Sure,’Isaid.
Ibusiedmyselfbythelogburner,stokingthefireandsortingthroughthebasketforlogsoftherightsize.
‘Gosh,it’scoldoutside,’thewomansaid.‘Nicetohaveaproperfire.’
Iopenedthedoorofthewoodburner,proddingattheglowinglogswiththepoker.
‘It’sagoodfewdegreescolderherethanLondon.’
‘Yes,definitely,’themanagreed.
‘Iwasthinkingofgettingawoodburnerathome.Apparentlythey’remuchmoreefficientthananopenfire.’Aliciastoopedalittletoinspectthisone,asifshe’dneveractuallyseenonebefore.
‘Yes,I’veheardthat,’saidtheman.
‘Imustlookintoit.Oneofthosethingsyoumeantodoandthen…’shetailedoff.‘Lovelycoffee,’sheadded,afterapause.
‘So–whathaveyoubeenupto,Will?’Theman’svoiceheldakindofforcedjovialitytoit.
‘Notverymuch,funnilyenough.’
‘Butthephysioandstuff.Isitallcomingon?Any…improvement?’
‘Idon’tthinkI’llbeskiinganytimesoon,Rupert,’Willsaid,hisvoicedrippingwithsarcasm.
Ialmostsmiledtomyself.ThiswastheWillIknew.Ibeganbrushingashfromthehearth.Ihadthefeelingthattheywereallwatchingme.Thesilencefeltloaded.Iwonderedbrieflywhetherthelabelwasstickingoutofmyjumperandfoughttheurgetocheck.
‘So…’Willsaidfinally.‘TowhatdoIowethispleasure?It’sbeen…eightmonths?’
‘Oh,Iknow.I’msorry.It’sbeen…I’vebeenawfullybusy.IhaveanewjoboverinChelsea.ManagingSashaGoldstein’sboutique.DoyourememberSasha?I’vebeendoingalotofweekendworktoo.ItgetsterriblybusyonSaturdays.Veryhardtogettimeoff.’Alicia’svoicehadbecomebrittle.‘Ididringacoupleoftimes.Didyourmothertellyou?’
‘ThingshavebeenprettymanicatLewins.You…youknowwhatit’slike,Will.We’vegotanewpartner.ChapfromNewYork.Bains.DanBains.Youcomeupagainsthimatall?’
‘No.’
‘Bloodymanseemstoworktwenty-fourhoursadayandexpectseveryoneelsetodothesame.’Youcouldheartheman’spalpablereliefathavingfoundatopichewascomfortablewith.‘YouknowtheoldYankworkethic–nomorelonglunches,nosmuttyjokes–Will,Itellyou.Thewholeatmosphereoftheplacehaschanged.’
‘Really.’
‘OhGod,yes.Presenteeismwritlarge.SometimesIfeellikeIdaren’tleavemychair.’
Alltheairseemedtodisappearfromtheroominavacuumedrush.Someonecoughed.
Istoodup,andwipedmyhandsonmyjeans.‘I’ll…I’mjustgoingtofetchsomemorelogs,’Imuttered,inWill’sgeneraldirection.
AndIpickedupthebasketandfled.
Itwasfreezingoutside,butIlingeredoutthere,killingtimewhileIselectedpiecesofwood.Iwastryingtocalculatewhetheritwaspreferabletolosetheoddfingertofrostbiteratherthanputmyselfbackintothatroom.Butitwasjusttoocoldandmyindexfinger,whichIuseforsewingstuff,wentbluefirstandfinallyIhadtoadmitdefeat.Ihauledthewoodasslowlyaspossible,lettingmyselfintotheannexe,andwalkedslowlybackdownthecorridor.AsIapproachedthelivingroomIheardthewoman’svoice,weavingitswaythroughtheslightlyopendoor.
‘Actually,Will,thereisanotherreasonforuscominghere,’shewassaying.‘We…havesomenews.’
Ihesitatedbythedoor,thelogbasketbracedbetweenmyhands.
‘Ithought–well,wethought–thatitwouldonlyberighttoletyouknow…but,well,here’sthething.RupertandIaregettingmarried.’
Istoodverystill,calculatingwhetherIcouldturnroundwithoutbeingheard.
Thewomancontinued,lamely.‘Look,Iknowthisisprobablyabitofashocktoyou.Actually,itwasratherashocktome.We–it–well,itonlyreallystartedalongtimeafter…’
Myarmshadbeguntoache.Iglanceddownatthebasket,tryingtoworkoutwhattodo.
‘Well,youknowyouandI…we…’
Anotherweightysilence.
‘Will,pleasesaysomething.’
‘Congratulations,’hesaidfinally.
‘Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.Butneitherofusmeantforthistohappen.Really.Foranawfullongtimewewerejustfriends.Friendswhowereconcernedaboutyou.It’sjustthatRupertwasthemostterrificsupporttomeafteryouraccident–’
‘Bigofhim.’
‘Pleasedon’tbelikethis.Thisissoawful.Ihaveabsolutelydreadedtellingyou.Webothhave.’
‘Evidently,’Willsaidflatly.
Rupert’svoicebrokein.‘Look,we’reonlytellingyoubecausewebothcareaboutyou.Wedidn’twantyoutohearitfromsomeoneelse.But,youknow,lifegoeson.Youmustknowthat.It’sbeentwoyears,afterall.’
Therewassilence.IrealizedIdidnotwanttolistentoanymore,andstartedtomovesoftlyawayfromthedoor,gruntingslightlywiththeeffort.ButRupert’svoice,whenitcameagain,hadgrowninvolumesothatIcouldstillhearhim.
‘Comeon,man.Iknowitmustbeterriblyhard…allthis.ButifyoucareforLissaatall,youmustwanthertohaveagoodlife.’
‘Saysomething,Will.Please.’
Icouldpicturehisface.Icouldseethatlookofhisthatmanagedtobebothunreadableandtoconveyakindofdistantcontempt.
‘Congratulations,’hesaid,finally.‘I’msureyou’llbothbeveryhappy.’
Aliciastartedtoprotestthen–somethingindistinct–butwasinterruptedbyRupert.‘Comeon,Lissa.Ithinkweshouldleave.Will,it’snotlikewecamehereexpectingyourblessing.Itwasacourtesy.Lissathought–well,webothjustthought–youshouldknow.Sorry,oldchap.I…IdohopethingsimproveforyouandIhopeyoudowanttostayintouchwhenthings…youknow…whenthingssettledownabit.’
Iheardfootsteps,andstoopedoverthebasketoflogs,asifIhadonlyjustcomein.IheardtheminthecorridorandthenAliciaappearedinfrontofme.Hereyeswerered-rimmed,asifshewereabouttocry.
‘CanIusethebathroom?’shesaid,hervoicethickandchoked.
Islowlyliftedafingerandpointedmutelyinitsdirection.
Shelookedatmehardthen,andIrealizedthatwhatIfeltprobablyshowedonmyface.Ihaveneverbeenmuchgoodathidingmyfeelings.
‘Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,’shesaid,afterapause.‘ButIdidtry.Ireallytried.Formonths.Andhejustpushedmeaway.’Herjawwasrigid,herexpressionoddlyfurious.‘Heactuallydidn’twantmehere.Hemadethatveryclear.’
Sheseemedtobewaitingformetosaysomething.
‘It’sreallynoneofmybusiness,’Isaid,eventually.
Webothstoodfacingeachother.
‘Youknow,youcanonlyactuallyhelpsomeonewhowantstobehelped,’shesaid.
Andthenshewasgone.
Iwaitedacoupleofminutes,listeningforthesoundoftheircardisappearingdownthedrive,andthenIwentintothekitchen.IstoodthereandboiledthekettleeventhoughIdidn’twantacupoftea.IflickedthroughamagazinethatIhadalreadyread.Finally,Iwentbackintothecorridorand,withagrunt,pickedupthelogbasketandhauleditintothelivingroom,bumpingitslightlyonthedoorbeforeIenteredsothatWillwouldknowIwascoming.
‘Iwaswonderingifyouwantedmeto–’Ibegan.
Buttherewasnobodythere.
Theroomwasempty.
ItwasthenthatIheardthecrash.Iranoutintothecorridorjustintimetohearanother,followedbythesoundofsplinteringglass.ItwascomingfromWill’sbedroom.OhGod,pleasedon’tlethimhavehurthimself.Ipanicked–MrsTraynor’swarningdrilledthroughmyhead.Ihadlefthimformorethanfifteenminutes.
Irandownthecorridor,slidtoahaltinthedoorwayandstood,bothhandsgrippingthedoorframe.Willwasinthemiddleoftheroom,uprightinhischair,awalkingstickbalancedacrossthearmrests,sothatitjuttedeighteeninchestohisleft–ajoustingstick.Therewasnotasinglephotographleftonthelongshelves;theexpensiveframeslayinpiecesalloverthefloor,thecarpetstuddedwithglitteringshardsofglass.Hislapwasdustedwithbitsofglassandsplinteredwoodframes.Itookinthesceneofdestruction,feelingmyheartrateslowlysubsideasIgraspedthathewasunhurt.Willwasbreathinghard,asifwhateverhehaddonehadcosthimsomeeffort.
Hischairturned,crunchingslightlyontheglass.Hiseyesmetmine.Theywereinfinitelyweary.Theydaredmetoofferhimsympathy.
Ilookeddownathislap,andthenattheflooraroundhim.IcouldjustmakeoutthepictureofhimandAlicia,herfacenowobscuredbyabentsilverframe,amongsttheothercasualties.
Iswallowed,staringatit,andslowlyliftedmyeyestohis.ThosefewsecondswerethelongestIcouldremember.
‘Canthatthinggetapuncture?’Isaid,finally,noddingathiswheelchair.‘BecauseIhavenoideawhereIwouldputthejack.’
Hiseyeswidened.Justforamoment,IthoughtIhadreallyblownit.Butthefaintestflickerofasmilepassedacrosshisface.
‘Look,don’tmove,’Isaid.‘I’llgetthevacuumcleaner.’
Iheardthewalkingstickdroptothefloor.AsIlefttheroom,IthoughtImighthaveheardhimsaysorry.
TheKingsHeadwasalwaysbusyonaThursdayevening,andinthecornerofthesnugitwasevenbusier.IsatsquashedbetweenPatrickandamanwhosenameappearedtobetheRutter,staringperiodicallyatthehorsebrassespinnedtotheoakbeamsabovemyheadandthephotographsofthecastlethatpunctuatedthejoists,andtriedtolookevenvaguelyinterestedinthetalkaroundme,whichseemedtorevolvechieflyaroundbodyfatratiosandcarbloading.
IhadalwaysthoughtthefortnightlymeetingsoftheHailsburyTriathlonTerrorsmustbeapublican’sworstnightmare.Iwastheonlyonedrinkingalcohol,andmysolitarypacketofcrispssatcrumpledandemptyonthetable.Everyoneelsesippedatmineralwater,orcheckedthesweetenerratiosontheirDietCokes.Whenthey,finally,orderedfoodtherewouldn’tbeasaladthatwasallowedtobrushaleafagainstafull-fatdressing,orapieceofchickenthatstillsporteditsskin.Ioftenorderedchips,justsothatIcouldwatchthemallpretendtheydidn’twantone.
‘Philhitthewallaboutfortymilesin.Hesaidheactuallyheardvoices.Feetlikelead.Hehadthatzombieface,youknow?’
‘IgotsomeofthosenewJapanesebalancingtrainersfitted.Shavedfifteenminutesoffmyten-miletimings.’
‘Don’ttravelwithasoftbikebag.Nigelarrivedattricampwithitlookinglikearuddycoathanger.’
Icouldn’tsayIenjoyedtheTriathlonTerrors’gatherings,butwhatwithmyincreasedhoursandPatrick’strainingtimetableitwasoneofthefewtimesIcouldbeguaranteedtoseehim.Hesatbesideme,muscularthighscladinshortsdespitetheextremecoldoutside.Itwasabadgeofhonouramongthemembersoftheclubtowearasfewclothesaspossible.Themenwerewiry,brandishingobscureandexpensivesportslayersthatboastedextra‘wicking’properties,orlighter-than-airbodyweights.TheywerecalledScudorTrig,andflexedbitsofbodyateachother,displayinginjuriesorallegedmusclegrowth.Thegirlsworenomake-up,andhadtheruddycomplexionsofthosewhothoughtnothingofjoggingformilesthroughicyconditions.Theylookedatmewithfaintdistaste–orperhapsevenincomprehension–nodoubtweighingupmyfattomuscleratioandfindingitwanting.
‘Itwasawful,’ItoldPatrick,wonderingwhetherIcouldordercheesecakewithoutthemallgivingmetheDeathStare.‘Hisgirlfriendandhisbestfriend.’
‘Youcan’tblameher,’hesaid.‘Areyoureallytellingmeyou’dstickaroundifIwasparalysedfromtheneckdown?’
‘OfcourseIwould.’
‘No,youwouldn’t.AndIwouldn’texpectyouto.’
‘Well,Iwould.’
‘ButIwouldn’twantyouthere.Iwouldn’twantsomeonestayingwithmeoutofpity.’
‘Whosaysitwouldbepity?You’dstillbethesamepersonunderneath.’
‘No,Iwouldn’t.Iwouldn’tbeanythinglikethesameperson.’Hewrinkledhisnose.‘Iwouldn’twanttolive.Relyingonotherpeopleforeverylittlething.Havingstrangerswipeyourarse–’
Amanwithashavedheadthrusthisheadbetweenus.‘Pat,’hesaid,‘haveyoutriedthatnewgeldrink?Hadoneexplodeinmybackpacklastweek.Neverseenanythinglikeit.’
‘Can’tsayIhave,Trig.GivemeabananaandaLucozadeanyday.’
‘DazzerhadaDietCokewhenhewasdoingNorseman.Sickeditallupatthreethousandfeet.God,welaughed.’
Iraisedaweaksmile.
Shaven-headedmandisappearedandPatrickturnedbacktome,apparentlystillponderingWill’sfate.‘Jesus.Thinkofallthethingsyoucouldn’tdo…’Heshookhishead.‘Nomorerunning,nomorecycling.’Helookedatmeasifithadjustoccurredtohim.‘Nomoresex.’
‘Ofcourseyoucouldhavesex.It’sjustthatthewomanwouldhavetogetontop.’
‘We’dbestuffed,then.’
‘Funny.’
‘Besides,ifyou’reparalysedfromtheneckdownI’mguessingthe…um…equipmentdoesn’tworkasitshould.’
IthoughtofAlicia.Ididtry,shesaid.Ireallytried.Formonths
‘I’msureitdoeswithsomepeople.Anyway,theremustbeawayaroundthesethingsifyou…thinkimaginatively.’
‘Hah.’Patricktookasipofhiswater.‘You’llhavetoaskhimtomorrow.Look,yousaidhe’shorrible.Perhapshewashorriblebeforehisaccident.Perhapsthat’stherealreasonshedumpedhim.Haveyouthoughtofthat?’
‘Idon’tknow…’Ithoughtofthephotograph.‘Theylookedliketheywerereallyhappytogether.’Thenagain,whatdidaphotographprove?IhadaframedphotographathomewhereIwasbeamingatPatricklikehehadjustpulledmefromaburningbuilding,yetinrealityIhadjustcalledhiman‘utterdick’andhehadrespondedwithahearty,‘Oh,pissoff!’
Patrickhadlostinterest.‘Hey,Jim…Jim,didyoutakealookatthatnewlightweightbike?Anygood?’
Ilethimchangethesubject,thinkingaboutwhatAliciahadsaid.IcouldwellimagineWillpushingheraway.Butsurelyifyoulovedsomeoneitwasyourjobtostickwiththem?Tohelpthemthroughthedepression?Insicknessandinhealth,andallthat?
‘Anotherdrink?’
‘Vodkatonic.Slimlinetonic,’Isaid,asheraisedaneyebrow.
Patrickshruggedandheadedtothebar.
Ihadstartedtofeelalittleguiltyaboutthewaywewerediscussingmyemployer.EspeciallywhenIrealizedthatheprobablyendureditallthetime.Itwasalmostimpossiblenottospeculateaboutthemoreintimateaspectsofhislife.Itunedout.TherewastalkofatrainingweekendinSpain.Iwasonlylisteningwithhalfanear,untilPatrickreappearedatmysideandnudgedme
‘Fancyit?’
‘What?’
‘WeekendinSpain.InsteadoftheGreekholiday.Youcouldputyourfeetupbythepoolifyoudon’tfancytheforty-milebikeride.Wecouldgetcheapflights.Sixweeks’time.Nowyou’rerollinginit…’
IthoughtofMrsTraynor.‘Idon’tknow…I’mnotsurethey’regoingtobekeenonmetakingtimeoffsosoon.’
‘YoumindifIgo,then?Ireallyfancygettingsomealtitudetrainingin.I’mthinkingaboutdoingthebigone.’
‘Thebigwhat?’
‘Triathlon.TheXtremeViking.Sixtymilesonabike,thirtymilesonfoot,andanicelongswiminsub-zeroNordicseas.’
TheVikingwasspokenaboutwithreverence,thosewhohadcompetedbearingtheirinjurieslikeveteransofsomedistantandparticularlybrutalwar.Hewasalmostsmackinghislipswithanticipation.Ilookedatmyboyfriendandwonderedifhewasactuallyanalien.IthoughtbrieflythatIhadpreferredhimwhenheworkedintelesalesandcouldn’tpassapetrolstationwithoutstockinguponMarsBars.
‘You’regoingtodoit?’
‘Whynot?I’veneverbeenfitter.’
Ithoughtofallthatextratraining–theendlessconversationsaboutweightanddistance,fitnessandendurance.ItwashardenoughgettingPatrick’sattentionthesedaysatthebestoftimes.
‘Youcoulddoitwithme,’hesaid,althoughwebothknewhedidn’tbelieveit.
‘I’llleaveyoutoit,’Isaid.‘Sure.Goforit,’Isaid.
AndIorderedthecheesecake.
IfIhadthoughttheeventsofthepreviousdaywouldcreateathawbackatGrantaHouse,Iwaswrong.
IgreetedWillwithabroadsmileandacheeryhello,andhedidn’tevenbothertolookroundfromthewindow.
‘Notagoodday,’Nathanmurmured,asheshoulderedhiswayintohiscoat.
Itwasafilthy,low-cloudsortofamorning,wheretherainspatmeanlyagainstthewindowsanditwashardtoimaginethesuncomingouteveragain.EvenIfeltglumonadaylikethis.Itwasn’treallyasurprisethatWillshouldbeworse.Ibegantoworkmywaythroughthemorning’schores,tellingmyselfallthewhilethatitdidn’tmatter.Youdidn’thavetolikeyouremployeranyway,didyou?Lotsofpeopledidn’t.IthoughtofTreena’sboss,ataut-facedserialdivorceewhomonitoredhowmanytimesmysisterwenttothelooandhadbeenknowntomakebarbedcommentsifsheconsideredhertohaveexceededreasonablebladderactivity.Andbesides,Ihadalreadydonetwoweekshere.Thatmeanttherewereonlyfivemonthsandthirteenworkingdaystogo.
Thephotographswerestackedcarefullyinthebottomdrawer,whereIhadplacedthemthepreviousday,andnow,crouchedonthefloor,Ibeganlayingthemoutandsortingthroughthem,assessingwhichframesImightbeabletofix.Iamquitegoodatfixingthings.Besides,Ithoughtitmightbequiteausefulwayofkillingtime.
IhadbeendoingthisforabouttenminuteswhenthediscreethumofthemotorizedwheelchairalertedmetoWill’sarrival.
Hesatthereinthedoorway,lookingatme.Thereweredarkshadowsunderhiseyes.Sometimes,Nathantoldme,hebarelysleptatall.Ididn’twanttothinkhowitwouldfeel,tolietrappedinabedyoucouldn’tgetoutofwithonlydarkthoughtstokeepyoucompanythroughthesmallhours.
‘IthoughtI’dseeifIcouldfixanyoftheseframes,’Isaid,holdingoneup.Itwasthepictureofhimbungeejumping.Itriedtolookcheerful.Heneedssomeoneupbeat,someonepositive
‘Why?’
Iblinked.‘Well…Ithinksomeofthesecanbesaved.Ibroughtsomewoodgluewithme,ifyou’rehappyformetohaveagoatthem.OrifyouwanttoreplacethemIcanpopintotownduringmylunchbreakandseeifIcanfindsomemore.Orwecouldbothgo,ifyoufanciedatripout…’
‘Whotoldyoutostartfixingthem?’
Hisstarewasunflinching.
Uh-oh,Ithought.‘I…Iwasjusttryingtohelp.’
‘YouwantedtofixwhatIdidyesterday.’
‘I–’
‘Doyouknowwhat,Louisa?Itwouldbenice–justforonce–ifsomeonepaidattentiontowhatIwanted.Mesmashingthosephotographswasnotanaccident.Itwasnotanattemptatradicalinteriordesign.ItwasbecauseIactuallydon’twanttolookatthem.’
Igottomyfeet.‘I’msorry.Ididn’tthinkthat–’
‘Youthoughtyouknewbest.EveryonethinkstheyknowwhatIneed.Let’sputthebloodyphotosbacktogether.Givethepoorinvalidsomethingtolookat.Idon’twanttohavethosebloodypicturesstaringatmeeverytimeI’mstuckinmybeduntilsomeonecomesandbloodywellgetsmeoutagain.Okay?Doyouthinkyoucangetyourheadaroundthat?’
Iswallowed.‘Iwasn’tgoingtofixtheoneofAlicia–I’mnotthatstupid…Ijustthoughtthatinawhileyoumightfeel–’
‘OhChrist…’Heturnedawayfromme,hisvoicescathing.‘Sparemethepsychologicaltherapy.Justgoandreadyourbloodygossipmagazinesorwhateveritisyoudowhenyou’renotmakingtea.’
Mycheekswereaflame.Iwatchedhimmanoeuvreinthenarrowhallway,andmyvoiceemergedevenbeforeIknewwhatIwasdoing.
‘Youdon’thavetobehavelikeanarse.’
Thewordsrangoutinthestillair.
Thewheelchairstopped.Therewasalongpause,andthenhereversedandturnedslowly,sothathewasfacingme,hishandonthelittlejoystick.
‘What?’
Ifacedhim,myheartthumping.‘Yourfriendsgottheshittytreatment.Fine.Theyprobablydeservedit.ButI’mjustheredayafterdaytryingtodothebestjobIcan.SoIwouldreallyappreciateitifyoudidn’tmakemylifeasunpleasantasyoudoeveryoneelse’s.’
Will’seyeswidenedalittle.Therewasabeatbeforehespokeagain.‘AndwhatifItoldyouIdidn’twantyouhere?’
‘I’mnotemployedbyyou.I’memployedbyyourmother.Andunlessshetellsmeshedoesn’twantmehereanymoreI’mstaying.NotbecauseIparticularlycareaboutyou,orlikethisstupidjoborwanttochangeyourlifeonewayoranother,butbecauseIneedthemoney.Okay?Ireallyneedthemoney.’
WillTraynor’sexpressionhadn’toutwardlychangedmuchbutIthoughtIsawastonishmentinthere,asifhewereunusedtoanyonedisagreeingwithhim.
Ohhell,Ithought,astherealityofwhatIhadjustdonebegantosinkin.I’vereallyblownitthistime
ButWilljuststaredatmeforabitand,whenIdidn’tlookaway,heletoutasmallbreath,asifabouttosaysomethingunpleasant.
‘Fairenough,’hesaid,andheturnedthewheelchairround.‘Justputthephotographsinthebottomdrawer,willyou?Allofthem.’
Andwithalowhum,hewasgone.5
Thethingaboutbeingcatapultedintoawholenewlife–oratleast,shovedupsohardagainstsomeoneelse’slifethatyoumightaswellhaveyourfacepressedagainsttheirwindow–isthatitforcesyoutorethinkyourideaofwhoyouare.Orhowyoumightseemtootherpeople.
Tomyparents,Ihadinfourshortweeksbecomejustafewdegreesmoreinteresting.Iwasnowtheconduittoadifferentworld.Mymother,inparticular,askedmedailyquestionsaboutGrantaHouseanditsdomestichabitsinthemannerofazoologistforensicallyexaminingsomestrangenewcreatureanditshabitat.‘DoesMrsTraynoruselinennapkinsateverymeal?’shewouldask,or‘Doyouthinktheyvacuumeveryday,likewedo?’or,‘Whatdotheydowiththeirpotatoes?’
Shesentmeoffinthemorningswithstrictinstructionstofindoutwhatbrandofloorolltheyused,orwhetherthesheetswereapolycottonmix.ItwasasourceofgreatdisappointmenttoherthatmostofthetimeIcouldn’tactuallyremember.Mymotherwassecretlyconvincedthatposhpeoplelivedlikepigs–eversinceIhadtoldher,agedsix,ofawell-spokenschoolfriendwhosemotherwouldn’tletusplayintheirfrontroom‘becausewe’ddisturbthedust’.
WhenIcamehometoreportthat,yes,thedogwasdefinitelyallowedtoeatinthekitchen,orthat,no,theTraynorsdidn’tscrubtheirfrontstepeverydayasmymotherdid,shewouldpurseherlips,glancesidewaysatmyfatherandnodwithquietsatisfaction,asifIhadjustconfirmedeverythingshe’dsuspectedabouttheslovenlywaysoftheupperclasses.
Theirdependenceonmyincome,orperhapsthefactthattheyknewIdidn’treallylikemyjob,meantthatIalsoreceivedalittlemorerespectwithinthehouse.Thisdidn’tactuallytranslatetomuch–inmyDad’scase,itmeantthathehadstoppedcallingme‘lardarse’and,inmymother’s,thattherewasusuallyamugofteawaitingformewhenIcamehome.
ToPatrick,andtomysister,Iwasnodifferent–stillthebuttofjokes,therecipientofhugsorkissesorsulks.Ifeltnodifferent.Istilllookedthesame,stilldressed,accordingtoTreen,likeIhadhadawrestlingmatchinacharityshop.
IhadnoideawhatmostoftheinhabitantsofGrantaHousethoughtofme.Willwasunreadable.ToNathan,IsuspectedIwasjustthelatestinalonglineofhiredcarers.Hewasfriendlyenough,butabitsemi-detached.Igotthefeelinghewasn’tconvincedIwasgoingtobethereforlong.MrTraynornoddedatmepolitelywhenwepassedinthehall,occasionallyaskingmehowthetrafficwas,orwhetherIhadsettledinallright.I’mnotsurehewouldhaverecognizedmeifhe’dbeenintroducedtomeinanothersetting.
ButtoMrsTraynor–ohLord–toMrsTraynorIwasapparentlythestupidestandmostirresponsiblepersonontheplanet.
Ithadstartedwiththephotoframes.NothinginthathouseescapedMrsTraynor’snotice,andIshouldhaveknownthatthesmashingoftheframeswouldqualifyasaseismicevent.ShequizzedmeastoexactlyhowlongIhadleftWillalone,whathadpromptedit,howswiftlyIhadclearedthemessup.Shedidn’tactuallycriticizeme–shewastoogenteeleventoraisehervoice–butthewaysheblinkedslowlyatmyresponses,herlittlehmm-hmm,asIspoke,toldmeeverythingIneededtoknow.ItcameasnosurprisewhenNathantoldmeshewasamagistrate.
ShethoughtitmightbeagoodideaifIdidn’tleaveWillforsolongnexttime,nomatterhowawkwardthesituation,hmm?ShethoughtperhapsthenexttimeIdustedIcouldmakesurethingsweren’tcloseenoughtotheedgesothattheymightaccidentallygetknockedtothefloor,hmm?(Sheseemedtoprefertobelievethatithadbeenanaccident.)Shemademefeellikeafirst-classeejit,andconsequentlyIbecameafirst-classeejitaroundher.ShealwaysarrivedjustwhenIhaddroppedsomethingonthefloor,orwasstrugglingwiththecookerdial,orshewouldbestandinginthehallwaylookingmildlyirritatedasIsteppedbackinfromcollectinglogsoutside,asifIhadbeengonemuchlongerthanIactuallyhad.
Weirdly,herattitudegottomemorethanWill’srudeness.AcoupleoftimesIhadevenbeentemptedtoaskheroutrightwhethertherewassomethingwrong.Yousaidthatyouwerehiringmeformyattituderatherthanmyprofessionalskills,Iwantedtosay.Well,hereIam,beingcheeryeveryruddyday.Beingrobust,justasyouwanted.Sowhat’syourproblem?
ButCamillaTraynorwasnotthekindofwomanyoucouldhavesaidthatto.Andbesides,Igotthefeelingnobodyinthathouseeversaidanythingdirecttoanyoneelse.
‘Lily,ourlastgirl,hadratheracleverhabitofusingthatpanfortwovegetablesatonce,’meantYou’remakingtoomuchmess
‘Perhapsyou’dlikeacupoftea,Will,’actuallymeantIhavenoideawhattosaytoyou
‘IthinkI’vegotsomepaperworkthatneedssortingout,’meantYou’rebeingrude,andI’mgoingtoleavetheroom
Allpronouncedwiththatslightlypainedexpression,andtheslenderfingersrunningupanddownthechainwiththecrucifix.Shewassoheldin,sorestrained.ShemademyownmotherlooklikeAmyWinehouse.Ismiledpolitely,pretendedIhadn’tnoticed,anddidthejobIwaspaidtodo.
Oratleast,Itried.
‘Whythehellareyoutryingtosneakcarrotsontomyfork?’
Iglanceddownattheplate.Ihadbeenwatchingthefemaletelevisionpresenterandwonderingwhatmyhairwouldlooklikedyedthesamecolour.
‘Uh?Ididn’t.’
‘Youdid.Youmashedthemupandtriedtohidetheminthegravy.Isawyou.’
Iblushed.Hewasright.IwassittingfeedingWill,whilebothofusvaguelywatchedthelunchtimenews.Themealwasroastbeefwithmashedpotato.Hismotherhadtoldmetoputthreesortsofvegetablesontheplate,eventhoughhehadsaidquiteclearlythathedidn’twantvegetablesthatday.Idon’tthinktherewasamealthatIwasinstructedtopreparethatwasn’tnutritionallybalancedtowithinaninchofitslife.
‘Whyareyoutryingtosneakcarrotsintome?’
‘I’mnot.’
‘Sotherearenocarrotsonthat?’
Igazedatthetinypiecesoforange.‘Well…okay…’
Hewaswaiting,eyebrowsraised.
‘Um…IsupposeIthoughtvegetableswouldbegoodforyou?’
ItwaspartdeferencetoMrsTraynor,partforceofhabit.IwassousedtofeedingThomas,whosevegetableshadtobemashedtoapasteandhiddenundermoundsofpotato,orsecretedinbitsofpasta.Everyfragmentwegotpasthimfeltlikealittlevictory.
‘Letmegetthisstraight.Youthinkateaspoonofcarrotwouldimprovemyqualityoflife?’
Itwasprettystupidwhenheputitlikethat.ButIhadlearntitwasimportantnottolookcowedbyanythingWillsaidordid.
‘Itakeyourpoint,’Isaidevenly.‘Iwon’tdoitagain.’
Andthen,outofnowhere,WillTraynorlaughed.Itexplodedoutofhiminagasp,asifitwereentirelyunexpected
‘ForChrist’ssake,’heshookhishead.
Istaredathim.
‘Whatthehellelsehaveyoubeensneakingintomyfood?You’llbetellingmetoopenthetunnelsothatMrTraincandeliversomemushyBrusselsproutstotheredbloodystationnext.’
Iconsideredthisforaminute.‘No,’Isaid,straight-faced.‘IdealonlywithMrFork.MrForkdoesnotlooklikeatrain.’
Thomashadtoldmeso,veryfirmly,somemonthspreviously.
‘Didmymotherputyouuptothis?’
‘No.Look,Will,I’msorry.Ijust…wasn’tthinking.’
‘Likethat’sunusual.’
‘Allright,allright.I’lltakethebloodycarrotsoff,iftheyreallyupsetyousomuch.’
‘It’snotthebloodycarrotsthatupsetme.It’shavingthemsneakedintomyfoodbyamadwomanwhoaddressesthecutleryasMrandMrsFork.’
‘Itwasajoke.Look,letmetakethecarrotsand–’
Heturnedawayfromme.‘Idon’twantanythingelse.Justdomeacupoftea.’HecalledoutaftermeasIlefttheroom,‘Anddon’ttryandsneakabloodycourgetteintoit.’
NathanwalkedinasIwasfinishingthedishes.‘He’sinagoodmood,’hesaid,asIhandedhimamug.
‘Ishe?’Iwaseatingmysandwichesinthekitchen.Itwasbitterlycoldoutside,andsomehowthehousehadn’tfeltquiteasunfriendlylately.
‘Hesaysyou’retryingtopoisonhim.Buthesaidit–youknow–inagoodway.’
Ifeltweirdlypleasedbythisinformation.
‘Yes…well…’Isaid,tryingtohideit.‘Givemetime.’
‘He’stalkingabitmoretoo.We’vehadweekswherehewouldhardlysayathing,buthe’sdefinitelyupforabitofachatthelastfewdays.’
IthoughtofWilltellingmeifIdidn’tstopbloodywhistlinghe’dbeforcedtorunmeover.‘Ithinkhisdefinitionofchattyandmineareabitdifferent.’
‘Well,wehadabitofachataboutthecricket.AndIgottatellyou–’Nathandroppedhisvoice‘–MrsTaskedmeaweekorsobackifIthoughtyouweredoingokay.IsaidIthoughtyouwereveryprofessional,butIknewthatwasn’twhatshemeant.Thenyesterdayshecameinandtoldmeshe’dheardyouguyslaughing.’
Ithoughtbacktothepreviousevening.‘Hewaslaughingatme,’Isaid.WillhadfoundithilariousthatIdidn’tknowwhatpestowas.Ihadtoldhimsupperwas‘thepastainthegreengravy’.
‘Ah,shedoesn’tcareaboutthat.It’sjustbeenalongtimesincehelaughedatanything.’
Itwastrue.WillandIseemedtohavefoundaneasierwayofbeingaroundeachother.Itrevolvedmainlyaroundhimbeingrudetome,andmeoccasionallybeingrudeback.HetoldmeIdidsomethingbadly,andItoldhimifitreallymatteredtohimthenhecouldaskmenicely.Hesworeatme,orcalledmeapaininthebackside,andItoldhimhe
‘Youjustmakesureyou’rethebuttofmoreofhisjokes,okay?’
Iputmymuginthesink.‘Idon’tthinkthat’sgoingtobeaproblem.’
Theotherbigchange,apartfromatmosphericconditionsinsidethehouse,wasthatWilldidn’taskmetoleavehimalonequiteasoften,andacoupleofafternoonshadevenaskedmeifIwantedtostayandwatchafilmwithhim.Ihadn’tmindedtoomuchwhenitwasTheTerminator–eventhoughIhaveseenalltheTerminatorfilms–butwhenheshowedmetheFrenchfilmwithsubtitles,ItookaquicklookatthecoverandsaidIthoughtI’dprobablygiveitamiss.
‘Why?’
Ishrugged.‘Idon’tlikefilmswithsubtitles.’
‘That’slikesayingyoudon’tlikefilmswithactorsinthem.Don’tberidiculous.Whatisityoudon’tlike?Thefactthatyou’rerequiredtoreadsomethingaswellaswatchsomething?’
‘Ijustdon’treallylikeforeignfilms.’
‘EverythingafterLocalBloodyHerohasbeenaforeignfilm.D’youthinkHollywoodisasuburbofBirmingham?’
‘Funny.’
Hecouldn’tbelieveitwhenIadmittedI’dneveractuallywatchedafilmwithsubtitles.Butmyparentstendedtostakeownershipoftheremotecontrolintheevenings,andPatrickwouldbeaboutaslikelytowatchaforeignfilmashewouldbetosuggestwetakenightclassesincrochet.Themultiplexinournearesttownonlyshowedthelatestshoot’emupsorromanticcomediesandwassoinfestedwithcatcallingkidsinhoodiesthatmostpeoplearoundthetownrarelybothered.
‘Youhavetowatchthisfilm,Louisa.Infact,Iorderyoutowatchthisfilm.’Willmovedhischairback,andnoddedtowardsthearmchair.‘There.Yousitthere.Don’tmoveuntilit’sover.Neverwatchedaforeignfilm.ForChrist’ssake,’hemuttered.
Itwasanoldfilm,aboutahunchbackwhoinheritsahouseintheFrenchcountryside,andWillsaiditwasbasedonafamousbook,butIcan’tsayI’deverheardofit.Ispentthefirsttwentyminutesfeelingabitfidgety,irritatedbythesubtitlesandwonderingifWillwasgoingtogetshirtyifItoldhimIneededtheloo.
Andthensomethinghappened.Istoppedthinkingabouthowharditwaslisteningandreadingatthesametime,forgotWill’spilltimetable,andwhetherMrsTraynorwouldthinkIwasslacking,andIstartedtogetanxiousaboutthepoormanandhisfamily,whowerebeingtrickedbyunscrupulousneighbours.BythetimeHunchbackMandied,Iwassobbingsilently,snotrunningintomysleeve.
‘So,’Willsaid,appearingatmyside.Heglancedatmeslyly.‘Youdidn’tenjoythatatall.’
Ilookedupandfoundtomysurprisethatitwasdarkoutside.‘You’regoingtogloatnow,aren’tyou?’Imuttered,reachingfortheboxoftissues.
‘Abit.I’mjustamazedthatyoucanhavereachedtheripeoldageof–whatwasit?’
‘Twenty-six.’
‘Twenty-six,andneverhavewatchedafilmwithsubtitles.’Hewatchedmemopmyeyes.
IglanceddownatthetissueandrealizedIhadnomascaraleft.‘Ihadn’trealizeditwascompulsory,’Igrumbled.
‘Okay.Sowhatdoyoudowithyourself,LouisaClark,ifyoudon’twatchfilms?’
Iballedmytissueinmyfist.‘YouwanttoknowwhatIdowhenI’mnothere?’
‘Youweretheonewhowantedustogettoknoweachother.Socomeon,tellmeaboutyourself.’
Hehadthiswayoftalkingwhereyoucouldneverquitebesurethathewasn’tmockingyou.Iwaswaitingforthepay-off.‘Why?’Isaid.‘Whydoyouwanttoknowallofasudden?’
‘Oh,forChrist’ssake.It’shardlyastatesecret,yoursociallife,isit?’Hehadbeguntolookirritated.
‘Idon’tknow…’Isaid.‘Igoforadrinkatthepub.Iwatchabitoftelly.Igoandwatchmyboyfriendwhenhedoeshisrunning.Nothingunusual.’
‘Youwatchyourboyfriendrunning.’
‘Yes.’
‘Butyoudon’trunyourself.’
‘No.I’mnotreally–’Iglanceddownatmychest‘–builtforit.’
Thatmadehimsmile.
‘Andwhatelse?’
‘Whatdoyoumean,whatelse?’
‘Hobbies?Travelling?Placesyouliketogo?’
Hewasbeginningtosoundlikemyoldcareersteacher.
Itriedtothink.‘Idon’treallyhaveanyhobbies.Ireadabit.Ilikeclothes.’
‘Handy,’hesaid,dryly.
‘Youasked.I’mnotreallyahobbyperson.’Myvoicehadbecomestrangelydefensive.‘Idon’tdomuch,okay?IworkandthenIgohome.’
‘Wheredoyoulive?’
‘Ontheothersideofthecastle.RenfrewRoad.’
Helookedblank.Ofcoursehedid.Therewaslittlehumantrafficbetweenthetwosidesofthecastle.‘It’soffthedualcarriageway.NeartheMcDonald’s.’
Henodded,althoughI’mnotsurehereallyknewwhereIwastalkingabout.
‘Holidays?’
‘I’vebeentoSpain,withPatrick.Myboyfriend,’Iadded.‘WhenIwasakidweonlyreallywenttoDorset.OrTenby.MyauntlivesinTenby.’
‘Andwhatdoyouwant?’
‘WhatdoIwantwhat?’
‘Fromyourlife?’
Iblinked.‘That’sabitdeep,isn’tit?’
‘Onlygenerally.I’mnotaskingyoutopsychoanalyseyourself.I’mjustasking,whatdoyouwant?Getmarried?Popoutsomeanklebiters?Dreamcareer?Traveltheworld?’
Therewasalongpause.
IthinkIknewmyanswerwoulddisappointhimevenbeforeIsaidthewordsaloud.‘Idon’tknow.I’veneverreallythoughtaboutit.’
OnFridaywewenttothehospital.I’mgladIhadn’tknownaboutWill’sappointmentbeforeIarrivedthatmorning,asIwouldhavelainawakeallnightfrettingabouthavingtodrivehimthere.Icandrive,yes.ButIsayIcandriveinthesamewaythatIsayIcanspeakFrench.Yes,Itooktherelevantexamandpassed.ButIhaven’tusedthatparticularskillmorethanonceayearsinceIdidso.ThethoughtofloadingWillandhischairintotheadaptedminivanandcartinghimsafelytoandfromthenexttownfilledmewithutterterror.
ForweeksIhadwishedthatmyworkingdayinvolvedsomeescapefromthathouse.NowIwouldhavedoneanythingjusttostayindoors.Ilocatedhishospitalcardamongstthefoldersofstufftodowithhishealth–greatfatbindersdividedinto‘transport’,‘insurance’,‘livingwithdisability’and‘appointments’.Igrabbedthecardandcheckedthatithadtoday’sdate.AlittlebitofmewashopingthatWillhadbeenwrong.
‘Isyourmothercoming?’
‘No.Shedoesn’tcometomyappointments.’
Icouldn’thidemysurprise.Ihadthoughtshewouldwanttooverseeeveryaspectofhistreatment.
‘Sheusedto,’Willsaid.‘Nowwehaveanagreement.’
‘IsNathancoming?’
Iwaskneelinginfrontofhim.IhadbeensonervousthatIhaddroppedsomeofhislunchdownhislapandwasnowtryinginvaintomopitup,sothatagoodpatchofhistrouserswassoppingwet.Willhadn’tsaidanything,excepttotellmetopleasestopapologizing,butithadn’thelpedmygeneralsenseofjitteriness.
‘Why?’
‘Noreason.’Ididn’twanthimtoknowhowfearfulIfelt.Ihadspentmuchofthatmorning–timeIusuallyspentcleaning–readingandrereadingtheinstructionmanualforthechairliftbutIwasstilldreadingthemomentwhenIwassolelyresponsibleforliftinghimtwofeetintotheair.
‘Comeon,Clark.What’stheproblem?’
‘Okay.Ijust…Ijustthoughtitwouldbeeasierfirsttimeiftherewassomeoneelsetherewhoknewtheropes.’
‘Asopposedtome,’hesaid.
‘That’snotwhatImeant.’
‘BecauseIcan’tpossiblybeexpectedtoknowanythingaboutmyowncare?’
‘Doyouoperatethechairlift?’Isaid,baldly.‘Youcantellmeexactlywhattodo,canyou?’
Hewatchedme,hisgazelevel.Ifhehadbeenspoilingforafight,heappearedtochangehismind.‘Fairpoint.Yes,he’scoming.He’sausefulextrapairofhands.PlusIthoughtyou’dworkyourselfintolessofastateifyouhadhimthere.’
‘I’mnotinastate,’Iprotested.
‘Evidently.’Heglanceddownathislap,whichIwasstillmoppingwithacloth.Ihadgotthepastasauceoff,buthewassoaked.‘So,amIgoingasanincontinent?’
‘I’mnotfinished.’Ipluggedinthehairdryeranddirectedthenozzletowardshiscrotch.
Asthehotairblastedontohistrousersheraisedhiseyebrows.
‘Yes,well,’Isaid.‘It’snotexactlywhatIexpectedtobedoingonaFridayafternooneither.’
‘Youreallyaretense,aren’tyou?’
Icouldfeelhimstudyingme.
‘Oh,lightenup,Clark.I’mtheonehavingscaldinghotairdirectedatmygenitals.’
Ididn’trespond.Iheardhisvoiceovertheroarofthehairdryer.
‘Comeon,what’stheworstthatcouldhappen–Iendupinawheelchair?’
Itmaysoundstupid,butIcouldn’thelpbutlaugh.ItwastheclosestWillhadcometoactuallytryingtomakemefeelbetter.
Thecarlookedlikeanormalpeoplecarrierfromoutside,butwhentherearpassengerdoorwasunlockedarampdescendedfromthesideandloweredtotheground.WithNathanlookingon,IguidedWill’soutsidechair(hehadaseparateonefortravelling)squarelyontotheramp,checkedtheelectricallock-downbrake,andprogrammedittoslowlylifthimupintothecar.Nathanslidintotheotherpassengerseat,beltedhimandsecuredthewheels.Tryingtostopmyhandsfromtrembling,Ireleasedthehandbrakeanddroveslowlydownthedrivetowardsthehospital.
Awayfromhome,Willappearedtoshrinkalittle.Itwaschillyoutside,andNathanandIhadbundledhimupintohisscarfandthickcoat,butstillhegrewquieter,hisjawset,somehowdiminishedbythegreaterspaceofhissurroundings.EverytimeIlookedintomyrear-viewmirror(whichwasoften–IwasterrifiedevenwithNathantherethatsomehowthechairwouldbreakloosefromitsmoorings)hewasgazingoutofthewindow,hisexpressionimpenetrable.EvenwhenIstalledorbrakedtoohard,whichIdidseveraltimes,hejustwincedalittleandwaitedwhileIsortedmyselfout.
BythetimewereachedthehospitalIhadactuallybrokenoutintoafinesweat.Idrovearoundthehospitalcarparkthreetimes,tooafraidtoreverseintoanybutthelargestofspaces,untilIcouldsensethatthetwomenwerebeginningtolosepatience.Then,finally,IloweredtherampandNathanhelpedWill’schairoutontothetarmac.
‘Goodjob,’Nathansaid,clappingmeonthebackashelethimselfout,butIfoundithardtobelieveithadbeen.
Therearethingsyoudon’tnoticeuntilyouaccompanysomeonewithawheelchair.Oneishowrubbishmostpavementsare,pockmarkedwithbadlypatchedholes,orjustplainuneven.WalkingslowlynexttoWillashewheeledhimselfalong,Inoticedhoweveryunevenslabcausedhimtojoltpainfully,orhowoftenhehadtosteercarefullyroundsomepotentialobstacle.Nathanpretendednottonotice,butIsawhimwatchingtoo.Willjustlookedgrim-facedandresolute.
Theotherthingishowinconsideratemostdriversare.Theyparkupagainstthecutoutsonthepavement,orsoclosetogetherthatthereisnowayforawheelchairtoactuallycrosstheroad.Iwasshocked,acoupleoftimeseventemptedtoleavesomerudenotetuckedintoawindscreenwiper,butNathanandWillseemedusedtoit.Nathanpointedoutasuitablecrossingplaceand,eachofusflankingWill,wefinallycrossed
Willhadnotsaidasinglewordsinceleavingthehouse.
Thehospitalitselfwasagleaminglow-risebuilding,theimmaculatereceptionareamorelikethatofsomemodernistichotel,perhapstestamenttoprivateinsurance.IheldbackasWilltoldthereceptionisthisname,andthenfollowedhimandNathandownalongcorridor.NathanwascarryingahugebackpackthatcontainedanythingthatWillmightbelikelytoneedduringhisshortvisit,frombeakerstospareclothes.Hehadpackeditinfrontofmethatmorning,detailingeverypossibleeventuality.‘Iguessit’sagoodthingwedon’thavetodothistoooften,’hehadsaid,catchingmyappalledexpression.
Ididn’tfollowhimintotheappointment.NathanandIsatonthecomfortablechairsoutsidetheconsultant’sroom.Therewasnohospitalsmell,andtherewerefreshflowersinavaseonthewindowsill.Notjustanyoldflowers,either.HugeexoticthingsthatIdidn’tknowthenameof,artfullyarrangedinminimalistclumps.
‘Whataretheydoinginthere?’Isaidafterwehadbeentherehalfanhour.
Nathanlookedupfromhisbook.‘It’sjusthissix-monthcheck-up.’
‘What,toseeifhe’sgettinganybetter?’
Nathanputhisbookdown.‘He’snotgettinganybetter.It’saspinalcordinjury.’
‘Butyoudophysioandstuffwithhim.’
‘That’stotryandkeephisphysicalconditionup–tostophimatrophyingandhisbonesdemineralizing,hislegspooling,thatkindofthing.’
Whenhespokeagain,hisvoicewasgentle,asifhethoughthemightdisappointme.‘He’snotgoingtowalkagain,Louisa.ThatonlyhappensinHollywoodmovies.Allwe’redoingistryingtokeephimoutofpain,andkeepupwhateverrangeofmovementhehas.’
‘Doeshedothisstuffforyou?Thephysiostuff?Hedoesn’tseemtowanttodoanythingthatIsuggest.’
Nathanwrinkledhisnose.‘Hedoesit,butIdon’tthinkhisheart’sinit.WhenIfirstcame,hewasprettydetermined.He’dcomeprettyfarinrehab,butafterayearwithnoimprovementIthinkhefounditprettytoughtokeepbelievingitwasworthit.’
‘Doyouthinkheshouldkeeptrying?’
Nathanstaredatthefloor.‘Honestly?He’saC5/6quadriplegic.Thatmeansnothingworksbelowabouthere…’Heplacedahandontheupperpartofhischest.‘Theyhaven’tworkedouthowtofixaspinalcordyet.’
Istaredatthedoor,thinkingaboutWill’sfaceaswedrovealonginthewintersunshine,thebeamingfaceofthemanontheskiingholiday.‘Thereareallsortsofmedicaladvancestakingplace,though,right?Imean…somewherelikethis…theymustbeworkingonstuffallthetime.’
‘It’saprettygoodhospital,’hesaidevenly.
‘Wherethere’slife,andallthat?’
Nathanlookedatme,thenbackathisbook.‘Sure,’hesaid.
Iwenttogetacoffeeataquartertothree,onNathan’ssayso.Hesaidtheseappointmentscouldgoonforsometime,andthathewouldholdthefortuntilIgotback.Idawdledalittleinthereceptionarea,flickingthroughthemagazinesinthenewsagent’s,lingeringoverchocolatebars.
Perhapspredictably,IgotlosttryingtofindmywaybacktothecorridorandhadtoaskseveralnurseswhereIshouldgo,twoofwhomdidn’tevenknow.WhenIgotthere,thecoffeecoolinginmyhand,thecorridorwasempty.AsIdrewcloser,Icouldseetheconsultant’sdoorwasajar.Ihesitatedoutside,butIcouldhearMrsTraynor’svoiceinmyearsallthetimenow,criticizingmeforleavinghim.Ihaddoneitagain.
‘Sowe’llseeyouinthreemonths’time,MrTraynor,’avoicewassaying.‘I’veadjustedthoseanti-spasmmedsandI’llmakesuresomeonecallsyouwiththeresultsofthetests.ProbablyMonday.’
IheardWill’svoice.‘CanIgetthesefromthepharmacydownstairs?’
‘Yes.Here.Theyshouldbeabletogiveyousomemoreofthosetoo.’
Awoman’svoice.‘ShallItakethatfolder?’
Irealizedtheymustbeabouttoleave.Iknocked,andsomeonecalledformetocomein.Twosetsofeyesswivelledtowardsme.
‘I’msorry,’saidtheconsultant,risingfromhischair.‘Ithoughtyouwerethephysio.’
‘I’mWill’s…helper,’Isaid,hangingontothedoor.WillwasbracedforwardinhischairasNathanpulleddownhisshirt.‘Sorry–Ithoughtyouweredone.’
‘Justgiveusaminute,willyou,Louisa?’Will’svoicecutintotheroom
MutteringmyapologiesIbackedout,myfaceburning.
Itwasn’tthesightofWill’suncoveredbodythathadshockedme,slimandscarredasitwas.Itwasn’tthevaguelyirritatedlookoftheconsultant,thesamesortoflookasMrsTraynorgavemedayafterday–alookthatmademerealizeIwasstillthesameblunderingeejit,evenifIdidearnahigherhourlyrate.
No,itwasthelividredlinesscoringWill’swrists,thelong,jaggedscarsthatcouldn’tbedisguised,nomatterhowswiftlyNathanpulleddownWill’ssleeves.6
ThesnowcamesosuddenlythatIlefthomeunderabrightblueskyandnothalfanhourlaterIwasheadedpastacastlethatlookedlikeacakedecoration,surroundedbyalayerofthickwhiteicing.
Itrudgedupthedrive,myfootstepsmuffledandmytoesalreadynumb,shiveringundermytoo-thinChinesesilkcoat.Awhirlofthickwhiteflakesemergedfromaniron-greyinfinity,almostobscuringGrantaHouse,blottingoutsound,andslowingtheworldtoanunnaturalpace.Beyondtheneatlytrimmedhedgecarsdrovepastwithanewfoundcaution,pedestriansslippedandsquealedonthepavements.IpulledmyscarfupovermynoseandwishedIhadwornsomethingmoresuitablethanballetpumpsandavelvetminidress.
Tomysurpriseitwasn’tNathanwhoopenedthedoor,butWill’sfather.
‘He’sinbed,’hesaid,glancingupfromundertheporch.‘He’snottoogood.Iwasjustwonderingwhethertocallthedoctor.’
‘Where’sNathan?’
‘Morningoff.Ofcourse,itwouldbetoday.Bloodyagencynursecameandwentinsixsecondsflat.IfthissnowkeepsonI’mnotsurewhatwe’lldolater.’Heshrugged,asifthesethingscouldn’tbehelped,anddisappearedbackdownthecorridor,apparentlyrelievedthathenolongerhadtoberesponsible.‘Youknowwhatheneeds,yes?’hecalledoverhisshoulder.
Itookoffmycoatandshoesand,asIknewMrsTraynorwasincourt(shemarkedherdatesonadiaryinWill’skitchen),Iputmywetsocksoveraradiatortodry.ApairofWill’swereintheclean-washingbasket,soIputthemon.Theylookedcomicallylargeonmebutitwasheaventohavewarm,dryfeet.Willdidn’trespondwhenIcalledout,soafterawhileImadehimupadrink,knockedquietlyandpokedmyheadroundthedoor.InthedimlightIcouldjustmakeouttheshapeundertheduvet.Hewasfastasleep.
Itookastepbackwards,closedthedoorbehindme,andbeganworkingmywaythroughthemorning’stasks.
Mymotherseemedtogleananalmostphysicalsatisfactionfromawell-orderedhouse.Ihadbeenvacuumingandcleaningdailyforamonthnow,andIstillcouldn’tseetheattraction.IsuspectedtherewouldneverbeapointinmylifewhenIwouldn’tprefersomebodyelsetodoit.
Butonadayliketoday,whenWillwasconfinedtobed,andtheworldseemedtohavestilledoutside,Icouldalsoseetherewasakindofmeditativepleasureinworkingmywayfromoneendoftheannexetotheother.WhileIdustedandpolished,Itooktheradiofromroomtoroomwithme,keepingthevolumelowsothatIdidn’tdisturbWill.PeriodicallyIpokedmyheadroundthedoor,justtoseethathewasbreathing,anditwasonlywhenwegottooneo’clockandhestillhadn’twokenupthatIstartedtofeelalittleanxious.
Ifilledthelogbasket,notingthatseveralinchesofsnowhadnowsettled.ImadeWillafreshdrink,andthenknocked.WhenIknockedagain,Ididsoloudly.
‘Yes?’Hisvoicewashoarse,asifIhadwokenhim.
‘It’sme.’Whenhedidn’trespond,Isaid,‘Louisa.AmIokaytocomein?’
‘I’mhardlydoingtheDanceoftheSevenVeils.’
Theroomwasshadowed,thecurtainsstilldrawn.Iwalkedin,lettingmyeyesadjusttothelight.Willwasononeside,onearmbentinfrontofhimasiftoprophimselfup,ashehadbeenbeforewhenIlookedin.Sometimesitwaseasytoforgethewouldnotbeabletoturnoverbyhimself.Hishairstuckupononeside,andaduvetwastuckedneatlyaroundhim.Thesmellofwarm,unwashedmalefilledtheroom–notunpleasant,butstillalittlestartlingaspartofaworkingday.
‘WhatcanIdo?Doyouwantyourdrink?’
‘Ineedtochangeposition.’
Iputthedrinkdownonachestofdrawers,andwalkedovertothebed.‘What…whatdoyouwantmetodo?’
Heswallowedcarefully,asifitwerepainful.‘Liftandturnme,thenraisethebackofthebed.Here…’Henoddedformetocomecloser.‘Putyourarmsundermine,linkyourhandsbehindmybackandthenpullback.Keepyourbacksideonthebedandthatwayyoushouldn’tstrainyourlowerback.’
Icouldn’tpretendthiswasn’tabitweird.Ireachedaroundhim,thescentofhimfillingmynostrils,hisskinwarmagainstmine.IcouldnothavebeeninanycloserunlessIhadbegunnibblingonhisear.Thethoughtmadememildlyhysterical,andIstruggledtokeepmyselftogether.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’Itookabreath,linkedmyhands,andadjustedmypositionuntilIfeltIhadhimsecurely.HewasbroaderthanIhadexpected,somehowheavier.Andthen,onacountofthree,Ipulledback.
‘Jesus,’heexclaimed,intomyshoulder.
‘What?’Inearlydroppedhim.
‘Yourhandsarebloodyfreezing.’
‘Yes.Well,ifyoubotheredtogetoutofbed,you’dknowthatit’sactuallysnowingoutside.’
Iwashalfjoking,butnowIrealizedhisskinwashotunderhisT-shirt–anintenseheatthatseemedtocomefromdeepwithinhim.HegroanedslightlyasIadjustedhimagainstthepillow,andItriedtomakemymovementsasslowandgentleaspossible.Hepointedouttheremotecontroldevicethatwouldbringhisheadandshouldersup.‘Nottoomuch,though,’hemurmured.‘Abitdizzy.’
Iturnedonthebedsidelight,ignoringhisvagueprotest,sothatIcouldseehisface.‘Will–areyouokay?’Ihadtosayittwicebeforeheansweredme.
‘Notmybestday.’
‘Doyouneedpainkillers?’
‘Yes…strongones.’
‘Maybesomeparacetamol?’
Helaybackagainstthecoolpillowwithasigh.
Igavehimthebeaker,watchedhimswallow.
‘Thankyou,’hesaidafterwards,andIfeltsuddenlyuneasy.
Willneverthankedmeforanything.
Heclosedhiseyes,andforawhileIjuststoodinthedoorwayandwatchedhim,hischestrisingandfallingunderhisT-shirt,hismouthslightlyopen.Hisbreathingwasshallow,andperhapsalittlemorelabouredthanonotherdays.ButIhadneverseenhimoutofhischair,andIwasn’tsurewhetheritwassomethingtodowiththepressureoflyingdown.
‘Go,’hemuttered.
Ileft.
Ireadmymagazine,liftingmyheadonlytowatchthesnowsettlethicklyaroundthehouse,creepingupthewindowsillsinpowderylandscapes.Mumsentmeatextmessageat12.30pm,tellingmethatmyfathercouldn’tgetthecardowntheroad.‘Don’tsetoutforhomewithoutringingusfirst,’sheinstructed.Iwasn’tsurewhatshethoughtshewasgoingtodo–sendDadoutwithasledgeandaStBernard?
Ilistenedtothelocalnewsontheradio,themotorwaysnarl-ups,trainstoppagesandtemporaryschoolclosuresthattheunexpectedblizzardhadbroughtwithit.IwentbackintoWill’sroom,andlookedathimagain.Ididn’tlikehiscolour.Hewaspale,highpointsofsomethingbrightoneachcheek.
‘Will?’Isaidsoftly.
Hedidn’tstir.
‘Will?’
Ibegantofeelthefaintstirringsofpanic.Isaidhisnametwicemore,loudly.Therewasnoresponse.Finally,Ileantoverhim.Therewasnoobviousmovementinhisface,nothingIcouldseeinhischest.Hisbreath.Ishouldbeabletofeelhisbreath.Iputmyfacedownclosetohis,tryingtodetectanoutbreath.WhenIcouldn’t,Ireachedoutahandandtouchedhisfacegently.
Heflinched,hiseyessnappingopen,justinchesfrommyown.
‘I’msorry,’Isaid,jumpingback.
Heblinked,glancingaroundtheroom,asifhehadbeensomewherefarfromhome.
‘It’sLou,’Isaid,whenIwasn’tsureifhehadrecognizedme.
Hisexpressionwasoneofmildexasperation.‘Iknow.’
‘Doyouwantsomesoup?’
‘No.Thankyou.’Heclosedhiseyes
‘Morepainkillers?’
Therewasafaintsheenofsweatonhischeekbone.Iputmyhandout,hisduvetfeltvaguelyhotandsweaty.Itmademenervous.
‘IstheresomethingIshouldbedoing?Imean,ifNathancan’tgethere?’
‘No…I’mfine,’hemurmured,andclosedhiseyesagain.
Iwentthroughthefolder,tryingtoworkoutifIwasmissingsomething.Iopenedthemedicalcabinet,theboxesofrubberglovesandgauzedressings,andrealizedIhadnoideaatallwhatIshoulddowithanyofit.IrangtheintercomtospeaktoWill’sfather,buttheringingsounddisappearedintoanemptyhouse.Icouldhearitechoingbeyondtheannexedoor.
IwasabouttoringMrsTraynorwhenthebackdooropened,andNathansteppedin,wrappedinlayersofbulkyclothing,awoollenscarfandhatalmostobscuringhishead.Hebroughtwithhimawhooshofcoldairandalightflurryofsnow.
‘Hey,’hesaid,shakingthesnowoffhisbootsandslammingthedoorbehindhim.
Itfeltlikethehousehadsuddenlywokenfromadreamlikestate.
‘Oh,thankGodyou’rehere,’Isaid.‘He’snotwell.He’sbeenasleepmostofthemorningandhe’shardlydrunkanything.Ididn’tknowwhattodo.’
Nathanshruggedoffhiscoat.‘Hadtowalkallthewayhere.Thebuseshavestoppedrunning.’
Isetaboutmakinghimsometea,ashewenttocheckonWill.
Hereappearedbeforethekettlehadevenfinishedboiling.‘He’sburningup,’hesaid.‘Howlonghashebeenlikethis?’
‘Allmorning.Ididthinkhewashot,buthesaidhejustwantedtosleep.’
‘Jesus.Allmorning?Didn’tyouknowhecan’tregulatehisowntemperature?’Hepushedpastmeandbeganrummagingaroundinthemedicinecabinet.‘Antibiotics.Thestrongones.’Heheldupajarandemptiedoneintothepestleandmortar,grindingitfuriously.
Ihoveredbehindhim.‘Igavehimaparacetamol.’
‘MightaswellhavegivenhimanOpalFruit.’
‘Ididn’tknow.Nobodysaid.I’vebeenwrappinghimup.’
‘It’sinthebloodyfolder.Look,Willdoesn’tsweatlikewedo.Infacthedoesn’tsweatatallfromthepointofhisinjurydownwards.Itmeansifhegetsaslightchillhistemperaturegaugegoeshaywire.Gofindthefan.We’llmovethatinthereuntilhecoolsdown.Andadamptowel,toputaroundthebackofhisneck.Wewon’tbeabletogethimtoadoctoruntilthesnowstops.Bloodyagencynurse.Theyshouldhavepickedthisupinthemorning.’
NathanwascrosserthanI’deverseenhim.Hewasnolongerreallyeventalkingtome.
Iranforthefan.
IttookalmostfortyminutesforWill’stemperaturetoreturntoanacceptablelevel.Whilewewaitedfortheextra-strongfevermedicationtotakeeffect,Iplacedatoweloverhisforeheadandanotheraroundhisneck,asNathaninstructed.Westrippedhimdown,coveredhischestwithafinecottonsheet,andsetthefantoplayoverit.Withoutsleeves,thescarsonhisarmswereclearlyexposed.WeallpretendedIcouldn’tseethem.
Willenduredallthisattentioninnearsilence,answeringNathan’squestionswithayesorno,soindistinctsometimesthatIwasn’tsureifheknewwhathewassaying.Irealized,nowIcouldseehiminthelight,thathelookedreally,properlyillandIfeltterribleforhavingfailedtograspit.IsaidsorryuntilNathantoldmeithadbecomeirritating.
‘Right,’hesaid.‘YouneedtowatchwhatI’mdoing.It’spossibleyoumayneedtodothisalonelater.’
Ididn’tfeelIcouldprotest.ButIfoundithardnottofeelsqueamishasNathanpeeleddownthewaistofWill’spyjamabottoms,revealingapalestripofbarestomach,andcarefullyremovedthegauzedressingaroundthelittletubeinhisabdomen,cleaningitgentlyandreplacingthedressing.Heshowedmehowtochangethebagonthebed,explainedwhyitmustalwaysbelowerthanWill’sbody,andIwassurprisedathowmatter-of-factIwasaboutwalkingoutoftheroomwiththepouchofwarmfluid.IwasgladthatWillwasn’treallywatchingme–notjustbecausehewouldhavemadesomesharpcomment,butbecauseIfeltthatmewitnessingsomepartofthisintimateroutinewouldinsomewayhaveembarrassedhimtoo.
‘Andthat’sit,’Nathansaid.Finally,anhourlater,Willlaydozing,lyingonfreshcottonsheetsandlooking,ifnotexactlywell,thennotscarilyill.
‘Lethimsleep.Butwakehimafteracoupleofhoursandmakesureyougetthebestpartofabeakeroffluidsintohim.Morefevermedsatfive,okay?Histemperaturewillprobablyshootupagaininthelasthour,butnothingmorebeforefive.’
Iscribbledeverythingdownonanotepad.Iwasafraidofgettinganythingwrong.
‘Nowyou’regoingtoneedtorepeatwhatwejustdid,thisevening.You’reokaywiththat?’NathanwrappedhimselfuplikeanInuitandheadedoutintothesnow.‘Justreadthefolder.Anddon’tpanic.Anyproblems,youjustcallme.I’lltalkyouthroughitall.I’llgetbackhereagainifIreallyhaveto.’
IstayedinWill’sroomafterNathanleft.Iwastooafraidnotto.Inthecornerwasanoldleatherarmchairwithareadinglight,perhapsdatingfromWill’spreviouslife,andIcurleduponitwithabookofshortstoriesthatIhadpulledfromthebookcase.
Itwasstrangelypeacefulinthatroom.ThroughthecrackinthecurtainsIcouldseetheoutsideworld,blanketedinwhite,stillandbeautiful.Insideitwaswarmandsilent,onlytheoddtickandhissofthecentralheatingtointerruptmythoughts.Iread,andoccasionallyIglancedupandcheckedWillsleepingpeacefullyandIrealizedthattherehadneverbeenapointinmylifebeforewhereIhadjustsatinsilenceanddonenothing.Youdon’tgrowupusedtosilenceinahouselikemine,withitsnever-endingvacuuming,televisionblaring,andshrieking.Duringtheraremomentsthatthetelevisionwasoff,DadwouldputonhisoldElvisrecordsandplaythematfullblast.Acafetooisaconstantbuzzofnoiseandclatter.
Here,Icouldhearmythoughts.Icouldalmosthearmyheartbeat.Irealized,tomysurprise,thatIquitelikedit
Atfive,mymobilephonesignalledatextmessage.Willstirred,andIleaptoutofthechair,anxioustogetitbeforeitdisturbedhim.
Notrains.Isthereanychanceyoucouldstayovertonight?
Nathancannotdoit.CamillaTraynor.
Ididn’treallythinkaboutitbeforeItypedback.
Noproblem.
IrangmyparentsandtoldthemthatIwouldstayover.Mymothersoundedrelieved.WhenItoldherIwasgoingtogetpaidforsleepingover,shesoundedoverjoyed.
‘Didyouhearthat,Bernard?’shesaid,herhandhalfoverthephone.‘They’repayinghertosleepnow.’
Icouldhearmyfather’sexclamation.‘PraisetheLord.She’sfoundherdreamcareer.’
IsentatextmessagetoPatrick,tellinghimthatIhadbeenaskedtostayatworkandIwouldringhimlater.Themessagecamebackwithinseconds.
Goingcross-countrysnowrunningtonight.
GoodpracticeforNorway!XP.
Iwonderedhowitwaspossibleforsomeonetogetsoexcitedatthethoughtofjoggingthroughsub-zerotemperaturesinavestandpants.
Willslept.Icookedmyselfsomefood,anddefrostedsomesoupincasehewantedsomelater.Igotthelogfiregoingincasehefeltwellenoughtogointothelivingroom.IreadanotheroftheshortstoriesandwonderedhowlongitwassinceIhadboughtmyselfabook.Ihadlovedreadingasachild,butIcouldn’trememberreadinganythingexceptmagazinessince.Treenwasthereader.ItwasalmostasifbypickingupabookIfeltlikeIwasinvadingherpatch.IthoughtaboutherandThomasdisappearingtouniversityandrealizedIstilldidn’tknowwhetheritmademefeelhappyorsad–orsomethingabitcomplicatedinbetween.
Nathanrangatseven.HeseemedrelievedthatIwasstayingover.
‘Icouldn’traiseMrTraynor.Ievenrangtheirlandlinenumber,butitwentstraightthroughtoanswerphone.’
‘Yeah.Well.He’llbegone.’
‘Gone?’
IfeltasuddeninstinctivepanicattheideathatitwouldbejustWillandmeinthehouseallnight.Iwasafraidofgettingsomethingfundamentalwrongagain,ofjeopardizingWill’shealth.‘ShouldIcallMrsTraynor,then?’
Therewasashortsilenceontheotherendofthephone.‘No.Bestnot.’
‘But–’
‘Look,Lou,heoften…heoftengoessomewhereelsewhenMrsTstaysoverintown.’
Ittookmeaminuteortwotograspwhathewassaying.
‘Oh.’
‘It’sjustgoodthatyou’rethere,that’sall.Ifyou’resureWill’slookingbetter,I’llbebackfirstthinginthemorning.’
Therearenormalhours,andthenthereareinvalidhours,wheretimestallsandslips,wherelife–reallife–seemstoexistatoneremove.Iwatchedsometelevision,ate,andclearedupthekitchen,driftingaroundtheannexeinsilence.Finally,IletmyselfbackintoWill’sroom.
HestirredasIclosedthedoor,halfliftinghishead.‘Whattimeisit,Clark?’Hisvoicewasslightlymuffledbythepillow.
‘Quarterpasteight.’
Helethisheaddrop,anddigestedthis.‘CanIhaveadrink?’
Therewasnosharpnesstohimnow,noedge.Itwasasifbeingillhadfinallymadehimvulnerable.Igavehimadrink,andturnedonthebedsidelight.Iperchedonthesideofhisbed,andfelthisforehead,asmymothermighthavedonewhenIwasachild.Hewasstillalittlewarm,butnothinglikehehadbeen.
‘Coolhands.’
‘Youcomplainedaboutthemearlier.’
‘DidI?’Hesoundedgenuinelysurprised.
‘Wouldyoulikesomesoup?’
‘No.’
‘Areyoucomfortable?’
Ineverknewhowmuchdiscomforthewasin,butIsuspecteditwasmorethanheleton.
‘Theothersidewouldbegood.Justrollme.Idon’tneedtositup.’
Iclimbedacrossthebedandmovedhimover,asgentlyasIcould.Henolongerradiatedasinisterheat,justtheordinarywarmthofabodythathadspenttimeunderaduvet.
‘CanIdoanythingelse?’
‘Shouldn’tyoubeheadinghome?’
‘It’sokay,’Isaid.‘I’mstayingover.’
Outside,thelastofthelighthadlongbeenextinguished.Thesnowwasstillfalling.Whereitcaughttheporchglowthroughthewindowitwasbathedinapale-gold,melancholylight.Wesatthereinpeacefulsilence,watchingitshypnoticfall.
‘CanIaskyousomething?’Isaid,finally.Icouldseehishandsontopofthesheet.Itseemedsostrangethattheyshouldlooksoordinary,sostrong,andyetbesouseless.
‘Isuspectyou’regoingto.’
‘Whathappened?’Ikeptwonderingaboutthemarksonhiswrists.ItwastheonequestionIcouldn’taskdirectly
Heopenedoneeye.‘HowdidIgetlikethis?’
WhenInodded,heclosedhiseyesagain.‘Motorbikeaccident.Notmine.Iwasaninnocentpedestrian.’
‘Ithoughtitwouldbeskiingorbungeejumpingorsomething.’
‘Everyonedoes.God’slittlejoke.Iwascrossingtheroadoutsidemyhome.Notthisplace,’hesaid.‘MyLondonhome.’
Istaredatthebooksinhisbookshelf.Amongthenovels,thewell-thumbedPenguinpaperbacks,werebusinesstitles:CorporateLaw,TakeOver,directoriesofnamesIdidnotrecognize.
‘Andtherewasnowayyoucouldcarryonwithyourjob?’
‘No.Northeapartment,theholidays,thelife…Ibelieveyoumetmyex-girlfriend.’Thebreakinhisvoicecouldn’tdisguisethebitterness.‘ButIshouldapparentlybegrateful,asforsometimetheydidn’tthinkIwasgoingtoliveatall.’
‘Doyouhateit?Livinghere,Imean?’
‘Yes.’
‘IsthereanywayyoumightbeabletoliveinLondonagain?’
‘Notlikethis,no.’
‘Butyoumightimprove.Imean,Nathansaidthereareloadsofadvancesinthiskindofinjury.’
Willclosedhiseyesagain.
Iwaited,andthenIadjustedthepillowbehindhishead,andtheduvetaroundhischest.‘Sorry,’Isaid,sittingupright.‘IfIasktoomanyquestions.Doyouwantmetoleave?’
‘No.Stayforabit.Talktome.’Heswallowed.Hiseyesopenedagainandhisgazesliduptomine.Helookedunbearablytired.‘Tellmesomethinggood.’
Ihesitatedamoment,thenIleantbackagainstthepillowsbesidehim.Wesatthereintheneardark,watchingthebrieflyilluminatedflakesofsnowdisappearintotheblacknight.
‘Youknow…IusedtosaythattomyDad,’Isaid,finally.‘ButifItoldyouwhatheusedtosayback,you’dthinkIwasinsane.’
‘MorethanIdo?’
‘WhenIhadanightmareorwassadorfrightenedaboutsomething,heusedtosingme…’Istartedtolaugh.‘Oh…Ican’t.’
‘Goon.’
‘Heusedtosingmethe“MolahonkeySong”.’
‘Thewhat?’
‘The“MolahonkeySong”.Iusedtothinkeveryoneknewit.’
‘Trustme,Clark,’hemurmured,‘IamaMolahonkeyvirgin.’
Itookadeepbreath,closedmyeyesandbegantosing.
Iwi-li-lishedIli-li-livedinMolahonkeyla-la-land
Thela-la-landwhereI-li-liwasbo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lorn
SoI-li-licouldplay-la-laymyo-lo-loldbanjo-lo-lo
Myo-lo-loldban-jo-lo-lowon’tgo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo.
‘JesusChrist.’
Itookanotherbreath.
Itoo-lo-lookitto-lo-lotheme-le-lender’ssho-lo-lopto
See-lee-leewhatthey-le-leycoulddo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo
Theysai-lai-laidtome-le-leyourstri-li-lingsaresho-lo-lot
They’reno-lo-lomoreu-lu-lusetoyou-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-loo.
Therewasashortsilence.
‘Youareinsane.Yourwholefamilyisinsane.’
‘Butitworked.’
‘AndyouareaGod-awfulsinger.Ihopeyourdadwasbetter.’
‘Ithinkwhatyoumeanttosaywas,“Thankyou,MissClark,forattemptingtoentertainme.”’
‘IsupposeitmakesaboutasmuchsenseasmostofthepsychotherapeutichelpI’vereceived.Okay,Clark,’hesaid,‘tellmesomethingelse.Somethingthatdoesn’tinvolvesinging.’
Ithoughtforabit.
‘Um…okay,well…youwerelookingatmyshoestheotherday?’
‘Hardnotto.’
‘Well,mymumcandatemyunusualshoethingbacktowhenIwasthree.Sheboughtmeapairofbright-turquoiseglitterywellies–theywerequiteunusualbackthen–kidsusedtojusthavethosegreenones,ormayberedifyouwerelucky.AndshesaidfromthedayshebroughtthemhomeIrefusedtotakethemoff.Iworethemtobed,inthebath,tonurseryallthroughthesummer.Myfavouriteoutfitwasthoseglitterbootsandmybumblebeetights.’
‘Bumblebeetights?’
‘Blackandyellowstripes.’
‘Gorgeous.’
‘That’sabitharsh.’
‘Well,it’strue.Theysoundrevolting.’
‘Theymightsoundrevoltingtoyou,butastonishingly,WillTraynor,notallgirlsgetdressedjusttopleasemen.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘No,it’snot.’
‘Everythingwomendoiswithmeninmind.Everythinganyonedoesiswithsexinmind.Haven’tyoureadTheRedQueen?’
‘Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.ButIcanassureyouI’mnotsittingonyourbedsingingthe“MolahonkeySong”becauseI’mtryingtogetmylegover.AndwhenIwasthree,Ijustreally,reallylikedhavingstripylegs.’
IrealizedthattheanxietythathadheldmeinitsgripalldaywasslowlyebbingawaywitheveryoneofWill’scomments.Iwasnolongerinsolechargeofapoorlyquadriplegic.Itwasjustme,sittingnexttoaparticularlysarcasticbloke,havingachat.
‘Socomeon,then,whathappenedtothesegorgeousglitterywellies?’
‘Shehadtothrowthemaway.Igotterribleathlete’sfoot.’
‘Delightful.’
‘Andshethrewthetightsawaytoo.’
‘Why?’
‘Ineverfoundout.Butitbrokemyheart.IhaveneverfoundapairoftightsIlovedlikethatagain.Theydon’tdothemanymore.Oriftheydo,theydon’tmakethemforgrownwomen.’
‘Strange,that.’
‘Oh,youcanmock.Didn’tyoueverloveanythingthatmuch?’
Icouldbarelyseehimnow,theroomshroudedintheneardark.Icouldhaveturnedtheoverheadlighton,butsomethingstoppedme.AndalmostassoonasIrealizedwhatIhadsaid,IwishedIhadn’t.
‘Yes,’hesaid,quietly.‘Yes,Idid.’
Wetalkedabitlonger,andthenWillnoddedoff.Ilaythere,watchinghimbreathe,andoccasionallywonderingwhathewouldsayifhewokeupandfoundmestaringathim,athistoo-longhairandtiredeyesandscraggybeginningsofabeard.ButIcouldn’tmove.Thehourshadbecomesurreal,anislandoutoftime.Iwastheonlyotherpersoninthehouse,andIwasstillafraidtoleavehim.
Shortlyaftereleven,Isawhehadbeguntosweatagain,hisbreathingbecomingshallower,andIwokehimandmadehimtakesomefevermedication.Hedidn’ttalk,excepttomurmurhisthanks.Ichangedhistopsheetandhispillowcase,andthen,whenhefinallysleptagain,Ilaydownafootawayfromhimand,alongtimelater,Islepttoo.
Iwoketothesoundofmyname.Iwasinaclassroom,asleeponmydesk,andtheteacherwasrappingablackboard,repeatingmynameagainandagain.IknewIshouldbepayingattention,knewthattheteacherwouldseethisslumberasanactofsubversion,butIcouldnotraisemyheadfromthedesk.
‘Louisa.’
‘Mmmhghh.’
‘Louisa.’
Thedeskwasawfullysoft.Iopenedmyeyes.Thewordswerebeingspokenovermyhead,hissed,butwithgreatemphasis.Louisa
Iwasinbed.Iblinked,lettingmyeyesfocus,thenlookeduptofindCamillaTraynorstandingoverme.Sheworeaheavywoolcoatandherhandbagwasslungoverhershoulder.
‘Louisa.’
Ipushedmyselfuprightwithastart.Besideme,Willwasasleepunderthecovers,hismouthslightlyopen,hiselbowbentatrightanglesinfrontofhim.Lightseepedinthroughthewindow;tellingofacold,brightmorning.
‘Uh.’
‘Whatareyoudoing?’
IfeltasifIhadbeencaughtdoingsomethingawful.Irubbedatmyface,tryingtogathermythoughts.WhywasIinhere?WhatcouldItellher?
‘WhatareyoudoinginWill’sbed?’
‘Will…’Isaid,quietly.‘Willwasn’twell…IjustthoughtIshouldkeepaneye–’
‘Whatdoyoumean,hewasn’twell?Look,comeoutintothehall.’Shestrodeoutoftheroom,evidentlywaitingformetocatchherup.
Ifollowed,tryingtostraightenmyclothes.Ihadahorriblefeelingmymake-upwassmearedallovermyface.
SheclosedWill’sbedroomdoorbehindme.
Istoodinfrontofher,tryingtosmoothmyhairasIgatheredmythoughts.‘Willhadatemperature.Nathangotitdownwhenhecame,butIdidn’tknowaboutthisregulatingthingandIwantedtokeepaneyeonhim…hesaidIshouldkeepaneyeonhim…’Myvoicesoundedthick,unformed.Iwasn’tentirelysureIwasmakingcoherentsentences
‘Whydidn’tyoucallme?Ifhewasillyoushouldhavecalledmeimmediately.OrMrTraynor.’
Itwasasifmysynapseshadsuddenlysnappedtogether.MrTraynor.OhLord.Iglancedupattheclock.Itwasaquartertoeight.
‘Ididn’t…Nathanseemedto…’
‘Look,Louisa.It’sreallynotrocketscience.IfWillwasillenoughforyoutosleepinhisroomthenthatissomethingyoushouldhavecontactedmeabout.’
‘Yes.’
Iblinked,staringattheground.
‘Idon’tunderstandwhyyoudidn’tcall.DidyouattempttocallMrTraynor?’
Nathansaidnottosayanything
‘I–’
Atthatmomentthedoortotheannexeopened,andMrTraynorstoodthere,anewspaperfoldedunderhisarm.‘Youmadeitback!’hesaidtohiswife,brushingsnowflakesfromhisshoulders.‘I’vejustfoughtmywayuptheroadtogetanewspaperandsomemilk.Roadsareabsolutelytreacherous.IhadtogothelongwaytoHansfordCorner,toavoidtheicepatches.’
ShelookedathimandIwonderedforamomentwhethershewasregisteringthefactthathewaswearingthesameshirtandjumperasthepreviousday.
‘DidyouknowWillhadbeenillinthenight?’
Helookedstraightatme.Idroppedmygazetomyfeet.Iwasn’tsureIhadeverfeltmoreuncomfortable.
‘Didyoutrytocallme,Louisa?I’msorry–Ididn’thearathing.Isuspectthatintercom’sontheblink.TherehavebeenafewoccasionslatelywhereI’vemissedit.AndIwasn’tfeelingtoogoodmyselflastnight.Outlikealight.’
IwasstillwearingWill’ssocks.Istaredatthem,wonderingifMrsTraynorwasgoingtojudgemeforthattoo.
Butsheseemeddistracted.‘It’sbeenalongjourneyhome.Ithink…I’llleaveyoutoit.Butifanythinglikethishappensagain,youcallmeimmediately.Doyouunderstand?’
Ididn’twanttolookatMrTraynor.‘Yes,’Isaid,anddisappearedintothekitchen.7
Springarrivedovernight,asifwinter,likesomeunwantedguest,hadabruptlyshruggeditswayintoitscoatandvanished,withoutsayinggoodbye.Everythingbecamegreener,theroadsbathedinwaterysunshine,theairsuddenlybalmy.Therewerehintsofsomethingfloralandwelcomingintheair,birdsongthegentlebackdroptotheday.
Ididn’tnoticeanyofit.IhadstayedatPatrick’shousetheeveningbefore.ItwasthefirsttimeIhadseenhimforalmostaweekduetohisenhancedtrainingschedule,buthavingspentfortyminutesinthebathwithhalfapackofbathsalts,hewassoexhaustedhecouldbarelytalktome.Ihadbegunstrokinghisback,inarareattemptatseduction,andhehadmurmuredthathewasreallytootired,hishandflickingasifhewereswattingmeaway.Iwasstillawakeandstaringathisceilingdiscontentedlyfourhourslater.
PatrickandIhadmetwhileIwasdoingtheonlyotherjobIhaveeverheld,thatoftraineeatTheCuttingEdge,Hailsbury’sonlyunisexhairdresser’s.HewalkedinwhileSamantha,theproprietor,wasbusy,askingforanumberfour.Igavehimwhathedescribedafterwardsastheworsthaircutnotonlythathehadeverhad,buttheworsthaircutinthehistoryofmankind.Threemonthslater,realizingthataloveoffiddlingwithmyownhairdidnotnecessarilymeanthatIwascutouttodoanyoneelse’s,IleftandgotthejobatthecafewithFrank.
Whenwestartedgoingout,Patrickhadbeenworkinginsalesandhisfavouritethingscouldhavebeenlistedasbeer,garagechocolate,talkingaboutsportandsex(doing,nottalkingabout),inthatorder.Agoodnightoutforuswouldprobablycompriseallfour.Hewasordinary-lookingratherthanhandsome,andhisbumwaspodgierthanmine,butThismanwillneverhurtyou,andnothinghehaddoneinthesevenyearssincehadledmetodoubtit.
AndthenheturnedintoMarathonMan.
Patrick’sstomachnolongergavewhenInestledintohim;itwasahard,unforgivingthing,likeasideboard,andhewaspronetopullinguphisshirtandhittingitwiththings,toprovequitehowharditwas.Hisfacewasplaned,andweatheredfromhistimespentconstantlyoutdoors.Histhighsweresolidmuscle.Thatwouldhavebeenquitesexyinitself,hadheactuallywantedtohavesex.Butweweredowntoabouttwiceamonth,andIwasn’tthekindtoask.
Itwasasifthefitterhegot,themoreobsessedbyhisownshapehebecame,thelessinterestedhewasinmine.Iaskedhimacoupleoftimesifhedidn’tfancymeanymore,butheseemedprettydefinite.‘You’regorgeous,’hewouldsay.‘I’mjustshattered.Anyway,Idon’twantyoutoloseweight.Thegirlsattheclub–youcouldn’tmakeonedecentbooboutofalloftheirsputtogether.’Iwantedtoaskhowexactlyhehadcometoworkoutthiscomplexequation,butitwasbasicallyanicethingtosaysoIletitgo.
Iwantedtobeinterestedinwhathedid,Ireallydid.Iwenttothetriathlonclubnights,Itriedtochattotheothergirls.ButIsoonrealizedIwasananomaly–therewerenogirlfriendslikeme–everyoneelseintheclubwassingle,orinvolvedwithsomeoneequallyphysicallyimpressive.Thecouplespushedeachotheronworkouts,plannedweekendsinspandexshortsandcarriedpicturesofeachotherintheirwalletscompletingtriathlonshandinhand,orsmuglycomparingjointmedals.Itwasunspeakable.
‘Idon’tknowwhatyou’recomplainingabout,’mysistersaidwhenItoldher.‘I’vehadsexoncesinceIhadThomas.’
‘What?Whowith?’
‘Oh,someblokewhocameinforaVibrantHand-Tied,’shesaid.‘IjustwantedtomakesureIstillcould.’
Andthen,whenmyjawdropped,‘Oh,don’tlooklikethat.Itwasn’tduringworkinghours.Andtheywerefuneralflowers.Iftheyhadbeenwifeflowers,ofcourseIwouldn’thavetouchedhimwithagladioli.’
It’snotthatIwassomekindofsexmaniac–we’dbeentogetheralongtime,afterall.It’sjustthatsomeperversebitofmehadbeguntoquestionmyownattractiveness.
PatrickhadnevermindedthefactthatIdressed‘inventively’,asheputit.Butwhatifhehadn’tbeenentirelytruthful?Patrick’sjob,hiswholesociallifenowrevolvedaroundthecontrolofflesh–tamingit,reducingit,honingit.Whatif,facedwiththosetightlittletracksuitedbottoms,myownsuddenlyseemedwanting?Whatifmycurves,whichIhadalwaysthoughtofaspleasantlyvoluptuous,nowseemeddoughytohisexactingeyes?
ThesewerethethoughtsthatwerestillhummingmessilyaroundmyheadasMrsTraynorcameinandprettymuchorderedWillandmetogooutside.‘I’veaskedthecleanerstocomeanddoaspecialspringclean,soIthoughtperhapsyoucouldenjoytheniceweatherwhilethey’reallinthere.’
Will’seyesmetminewiththefaintestliftofhiseyebrows.‘It’snotreallyarequest,isit,Mother?’
‘Ijustthinkitwouldbegoodifyoutooksomeair,’shesaid.‘Therampisinplace.Perhaps,Louisa,youmighttakesometeaouttherewithyou?’
Itwasn’tanentirelyunreasonablesuggestion.Thegardenwasbeautiful.Itwasasifwiththeslightliftingoftemperatureseverythinghadsuddenlydecidedtolookalittlebitgreener.Daffodilshademergedasiffromnowhere,theiryellowingbulbshintingattheflowerstocome.Budsburstfrombrownbranches,perennialsforcingtheirwaytentativelythroughthedark,claggysoil.Iopenedthedoorsandwewentoutside,WillkeepinghischairontheYorkstonepath.Hegesturedtowardsacast-ironbenchwithacushiononit,andIsatthereforsometime,ourfacesliftedtotheweaksunshine,listeningtothesparrowssquabblinginthehedgerow.
‘What’supwithyou?’
‘Whatdoyoumean?’
‘You’requiet.’
‘Yousaidyouwantedmetobequiet.’
‘Notthisquiet.Italarmsme.’
‘I’mallright,’Isaid.Andthen,‘It’sjustboyfriendstuff,ifyoureallywanttoknow.’
‘Ah,’hesaid.‘RunningMan.’
Iopenedmyeyes,justtoseeifhewasmockingme.
‘What’sthematter?’hesaid.‘Comeon,tellUncleWill.’
‘No.’
‘Mymotherisgoingtohavethecleanersrunningaroundlikelunaticsinthereforatleastanotherhour.You’regoingtohavetotalkaboutsomething.’
Ipushedmyselfupright,andturnedtofacehim.Hishousechairhadacontrolbuttonthatelevatedhisseatsothathecouldaddresspeopleatheadheight.Hedidn’toftenuseit,asitfrequentlymadehimdizzy,butitwasworkingnow.Iactuallyhadtolookupathim
Ipulledmycoataroundme,andsquintedathim.‘Goon,then,whatdoyouwanttoknow?’
‘Howlonghaveyoutwobeentogether?’hesaid.
‘Bitoversixyears.’
Helookedsurprised.‘That’salongtime.’
‘Yes,’Isaid.‘Well.’
Ileantoverandadjustedarugacrosshim.Itwasdeceptive,thesunshine–itpromisedmorethanitcouldactuallydeliver.IthoughtofPatrick,upat6.30sharpthismorningtogoforhismorningrun.PerhapsIshouldtakeuprunning,sothatwewouldbecomeoneofthoseLycra-cladcouples.PerhapsIshouldbuyfrillyunderwearandlookupsextipsonline.IknewIwoulddoneither.
‘Whatdoeshedo?’
‘He’sapersonaltrainer.’
‘Hencetherunning.’
‘Hencetherunning.’
‘What’shelike?Inthreewords,ifitmakesyouuncomfortable.’
Ithoughtaboutit.‘Positive.Loyal.Obsessedwithbodyfatratios.’
‘That’ssevenwords.’
‘Thenyougotfourforfree.Sowhatwasshelike?’
‘Who?’
‘Alicia?’Ilookedathimlikehehadlookedatme,directly.Hetookadeepbreathandgazedupwardstoalargeplanetree.HishairfelldownintohiseyesandIfoughttheurgetopushittoonesideforhim.
‘Gorgeous.Sexy.Highmaintenance.Surprisinglyinsecure.’
‘Whatdoesshehavetobeinsecureabout?’ThewordsleftmymouthbeforeIcouldhelpmyself.
Helookedalmostamused.‘You’dbesurprised,’hesaid.‘GirlslikeLissatradeontheirlooksforsolongtheydon’tthinktheyhaveanythingelse.Actually,I’mbeingunfair.She’sgoodwithstuff.Things–clothes,interiors.Shecanmakethingslookbeautiful.’
Ifoughttheurgetosayanyonecouldmakethingslookbeautifuliftheyhadawalletasdeepasadiamondmine.
‘Shecouldmoveafewthingsaroundinaroom,anditwouldlookcompletelydifferent.Inevercouldworkouthowshedidit.’Henoddedtowardsthehouse.‘Shedidthisannexe,whenIfirstmovedin.’
Ifoundmyselfreviewingtheperfectlydesignedlivingroom.Irealizedmyadmirationofitwassuddenlyslightlylessuncomplicatedthanithadbeen.
‘Howlongwereyouwithher?’
‘Eight,ninemonths.’
‘Notthatlong.’
‘Longforme.’
‘Howdidyoumeet?’
‘Dinnerparty.Areallyawfuldinnerparty.You?’
‘Hairdresser’s.Iwasone.Hewasmyclient.’
‘Hah.Youwerehissomethingextrafortheweekend.’
Imusthavelookedblankbecauseheshookhisheadandsaidsoftly,‘Nevermind.’
Inside,wecouldhearthedulldroneofthevacuumcleaner.Therewerefourwomeninthecleaningcompany,allwearingmatchinghousecoats.Ihadwonderedwhattheywouldfindtodofortwohoursinthelittleannexe.
‘Doyoumissher?’
Icouldhearthemtalkingamongstthemselves.Someonehadopenedawindow,andoccasionalburstsoflaughterfilteredoutintothethinair.
Willseemedtobewatchingsomethinginthefar-offdistance.‘Iusedto.’Heturnedtome,hisvoicematter-of-fact.‘ButI’vebeenthinkingaboutit,andI’vedecidedthatsheandRupertareagoodmatch.’
Inodded.‘They’llhavearidiculouswedding,popoutananklebiterortwo,asyouputit,buyaplaceinthecountry,andhe’llbeshagginghissecretarywithinfiveyears,’Isaid.
‘You’reprobablyright.’
Iwaswarmingtomythemenow.‘Andshewillbealittlebitcrosswithhimallthetimewithoutreallyknowingwhyandbitchabouthimatreallyawfuldinnerpartiestotheembarrassmentoftheirfriends,andhewon’twanttoleavebecausehe’llbescaredofallthealimony.’
Willturnedtolookatme.
‘Andtheywillhavesexonceeverysixweeksandhewilladorehischildrenwhiledoingbuggeralltoactuallyhelplookafterthem.Andshewillhaveperfecthairbutgetthiskindofpinchedface–’Inarrowedmymouth‘–throughneversayingwhatsheactuallymeans,andstartaninsanePilateshabitormaybebuyadogorahorseanddevelopacrushonherridinginstructor.Andhewilltakeupjoggingwhenhehitsforty,andmaybebuyaHarley-Davidson,whichshewilldespise,andeverydayhewillgotoworkandlookatalltheyoungmeninhisofficeandlisteninbarstowhotheypulledattheweekendorwheretheywentonajollyandfeellikesomehow–andhewillneverbequitesurehow–hegotsuckered.’
Iturned.
Willwasstaringatme.
‘Sorry,’Isaid,afteramoment.‘Idon’treallyknowwherethatcamefrom.’
‘I’mstartingtofeeljustthetiniestbitsorryforRunningMan.’
‘Oh,it’snothim,’Isaid.‘It’sworkingatacafeforyears.Youseeandheareverything.Patterns,inpeople’sbehaviour.You’dbeamazedatwhatgoeson.’
‘Isthatwhyyou’venevergotmarried?’
Iblinked.‘Isupposeso.’
Ididn’twanttosayIhadneveractuallybeenasked.
Itmaysoundasthoughwedidn’tdomuch.But,intruth,thedayswithWillweresubtlydifferent–dependingonhismoodand,moreimportantly,howmuchpainhewasin.SomedaysIwouldarriveandIcouldseefromthesetofhisjawthathedidn’twanttotalktome–ortoanyone–and,notingthis,Iwouldbusymyselfaroundtheannexe,tryingtoanticipatehisneedssothatIdidn’thavetobotherhimbyasking.
Therewereallsortsofthingsthatcausedhimpain.Therewerethegeneralachesthatcamewithlossofmuscle–therewassomuchlessholdinghimup,despiteNathan’sbestattemptsatphysio.Therewasstomachpainfromdigestiveproblems,shoulderpain,painfrombladderinfections–aninevitability,apparently,despiteeveryone’sbestefforts.Hehadastomachulcerfromtakingtoomanypainkillersearlyoninhisrecovery,whenheapparentlypoppedthemlikeTicTacs.
Occasionally,therewerepressuresores,frombeingseatedinthesamepositionfortoolong.AcoupleoftimesWillwasconfinedtobed,justtoletthemheal,buthehatedbeingprone.Hewouldlietherelisteningtotheradio,hiseyesglitteringwithbarelysuppressedrage.Willalsogotheadaches–asideeffect,Ithought,ofhisangerandfrustration.Hehadsomuchmentalenergy,andnothingtotakeitouton.Ithadtobuildupsomewhere.
Butthemostdebilitatingwasaburningsensationinhishandsandfeet;relentless,pulsing,itwouldleavehimunabletofocusonanythingelse.Iwouldprepareabowlofcoldwaterandsoakthem,orwrapcoldflannelsaroundthem,hopingtoeasehisdiscomfort.Astringymusclewouldflickerinhisjawandoccasionallyhewouldjustseemtodisappear,asiftheonlywayhecouldcopewiththesensationwastoabsenthimselffromhisownbody.IhadbecomesurprisinglyusedtothephysicalrequirementsofWill’slife.Itseemedunfairthatdespitethefacthecouldnotusethem,orfeelthem,hisextremitiesshouldcausehimsomuchdiscomfort.
Despiteallthis,Willdidnotcomplain.Thiswaswhyithadtakenmeweekstonoticehesufferedatall.Now,Icoulddecipherthestrainedlookaroundhiseyes,thesilences,thewayheseemedtoretreatinsidehisownskin.Hewouldask,simply,‘Couldyougetthecoldwater,Louisa?’or‘Ithinkitmightbetimeforsomepainkillers.’Sometimeshewasinsomuchpainthathisfaceactuallyleachedcolour,turningtopaleputty.Thoseweretheworstdays.
Butonotherdayswetoleratedeachotherquitewell.Hedidn’tseemmortallyoffendedwhenItalkedtohim,ashehadatthestart.Todayappearedtobeapain-freeday.WhenMrsTraynorcameouttotellusthatthecleanerswouldbeanothertwentyminutes,Imadeusbothanotherdrinkandwetookaslowstrollaroundthegarden,Willstickingtothepathandmewatchingmysatinpumpsdarkeninthedampgrass.
‘Interestingchoiceoffootwear,’Willsaid.
Theywereemeraldgreen.Ihadfoundtheminacharityshop.Patricksaidtheymademelooklikealeprechaundragqueen.
‘Youknow,youdon’tdresslikesomeonefromroundhere.Iquitelookforwardtoseeingwhatinsanecombinationyou’regoingtoturnupinnext.’
‘Sohowshould“someonefromroundhere”dress?’
Hesteeredalittletothelefttoavoidabitofbranchonthepath.‘Fleece.Or,ifyou’remymother’sset,somethingfromJaegerorWhistles.’Helookedatme.‘Sowheredidyoupickupyourexotictastes?Whereelsehaveyoulived?’
‘Ihaven’t.’
‘What,you’veonlyeverlivedhere?Wherehaveyouworked?’
‘Onlyhere.’Iturnedandlookedathim,crossingmyarmsovermychestdefensively.‘So?What’ssoweirdaboutthat?’
‘It’ssuchasmalltown.Solimiting.Andit’sallaboutthecastle.’Wepausedonthepathandstaredatit,risingupinthedistanceonitsweird,dome-likehill,asperfectasifithadbeendrawnbyachild.‘Ialwaysthinkthisisthekindofplacethatpeoplecomebackto.Whenthey’vegottiredofeverythingelse.Orwhentheydon’thaveenoughimaginationtogoanywhereelse.’
‘Thanks.’
‘There’snothingwrongwithitperse.But…Christ.It’snotexactlydynamic,isit?Notexactlyfullofideasorinterestingpeopleoropportunities.Roundheretheythinkit’ssubversiveifthetouristshopstartssellingplacematswithadifferentviewoftheminiaturerailway.’
Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh.Therehadbeenanarticleinthelocalnewspaperthepreviousweekonexactlythattopic.
‘You’retwenty-sixyearsold,Clark.Youshouldbeoutthere,claimingtheworldasyourown,gettingintroubleinbars,showingoffyourstrangewardrobetododgymen…’
‘I’mhappyhere,’Isaid.
‘Well,youshouldn’tbe.’
‘Youliketellingpeoplewhattheyshouldbedoing,don’tyou?’
‘OnlywhenIknowI’mright,’hesaid.‘Canyouadjustmydrink?Ican’tquitereachit.’
Itwistedhisstrawroundsothathecouldreachitmoreeasilyandwaitedwhilehetookadrink.Thefaintcoldhadturnedthetipsofhisearspink.
Hegrimaced.‘Jesus,foragirlwhomadeteaforalivingyoumakeaterriblecup.’
‘You’rejustusedtolesbiantea,’Isaid.‘Allthatlapsangsouchongherbalstuff.’
‘Lesbiantea!’Healmostchoked.‘Well,it’sbetterthanthisstairvarnish.Christ.Youcouldstandaspoonupinthat.’
‘Soevenmyteaiswrong.’Isatdownonthebenchinfrontofhim.‘SohowisitokayforyoutoofferanopiniononeverysinglethingIsayordo,andyetnobodyelsegetstosayanythingatall?’
‘Goon,then,LouisaClark.Givemeyouropinions.’
‘Onyou?’
Hegaveatheatricalsigh.‘DoIhaveachoice?’
‘Youcouldcutyourhair.Itmakesyoulooklikesomekindofvagrant.’
‘Nowyousoundlikemymother.’
‘Well,youdolookbloodyawful.Youcouldshave,atleast.Isn’tallthatfacialhairstartingtogetitchy?’
Hegavemeasidewayslook.
‘Itis,isn’tit?Iknewit.Okay–thisafternoonIamgoingtotakeitalloff.’
‘Ohno.’
‘Yes.Youaskedmeformyopinion.Thisismyanswer.Youdon’thavetodoanything.’
‘WhatifIsayno?’
‘Imightdoitanyway.IfitgetsanylongerI’llbepickingbitsoffoodoutofit.And,frankly,ifthathappensI’llhavetosueyouforunduedistressintheworkplace.’
Hesmiledthen,asifIhadamusedhim.Itmightsoundabitsad,butWill’ssmilesweresorarethatpromptingonemademefeelabitlight-headedwithpride.
‘Here,Clark,’hesaid.‘Domeafavour?’
‘What?’
‘Scratchmyearforme,willyou?It’sdrivingmenuts.’
‘IfIdoyou’llletmecutyourhair?Justabitofatrim?’
‘Don’tpushyourluck.’
‘Shush.Don’tmakemenervous.I’mnotgreatwithscissors.’
Ifoundtherazorsandsomeshavingfoaminthebathroomcabinet,tuckedwellbackbehindthepacketsofwipesandcottonwool,asiftheyhadn’tbeenusedinsometime.Imadehimcomeintothebathroom,filledasinkwithwarmwater,gothimtotilthisheadrestbackalittleandthenplacedahotflanneloverhischin.
‘Whatisthis?You’regoingtobeabarbershop?What’stheflannelfor?’
‘Idon’tknow,’Iconfessed.‘It’swhattheydointhefilms.It’slikethehotwaterandtowelswhensomeonehasababy.’
Icouldn’tseehismouth,buthiseyescreasedwithfaintmirth.Iwantedtokeepthemlikethat.Iwantedhimtobehappy–forhisfacetolosethathaunted,watchfullook.Igabbled.Itoldjokes.Istartedtohum.Anythingtoprolongthemomentbeforehelookedgrimagain.
Irolledupmysleevesandbegantolathertheshavingfoamoverhischin,allthewayuptohisears.ThenIhesitated,thebladeoverhischin.‘IsthisthemomenttotellyouI’veonlyeverdonelegsbefore?’
Heclosedhiseyes,andsettledback.Ibegantoscrapegentlyathisskinwiththeblade,thesilencebrokenonlybythesplashasIrinsedtherazorinthebasinfulofwater.Iworkedinsilence,studyingWillTraynor’sfaceasIwent,thelinesthatrantothecornersofhismouth,linesthatseemedprematurelydeepforhisage.Ismoothedhishairfromthesideofhisfaceandsawthetelltaletracksofstitches,perhapsfromhisaccident.Isawthemauveshadowsthattoldofnightsandnightsoflostsleep,thefurrowbetweenhisbrowsthatspokeofsilentpain.Awarmsweetnessrosefromhisskin,thescentoftheshavingcream,andsomethingthatwaspeculiartoWillhimself,discreetandexpensive.HisfacebegantoemergeandIcouldseehoweasyitmusthavebeenforhimtoattractsomeonelikeAlicia.
Iworkedslowlyandcarefully,encouragedbythefactthatheseemedbrieflyatpeace.ThethoughtflashedbythattheonlytimeanyoneevertouchedWillwasforsomemedicalortherapeuticprocedure,andsoIletmyfingersrestlightlyuponhisskin,tryingtomakethemovementsasfarfromthedehumanizedbrisknessthatcharacterizedNathan’sandthedoctor’sinteractionswithhimaspossible.
Itwasacuriouslyintimatething,thisshavingofWill.IrealizedasIcontinuedthatIhadassumedhiswheelchairwouldbeabarrier;thathisdisabilitywouldpreventanykindofsensualaspectfromcreepingin.Weirdly,itwasn’tworkinglikethat.Itwasimpossibletobethisclosetosomeone,tofeeltheirskintautenunderyourfingertips,tobreatheintheairthattheybreathedout,tohavetheirfaceonlyinchesfromyours,withoutfeelingalittleunbalanced.BythetimeIreachedhisotherearIhadbeguntofeelawkward,asifIhadoversteppedaninvisiblemark
PerhapsWillwasabletoreadthesubtlechangesinmypressureonhisskin;perhapshewasjustmoreattunedtothemoodsofthepeoplearoundhim.Butheopenedhiseyes,andIfoundthemlookingintomine.
Therewasashortpause,andthenhesaid,straight-faced,‘Pleasedon’ttellmeyou’veshavedoffmyeyebrows.’
‘Onlytheone,’Isaid.Irinsedtheblade,hopingthatthecolourwouldhavedrainedfrommycheeksbythetimeIturnedround.‘Right,’Isaid,finally.‘Haveyouhadenough?Won’tNathanbehereinabit?’
‘Whataboutmyhair?’hesaid.
‘Youreallywantmetocutit?’
‘Youmightaswell.’
‘Ithoughtyoudidn’ttrustme.’
Heshrugged,asfarashecould.Itwasthesmallestmovementofhisshoulders.‘IfitwillstopyoumoaningatmeforacoupleofweeksIfigureit’sasmallpricetopay.’
‘OhmyGod,yourmumisgoingtobesodelighted,’Isaid,wipingastraydobofshavingcream.
‘Yes,well,wewon’tletthatputusoff.’
Wecuthishairinthelivingroom.Ilitthefire,weputonafilm–anAmericanthriller–andIplacedatowelaroundhisshoulders.IhadwarnedWillthatIwasabitrusty,butaddedthatitcouldn’tlookworsethanitdidalready.
‘Thanksforthat,’hesaid.
Isettowork,lettinghishairslidethroughmyfingers,tryingtorememberthefewbasicsIhadlearnt.Will,watchingthefilm,seemedrelaxedandalmostcontent.Occasionallyhetoldmesomethingaboutthefilm–whatelsetheleadactorhadstarredin,wherehehadfirstseenit–andImadeavaguelyinterestednoise(likeIdowithThomaswhenhepresentsmewithhistoys),eventhoughallmyattentionwasactuallyfocusedonnotmuckinguphishair.Finally,Ihadtheworstofitoff,andwhippedroundinfrontofhimtoseehowhelooked.
‘Well?’WillpausedtheDVD.
Istraightenedup.‘I’mnotsureIlikeseeingthismuchofyourface.It’sabitunnerving.’
‘Feelscold,’heobserved,movinghisheadfromlefttoright,asiftestingthefeelofit.
‘Holdon,’Isaid.‘I’llgettwomirrors.Thenyoucanseeitproperly.Butdon’tmove.There’sstillabitoftidyinguptobedone.Possiblyaneartoslice.’
Iwasinthebedroom,goingthroughhisdrawersinsearchofasmallmirror,whenIheardthedoor.Twosetsofbriskfootsteps,MrsTraynor’svoice,lifted,anxious.
‘Georgina,pleasedon’t.’
Thedoortothelivingroomwaswrenchedopen.Igrabbedthemirrorandranoutoftheroom.Ihadnointentionofbeingfoundabsentagain.MrsTraynorwasstandingintheliving-roomdoorway,bothhandsraisedtohermouth,apparentlywitnessingsomeunseenconfrontation.
‘YouarethemostselfishmanIevermet!’ayoungwomanwasshouting.‘Ican’tbelievethis,Will.Youwereselfishthenandyou’reworsenow.’
‘Georgina.’MrsTraynor’sgazedflickedtowardsmeasIapproached.‘Please,stop.’
Iwalkedintotheroombehindher.Will,thetowelaroundhisshoulders,hairinsoftbrownfrondsatthewheelsofhischair,wasfacingayoungwoman.Shehadlongdarkhair,pinnedintoamessyknotatthebackofherhead.Herskinwastanned,andshewaswearingexpensivelydistressedjeansandsuedeboots.LikeAlicia,herfeatureswerebeautifulandregular,herteeththeastonishingwhiteofatoothpastecommercial.Iknewtheywerebecause,herfacepucewithanger,shewasstillhissingathim.‘Ican’tbelieve
‘Please.Georgina.’MrsTraynor’svoiceliftedsharply.‘Thisisnotthetime.’
Will,hisfaceimpassive,wasstaringstraightaheadofhimatsomeunseenpoint.
‘Um…Will?Doyouneedanyhelp?’Isaid,quietly.
‘Whoareyou?’shesaid,whippinground.ItwasthenthatIsawhereyeswerefilledwithtears.
‘Georgina,’Willsaid.‘MeetLouisaClark,mypaidcompanionandshockinglyinventivehairdresser.Louisa,meetmysister,Georgina.SheappearstohaveflownallthewayfromAustraliatoshriekatme.’
‘Don’tbefacile,’Georginasaid.‘Mummytoldme.She’stoldmeeverything.’
Nobodymoved.
‘ShallIgiveyouaminute?’Isaid
‘Thatwouldbeagoodidea.’MrsTraynor’sknuckleswerewhiteonthearmofthesofa.
Islidoutoftheroom.
‘Infact,Louisa,perhapsnowwouldbeagoodtimetotakeyourlunchbreak.’
Itwasgoingtobeabusshelterkindofaday.Igrabbedmysandwichesfromthekitchen,climbedintomycoatandsetoffdownthebackpath.
AsIleft,IcouldhearGeorginaTraynor’svoiceliftinginsidethehouse.‘Hasiteveroccurredtoyou,Will,thatbelieveitornot,thismightnotbejustaboutyou?’
WhenIreturned,exactlyhalfanhourlater,thehousewassilent.Nathanwaswashingupamuginthekitchensink.
Heturnedashesawme.‘Howyoudoing?’
‘Hasshegone?’
‘Who?’
‘Thesister?’
Heglancedbehindhim.‘Ah.Thatwhoitwas?Yeah,she’sgone.JustskiddingoffinhercarwhenIgothere.Somesortoffamilyrow,wasit?’
‘Idon’tknow,’Isaid.‘IwasinthemiddleofcuttingWill’shairandthiswomancameinandjuststartedhavingagoathim.Iassumeditwasanothergirlfriend.’
Nathanshrugged.
IrealizedhewouldnotbeinterestedinthepersonalminutiaeofWill’slife,evenifheknew.
‘He’sabitquiet,though.Niceworkwiththeshave,bytheway.Goodtogethimoutfrombehindallthatshrubbery.’
Iwalkedbackintothelivingroom.Willwassittingstaringatthetelevision,whichwasstillpausedattheexactmomentIhadleftit.
‘Doyouwantmetoturnthisbackon?’Isaid.
Hedidn’tseemtohearmeforaminute.Hisheadwassunkinhisshoulders,theearlierrelaxedexpressionreplacedbyaveil.Willwasclosedoffagain,lockedbehindsomethingIcouldn’tpenetrate.
Heblinked,asifhehadonlyjustnoticedmethere.‘Sure,’hesaid.
IwascarryingabasketofwashingdownthehallwhenIheardthem.TheannexedoorwasslightlyajarandthevoicesofMrsTraynorandherdaughtercarrieddownthelongcorridor,thesoundcominginmutedwaves.Will’ssisterwassobbingquietly,allfurygonefromhervoicenow.Shesoundedalmostchildlike
‘Theremustbesomethingtheycando.Somemedicaladvance.Can’tyoutakehimtoAmerica?ThingsarealwaysimprovinginAmerica.’
‘Yourfatherkeepsaverycloseeyeonallthedevelopments.Butno,darling,thereisnothing…concrete.’
‘He’sso…differentnow.It’slikehe’sdeterminednottoseethegoodinanything.’
‘He’sbeenlikethatsincethestart,George.Ithinkit’sjustthatyoudidn’tseehimapartfromwhenyouflewhome.Backthen,Ithinkhewasstill…determined.Backthen,hewassurethatsomethingwouldchange.’
Ifeltalittleuncomfortablelisteninginonsuchaprivateconversation.Buttheoddtenordrewmecloser.Ifoundmyselfwalkingsoftlytowardsthedoor,mysockedfeetmakingnosoundonthefloor.
‘Look,DaddyandIdidn’ttellyou.Wedidn’twanttoupsetyou.Buthetried…’shestruggledoverthewords.‘Willtriedto…hetriedtokillhimself.’
‘What?’
‘Daddyfoundhim.BackinDecember.Itwas…itwasterrible.’
EventhoughthisonlyreallyconfirmedwhatIhadguessed,Ifeltalltheblooddrainfromme.Iheardamuffledcry,awhisperedreassurance.Therewasanotherlongsilence.AndthenGeorgina,hervoicethickwithgrief,spokeagain.
‘Thegirl…?’
‘Yes.Louisaisheretomakesurenothinglikethathappensagain.’
Istopped.Attheotherendofthecorridor,fromthebathroom,IcouldhearNathanandWilltalkinginalowmurmur,comfortablyoblivioustotheconversationthatwasgoingonjustafewfeetaway.Itookastepclosertothedoor.IsupposeIhadknownitsinceIcaughtsightofthescarsonhiswrists.Itmadesenseofeverything,afterall–MrsTraynor’sanxietythatIshouldn’tleaveWillaloneforverylong,hisantipathytohavingmethere,thefactthatforlargestretchesoftimeIdidn’tfeellikeIwasdoinganythingusefulatall.Ihadbeenbabysitting.Ihadn’tknownit,butWillhad,andhehadhatedmeforit.
Ireachedforthehandleofthedoor,preparingtocloseitgently.IwonderedwhatNathanknew.IwonderedwhetherWillwashappiernow.IrealizedIfelt,selfishly,afaintreliefthatithadn’tbeenmeWillobjectedto,justthefactthatI–thatanyone–hadbeenemployedtowatchoverhim.MythoughtshummedsobusilythatIalmostmissedthenextsnatchofconversation.
‘Youcan’tlethimdothis,Mum.Youhavetostophim.’
‘It’snotourchoice,darling.’
‘Butitis.Itis–ifhe’saskingyoutobepartofit,’Georginaprotested.
Thehandlestilledinmyhand.
‘Ican’tbelieveyou’reevenagreeingtoit.Whataboutyourreligion?Whatabouteverythingyou’vedone?Whatwasthepointinyouevenbloodysavinghimthelasttime?’
MrsTraynor’svoicewasdeliberatelycalm.‘That’snotfair.’
‘Butyou’vesaidyou’lltakehim.Whatdoes–’
‘DoyouthinkforamomentthatifIsaidIrefuse,hewouldn’tasksomeoneelse?’
‘ButDignitas?It’sjustwrong.Iknowit’shardforhim,butitwilldestroyyouandDaddy.Iknowit.Thinkofhowyouwouldfeel!Thinkofthepublicity!Yourjob!Bothyourreputations!Hemustknowit.It’saselfishthingtoevenask.Howcanhe?Howcanhedothis?Howcanyoudothis?’Shebegantosobagain.
‘George…’
‘Don’tlookatmelikethat.Idocareabouthim,Mummy.Ido.He’smybrotherandIlovehim.ButIcan’tbearit.Ican’tbeareventhethoughtofit.He’swrongtoask,andyou’rewrongtoconsiderit.Andit’snotjusthisownlifehewilldestroyifyougoaheadwiththis.’
Itookastepbackfromthewindow.ThebloodthumpedsoloudlyinmyearsthatIalmostdidn’thearMrsTraynor’sresponse.
‘Sixmonths,George.Hepromisedtogivemesixmonths.Now.Idon’twantyoutomentionthisagain,andcertainlynotinfrontofanyoneelse.Andwemust…’Shetookadeepbreath.‘Wemustjustprayveryhardthatsomethinghappensinthattimetochangehismind.’8Camilla
Ineversetouttohelpkillmyson.
Evenreadingthewordsseemsodd–likesomethingyoumightseeinatabloidnewspaper,oroneofthoseawfulmagazinesthatthecleaneralwayshaspokingoutofherhandbag,fullofwomenwhosedaughtersranoffwiththeircheatingpartners,talesofamazingweightlossandtwo-headedbabies.
Iwasnotthekindofpersonthishappenedto.Oratleast,IthoughtIwasn’t.Mylifewasafairlystructuredone–anordinaryone,bymodernstandards.Ihadbeenmarriedforalmostthirty-sevenyears,Iraisedtwochildren,Ikeptmycareer,helpedoutattheschool,thePTA,andjoinedthebenchoncethechildrendidn’tneedmeanymore.
Ihadbeenamagistrateforalmostelevenyearsnow.Iwatchedthewholeofhumanlifecomethroughmycourt:thehopelesswaifswhocouldn’tgetthemselvestogethersufficientlyeventomakeacourtappointmentontime;therepeatoffenders;theangry,hard-facedyoungmenandexhausted,debt-riddenmothers.It’squitehardtostaycalmandunderstandingwhenyouseethesamefaces,thesamemistakesmadeagainandagain.Icouldsometimesheartheimpatienceinmytone.Itcouldbeoddlydispiriting,theblankrefusalofhumankindtoevenattempttofunctionresponsibly.
Andourlittletown,despitethebeautyofthecastle,ourmanyGradeIIlistedbuildings,ourpicturesquecountrylanes,wasfarfromimmunetoit.OurRegencysquaresheldcider-drinkingteenagers,ourthatchedcottagesmuffledthesoundsofhusbandsbeatingtheirwivesandchildren.SometimesIfeltlikeKingCanute,makingvainpronouncementsinthefaceofatideofchaosandcreepingdevastation.ButIlovedmyjob.IdiditbecauseIbelieveinorder,inamoralcode.Ibelievethatthereisarightandawrong,unfashionableasthatviewmightbe.
Igotthroughthetougherdaysbecauseofmygarden.Asthechildrengrewithadbecomeabitofanobsessionofmine.IcouldgiveyoutheLatinnameofalmostanyplantyoucaredtopointat.Thefunnythingwas,Ididn’tevendoLatinatschool–minewasaratherminorpublicschoolforgirlswherethefocuswasoncookingandembroidery,thingsthatwouldhelpusbecomegoodwives–butthethingaboutthoseplantnamesisthattheydostickinyourhead.Ionlyeverneededtohearoneoncetorememberitforever:Helleborusniger,Eremurusstenophyllus,Athyriumniponicum.IcanrepeatthosewithafluencyIneverhadatschool.
Theysayyouonlyreallyappreciateagardenonceyoureachacertainage,andIsupposethereisatruthinthat.It’sprobablysomethingtodowiththegreatcircleoflife.Thereseemstobesomethingmiraculousaboutseeingtherelentlessoptimismofnewgrowthafterthebleaknessofwinter,akindofjoyinthedifferenceeveryyear,thewaynaturechoosestoshowoffdifferentpartsofthegardentoitsfulladvantage.Therehavebeentimes–thetimeswhenmymarriageprovedtobesomewhatmorepopulatedthanIhadanticipated–whenithasbeenarefuge,timeswhenithasbeenajoy.
Therehaveevenbeentimeswhenitwas,frankly,apain.Thereisnothingmoredisappointingthancreatinganewborderonlytoseeitfailtoflourish,ortowatcharowofbeautifulalliumsdestroyedovernightbysomeslimyculprit.ButevenwhenIcomplainedaboutthetime,theeffortinvolvedincaringforit,thewaymyjointsprotestedatan
AfterWill’saccidentIdidn’tgardenforayear.Itwasn’tjustthetime,althoughtheendlesshoursspentathospital,thetimespenttoingandfroinginthecar,themeetings–ohGod,themeetings–tookupsomuchofit.Itooksixmonths’compassionateleavefromworkandtherewasstillnotenoughofit.
ItwasthatIcouldsuddenlyseenopoint.Ipaidagardenertocomeandkeepthegardentidy,andIdon’tthinkIgaveitanythingbutthemostcursoryoflooksforthebestpartofayear.
ItwasonlywhenwebroughtWillbackhome,oncetheannexewasadaptedandready,thatIcouldseeapointinmakingitbeautifulagain.Ineededtogivemysonsomethingtolookat.Ineededtotellhim,silently,thatthingsmightchange,groworfail,butthatlifedidgoon.Thatwewereallpartofsomegreatcycle,somepatternthatitwasonlyGod’spurposetounderstand.Icouldn’tsaythattohim,ofcourse–WillandIhaveneverbeenabletosaymuchtoeachother–butIwantedtoshowhim.Asilentpromise,ifyoulike,thattherewasabiggerpicture,abrighterfuture.
Stevenwaspokingatthelogfire.Hemanoeuvredtheremaininghalf-burntlogsexpertlywithapoker,sendingglowingsparksupthechimney,thendroppedanewlogontothemiddle.Hestoodback,ashealwaysdid,watchingwithquietsatisfactionastheflamestookhold,anddustedhishandsonhiscorduroytrousers.HeturnedasIenteredtheroom.Iheldoutaglass.
‘Thankyou.IsGeorgecomingdown?’
‘Apparentlynot.’
‘What’sshedoing?
‘Watchingtelevisionupstairs.Shedoesn’twantcompany.Ididask.’
‘She’llcomeround.She’sprobablyjet-lagged.’
‘Ihopeso,Steven.She’snotveryhappywithusatthemoment.’
Westoodinsilence,watchingthefire.Aroundustheroomwasdarkandstill,thewindowpanesrattlinggentlyastheywerebuffetedbythewindandrain.
‘Filthynight.’
‘Yes.’
Thedogpaddedintotheroomand,withasigh,floppeddowninfrontofthefire,gazingupadoringlyatusbothfromherproneposition.
‘Sowhatdoyouthink?’hesaid.‘Thishaircutbusiness.’
‘Idon’tknow.I’dliketothinkit’sagoodsign.’
‘ThisLouisa’sabitofacharacter,isn’tshe?’
Isawthewaymyhusbandsmiledtohimself.Nothertoo,Ifoundmyselfthinking,andthensquashedthethought.
‘Yes.Yes,Isupposesheis.’
‘Doyouthinkshe’stherightone?’
Itookasipofmydrinkbeforeanswering.Twofingersofgin,asliceoflemonandalotoftonic.‘Whoknows?’Isaid.‘Idon’tthinkIhavethefaintestideawhatisrightandwronganymore.’
‘Helikesher.I’msurehelikesher.Weweretalkingwhilewatchingthenewstheothernight,andhementionedhertwice.Hehasn’tdonethatbefore.’
‘Yes.Well.Iwouldn’tgetyourhopesup.’
‘Doyouhaveto?’
Steventurnedfromthefire.Icouldseehimstudyingme,perhapsconsciousofthenewlinesaroundmyeyes,thewaymymouthseemedsetthesedaysintoathinlineofanxiety.Helookedatthelittlegoldcross,noweverpresentaroundmyneck.Ididn’tlikeitwhenhelookedatmelikethat.IcouldneverescapethefeelingthatIwasbeingcomparedtosomeoneelse.
‘I’mjustbeingrealistic.’
‘Yousound…yousoundlikeyou’realreadyexpectingittohappen.’
‘Iknowmyson.’
‘Ourson.’
‘Yes.Ourson.’Moremyson,Ifoundmyselfthinking.Youwereneverreallythereforhim.Notemotionally.Youwerejusttheabsencehewasalwaysstrivingtoimpress
‘He’llchangehismind,’Stevensaid.‘There’sstillalongwaytogo.’
Westoodthere.Itookalongsipofmydrink,theicecoldagainstthewarmthgivenoutbythefire.
‘Ikeepthinking…’Isaid,staringintothehearth.‘IstillkeepthinkingthatI’mmissingsomething.’
Myhusbandwasstillwatchingme.Icouldfeelhisgazeonme,butIcouldn’tmeetit.Perhapshemighthavereachedouttomethen.ButIthinkwehadprobablygonetoofarforthat.
Hetookasipofhisdrink.‘Youcanonlydowhatyoucando,darling.’
‘I’mwellawareofthat.Butit’snotreallyenough,isit?’
Heturnedbacktothefire,pokingunnecessarilyataloguntilIturnedandquietlylefttheroom.
AshehadknownIwould.
WhenWillfirsttoldmewhathewanted,hehadtotellmetwice,asIwasquitesureIcouldnothaveheardhimcorrectlythefirsttime.IstayedquitecalmwhenIrealizedwhatitwashewasproposing,andthenItoldhimhewasbeingridiculousandIwalkedstraightoutoftheroom.It’sanunfairadvantage,beingabletowalkawayfromamaninawheelchair.Therearetwostepsbetweentheannexeandthemainhouse,andwithoutNathan’shelphecouldnottraversethem.IshutthedooroftheannexeandIstoodinmyownhallwaywiththecalmlyspokenwordsofmysonstillringinginmyears.
I’mnotsureImovedforhalfanhour.
Herefusedtoletitgo.BeingWill,healwayshadtohavethelastword.HerepeatedhisrequesteverytimeIwentintoseehimuntilIalmosthadtopersuademyselftogoineachday.Idon’twanttolivelikethis,Mother.ThisisnotthelifeIchose.Thereisnoprospectofmyrecovery,henceitisaperfectlyreasonablerequesttoasktoenditinamannerIseefit.Iheardhimandcouldwellimaginewhathehadbeenlikeinthosebusinessmeetings,thecareerthathadmadehimrichandarrogant.Hewasamanwhowasusedtobeingheard,afterall.Hecouldn’tbearitthatinsomewayIhadthepowertodictatehisfuture,thatIhadsomehowbecomemotheragain.
Ittookhisattempttomakemeagree.It’snotthatmyreligionforbadeit–althoughtheprospectofWillbeingconsignedtohellthroughhisowndesperationwasaterribleone.(IchosetobelievethatGod,abenignGod,wouldunderstandoursufferingsandforgiveusourtrespasses.)
It’sjustthatthethingyouneverunderstandaboutbeingamother,untilyouareone,isthatitisnotthegrownman–thegalumphing,unshaven,stinking,opinionatedoffspring–youseebeforeyou,withhisparkingticketsandunpolishedshoesandcomplicatedlovelife.Youseeallthepeoplehehaseverbeenallrolledupintoone.
IlookedatWillandIsawthebabyIheldinmyarms,dewilybesotted,unabletobelievethatIhadcreatedanotherhumanbeing.Isawthetoddler,reachingformyhand,theschoolboyweepingtearsoffuryafterbeingbulliedbysomeotherchild.Isawthevulnerabilities,thelove,thehistory.That’swhathewasaskingmetoextinguish–thesmallchildaswellastheman–allthatlove,allthathistory.
Andthenon22January,adaywhenIwasstuckincourtwitharelentlessrollcallofshopliftersanduninsureddrivers,ofweepingangryex-partners,Stevenwalkedintotheannexeandfoundoursonalmostunconscious,hisheadlollingbyhisarmrest,aseaofdark,stickybloodpoolingaroundhiswheels.Hehadlocatedarustynail,barelyhalfaninchemergingfromsomehurriedlyfinishedwoodworkinthebacklobby,and,pressinghiswristagainstit,hadreversedbackwardsandforwardsuntilhisfleshwasslicedtoribbons.Icannottothisdayimaginethedeterminationthatkepthimgoing,eventhoughhemusthavebeenhalfdeliriousfromthepain.Thedoctorssaidhewaslessthantwentyminutesfromdeath.
Itwasnot,theyobservedwithexquisiteunderstatement,acryforhelp
WhentheytoldmeatthehospitalthatWillwouldlive,IwalkedoutsideintomygardenandIraged.IragedatGod,atnature,atwhateverfatehadbroughtourfamilytosuchdepths.NowIlookbackandImusthaveseemedquitemad.IstoodinmygardenthatcoldeveningandIhurledmylargebrandytwentyfeetintotheEuonymuscompactusandIscreamed,sothatmyvoicebroketheair,bouncingoffthecastlewallsandechoingintothedistance.Iwassofurious,yousee,thatallaroundmewerethingsthatcouldmoveandbendandgrowandreproduce,andmyson–myvital,charismatic,beautifulboy–wasjustthisthing.Immobile,wilted,bloodied,suffering.Theirbeautyseemedlikeanobscenity.IscreamedandIscreamedandIswore–wordsIdidn’tknowIknew–untilStevencameoutandstood,hishandrestingonmyshoulder,waitinguntilhecouldbesurethatIwouldbesilentagain.
Hedidn’tunderstand,yousee.Hehadn’tworkeditoutyet.ThatWillwouldtryagain.Thatourliveswouldhavetobespentinastateofconstantvigilance,waitingforthenexttime,waitingtoseewhathorrorhewouldinflictuponhimself.Wewouldhavetoseetheworldthroughhiseyes–thepotentialpoisons,thesharpobjects,theinventivenesswithwhichhecouldfinishthejobthatdamnedmotorcyclisthadstarted.Ourliveshadtoshrinktofitaroundthepotentialforthatoneact.Andhehadtheadvantage–hehadnothingelsetothinkabout,yousee?
Twoweekslater,ItoldWill,‘Yes.’
OfcourseIdid.
WhatelsecouldIhavedone?9
Ididn’tsleepthatnight.Ilayawakeinthelittleboxroom,gazingupattheceilingandcarefullyreconstructingthelasttwomonthsbasedonwhatInowknew.Itwasasifeverythinghadshifted,fragmentedandsettledinsomeotherplace,intoapatternIbarelyrecognized.
Ifeltduped,thedim-wittedaccessorywhohadn’tknownwhatwasgoingon.IfelttheymusthavelaughedprivatelyatmyattemptstofeedWillvegetables,orcuthishair–littlethingstomakehimfeelbetter.Whathadbeenthepoint,afterall?
IranoverandovertheconversationIhadheard,tryingtointerpretitinsomealternativeway,tryingtoconvincemyselfthatIhadmisunderstoodwhattheyhadsaid.ButDignitaswasn’texactlysomewhereyouwentforamini-break.Icouldn’tbelieveCamillaTraynorcouldcontemplatedoingthattoherson.Yes,Ihadthoughthercold,andyes,awkwardaroundhim.Itwashardtoimaginehercuddlinghim,asmymotherhadcuddledus–fiercely,joyously–untilwewriggledaway,beggingtobeletgo.IfI’mhonest,Ijustthoughtitwashowtheupperclasseswerewiththeirchildren.IhadjustreadWill’scopyofLoveinaColdClimate,afterall.Buttoactively,tovoluntarilyplayapartinherownson’sdeath?
Withhindsightherbehaviourseemedevencolder,heractionsimbuedwithsomesinisterintent.IwasangrywithherandangrywithWill.Angrywiththemforlettingmeengageinafacade.IwasangryforallthetimesIhadsatandthoughtabouthowtomakethingsbetterforhim,howtomakehimcomfortable,orhappy.WhenIwasnotangry,Iwassad.IwouldrecalltheslightbreakinhervoiceasshetriedtocomfortGeorgina,andfeelagreatsadnessforher.Shewas,Iknew,inanimpossibleposition.
ButmostlyIfeltfilledwithhorror.IwashauntedbywhatInowknew.Howcouldyouliveeachdayknowingthatyouweresimplywhilingawaythedaysuntilyourowndeath?HowcouldthismanwhoseskinIhadfeltthatmorningundermyfingers–warm,andalive–choosetojustextinguishhimself?Howcoulditbethat,witheveryone’sconsent,insixmonths’timethatsameskinwouldbedecayingundertheground?
Icouldn’ttellanyone.Thatwasalmosttheworstbit.IwasnowcomplicitintheTraynors’secret.Sickandlistless,IrangPatricktosayIwasn’tfeelingwellandwasgoingtostayhome.Noproblem,hewasdoinga10k,hesaid.Heprobablywouldn’tbethroughattheathleticsclubuntilafternineanyway.I’dseehimonSaturday.Hesoundeddistracted,asifhismindwerealreadyelsewhere,furtheralongsomemythicaltrack.
Irefusedsupper.IlayinbeduntilmythoughtsdarkenedandsolidifiedtothepointwhereIcouldn’tbeartheweightofthem,andateightthirtyIcamebackdownstairsandsatsilentlywatchingtelevision,perchedontheothersideofGranddad,whowastheonlypersoninourfamilyguaranteednottoaskmeaquestion.Hesatinhisfavouritearmchairandstaredatthescreenwithglassy-eyedintensity.Iwasneversurewhetherhewaswatching,orwhetherhismindwassomewhereelseentirely.
‘AreyousureIcan’tgetyousomething,love?’Mumappearedatmysidewithacupoftea.Therewasnothinginourfamilythatcouldn’tbeimprovedbyacupoftea,allegedly.
‘No.Nothungry,thanks.’
IsawthewaysheglancedatDad.IknewthatlaterontherewouldbeprivatemutteringsthattheTraynorswereworkingmetoohard,thatthestrainoflookingaftersuchaninvalidwasprovingtoomuch.Iknewtheywouldblamethemselvesforencouragingmetotakethejob.
Iwouldhavetoletthemthinktheywereright.
Paradoxically,thefollowingdayWillwasongoodform–unusuallytalkative,opinionated,belligerent.Hetalked,possiblymorethanhehadtalkedonanypreviousday.Itwasasifhewantedtosparwithme,andwasdisappointedwhenIwouldn’tplay.
‘Sowhenareyougoingtofinishthishatchetjob,then?’
Ihadbeentidyingthelivingroom.Ilookedupfromplumpingthesofacushions.‘What?’
‘Myhair.I’monlyhalfdone.IlooklikeoneofthoseVictorianorphans.OrsomeHoxtoneejit.’HeturnedhisheadsothatIcouldbetterseemyhandiwork.‘Unlessthisisoneofyouralternativestylestatements.’
‘Youwantmetokeepcutting?’
‘Well,itseemedtokeepyouhappy.AnditwouldbenicenottolooklikeIbelonginanasylum.’
Ifetchedatowelandscissorsinsilence.
‘NathanisdefinitelyhappiernowIapparentlylooklikeabloke,’hesaid.‘Althoughhedidpointoutthat,havingrestoredmyfacetoitsformerstate,Iwillnowneedshavingeveryday.’
‘Oh,’Isaid.
‘Youdon’tmind,doyou?WeekendsI’lljusthavetoputupwithdesignerstubble.’
Icouldn’ttalktohim.Ifounditdifficulteventomeethiseye.Itwaslikefindingoutyourboyfriendhadbeenunfaithful.Ifelt,weirdly,asifhehadbetrayedme.
‘Clark?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You’rehavinganotherunnervinglyquietday.Whathappenedto“chattytothepointofvaguelyirritating?”’
‘Sorry,’Isaid.
‘RunningManagain?What’shedonenow?Hehasn’tgoneandrunoff,hashe?’
‘No.’ItookasoftsliceofWill’shairbetweenmyindexandmiddlefingersandliftedthebladesofthescissorstotrimwhatlayexposedabovethem.Theystilledinmyhand.Howwouldtheydoit?Wouldtheygivehimaninjection?Wasitmedicine?Ordidtheyjustleaveyouinaroomwithaloadofrazors?
‘Youlooktired.Iwasn’tgoingtosayanythingwhenyoucamein,but–hell–youlookterrible.’
‘Oh.’
Howdidtheyassistsomeonewhocouldn’tmovetheirownlimbs?Ifoundmyselfgazingdownathiswrists,whichwerealwayscoveredbylongsleeves.Ihadassumedforweeksthatthiswasbecausehefeltthecoldmorethanwedid.Anotherlie.
‘Clark?’
‘Yes?’
IwasgladIwasbehindhim.Ididn’twanthimtoseemyface.
Hehesitated.Wherethebackofhisneckhadbeencoveredbyhair,itwasevenpalerthantherestofhisskin.Itlookedsoftandwhiteandoddlyvulnerable.
‘Look,I’msorryaboutmysister.Shewas…shewasveryupset,butitdidn’tgivehertherighttoberude.She’sabitdirectsometimes.Doesn’tknowhowmuchsherubspeopleupthewrongway.’Hepaused.‘It’swhyshelikeslivinginAustralia,Ithink.’
‘Youmean,theytelleachotherthetruth?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.Liftyourheadup,please.’
Isnippedandcombed,workingmywaymethodicallyaroundhisheaduntileverysinglehairwaschoppedortrimmedandallthatremainedwasafinesprinklingaroundhisfeet.
Itallbecamecleartomebytheendoftheday.WhileWillwaswatchingtelevisionwithhisfather,ItookasheetofA4paperfromtheprinterandapenfromthejarbythekitchenwindowandwrotedownwhatIwantedtosay.Ifoldedthepaper,foundanenvelope,andleftitonthekitchentable,addressedtohismother.
WhenIleftfortheevening,Willandhisfatherweretalking.Actually,Willwaslaughing.Ipausedinthehallway,mybagovermyshoulder,listening.Whywouldhelaugh?Whatcouldpossiblyprovokemirthgiventhathehadjustamatterofweeksbeforehetookhisownlife?
‘I’moff,’Icalledthroughthedoorway,andstartedwalking.
‘Hey,Clark–’hebegan,butIhadalreadyclosedthedoorbehindme.
IspenttheshortbusridetryingtoworkoutwhatIwasgoingtotellmyparents.TheywouldbefuriousthatIhadleftwhattheywouldseeasaperfectlysuitableandwell-paidjob.Afterherinitialshockmymotherwouldlookpainedanddefendme,suggestingthatithadallbeentoomuch.MyfatherwouldprobablyaskwhyIcouldn’tbemorelikemysister.Heoftendid,eventhoughIwasnottheonewhoruinedherlifebygettingpregnantandhavingtorelyontherestofthefamilyforfinancialsupportandbabysitting.Youweren’tallowedtosayanythinglikethatinourhousebecause,accordingtomymother,itwaslikeimplyingthatThomaswasn’tablessing.AndallbabieswereGod’sblessing,eventhosewhosaidbuggerquitealot,andwhosepresencemeantthathalfthepotentialwageearnersinourfamilycouldn’tactuallygoandgetadecentjob.
Iwouldnotbeabletotellthemthetruth.IknewIowedWillandhisfamilynothing,butIwouldn’tinflictthecuriousgazeoftheneighbourhoodonhim.
AllthesethoughtstumbledaroundmyheadasIgotoffthebusandwalkeddownthehill.AndthenIgottothecornerofourroadandheardtheshouting,felttheslightvibrationintheair,anditwasallbrieflyforgotten.
Asmallcrowdhadgatheredaroundourhouse.Ipickedupmypace,afraidthatsomethinghadhappened,butthenIsawmyparentsontheporch,peeringup,andrealizeditwasn’tourhouseatall.Itwasjustthelatestinalongseriesofsmallwarsthatcharacterizedourneighbours’marriage.
ThatRichardGrishamwasnotthemostfaithfulofhusbandswashardlynewsinourstreet.Butjudgingbythesceneinhisfrontgarden,itmighthavebeentohiswife.
‘YoumusthavethoughtIwasbloodystupid.ShewaswearingyourT-shirt!TheoneIhadmadeforyouforyourbirthday!’
‘Baby…Dympna…it’snotwhatyouthink.’
‘IwentinforyourbloodyScotcheggs!Andthereshewas,wearingit!Boldasbrass!AndIdon’tevenlikeScotcheggs!’
Islowedmypace,pushingmywaythroughthesmallcrowduntilIwasabletogettoourgate,watchingasRichardduckedtoavoidaDVDplayer.Nextcameapairofshoes.
‘Howlonghavetheybeenatit?’
Mymother,heraprontuckedneatlyaroundherwaist,unfoldedherarmsandglanceddownatherwatch.‘It’sagoodthree-quartersofanhour.Bernard,wouldyousayit’sagoodthree-quartersofanhour?’
‘Dependsifyoutimeitfromwhenshethrewtheclothesoutorwhenhecamebackandfoundthem.’
‘I’dsaywhenhecamehome.’
Dadconsideredthis.‘Thenit’sreallyclosertohalfanhour.Shegotagoodlotoutofthewindowinthefirstfifteenminutes,though.’
‘Yourdadsaysifshereallydoeskickhimoutthistimehe’sgoingtoputinabidforRichard’sBlackandDecker.’
Thecrowdhadgrown,andDympnaGrishamshowednosignoflettingup.Ifanything,sheseemedencouragedbytheincreasingsizeofheraudience.
‘Youcantakeheryourfilthybooks,’sheyelled,hurlingashowerofmagazinesoutofthewindow.
Thesepromptedasmallcheeramongthecrowd.
‘SeeifshelikesyousittingintheloowiththoseforhalfofSundayafternoon,eh?’Shedisappearedinside,andthenreappearedatthewindow,haulingthecontentsofalaundrybasketdownontowhatremainedofthelawn.‘Andyourfilthyundercrackers.Seeifshethinksyou’resucha–whatwasit?–hotstudwhenshe’swashingthoseforyoueveryday!’
Richardwasvainlyscoopinguparmfulsofhisstuffasitlandedonthegrass.Hewasyellingsomethingupatthewindow,butagainstthegeneralnoiseandcatcallsitwashardtomakeitout.Asifbrieflyadmittingdefeat,hepushedhiswaythroughthecrowd,unlockedhiscar,hauledanarmfulofhisbelongingsontotherearseat,andshovedthecardoorshut.Oddly,whereashisCDcollectionandvideogameshadbeenquitepopular,noonemadeamoveonhisdirtylaundry.
Crash.Therewasabriefhushashisstereometthepath.
Helookedupindisbelief.‘Youcrazybitch!’
‘You’reshaggingthatdisease-riddencross-eyedtrollfromthegarage,andI’mthecrazybitch?’
Mymotherturnedtomyfather.‘Wouldyoulikeacupoftea,Bernard?Ithinkit’sturningalittlechilly.’
Mydaddidn’ttakehiseyesoffnextdoor.‘Thatwouldbegreat,love.Thankyou.’
ItwasasmymotherwentindoorsthatInoticedthecar.ItwassounexpectedthatatfirstIdidn’trecognizeit–MrsTraynor’sMercedes,navyblue,low-slunganddiscreet.Shepulledup,peeringoutatthesceneonthepavement,andhesitatedamomentbeforesheclimbedout.Shestood,staringatthevarioushouses,perhapscheckingthenumbers.Andthenshesawme.
IslidoutfromtheporchandwasdownthepathbeforeDadcouldaskwhereIwasgoing.MrsTraynorstoodtothesideofthecrowd,gazingatthechaoslikeMarieAntoinetteviewingaloadofriotingpeasants.
‘Domesticdispute,’Isaid.
Shelookedaway,asifalmostembarrassedtohavebeencaughtlooking.‘Isee.’
‘It’safairlyconstructiveonebytheirstandards.They’vebeengoingtomarriageguidance.’
Herelegantwoolsuit,pearlsandexpensivehairwereenoughtomarkheroutinourstreet,amongthesweatpantsandcheapfabricsinbright,chain-storecolours.Sheappearedrigid,worsethanthemorningshehadcomehometofindmesleepinginWill’sroom.IregisteredinsomedistantpartofmymindthatIwasnotgoingtomissCamillaTraynor.
‘IwaswonderingifyouandIcouldhavealittletalk.’Shehadtolifthervoicetobeheardoverthecheering.
MrsGrishamwasnowthrowingoutRichard’sfinewines.EveryexplodingbottlewasgreetedwithsquealsofdelightandanotherheartfeltoutburstofpleadingfromMrGrisham.Ariverofredwineranthroughthefeetofthecrowdandintothegutter.
Iglancedoveratthecrowdandthenbehindmeatthehouse.IcouldnotimaginebringingMrsTraynorintoourfrontroom,withitslitteroftoytrains,Granddadsnoringmutelyinfrontofthetelevision,Mumsprayingair-fresheneraroundtohidethesmellofDad’ssocks,andThomaspoppingbytomurmurbuggeratthenewguest.
‘Um…it’snotagreattime.’
‘Perhapswecouldtalkinmycar?Look,justfiveminutes,Louisa.Surelyyouoweusthat.’
AcoupleofmyneighboursglancedinmydirectionasIclimbedintothecar.IwasluckythattheGrishamswerethehotnewsoftheevening,orImighthavebeenthetopicofconversation.Inourstreet,ifyouclimbedintoanexpensivecaritmeantyouhadeitherpulledafootballerorwerebeingarrestedbyplain-clothespolice.
Thedoorsclosedwithanexpensive,mutedclunkandsuddenlytherewassilence.Thecarsmeltofleather,andtherewasnothinginitapartfrommeandMrsTraynor.Nosweetwrappers,mud,losttoysorperfumeddanglythingstodisguisethesmellofthecartonofmilkthathadbeendroppedintherethreemonthsearlier.
‘IthoughtyouandWillgotonwell.’Shespokeasifaddressingsomeonestraightaheadofher.WhenIdidn’tspeak,shesaid,‘Isthereaproblemwiththemoney?’
‘No.’
‘Doyouneedalongerlunchbreak?Iamconsciousthatit’srathershort.IcouldaskNathanifhewould–’
‘It’snotthehours.Orthemoney.’
‘Then–’
‘Idon’treallywantto–’
‘Look,youcannothandinyournoticewithimmediateeffectandexpectmenoteventoaskwhatonearth’sthematter.’
Itookadeepbreath.‘Ioverheardyou.Youandyourdaughter.Lastnight.AndIdon’twantto…Idon’twanttobepartofit.’
‘Ah.’
Wesatinsilence.MrGrishamwasnowtryingtobashhiswayinthroughthefrontdoor,andMrsGrishamwasbusyhurlinganythingshecouldlocatethroughthewindowdownontohishead.Thechoiceofprojectilemissiles–looroll,tamponboxes,toiletbrush,shampoobottles–suggestedshewasnowinthebathroom.
‘Please,don’tleave,’MrsTraynorsaid,quietly.‘Williscomfortablewithyou.Moresothanhe’sbeenforsometime.I…itwouldbeveryhardforustoreplicatethatwithsomeoneelse.’
‘Butyou’re…you’regoingtotakehimtothatplacewherepeoplecommitsuicide.Dignitas.’
‘No.IamgoingtodoeverythingIcantoensurehedoesn’tdothat.’
‘Likewhat–praying?’
Shegavemewhatmymotherwouldhavetermedan‘old-fashioned’look.‘YoumustknowbynowthatifWilldecidestomakehimselfunreachable,thereislittleanybodycandoaboutit.’
‘Iworkeditallout,’Isaid.‘I’mbasicallytherejusttomakesurehedoesn’tcheatanddoitbeforehissixmonthsareup.That’sit,isn’tit?’
‘No.That’snotit.’
‘Whichiswhyyoudidn’tcareaboutmyqualifications.’
‘Ithoughtyouwerebrightandcheerfulanddifferent.Youdidn’tlooklikeanurse.Youdidn’tbehave…likeanyoftheothers.Ithought…Ithoughtyoumightcheerhimup.Andyoudo–youdocheerhimup,Louisa.Seeinghimwithoutthatawfulbeardyesterday…youseemtobeoneofthefewpeoplewhoareabletogetthroughtohim.’
Thebeddingcameoutofthewindow.Itcamedowninaball,thesheetsextendingthemselvesbrieflyandgracefullybeforetheyhittheground.Twochildrenpickedoneupandbeganrunningaroundthelittlegardenwithitovertheirheads.
‘Don’tyouthinkitwouldhavebeenfairtomentionthatIwasbasicallyonsuicidewatch?’
ThesighCamillaTraynorgavewasthesoundofsomeoneforcedtoexplainsomethingpolitelytoanimbecile.Iwonderedifsheknewthateverythingshesaidmadetheotherpersonfeellikeanidiot.Iwonderedifitwassomethingshe’dactuallycultivateddeliberately.Ididn’tthinkIcouldevermanagetomakesomeonefeelinferior.
‘Thatmighthavebeenthecasewhenwefirstmetyou…butI’mconfidentWillisgoingtosticktohisword.Hehaspromisedmesixmonths,andthat’swhatI’llget.Weneedthistime,Louisa.Weneedthistimetogivehimtheideaoftherebeingsomepossibility.Iwashopingitmightplanttheideathatthereisalifehecouldenjoy,evenifitwasn’tthelifehehadplanned.’
‘Butit’salllies.You’veliedtomeandyou’realllyingtoeachother.’
Shedidn’tseemtohearme.Sheturnedtofaceme,pullingachequebookfromherhandbag,apenreadyinherhand.
‘Look,whatdoyouwant?Iwilldoubleyourmoney.Tellmehowmuchyouwant.’
‘Idon’twantyourmoney.’
‘Acar.Somebenefits.Bonuses–’
‘No–’
‘Then…whatcanIdothatmightchangeyourmind?’
‘I’msorry.Ijustdon’t–’
Imadetogetoutofthecar.Herhandshotout.Itsatthereonmyarm,strangeandradioactive.Webothstaredatit.
‘Yousignedacontract,MissClark,’shesaid.‘Yousignedacontractwhereyoupromisedtoworkforusforsixmonths.Bymycalculationsyouhaveonlydonetwo.Iamsimplyrequiringyoutofulfilyourcontractualobligations.’
Hervoicehadbecomebrittle.IlookeddownatMrsTraynor’shandandsawthatitwastrembling.
Sheswallowed.‘Please.’
Myparentswerewatchingfromtheporch.Icouldseethem,mugspoisedintheirhands,theonlytwopeoplefacingawayfromthetheatrenextdoor.TheyturnedawayawkwardlywhentheysawthatIhadnoticedthem.Dad,Irealized,waswearingthetartanslipperswiththepaintsplodges.
Ipushedthehandleofthedoor.‘MrsTraynor,Ireallycan’tsitbyandwatch…it’stooweird.Idon’twanttobepartofthis.’
‘Justthinkaboutit.TomorrowisGoodFriday–I’lltellWillyouhaveafamilycommitmentifyoureallyjustneedsometime.TaketheBankHolidayweekendtothinkaboutit.Butplease.Comeback.Comebackandhelphim.’
Iwalkedbackintothehousewithoutlookingback.Isatinthelivingroom,staringatthetelevisionwhilemyparentsfollowedmein,exchangedglancesandpretendednottobewatchingme.
ItwasalmostelevenminutesbeforeIfinallyheardMrsTraynor’scarstartupanddriveaway.
Mysisterconfrontedmewithinfiveminutesofarrivinghome,thunderingupthestairsandthrowingopenthedoorofmyroom.
‘Yes,docomein,’Isaid.Iwaslyingonthebed,mylegsstretchedupthewall,staringattheceiling.Iwaswearingtightsandbluesequinnedshorts,whichnowloopedunattractivelyaroundthetopsofmylegs.
Katrinastoodinthedoorway.‘Isittrue?’
‘ThatDympnaGrishamhasfinallythrownouthercheatingno-goodphilanderinghusbandand–’
‘Don’tbesmart.Aboutyourjob.’
Itracedthepatternofthewallpaperwithmybigtoe.‘Yes,Ihandedinmynotice.Yes,IknowMumandDadarenottoohappyaboutit.Yes,yes,yestowhateveritisyou’regoingtothrowatme.’
Sheclosedthedoorcarefullybehindher,thensatdownheavilyontheendofmybedandsworelustily.‘Idon’tbloodybelieveyou.’
SheshovedmylegssothatIsliddownthewall,endingupalmostlyingonthebed.Ipushedmyselfupright.‘Ow.’
Herfacewaspuce.‘Idon’tbelieveyou.Mum’sinbitsdownstairs.Dad’spretendingnottobe,butheistoo.Whataretheysupposedtodoaboutmoney?YouknowDad’salreadypanickingaboutwork.Whythehellwouldyouthrowawayaperfectlygoodjob?’
‘Don’tlectureme,Treen.’
‘Well,someone’sgotto!You’renevergoingtogetanythinglikethatmoneyanywhereelse.Andhow’sitgoingtolookonyourCV?’
‘Oh,don’tpretendthisisaboutanythingotherthanyouandwhatyouwant.’
‘What?’
‘Youdon’tcarewhatIdo,aslongasyoucanstillgoandresurrectyourhigh-flyingcareer.Youjustneedmethereproppingupthefamilyfundsandprovidingthebloodychildcare.Sodeveryoneelse.’IknewIsoundedmeanandnastybutIcouldn’thelpmyself.Itwasmysister’splightthathadgotusintothismess,afterall.Yearsofresentmentbegantooozeoutofme.‘We’veallgottostickatjobswehatejustsothatlittleKatrinacanfulfilherbloodyambitions.’
‘Itisnotaboutme.’
‘No?’
‘No,it’saboutyounotbeingabletostickattheonedecentjobyou’vebeenofferedinmonths.’
‘Youknownothingaboutmyjob,okay?’
‘Iknowitpaidwellabovetheminimumwage.WhichisallIneedtoknowaboutit.’
‘Noteverythinginlifeisaboutthemoney,youknow.’
‘Yes?YougodownstairsandtellMumandDadthat.’
‘Don’tyoudarebloodylecturemeaboutmoneywhenyouhaven’tpaidasoddingthingtowardsthishouseforyears.’
‘YouknowIcan’taffordmuchbecauseofThomas.’
Ibegantoshovemysisteroutofthedoor.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIactuallylaidahandonher,butrightthenIwantedtopunchsomeonequitebadlyandIwasafraidofwhatIwoulddoifshestayedthereinfrontofme.‘Justpissoff,Treen.Okay?Justpissoffandleavemealone.’
Islammedthedoorinmysister’sface.AndwhenIfinallyheardherwalkingslowlybackdownthestairs,Ichosenottothinkaboutwhatshewouldsaytomyparents,aboutthewaytheywouldalltreatthisasfurtherevidenceofmycatastrophicinabilitytodoanythingofanyworth.IchosenottothinkaboutSyedattheJobCentreandhowIwouldexplainmyreasonsforleavingthismostwellpaidofmenialjobs.Ichosenottothinkaboutthechickenfactoryandhowsomewhere,deepwithinitsbowels,therewasprobablyasetofplasticoveralls,andahygienecapwithmynamestillonit.
IlaybackandIthoughtaboutWill.Ithoughtabouthisangerandhissadness.Ithoughtaboutwhathismotherhadsaid–thatIwasoneoftheonlypeopleabletogetthroughtohim.Ithoughtabouthimtryingnottolaughatthe‘MolahonkeySong’onanightwhenthesnowdriftedgoldpastthewindow.Ithoughtaboutthewarmskinandsofthairandhandsofsomeoneliving,someonewhowasfarclevererandfunnierthanIwouldeverbeandwhostillcouldn’tseeabetterfuturethantoobliteratehimself.Andfinally,myheadpressedintothepillow,Icried,becausemylifesuddenlyseemedsomuchdarkerandmorecomplicatedthanIcouldeverhaveimagined,andIwishedIcouldgoback,backtowhenmybiggestworrywaswhetherFrankandIhadorderedinenoughChelseabuns.
Therewasaknockonthedoor.
Iblewmynose.‘Pissoff,Katrina.’
‘I’msorry.’
Istaredatthedoor.
Hervoicewasmuffled,asifherlipswerecloseuptothekeyhole.‘I’vegotwine.Look,letmeinforGod’ssake,orMumwillhearme.I’vegottwoBobtheBuildermugsstuckupmyjumper,andyouknowhowshegetsaboutusdrinkingupstairs.’
Iclimbedoffthebedandopenedthedoor.
Sheglancedupatmytear-stainedface,andswiftlyclosedthebedroomdoorbehindher.‘Okay,’shesaid,wrenchingoffthescrewtopandpouringmeamugofwine,‘whatreallyhappened?’
Ilookedatmysisterhard.‘Youmustn’ttellanyonewhatI’mabouttotellyou.NotDad.EspeciallynotMum.’
ThenItoldher.
Ihadtotellsomeone
ThereweremanywaysinwhichIdislikedmysister.AfewyearsagoIcouldhaveshownyouwholescribbledlistsIhadwrittenonthatverytopic.Ihatedherforthefactthatshegotthick,straighthair,whileminebreaksoffifitgrowsbeyondmyshoulders.Ihatedherforthefactthatyoucannevertellheranythingthatshedoesn’talreadyknow.Ihatedthefactthatformywholeschoolcareerteachersinsistedontellingmeinhushedtoneshowbrightshewas,asifherbrilliancewouldn’tmeanthatbydefaultIlivedinapermanentshadow.Ihatedherforthefactthatattheageoftwenty-sixIlivedinaboxroominasemi-detachedhousejustsoshecouldhaveherillegitimatesoninwithherinthebiggerbedroom.ButeverynowandthenIwasverygladindeedthatshewasmysister.
BecauseKatrinadidn’tshriekinhorror.Shedidn’tlookshocked,orinsistthatItellMumandDad.Shedidn’toncetellmeI’ddonethewrongthingbywalkingaway.
Shetookahugeswigofherdrink.‘Jeez.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’slegalaswell.It’snotasiftheycanstophim.’
‘Iknow.’
‘Fuck.Ican’tevengetmyheadaroundit.’
Wehaddownedtwoglassesjustinthetellingofit,andIcouldfeeltheheatrisinginmycheeks.‘Ihatethethoughtofleavinghim.ButIcan’tbepartofthis,Treen.Ican’t.’
‘Mmm.’Shewasthinking.Mysisteractuallyhasa‘thinkingface’.Itmakespeoplewaitbeforespeakingtoher.DadsaysmythinkingfacemakesitlooklikeIwanttogototheloo.
‘Idon’tknowwhattodo,’Isaid.
Shelookedupatme,herfacesuddenlybrightening.‘It’ssimple.’
‘Simple.’
Shepouredusanotherglasseach.‘Oops.Weseemtohavefinishedthisalready.Yes.Simple.They’vegotmoney,right?’
‘Idon’twanttheirmoney.Sheofferedmearaise.It’snotthepoint.’
‘Shutup.Notforyou,idiotgirl.They’llhavetheirownmoney.Andhe’sprobablygotashedloadofinsurancefromtheaccident.Well,youtellthemthatyouwantabudgetandthenyouusethatmoney,andyouusethe–whatwasit?–fourmonthsyou’vegotleft.AndyouchangeWillTraynor’smind.’
‘What?’
‘Youchangehismind.Yousaidhespendsmostofhistimeindoors,right?Well,startwithsomethingsmall,thenonceyou’vegothimoutandaboutagain,youthinkofeveryfabulousthingyoucoulddoforhim,everythingthatmightmakehimwanttolive–adventures,foreigntravel,swimmingwithdolphins,whatever–andthenyoudoit.Icanhelpyou.I’lllookthingsupontheinternetatthelibrary.Ibetwecouldcomeupwithsomebrilliantthingsforhimtodo.Thingsthatwouldreallymakehimhappy.’
Istaredather.
‘Katrina–’
‘Yeah.Iknow.’Shegrinned,asIstartedtosmile.‘I’mafuckinggenius.’10
Theylookedabitsurprised.Actually,that’sanunderstatement.MrsTraynorlookedstunned,andthenabitdisconcerted,andthenherwholefaceclosedoff.Herdaughter,curledupnexttoheronthesofa,justglowered–thekindoffaceMumusedtowarnmewouldstickinplaceifthewindchanged.Itwasn’tquitetheenthusiasticresponseI’dbeenhopingfor.
‘Butwhatisityouactuallywanttodo?’
‘Idon’tknowyet.Mysisterisgoodatresearchingstuff.She’stryingtofindoutwhat’spossibleforquadriplegics.ButIreallywantedtofindoutfromyouwhetheryouwouldbewillingtogowithit.’
Wewereintheirdrawingroom.ItwasthesameroomIhadbeeninterviewedin,exceptthistimeMrsTraynorandherdaughterwereperchedonthesofa,theirslobberyolddogbetweenthem.MrTraynorwasstandingbythefire.IwaswearingmyFrenchpeasant’sjacketinindigodenim,aminidressandapairofarmyboots.Withhindsight,Irealized,Icouldhavepickedamoreprofessional-lookinguniforminwhichtooutlinemyplan.
‘Letmegetthisstraight.’CamillaTraynorleantforward.‘YouwanttotakeWillawayfromthishouse.’
‘Yes.’
‘Andtakehimonaseriesof“adventures”.’ShesaiditlikeIwassuggestingperformingamateurkeyholesurgeryonhim.
‘Yes.LikeIsaid,I’mnotsurewhat’spossibleyet.Butit’saboutjustgettinghimoutandabout,wideninghishorizons.Theremaybesomelocalthingswecoulddoatfirst,andthenhopefullysomethingfurtherafieldbeforetoolong.’
‘Areyoutalkingaboutgoingabroad?’
‘Abroad…?’Iblinked.‘Iwasthinkingmoreaboutmaybegettinghimtothepub.Ortoashow,justforstarters.’
‘Willhasbarelyleftthishouseintwoyears,apartfromhospitalappointments.’
‘Well,yes…IthoughtI’dtryandpersuadehimotherwise.’
‘Andyouwould,ofcourse,goonalltheseadventureswithhim,’GeorginaTraynorsaid.
‘Look.It’snothingextraordinary.I’mreallytalkingaboutjustgettinghimoutofthehouse,tostartwith.Awalkaroundthecastle,oravisittothepub.IfweendupswimmingwithdolphinsinFlorida,thenthat’slovely.ButreallyIjustwantedtogethimoutofthehouseandthinkingaboutsomethingelse.’Ididn’taddthatthemerethoughtofdrivingtothehospitalinsolechargeofWillwasstillenoughtobringmeoutinacoldsweat.Thethoughtoftakinghimabroadfeltaslikelyasmerunningamarathon.
‘Ithinkit’sasplendididea,’MrTraynorsaid.‘IthinkitwouldbemarvelloustogetWilloutandabout.Youknowitcan’thavebeengoodforhimstaringatthefourwallsdayinanddayout.’
‘Wehavetriedtogethimout,Steven,’MrsTraynorsaid.‘It’snotasifwe’velefthimintheretorot.I’vetriedagainandagain.’
‘Iknowthat,darling,butwehaven’tbeenterriblysuccessful,havewe?IfLouisaherecanthinkupthingsthatWillispreparedtotry,thenthatcanonlybeagoodthing,surely?’
‘Yes,well,“preparedtotry”beingtheoperativephrase.’
‘It’sjustanidea,’Isaid.Ifeltsuddenlyirritated.Icouldseewhatshewasthinking.‘Ifyoudon’twantmetodoit…’
‘…you’llleave?’Shelookedstraightatme.
Ididn’tlookaway.Shedidn’tfrightenmeanymore.BecauseIknewnowshewasnobetterthanme.Shewasawomanwhocouldsitbackandlethersondierightinfrontofher.
‘Yes,Iprobablywill.’
‘Soit’sblackmail.’
‘Georgina!’
‘Well,let’snotbeataroundthebushhere,Daddy.’
Isatupalittlestraighter.‘No.Notblackmail.It’saboutwhatI’mpreparedtobepartof.Ican’tsitbyandjustquietlywaitoutthetimeuntil…Will…well…’Myvoicetailedoff.
Weallstaredatourcupsoftea.
‘LikeIsaid,’MrTraynorsaidfirmly.‘Ithinkit’saverygoodidea.IfyoucangetWilltoagreetoit,Ican’tseethatthere’sanyharmatall.I’dlovetheideaofhimgoingonholiday.Just…justletusknowwhatyouneedustodo.’
‘I’vegotanidea.’MrsTraynorputahandonherdaughter’sshoulder.‘Perhapsyoucouldgoonholidaywiththem,Georgina.’
‘Finebyme,’Isaid.Itwas.BecausemychancesofgettingWillawayonholidaywereaboutthesameasmecompetingonMastermind
GeorginaTraynorshifteduncomfortablyinherseat.‘Ican’t.YouknowIstartmynewjobintwoweeks.Iwon’tbeabletocomeovertoEnglandagainforabitonceI’vestarted.’
‘You’regoingbacktoAustralia?’
‘Don’tsoundsosurprised.Ididtellyouthiswasjustavisit.’
‘Ijustthoughtthat…given…givenrecentevents,youmightwanttostayhereabitlonger.’CamillaTraynorstaredatherdaughterinawaysheneverstaredatWill,nomatterhowrudehewastoher.
‘It’sareallygoodjob,Mummy.It’stheoneI’vebeenworkingtowardsforthelasttwoyears.’Sheglancedoveratherfather.‘Ican’tputmywholelifeonholdjustbecauseofWill’smentalstate.’
Therewasalongsilence.
‘Thisisn’tfair.Ifitwasmeinthechair,wouldyouhaveaskedWilltoputallhisplansonhold?’
MrsTraynordidn’tlookatherdaughter.Iglanceddownatmylist,readingandrereadingthefirstparagraph.
‘Ihavealifetoo,youknow.’Itcameoutlikeaprotest.
‘Let’sdiscussthissomeothertime.’MrTraynor’shandlandedonhisdaughter’sshoulderandsqueezeditgently.
‘Yes,let’s.’MrsTraynorbegantoshufflethepapersinfrontofher.‘Right,then.Iproposewedoitlikethis.Iwanttoknoweverythingyouareplanning,’shesaid,lookingupatme.‘Iwanttodothecostingsand,ifpossible,I’dlikeaschedulesothatIcantryandplansometimeofftocomealongwithyou.IhavesomeunusedholidayentitlementleftthatIcan–’
‘No.’
WeallturnedtolookatMrTraynor.Hewasstrokingthedog’sheadandhisexpressionwasgentle,buthisvoicewasfirm.‘No.Idon’tthinkyoushouldgo,Camilla.Willshouldbeallowedtodothisbyhimself.’
‘Willcan’tdoitbyhimself,Steven.ThereisanawfullotthatneedstobeconsideredwhenWillgoesanywhere.It’scomplicated.Idon’tthinkwecanreallyleaveitto–’
‘No,darling,’herepeated.‘Nathancanhelp,andLouisacanmanagejustfine.’
‘But–’
‘Willneedstobeallowedtofeellikeaman.Thatisnotgoingtobepossibleifhismother–orhissister,forthatmatter–isalwaysonhand.’
IfeltbrieflysorryforMrsTraynorthen.Shestillworethathaughtylookofhers,butIcouldseeunderneaththatsheseemedalittlelost,asifshecouldn’tquiteunderstandwhatherhusbandwasdoing.Herhandwenttohernecklace.
‘Iwillmakesurehe’ssafe,’Isaid.‘AndIwillletyouknoweverythingwe’replanningondoing,wellinadvance.’
Herjawwassorigidthatalittlemusclewasvisiblejustunderneathhercheekbone.Iwonderedifsheactuallyhatedmethen.
‘IwantWilltowanttolivetoo,’Isaid,finally.
‘Wedounderstandthat,’MrTraynorsaid.‘Andwedoappreciateyourdetermination.Anddiscretion.’IwonderedwhetherthatwordwasinrelationtoWill,orsomethingelseentirely,andthenhestoodupandIrealizedthatitwasmysignaltoleave.Georginaandhermotherstillsatonthesofa,sayingnothing.IgotthefeelingtherewasgoingtobeawholelotmoreconversationonceIwasoutoftheroom.
‘Right,then,’Isaid.‘I’lldrawyouupthepaperworkassoonasI’veworkeditalloutinmyhead.Itwillbesoon.Wehaven’tmuch…’
MrTraynorpattedmyshoulder.
‘Iknow.Justletusknowwhatyoucomeupwith,’hesaid.
Treenawasblowingonherhands,herfeetmovinginvoluntarilyupanddown,asifmarchingonthespot.Shewaswearingmydark-greenberet,which,annoyingly,lookedmuchbetteronherthanitdidonme.Sheleantoverandpointedatthelistshehadjustpulledfromherpocket,andhandedittome.
‘You’reprobablygoingtohavetoscratchnumberthree,oratleastputthatoffuntilitgetswarmer.’
Icheckedthelist.‘Quadriplegicbasketball?I’mnotevensureifhelikesbasketball.’
‘That’snotthepoint.Bloodyhell,it’scolduphere.’Shepulledtheberetloweroverherears.‘Thepointis,itwillgivehimachancetoseewhat’spossible.Hecanseethatthereareotherpeoplejustasbadlyoffashimwhoaredoingsportsandthings.’
‘I’mnotsure.Hecan’tevenliftacup.Ithinkthesepeoplemustbeparaplegic.Ican’tseethatyoucouldthrowaballwithouttheuseofyourarms.’
‘You’remissingthepoint.Hedoesn’thavetoactuallydoanything,butit’saboutwideninghishorizons,right?We’relettinghimseewhatotherhandicappedpeoplearedoing.’
‘Ifyousayso.’
Alowmurmurroseinthecrowd.Therunnershadbeensighted,somedistanceaway.IfIwentontotiptoes,Icouldjustmakethemout,probablytwomilesaway,downinthevalley,asmallblockofbobbingwhitedotsforcingtheirwaythroughthecoldalongadamp,greyroad.Iglancedatmywatch.Wehadbeenstandinghereonthebrowoftheaptly
‘I’velookedupwhat’slocaland,ifyoudidn’twanttodrivetoofar,there’samatchatthesportscentreinacoupleofweeks.Hecouldevenhaveabetontheresult.’
‘Betting?’
‘Thatwayhecouldgetabitinvolvedwithoutevenhavingtoplay.Ohlook,theretheyare.Howlongdoyouthinkthey’lltaketogettous?’
Westoodbythefinish.Aboveourheadsatarpaulinbannerannouncingthe‘SpringTriathlonFinishLine’flappedwanlyinthestiffbreeze.
‘Dunno.Twentyminutes?Longer?I’vegotanemergencyMarsBarifyouwanttoshare.’Ireachedintomypocket.Itwasimpossibletostopthelistflappingwithonlyonehand.‘Sowhatelsedidyoucomeupwith?’
‘Yousaidyouwantedtogofurtherafield,right?’Shepointedatmyfingers.‘You’vegivenyourselfthebiggerbit.’
‘Takethisbitthen.IthinkthefamilythinkI’mfree-loading.’
‘What,becauseyouwanttotakehimonafewcrummydaysout?Jesus.Theyshouldbegratefulsomeone’smakingtheeffort.It’snotliketheyare.’
TreenatooktheotherpieceofMarsBar.‘Anyway.Numberfive,Ithinkitis.There’sacomputercoursethathecoulddo.Theyputathingontheirheadwith,like,astickonit,andtheynodtheirheadtotouchthekeyboard.Thereareloadsofquadriplegicgroupsonline.Hecouldmakelotsofnewfriendsthatway.Itwouldmeanhedoesn’talwayshavetoactuallyleavethehouse.Ievenspoketonormal.’
WeateourMarsBarhalvesinsilence,watchingasthegroupofmiserable-lookingrunnersdrewcloser.Icouldn’tseePatrick.Inevercould.Hehadthekindoffacethatbecameinstantlyinvisibleincrowds.
Shepointedatthebitofpaper.
‘Anyway,headfortheculturalsection.There’saconcertspeciallyforpeoplewithdisabilitieshere.Yousaidhe’scultured,right?Well,hecouldjustsitthereandbetransportedbythemusic.That’smeanttotakeyououtofyourself,right?Derekwiththemoustache,atwork,toldmeaboutit.Hesaiditcangetnoisybecauseofthereallydisabledpeoplewhoyellabit,butI’msurehe’dstillenjoyit.’
Iwrinkledmynose.‘Idon’tknow,Treen–’
‘You’rejustfrightenedbecauseIsaid“culture”.Youonlyhavetosittherewithhim.Andnotrustleyourcrisppacket.Or,ifyoufanciedsomethingabitsaucier…’Shegrinnedatme.‘There’sastripclub.YoucouldtakehimtoLondonforthat.’
‘Takemyemployertowatchastripper?’
‘Well,yousayyoudoeverythingelseforhim–allthecleaningandfeedingandstuff.Ican’tseewhyyouwouldn’tjustsitbyhimwhilehegetsastiffy.’
‘Treena!’
‘Well,hemustmissit.Youcouldevenbuyhimalapdance.’
Severalpeoplearoundusinthecrowdswivelledtheirheads.Mysisterwaslaughing.Shecouldtalkaboutsexlikethat.Likeitwassomekindofrecreationalactivity.Likeitdidn’tmatter.
‘Andthenontheotherside,therearethebiggertrips.Don’tknowwhatyoufancied,butyoucoulddowinetastingintheLoire…that’snottoofarforstarters.’
‘Canquadriplegicsgetdrunk?’
‘Idon’tknow.Askhim.’
Ifrownedatthelist.‘So…I’llgobackandtelltheTraynorsthatI’mgoingtogettheirsuicidalquadriplegicsondrunk,spendtheirmoneyonstrippersandlapdancers,andthentrundlehimofftotheDisabilityOlympics–’
Treenasnatchedthelistbackfromme.‘Well,Idon’tseeyoucomingupwithanythingmorebloodyinspirational.’
‘Ijustthought…Idon’tknow.’Irubbedatmynose.‘I’mfeelingabitdaunted,tobehonest.Ihavetroubleevenpersuadinghimtogointothegarden.’
‘Well,that’shardlytheattitude,isit?Oh,look.Heretheycome.We’dbettersmile.’
Wepushedourwaythroughtothefrontofthecrowdandbegantocheer.Itwasquitehardcomingupwiththerequiredamountofmotivatingnoisewhenyoucouldbarelymoveyourlipswithcold.
IsawPatrickthen,hisheaddowninaseaofstrainingbodies,hisfaceglisteningwithsweat,everysinewofhisneckstretchedandhisfaceanguishedasifhewereenduringsomekindoftorture.Thatsamefacewouldbecompletelyilluminatedassoonashecrossedthefinish,asifitwereonlybyplumbingsomepersonaldepthsthathecouldachieveahigh.Hedidn’tseeme.
‘Go,Patrick!’Iyelled,weakly.
Andheflashedby,towardsthefinishingline.
Treenadidn’ttalktomefortwodaysafterIfailedtoshowtherequiredenthusiasmforher‘ToDo’list.Myparentsdidn’tnotice;theywerejustoverjoyedtohearthatIhaddecidednottoleavemyjob.Managementhadcalledaseriesofmeetingsatthefurniturefactoryfortheendofthatweek,andDadwasconvincedthathewouldbeamongthosemaderedundant.Nobodyhadyetsurvivedthecullovertheageofforty.
‘We’reverygratefulforyourhousekeeping,love,’Mumsaid,sooftenthatitmademefeelabituncomfortable.
Itwasafunnyweek.Treenabeganpackingforhercourse,andeachdayIhadtosneakupstairstogothroughthebagsshehadalreadypackedtoseewhichofmypossessionssheplannedtotakewithher.Mostofmyclothesweresafe,butsofarIhadrecoveredahairdryer,myfakePradasunglassesandmyfavouritewashbagwiththelemonsonit.IfI
ThatwasTreenaallover.Shefeltentitled.EventhoughThomashadcomealong,shehadneverquitelostthatsenseofbeingthebabyofthefamily–thedeep-rootedfeelingthatthewholeworldactuallydidrevolvearoundher.Whenwehadbeenlittleandshehadthrownahugestropbecauseshewantedsomethingofmine,Mumwouldpleadwithmeto‘justletherhaveit’,ifonlyforsomepeaceinthehouse.Nearlytwentyyearson,nothinghadreallychanged.WehadtobabysitThomassothatTreenacouldstillgoout,feedhimsothatTreenadidn’thavetoworry,buyherextra-nicepresentsatbirthdaysandChristmas‘becauseThomasmeanssheoftengoeswithout’.Well,shecouldgowithoutmybloodylemonswashbag.Istuckanoteonmydoorwhichread:‘MystuffisMINE.GOAWAY.’TreenarippeditoffandtoldMumIwasthebiggestchildshehadevermetandthatThomashadmorematurityinhislittlefingerthanIdid.
Butitgotmethinking.Oneevening,afterTreenahadgoneouttohernightclass,IsatinthekitchenwhileMumsortedDad’sshirtsreadyforironing.
‘Mum…’
‘Yes,love.’
‘DoyouthinkIcouldmoveintoTreena’sroomonceshe’sgone?’
Mumpaused,ahalf-foldedshirtpressedtoherchest.‘Idon’tknow.Ihadn’treallythoughtaboutit.’
‘Imean,ifsheandThomasarenotgoingtobehere,it’sonlyfairthatIshouldbeallowedaproper-sizedbedroom.Itseemssilly,itsittingempty,ifthey’regoingofftocollege.’
Mumnodded,andplacedtheshirtcarefullyinthelaundrybasket.‘Isupposeyou’reright.’
‘Andbyrights,thatroomshouldhavebeenmine,whatwithmebeingtheelderandall.It’sonlybecauseshehadThomasthatshegotitatall.’
Shecouldseethesenseinit.‘That’strue.I’lltalktoTreenaaboutit,’shesaid.
Isupposewithhindsightitwouldhavebeenagoodideatomentionittomysisterfirst.
Threehourslatershecameburstingintothelivingroomwithafacelikethunder.
‘Wouldyoujumpinmygravesoquickly?’
Granddadjerkedawakeinhischair,hishandreflexivelyclaspedtohischest.
Ilookedupfromthetelevision.‘Whatareyoutalkingabout?’
‘WherearemeandThomassupposedtogoatweekends?Wecan’tbothfitintheboxroom.There’snotevenenoughroomintherefortwobeds.’
‘Exactly.AndI’vebeenstuckinthereforfiveyears.’TheknowledgethatIwaseversoslightlyinthewrongmademesoundpricklierthanIhadintended.
‘Youcan’ttakemyroom.It’snotfair.’
‘You’renotevengoingtobeinit!’
‘ButIneedit!There’snowaymeandThomascanfitintheboxroom.Dad,tellher!’
Dad’schindescendedtosomewheredeepinhiscollar,hisarmsfoldedacrosshischest.Hehateditwhenwefought,andtendedtoleaveittoMumtosortout.‘Turnitdownabit,girls,’hesaid.
Granddadshookhishead,asifwewereallincomprehensibletohim.Granddadshookhisheadatanawfullotthesedays.
‘Idon’tbelieveyou.Nowonderyouweresokeentohelpmeleave.’
‘What?SoyoubeggingmetokeepmyjobsothatIcanhelpyououtfinanciallyisnowpartofmysinisterplan,isit?’
‘You’resotwo-faced.’
‘Katrina,calmdown.’Mumappearedinthedoorway,herrubberglovesdrippingfoamywaterontotheliving-roomcarpet.‘Wecantalkaboutthiscalmly.Idon’twantyougettingGranddadallwoundup.’
Katrina’sfacehadgoneblotchy,thewayitdidwhenshewassmallandshedidn’tgetwhatshewanted.‘Sheactuallywantsmetogo.That’swhatthisis.Shecan’twaitformetogo,becauseshe’sjealousthatI’mactuallydoingsomethingwithmylife.Soshejustwantstomakeitdifficultformetocomehomeagain.’
‘There’snoguaranteeyou’reevengoingtobecominghomeattheweekends,’Iyelled,stung.‘Ineedabedroom,notacupboard,andyou’vehadthebestroomthewholetime,justbecauseyouweredumbenoughtogetyourselfuptheduff.’
‘Louisa!’saidMum.
‘Yes,well,ifyouweren’tsothickthatyoucan’tevengetaproperjob,youcouldhavegotyourownbloodyplace.You’reoldenough.Orwhat’sthematter?You’vefinallyfiguredoutthatPatrickisnevergoingtoaskyou?’
‘That’sit!’Dad’sroarbrokeintothesilence.‘I’veheardenough!Treena,gointothekitchen.Lou,sitdownandshutup.I’vegotenoughstressinmylifewithouthavingtolistentoyoucaterwaulingateachother.’
‘IfyouthinkI’mhelpingyounowwithyourstupidlist,you’vegotanotherthingcoming,’Treenahissedatme,asMummanhandledheroutofthedoor.
‘Good.Ididn’twantyourhelpanyway,freeloader,’Isaid,andthenduckedasDadthrewacopyoftheRadioTimesatmyhead.
OnSaturdaymorningIwenttothelibrary.IthinkIprobablyhadn’tbeenintheresinceIwasatschool–quitepossiblyoutoffearthattheywouldremembertheJudyBlumeIhadlostinYear7,andthataclammy,officialhandwouldreachoutasIpassedthroughitsVictorianpillareddoors,demanding￡3,853infines.
Itwasn’twhatIremembered.HalfthebooksseemedtohavebeenreplacedbyCDsandDVDs,greatbookshelvesfullofaudiobooks,andevenstandsofgreetingscards.Anditwasnotsilent.Thesoundofsingingandclappingfilteredthroughfromthechildren’sbookcorner,wheresomekindofmotherandbabygroupwasinfullswing.Peoplereadmagazinesandchattedquietly.Thesectionwhereoldmenusedtofallasleepoverthefreenewspapershaddisappeared,replacedbyalargeovaltablewithcomputersdottedaroundtheperimeter.Isatdowngingerlyatoneofthese,hopingthatnobodywaswatching.Computers,likebooks,aremysister’sthing.Luckily,theyseemedtohaveanticipatedthesheerterrorfeltbypeoplelikeme.Alibrarianstoppedbymytable,andhandedmeacardandalaminatedsheetwithinstructionsonit.Shedidn’tstandovermyshoulder,justmurmuredthatshewouldbeatthedeskifIneededanyfurtherhelp,andthenitwasjustmeandachairwithawonkycastorandtheblankscreen.
TheonlycomputerIhavehadanycontactwithinyearsisPatrick’s.Heonlyreallyusesittodownloadfitnessplans,ortoordersportstechniquebooksfromAmazon.Ifthereisotherstuffhedoesonthere,Idon’treallywanttoknowaboutit.ButIfollowedthelibrarian’sinstructions,double-checkingeverystageasIcompletedit.And,astonishingly,itworked.Itdidn’tjustwork,butitwaseasy
FourhourslaterIhadthebeginningsofmylist.
AndnobodymentionedtheJudyBlume.Mindyou,thatwasprobablybecauseIhadusedmysister’slibrarycard.
OnthewayhomeInippedintothestationer’sandboughtacalendar.Itwasn’toneofthemonth-to-viewkind,theonesyouflipovertorevealafreshpictureofJustinTimberlakeormountainponies.Itwasawallcalendar–thesortyoumightfindinanoffice,withstaffholidayentitlementmarkedonitinpermanentpen.Iboughtitwiththebriskefficiencyofsomeonewholikednothingbetterthantoimmerseherselfinadministrativetasks.
Inmylittleroomathome,Iopeneditout,pinneditcarefullytothebackofmydoorandmarkedthedatewhenIhadstartedattheTraynors’,waybackatthebeginningofFebruary.ThenIcountedforward,andmarkedthedate–12August–nowbarelyfourmonthsahead.Itookastepbackandstaredatitforawhile,tryingtomakethelittleblackringbearsomeoftheweightofwhatitheralded.AndasIstared,IbegantorealizewhatIwastakingon.
Iwouldhavetofillthoselittlewhiterectangleswithalifetimeofthingsthatcouldgeneratehappiness,contentment,satisfactionorpleasure.IwouldhavetofillthemwitheverygoodexperienceIcouldsummonupforamanwhosepowerlessarmsandlegsmeanthecouldnolongermakethemhappenbyhimself.Ihadjustunderfourmonths’worthofprintedrectanglestopackoutwithdaysout,tripsaway,visitors,lunchesandconcerts.Ihadtocomeupwithallthepracticalwaystomakethemhappen,anddoenoughresearchtomakesurethattheydidn’tfail.
AndthenIhadtoconvinceWilltoactuallydothem.
Istaredatmycalendar,thepenstilledinmyhand.Thislittlepatchoflaminatedpapersuddenlyboreawholeheapofresponsibility.
IhadahundredandseventeendaysinwhichtoconvinceWillTraynorthathehadareasontolive.11
Thereareplaceswherethechangingseasonsaremarkedbymigratingbirds,ortheebbandflowoftides.Here,inourlittletown,itwasthereturnofthetourists.Atfirst,atentativetrickle,steppingofftrainsoroutofcarsinbrightlycolouredwaterproofcoats,clutchingtheirguidebooksandNationalTrustmembership;then,astheairwarmed,andtheseasoncreptforwards,disgorgedalongsidethebelchandhissoftheircoaches,cloggingupthehighstreet,Americans,Japaneseandpacksofforeignschoolchildrenweredottedaroundtheperimeterofthecastle.
Inthewintermonthslittlestayedopen.Thewealthiershopownerstookadvantageofthelongbleakmonthstodisappeartoholidayhomesabroad,whilethemoredeterminedhostedChristmasevents,capitalizingonoccasionalcarolconcertsinthegrounds,orfestivecraftfairs.Butthenasthetemperaturesslidhigher,thecastlecarparkswouldbecomestuddedwithvehicles,thelocalpubschalkupanincreaseinrequestsforaploughman’slunchand,withinafewsunnySundays,wehadmorphedagainfrombeingasleepymarkettownintoatraditionalEnglishtouristdestination.
Iwalkedupthehill,dodgingthisseason’shoveringearlyfewastheyclutchedtheirneoprenebumbagsandwell-thumbedtouristguides,theircamerasalreadypoisedtocapturemementoesofthecastleinspring.Ismiledatafew,pausedtotakephotographsofotherswithprofferedcameras.Somelocalscomplainedaboutthetouristseason–thetrafficjams,theoverwhelmedpublictoilets,thedemandsforstrangecomestiblesinTheButteredBuncafe(‘Youdon’tdosushi?Notevenhandroll?’).ButIdidn’t.Ilikedthebreathofforeignair,theclose-upglimpsesoflivesfarremovedfrommyown.Ilikedtoheartheaccentsandworkoutwheretheirownerscamefrom,tostudytheclothesofpeoplewhohadneverseenaNextcatalogueorboughtafive-packofknickersatMarksandSpencer’s.
‘Youlookcheerful,’Willsaid,asIdroppedmybaginthehallway.Hesaiditasifitwerealmostanaffront.
‘That’sbecauseit’stoday.’
‘Whatis?’
‘Ourouting.We’retakingNathantoseethehorseracing.’
WillandNathanlookedateachother.Ialmostlaughed.Ihadbeensorelievedatthesightoftheweather;onceIsawthesun,Ikneweverythingwasgoingtobeallright.
‘Horseracing?’
‘Yup.Flatracingat–’Ipulledmynotepadfrommypocket‘–Longfield.Ifweleavenowwecanbethereintimeforthethirdrace.AndIhavefivepoundseachwayonManOhMan,sowe’dbettergetamoveon.’
‘Horseracing.’
‘Yes.Nathan’sneverbeen.’
InhonouroftheoccasionIwaswearingmybluequiltedminidress,withthescarfwithhorsebitsaroundtheedgeknottedatmyneck,andapairofleatherridingboots.
Willstudiedmecarefully,thenreversedhischairandswervedsothathecouldbetterseehismalecarer.‘Thisisalong-helddesireofyours,isit,Nathan?’
IgaveNathanawarningglare.
‘Yiss,’hesaid,andbrokeoutasmile.‘Yes,itis.Let’sheadforthegee-gees.’
Ihadprimedhim,ofcourse.IhadrunghimonFridayandaskedhimwhichdayIcouldborrowhimfor.TheTraynorshadagreedtopayhisextrahours(Will’ssisterhadleftforAustralia,andIthinktheywantedtobesurethatsomeone‘sensible’wasgoingtoaccompanyme)butIhadn’tbeensureuntilSundaywhatitactuallywasweweregoingtodo.Thisseemedtheidealstart–anicedayout,lessthanhalfanhour’sdriveaway.
‘AndwhatifIsayIdon’twanttogo?’
‘Thenyouowemefortypounds,’Isaid.
‘Fortypounds?Howdoyouworkthatout?’
‘Mywinnings.Fivepoundseachwayateighttoone.’Ishrugged.‘ManOhMan’sasurething.’
Iseemedtohavegothimoffbalance.
Nathanclappedhishandsontohisknees.‘Soundsgreat.Nicedayforittoo,’hesaid.‘Youwantmetopacksomelunch?’
‘Nah,’Isaid.‘There’sanicerestaurant.Whenmyhorsecomesin,lunchisonme.’
‘You’vebeenracingoften,then?’Willsaid.
Andthenbeforehecouldsayanythingelse,wehadbundledhimintohiscoatandIranoutsidetoreversethecar.
Ihaditallplanned,yousee.Wewouldarriveattheracecourseonabeautifulsunnyday.Therewouldbeburnished,stick-leggedthoroughbreds,theirjockeysinbillowingbrightsilks,careeningpast.Perhapsabrassbandortwo.Thestandswouldbefullofcheeringpeople,andwewouldfindaspacefromwhichtowaveourwinningbettingslips.Will’scompetitivestreakwouldkickinandhewouldbeunabletoresistcalculatingtheoddsandmakingsurehewonmorethaneitherNathanorme.Ihadworkeditallout.Andthen,whenwehadhadenoughofwatchingthehorses,wewouldgotothewell-reviewedracecourserestaurantandhaveaslap-upmeal.
Ishouldhavelistenedtomyfather.‘Wanttoknowthetruedefinitionofthetriumphofhopeoverexperience?’hewouldsay.‘Planafunfamilydayout.’
Itstartedwiththecarpark.Wedrovetherewithoutincident,menowalittlemoreconfidentthatIwasn’tgoingtotipWilloverifIwentfasterthan15mph.Ihadlookedupthedirectionsatthelibrary,andkeptupacheerfulbanteralmostthewholewaythere,commentingonthebeautifulbluesky,thecountryside,thelackoftraffic.Therewerenoqueuestoentertheracecourse,whichwas,admittedly,alittlelessgrandthanIhadexpected,andthecarparkwasclearlymarked.
Butnobodyhadwarnedmeitwasongrass,andgrassthathadbeendrivenoverformuchofawetwinteratthat.Webackedintoaspace(nothard,asitwasonlyhalffull)andalmostassoonastherampwasdownNathanlookedworried.
‘It’stoosoft,’hesaid.‘He’sgoingtosink.’
Iglancedoveratthestands.‘Surely,ifwecangethimontothatpathwaywe’llbeokay?’
‘Itweighsaton,thischair,’hesaid.‘Andthat’sfortyfeetaway.’
‘Oh,comeon.Theymustbuildthesechairstowithstandabitofsoftground.’
IbackedWill’schairdowncarefullyandthenwatchedasthewheelssankseveralinchesintothemud.
Willsaidnothing.Helookeduncomfortable,andhadbeensilentformuchofthehalf-hourdrive.Westoodbesidehim,fiddlingwithhiscontrols.Abreezehadpickedup,andWill’scheeksgrewpink.
‘Comeon,’Isaid.‘We’lldoitmanually.I’msurewecanmanagetogettherebetweenus.’
WetiltedWillbackwards.ItookonehandleandNathantooktheotherandwedraggedthechairtowardsthepath.Itwasslowprogress,notleastbecauseIhadtokeepstoppingbecausemyarmshurtandmypristinebootsgrewthickwithdirt.Whenwefinallymadeittothepathway,Will’sblankethadhalfslippedoffhimandhadsomehowgotcaughtupinhiswheels,leavingonecornertornandmuddy.
‘Don’tworry,’Willsaid,dryly.‘It’sonlycashmere.’
Iignoredhim.‘Right.We’vemadeit.Nowforthefunbit.’
Ahyes.Thefunbit.Whothoughtitwouldbeagoodideaforracecoursestohaveturnstiles?Itwashardlyasiftheyneededcrowdcontrol,surely?It’snotasiftherewerecrowdsofchantingracehorsefans,threateningriotsifCharlie’sDarlingdidn’tmakeitbackinthird,riotingstable-girlswhoneededpenninginandkeepingout.Welookedattheturnstile,andthenbackatWill’schair,andthenNathanandIlookedateachother.
Nathansteppedovertotheticketofficeandexplainedourplighttothewomaninside.ShetiltedherheadtolookatWill,thenpointedustowardsthefarendofthestand.
‘Thedisabledentranceisoverthere,’shesaid.
Shesaiddisabledlikesomeoneenteringadictioncontest.Itwasagood200yardsaway.Bythetimewefinallymadeitovertheretheblueskieshaddisappearedabruptly,replacedbyasuddensquall.Naturally,Ihadn’tbroughtanumbrella.Ikeptuparelentless,cheerfulcommentaryabouthowfunnythiswasandhowridiculous,andeventomyearsIhadbeguntosoundbrittleandirritating.
‘Clark,’saidWill,finally.‘Justchillout,okay?You’rebeingexhausting.’
Weboughtticketsforthestands,andthen,almostfaintwithreliefatfinallyhavinggotthere,IwheeledWillouttoashelteredareajusttothesideofthemainstand.WhileNathansortedoutWill’sdrink,Ihadsometimetolookatourfellowracegoers.
Itwasactuallyquitepleasantatthebaseofthestands,despitetheoccasionalspitofrain.Aboveus,onaglass-frontedbalcony,meninsuitsprofferedchampagneglassestowomeninweddingoutfits.Theylookedwarmandcosy,andIsuspectedthatwasthePremierArea,listednexttosomestratosphericpriceontheboardintheticketkiosk.Theyworelittlebadgesonredthread,markingthemoutasspecial.Iwonderedbrieflyifitwaspossibletocolourourblueonesadifferentshade,butdecidedthatbeingtheonlypeoplewithawheelchairwouldprobablymakeusalittleconspicuous.
Besideus,dottedalongthestandsandclutchingpolystyrenecupsofcoffeeandhipflasks,weremenintweedysuitsandwomeninsmartpaddedcoats.Theylookedalittlemoreeveryday,andtheirlittlebadgeswerebluetoo.Isuspectedthatmanyofthemweretrainersandgrooms,orhorseypeopleofsomesort.Downatthefront,bylittlewhiteboards,stoodthetic-tacmen,theirarmswavinginsomestrangesemaphorethatIcouldn’tunderstand.Theyscribbledupnewcombinationsoffigures,andscrubbedthemoutagainwiththebaseoftheirsleeves.
Andthen,likesomeparodyofaclasssystem,aroundtheparaderingstoodagroupofmeninstripedpoloshirts,whoclutchedbeercansandwhoseemedtobeonsomekindofouting.Theirshavedheadssuggestedsomekindofmilitaryservice.Periodicallytheywouldbreakoutintosong,orbeginsomenoisy,physicalaltercation,rammingeachotherwithbluntheadsorwrappingtheirarmsaroundeachother’snecks.AsIpassedtogototheloo,theycatcalledmeinmyshortskirt(Iappearedtobetheonlypersoninthewholeofthestandsinaskirt)andIflippedthemthefingerbehindmyback.Andthentheylostinterestassevenoreighthorsesbeganskirtingaroundeachother,easedintothestandswithworkmanlikeskill,allpreparingforthenextrace.
AndthenIjumpedasaroundusthesmallcrowdroaredintolifeandthehorsesboltedfromthestartinggate.Istoodandwatchedthemgo,suddenlytransfixed,unabletosuppressaflurryofexcitementatthetailssuddenlystreamingoutbehindthem,thefranticeffortsofthebrightlycolouredmenatopthem,alljostlingforposition.Whenthewinnercrossedthefinishinglineitwasalmostimpossiblenottocheer.
WewatchedtheSisterwoodCup,andthentheMaidenStakes,andNathanwonsixpoundsonasmalleach-waybet.Willdeclinedtobet.Hewatchedeachrace,buthewassilent,hisheadretractedintothehighcollarofhisjacket.Ithoughtperhapshehadbeenindoorssolongthatitwasboundtoallfeelalittleweirdforhim,andIdecidedIwassimplynotgoingtoacknowledgeit.
‘Ithinkthat’syourrace,theHempworthCup,’Nathansaid,glancingupatthescreen.‘Whodidyousayyourmoneywason?ManOhMan?’Hegrinned.‘Ineverknewhowmuchmorefunbettingiswhenyou’reactuallywatchingthehorses.’
‘Youknow,Ididn’ttellyouthis,butI’veneverbeenracingbeforeeither,’ItoldNathan.
‘You’rekiddingme.’
‘I’veneverevenbeenonahorse.Mymumisterrifiedofthem.Wouldn’teventakemetothestables.’
‘Mysister’sgottwo,justoutsideChristchurch.Shetreatsthemlikebabies.Allhermoneygoesonthem.’Heshrugged.‘Andsheisn’tevengoingtoeatthemattheendofit.’
Will’svoicefiltereduptowardsus.‘Sohowmanyraceswillittaketoensurewe’vefulfilledyourlong-heldambitions?’
‘Don’tbegrumpy.Theysayyoushouldtryeverythingonce,’Isaid.
‘Ithinkhorseracingfallsintothe“exceptincestandmorrisdancing”category.’
‘You’retheonealwaystellingmetowidenmyhorizons.You’relovingit,’Isaid.‘Anddon’tpretendotherwise.’
Andthentheywereoff.ManOhManwasinpurplesilkswithayellowdiamond.Iwatchedhimflattenoutaroundthewhiterail,thehorse’sheadextended,thejockey’slegspumping,armsflailingbackwardsandforwardsupthehorse’sneck.
‘Goon,mate!’Nathanhadgotintoit,despitehimself.Hisfistswereclenched,hiseyesfixedontheblurredgroupofanimalsspeedingaroundthefarsideofthetrack.
‘Goon,ManOhMan!’Iyelled.‘We’vegotasteakdinnerridingonyou!’Iwatchedhimvainlytryingtomakeground,hisnostrilsdilated,hisearsbackagainsthishead.Myownheartlurchedintomymouth.Andthen,astheyreachedthefinalfurlong,myyellingbegantodieaway.‘Allright,acoffee,’Isaid.‘I’llsettleforacoffee?’
Aroundmethestandshaderuptedintoshoutingandscreaming.Agirlwasbouncingupanddowntwoseatsalongfromus,hervoicehoarsewithscreeching.IfoundIwasbouncingonmytoes.AndthenIlookeddownandsawthatWill’seyeswereclosed,afaintfurrowseparatinghisbrows.Itoremyattentionfromthetrack,andkneltdown.
‘Areyouokay,Will?’Isaid,movingclosetohim.‘Doyouneedsomething?’Ihadtoyelltomakemyselfheardoverthedin.
‘Scotch,’hesaid.‘Largeone.’
Istaredathim,andheliftedhiseyestomine.Helookedutterlyfedup.
‘Let’sgetsomelunch,’IsaidtoNathan.
ManOhMan,thatfour-leggedimposter,flashedpastthefinishinglineamiserablesixth.Therewasanothercheer,andtheannouncer’svoicecameoverthetannoy:Ladiesandgentlemen,anemphaticwintherefromLoveBeALady,thereinfirstplace,followedbyWinterSun,andBarneyRubbletwolengthsbehindinthirdplace
IpushedWill’schairthroughtheobliviousgroupsofpeople,deliberatelybashingintoheelswhentheyfailedtoreacttomysecondrequest.
WewerejustattheliftwhenIheardWill’svoice.‘So,Clark,doesthismeanyouowemefortypounds?’
Therestauranthadbeenrefurbished,thefoodnowundertheauspicesofatelevisionchefwhosefaceappearedonpostersaroundtheracecourse.Ihadlookedupthemenubeforehand.
‘Thesignaturedishisduckinorangesauce,’Itoldthetwomen.‘It’sSeventiesretro,apparently.’
‘Likeyouroutfit,’saidWill.
Outofthecold,andawayfromthecrowds,heappearedtohavecheeredupalittle.Hehadbeguntolookaroundhim,insteadofretreatingbackintohissolitaryworld.Mystomachbegantorumble,alreadyanticipatingagood,hotlunch.Will’smotherhadgivenuseightypoundsasa‘float’.IhaddecidedIwouldpayformyfoodmyself,andshowherthereceipt,andasaresulthadnofearsatallthatIwasgoingtoordermyselfwhateverIfanciedonthemenu–retroroastduck,orotherwise.
‘Youlikegoingouttoeat,Nathan?’Isaid.
‘I’mmoreofabeerandtakeawaymanmyself,’Nathansaid.‘Happytocometoday,though.’
‘Whendidyoulastgooutforameal,Will?’Isaid.
HeandNathanlookedateachother.‘NotwhileI’vebeenthere,’Nathansaid.
‘Strangely,I’mnotoverlyfondofbeingspoon-fedinfrontofstrangers.’
‘Thenwe’llgetatablewherewecanfaceyouawayfromtheroom,’Isaid.Ihadanticipatedthisone.‘Andifthereareanycelebritiesthere,thatwillbeyourloss.’
‘BecausecelebritiesarethickonthegroundatamuddyminorracecourseinMarch.’
‘You’renotgoingtospoilthisforme,WillTraynor,’Isaid,astheliftdoorsopened.‘ThelasttimeIateoutanywherewasabirthdaypartyforfour-year-oldsatHailsbury’sonlyindoorbowlingalley,andtherewasn’tathingtherethatwasn’tcoveredinbatter.Includingthechildren.’
Wewheeledourwayalongthecarpetedcorridor.Therestaurantranalongoneside,behindaglasswall,andIcouldseetherewereplentyoffreetables.Mystomachbegantorumbleinanticipation.
‘Hello,’Isaid,steppinguptothereceptionarea.‘I’dlikeatableforthree,please.’Pleasedon’tlookatWill,Itoldthewomansilently.Don’tmakehimfeelawkward.It’simportantthatheenjoysthis
‘Badge,please,’shesaid.
‘Sorry?’
‘YourPremierAreabadge?’
Ilookedatherblankly.
‘ThisrestaurantisforPremierbadgeholdersonly.’
IglancedbehindmeatWillandNathan.Theycouldn’thearme,butstood,expectantly,waiting.NathanwashelpingremoveWill’scoat.
‘Um…Ididn’tknowwecouldn’teatanywherewewanted.Wehavethebluebadges.’
Shesmiled.‘Sorry,’shesaid.‘OnlyPremierbadgeholders.Itdoessaysoonallourpromotionalmaterial.’
Itookadeepbreath.‘Okay.Arethereanyotherrestaurants?’
‘I’mafraidtheWeighingRoom,ourrelaxeddiningarea,isbeingrefurbishedrightnow,buttherearestallsalongthestandswhereyoucangetsomethingtoeat.’Shesawmyfacefall,andadded,‘ThePigInAPokeisprettygood.Yougetahogroastinabun.Theydoapplesaucetoo.’
‘Astall.’
‘Yes.’
Ileantintowardsher.‘Please,’Isaid.‘We’vecomealongway,andmyfriendthereisn’tgoodinthecold.Isthereanywayatallthatwecouldgetatableinhere?Wejustreallyneedtogethimintothewarm.It’sreallyimportantthathehasagoodday.’
Shewrinkledhernose.‘I’mreallysorry,’shesaid.‘It’smorethanmyjob’sworthtooverridetherules.Butthereisadisabledseatingareadownstairsthatyoucanshutthedoorson.Youcan’tseethecoursefromthere,butit’squitesnug.It’sgotheatersandeverything.Youcouldeatinthere.’
Istaredather.Icouldfeelthetensioncreepingupwardsfrommyshins.IthoughtImighthavegonecompletelyrigid.
Istudiedhernamebadge.‘Sharon,’Isaid.‘Youhaven’tevenbeguntofillyourtables.Surelyitwouldbebettertohavemorepeopleeatingthanleavinghalfthesetablesempty?Justbecauseofsomearcaneclass-basedregulationinarulebook?’
Hersmileglintedundertherecessedlighting.‘Madam,Ihaveexplainedthesituationtoyou.Ifwerelaxedtherulesforyou,we’dhavetodoitforeveryone.’
‘Butitmakesnosense,’Isaid.‘It’sawetMondaylunchtime.Youhaveemptytables.Wewanttobuyameal.Aproperlyexpensivemeal,withnapkinsandeverything.Wedon’twanttoeatporkrollsandsitinacloakroomwithnoview,nomatterhowsnug.’
Otherdinershadbeguntoturnintheirseats,curiousaboutthealtercationbythedoor.IcouldseeWilllookingembarrassednow.HeandNathanhadworkedoutsomethingwasgoingwrong.
‘ThenI’mafraidyoushouldhaveboughtaPremierAreabadge.’
‘Okay.’Ireachedformyhandbag,andbegantoriflethrough,searchingformypurse.‘HowmuchisaPremierAreabadge?’Tissues,oldbusticketsandoneofThomas’sHotWheelstoycarsflewout.Inolongercared.IwasgoingtogetWillhisposhlunchinarestaurant.‘Here.Howmuch?Anotherten?Twenty?’Ithrustafistfulofnotesather.
Shelookeddownatmyhand.‘I’msorry,Madam,wedon’tsellbadgeshere.Thisisarestaurant.You’llhavetogobacktotheticketoffice.’
‘Theonethat’sallthewayovertheothersideoftheracecourse.’
‘Yes.’
Westaredateachother.
Will’svoicebrokein.‘Louisa,let’sgo.’
Ifeltmyeyessuddenlybrimwithtears.‘No,’Isaid.‘Thisisridiculous.We’vecomeallthisway.YoustayhereandI’llgoandgetusallPremierAreabadges.Andthenwewillhaveourmeal.’
‘Louisa,I’mnothungry.’
‘We’llbefineoncewe’veeaten.Wecanwatchthehorsesandeverything.Itwillbefine.’
Nathansteppedforwardandlaidahandonmyarm.‘Louisa,IthinkWillreallyjustwantstogohome.’
Wewerenowthefocusofthewholerestaurant.ThegazeofthedinerssweptoverusandtravelledpastmetoWill,wheretheycloudedwithfaintpityordistaste.Ifeltthatforhim.Ifeltlikeanutterfailure.Ilookedupatthewoman,whodidatleasthavethegracetolookslightlyembarrassednowthatWillhadactuallyspoken.
‘Well,thankyou,’Isaidtoher.‘Thanksforbeingsofuckingaccommodating.’
‘Clark–’Will’svoicecarriedawarning.
‘Sogladthatyouaresoflexible.I’llcertainlyrecommendyoutoeveryoneIknow.’
‘Louisa!’
Igrabbedmybagandthrustitundermyarm.
‘You’veforgottenyourlittlecar,’shecalled,asIsweptthroughthedoorthatNathanheldopenforme.
‘Why,doesthatneedabloodybadgetoo?’Isaid,andfollowedthemintothelift.
Wedescendedinsilence.Ispentmostoftheshortliftjourneytryingtostopmyhandsfromshakingwithrage.
Whenwereachedthebottomconcourse,Nathanmurmured,‘Ithinkweshouldprobablygetsomethingfromoneofthesestalls,youknow.It’sbeenafewhoursnowsinceweateanything.’HeglanceddownatWill,soIknewwhoitwashewasreallyreferringto.
‘Fine,’Isaid,brightly.Itookalittlebreath.‘Iloveabitofcrackling.Let’sgototheoldhogroast.’
Weorderedthreebunswithpork,cracklingandapplesauce,andshelteredunderthestripedawningwhileweatethem.Isatdownonasmalldustbin,sothatIcouldbeatthesamelevelasWill,andhelpedhimtomanageablebitesofmeat,shreddingitwithmyfingerswherenecessary.Thetwowomenwhoservedbehindthecounterpretendednottolookatus.IcouldseethemmonitoringWilloutofthecornersoftheireyes,periodicallymutteringtoeachotherwhentheythoughtweweren’tlooking.Poorman,Icouldpracticallyhearthemsaying.Whataterriblewaytolive.Igavethemahardstare,daringthemtolookathimlikethat.ItriednottothinktoohardaboutwhatWillmustbefeeling.
Therainhadstopped,butthewindsweptcoursefeltsuddenlybleak,itsbrownandgreensurfacelitteredwithdiscardedbettingslips,itshorizonflatandempty.Thecarparkhadthinnedoutwiththerain,andinthedistancewecouldjusthearthedistortedsoundofthetannoyassomeotherracethunderedpast.
‘Ithinkmaybeweshouldheadback,’Nathansaid,wipinghismouth.‘Imean,itwasniceandall,butbesttomissthetraffic,eh?’
‘Fine,’Isaid.Iscrewedupmypapernapkin,andthrewitintothebin.Willwavedawaythelastthirdofhisroll.
‘Didn’thelikeit?’saidthewoman,asNathanbegantowheelhimawayacrossthegrass.
‘Idon’tknow.Perhapshewouldhavelikeditbetterifithadn’tcomewithasideorderofrubberneck,’Isaid,andchuckedtheremnantshardintothebin.
Butgettingtothecarandbackuptherampwaseasiersaidthandone.Inthefewhoursthatwehadspentattheracecourse,thearrivalsanddeparturesmeantthatthecarparkhadturnedintoaseaofmud.EvenwithNathan’simpressivemight,andmybestshoulder,wecouldn’tgetthechairevenhalfwayacrossthegrasstothecar.Hiswheelsskiddedandwhined,unabletogetthepurchasetomakeitupthatlastcoupleofinches.MineandNathan’sfeetslitheredinthemud,whichworkeditswayupthesidesofourshoes.
‘It’snotgoingtohappen,’saidWill.
Ihadrefusedtolistentohim.Icouldn’tbeartheideathatthiswashowourdaywasgoingtoend.
‘Ithinkwe’regoingtoneedsomehelp,’Nathansaid.‘Ican’tevengetthechairbackontothepath.It’sstuck.’
Willletoutanaudiblesigh.HelookedaboutasfedupasIhadeverseenhim.
‘Icouldliftyouintothefrontseat,Will,ifItiltitbackalittle.AndthenLouisaandIcouldseeifwecouldgetthechairinafterwards.’
Will’svoiceemergedthroughgrittedteeth.‘Iamnotendingtodaywithafireman’slift.’
‘Sorry,mate,’Nathansaid.‘ButLouandIarenotgoingtomanagethisalone.Here,Lou,you’reprettierthanIam.Goandcollarafewextrapairsofarms,willyou?’
Willclosedhiseyes,sethisjawandIrantowardsthestands.
Iwouldnothavebelievedsomanypeoplecouldturndownacryforhelpwhenitinvolvedawheelchairstuckinmud,especiallyasthecrydidcomefromagirlinaminiskirtandflashinghermostendearingsmile.Iamnotusuallygoodwithstrangers,butdesperationmademefearless.Iwalkedfromgrouptogroupofracegoersinthegrandstand,askingiftheycouldjustsparemeafewminutes’help.TheylookedatmeandmyclothesasifIwereplottingsomekindoftrap.
‘It’sforamaninawheelchair,’Isaid.‘He’sabitstuck.’
‘We’rejustwaitingonthenextrace,’theysaid.Or,‘Sorry.’Or,‘It’llhavetowaittillafterthetwothirty.Wehaveamonkeyonthisone.’
Ieventhoughtaboutcollaringajockeyortwo.ButasIgotclosetotheenclosure,IsawthattheywereevensmallerthanIwas.
BythetimeIgottotheparaderingIwasincandescentwithsuppressedrage.IsuspectIwassnarlingatpeoplethen,notsmiling.Andthere,finally,joyofjoys,weretheladsinstripedpoloshirts.Thebackoftheirshirtsreferredto‘Marky’sLastStand’andtheyclutchedcansofPilsnerandTennent’sExtra.Theiraccentssuggestedtheywerefromsomewhereinthenorth-east,andIwasprettysurethattheyhadnothadanysignificantbreakfromalcoholforthelasttwenty-fourhours.TheycheeredasIapproached,andIfoughttheurgetogivethemthefingeragain.
‘Gissasmile,sweetheart.It’sMarky’sstagweekend,’oneslurred,slammingaham-sizedhandontomyshoulder.
‘It’sMonday.’ItriednottoflinchasIpeeleditoff.
‘You’rejoking.Mondayalready?’Hereeledbackwards.‘Well,youshouldgivehimakiss,like.’
‘Actually,’Isaid.‘I’vecomeovertoaskyouforhelp.’
‘Ah’llgiveyouanyhelpyouneed,pet.’Thiswasaccompaniedbyalasciviouswink.
Hismatesswayedgentlyaroundhimlikeaquaticplants.
‘No,really.Ineedyoutohelpmyfriend.Overinthecarpark.’
‘Ah’msorry,ah’mnotsureah’minanyfitstatetohelpyouse,pet.’
‘Heyup.Nextraceisup,Marky.Yougotmoneyonthis?IthinkI’vegotmoneyonthis.’
Theyturnedbacktowardsthetrack,alreadylosinginterest.Ilookedovermyshoulderatthecarpark,seeingthehunchedfigureofWill,Nathanpullingvainlyatthehandlesofhischair.IpicturedmyselfreturninghometotellWill’sparentsthatwehadleftWill’ssuper-expensivechairinacarpark.AndthenIsawthetattoo.
‘He’sasoldier,’Isaid,loudly.‘Ex-soldier.’
Onebyonetheyturnedround.
‘Hewasinjured.InIraq.Allwewantedtodowasgethimanicedayout.Butnobodywillhelpus.’AsIspokethewords,Ifeltmyeyeswellingupwithtears.
‘Avet?You’rekiddingus.Whereishe?’
‘Inthecarpark.I’veaskedlotsofpeople,buttheyjustdon’twanttohelp.’
ItseemedtotakeaminuteortwoforthemtodigestwhatI’dsaid.Butthentheylookedateachotherinamazement.
‘C’mon,lads.We’renothavingthat.’Theyswayedaftermeinawaywardtrail.Icouldhearthemexclaimingbetweenthemselves,muttering.‘Bloodycivvies…noideawhatit’slike…’
Whenwereachedthem,NathanwasstandingbyWill,whoseheadhadsunkdeepintothecollarofhiscoatwithcold,evenasNathancoveredhisshoulderswithanotherblanket.
‘Theseverynicegentlemenhaveofferedtohelpus,’Isaid.
Nathanwasstaringatthecansoflager.Ihadtoadmitthatyou’dhavehadtolookquitehardtoseeasuitofarmourinanyofthem.
‘Wheredoyousewanttogethimto?’saidone.
TheothersstoodaroundWill,noddingtheirhellos.Oneofferedhimabeer,apparentlyunabletograspthatWillcouldnotpickitup.
Nathanmotionedtoourcar.‘Backinthecar,ultimately.Buttodothatweneedtogethimovertothestand,andthenreversethecarbacktohim.’
‘Youdon’tneedtodothat,’saidone,clappingNathanontheback.‘Wecantakehimtoyourcar,can’twe,lads?’
Therewasachorusofagreement.TheybegantopositionthemselvesaroundWill’schair.
Ishifteduncomfortably.‘Idon’tknow…that’salongwayforyoutocarryhim,’Iventured.‘Andthechair’sveryheavy.’
Theywerehowlinglydrunk.Someofthemcouldbarelyhangontotheircansofdrink.OnethrusthiscanofTennent’sintomyhand.
‘Don’tyouworry,pet.Anythingforafellowsoldier,isn’tthatright,lads?’
‘Wewouldn’tleaveyouthere,mate.Weneverleaveamandown,dowe?’
IsawNathan’sfaceandshookmyheadfuriouslyathisquizzicalexpression.Willseemedunlikelytosayanything.Hejustlookedgrim,andthen,asthemenclusteredaroundhischair,andwithashout,hoisteditupbetweenthem,vaguelyalarmed.
‘Whatregiment,pet?’
Itriedtosmile,trawlingmymemoryfornames.‘Rifles…’Isaid.‘Eleventhrifles.’
‘Idon’tknowtheeleventhrifles,’saidanother.
‘It’sanewregiment,’Istuttered.‘Topsecret.BasedinIraq.’
Theirtrainersslidinthemud,andIfeltmyheartlurch.Will’schairwashoistedseveralinchesofftheground,likesomekindofsedan.NathanwasrunningforWill’sbag,unlockingthecaraheadofus.
‘DidthoseboystrainoverinCatterick?’
‘That’stheone,’Isaid,andthenchangedthesubject.‘So–whichoneofyouisgettingmarried?’
WehadexchangednumbersbythetimeIfinallygotridofMarkyandhismates.Theyhadawhip-round,offeringusalmostfortypoundstowardsWill’srehabilitationfund,andonlystoppedinsistingwhenItoldthemwewouldbehappiestiftheywouldhaveadrinkonusinstead.Ihadtokisseachandeveryoneofthem.IwasnearlydizzywithfumesbythetimeIhadfinished.Icontinuedtowaveatthemastheydisappearedbacktothestand,andNathansoundedthehorntogetmeintothecar.
‘Theywerehelpful,weren’tthey?’Isaid,brightly,asIturnedtheignition.
‘Thetallonedroppedhisentirebeerdownmyrightleg,’saidWill.‘Ismelllikeabrewery.’
‘Idon’tbelievethis,’saidNathan,asIfinallypulledouttowardsthemainentrance.‘Look.There’sawholedisabledparkingsectionrightthere,bythestand.Andit’sallontarmac.’
Willdidn’tsaymuchofanythingfortherestoftheday.HebidNathangoodbyewhenwedroppedhimhome,andthengrewsilentasInegotiatedtheroaduptothecastle,whichhadthinnedoutnowthetemperaturehaddroppedagain,andfinallyIparkedupoutsidetheannexe.
IloweredWill’schair,gothiminside,andmadehimawarmdrink.Ichangedhisshoesandtrousers,putthebeer-stainedonesinthewashingmachine,andgotthefiregoingsothathewouldwarmup.Iputthetelevisionon,anddrewthecurtainssothattheroomgrewcosyaroundus–perhapscosierforthetimespentoutinthecoldair.ButitwasonlywhenIsatinthelivingroomwithhim,sippingmytea,thatIrealizedhewasn’ttalking–notoutofexhaustion,orbecausehewantedtowatchthetelevision.Hejustwasn’ttalkingtome.
‘Is…somethingthematter?’Isaid,whenhefailedtorespondtomythirdcommentaboutthelocalnews.
‘Youtellme,Clark.’
‘What?’
‘Well,youknoweverythingelsethereistoknowaboutme.Youtellme.’
Istaredathim.‘I’msorry,’Isaid,finally.‘Iknowtodaydidn’tturnoutquitelikeIplanned.Butitwasjustmeanttobeaniceouting.Iactuallythoughtyou’denjoyit.’
Ididn’taddthathewasbeingdeterminedlygrumpy,thathehadnoideawhatIhadgonethroughjusttogethimtotrytoenjoyhimself,thathehadn’teventriedtohaveagoodtime.Ididn’ttellhimthatifhe’dletmebuythestupidbadgeswemighthavehadanicelunchandalltheotherstuffmighthavebeenforgotten.
‘That’smypoint.’
‘What?’
‘Oh,you’renodifferentfromtherestofthem.’
‘Whatdoesthatmean?’
‘Ifyou’dbotheredtoaskme,Clark.Ifyou’dbotheredtoconsultmejustonceaboutthisso-calledfunoutingofours,Icouldhavetoldyou.Ihatehorses,andhorseracing.Alwayshave.Butyoudidn’tbothertoaskme.Youdecidedwhatyouthoughtyou’dlikemetodo,andyouwentaheadanddidit.Youdidwhateveryoneelsedid.Youdecidedforme.’
Iswallowed.
‘Ididn’tmeanto–’
‘Butyoudid.’
Heturnedhischairawayfrommeand,afteracouplemoreminutesofsilence,IrealizedIhadbeendismissed.12
IcantellyoutheexactdayIstoppedbeingfearless.
Itwasalmostsevenyearsago,inthelastlazy,heat-slurreddaysofJuly,whenthenarrowstreetsaroundthecastlewerethickwithtourists,andtheairfilledwiththesoundoftheirmeanderingfootstepsandthechimesoftheever-presenticecreamvansthatlinedthetopofthehill.
Mygrandmotherhaddiedamonthpreviouslyafteralongillness,andthatsummerwasveiledinathinlayerofsadness;itgentlysmotheredeverythingwedid,mutingmineandmysister’stendenciestothedramatic,andcancellingourusualsummerroutinesofbriefholidaysanddaysout.Mymotherstoodmostdaysatherwashing-upbowl,herbackrigidwiththeeffortoftryingtosuppresshertears,whileDaddisappearedtoworkeachmorningwithagrimlydeterminedexpression,returninghourslatershiny-facedfromtheheatandunabletospeakbeforehehadcrackedopenabeer.Mysisterwashomefromherfirstyearatuniversity,herheadalreadysomewherefarfromoursmalltown.IwastwentyandwouldmeetPatrickinlessthanthreemonths.Wewereenjoyingoneofthoseraresummersofutterfreedom–nofinancialresponsibility,nodebts,notimeowingtoanybody.Ihadaseasonaljobandallthehoursintheworldtopractisemymake-up,putonheelsthatmademyfatherwince,andjustgenerallyworkoutwhoIwas.
Idressednormally,inthosedays.Or,Ishouldsay,Idressedliketheothergirlsintown–longhair,flickedovertheshoulder,indigojeans,T-shirtstightenoughtoshowoffourtinywaistsandhighbreasts.Wespenthoursperfectingourlipgloss,andtheexactshadeofasmokeyeye.Welookedgoodinanything,butspenthourscomplainingaboutnon-existentcelluliteandinvisibleflawsinourskin.
AndIhadideas.ThingsIwantedtodo.OneoftheboysIknewatschoolhadtakenaround-the-worldtripandcomebacksomehowremovedandunknowable,likehewasn’tthesamescuffedeleven-year-oldwhousedtoblowspitbubblesduringdoubleFrench.IhadbookedacheapflighttoAustraliaonawhim,andwastryingtofindsomeonewhomightcomewithme.Ilikedtheexoticismhistravelsgavehim,theunknownness.Hehadblowninwiththesoftbreezesofawiderworld,anditwasweirdlyseductive.Everyoneherekneweverythingaboutme,afterall.Andwithasisterlikemine,Iwasneverallowedtoforgetanyofit.
ItwasaFriday,andIhadspentthedayworkingasacarparkattendantwithagroupofgirlsIhadknownatschool,steeringvisitorstoacraftfairheldinthegroundsofthecastle.Thewholedaywaspunctuatedwithlaughter,withfizzydrinksguzzledunderahotsun,theskyblue,lightglintingoffthebattlements.Idon’tthinktherewasasingletouristwhodidn’tsmileatmethatday.Peoplefinditveryhardnottosmileatagroupofcheerful,gigglinggirls.Wewerepaid￡30,andtheorganizersweresopleasedwiththeturnoutthattheygaveusanextrafivereach.Wecelebratedbygettingdrunkwithsomeboyswhohadbeenworkingonthefarcarparkbythevisitorcentre.Theywerewellspoken,sportingrugbyshirtsandfloppyhair.OnewascalledEd,twoofthemwereatuniversity–Istillcan’trememberwhere–andtheywereworkingforholidaymoneytoo.Theywereflushwithcashattheendofawholeweekofstewarding,andwhenourmoneyranouttheywerehappytobuydrinksforgiddylocalgirlswhoflickedtheirhairandsatoneachother’slapsandshriekedandjokedandcalledthemposh.Theyspokeadifferentlanguage;theytalkedofgapyearsandsummersspentinSouthAmerica,andthebackpackertrailinThailandandwhowasgoingtotryforaninternshipabroad.Whilewelistened,anddrank,Iremembermysisterstoppingbythebeergardenwherewelaysprawledonthegrass.Shewaswearingtheworld’soldesthoodyandnomake-up,andI’dforgottenIwasmeanttobemeetingher.ItoldhertotellMumandDadI’dbebacksometimeafterIwasthirty.ForsomereasonIfoundthishystericallyfunny.Shehadliftedhereyebrows,andstalkedofflikeIwasthemostirritatingpersoneverborn.
WhentheRedLionclosedweallwentandsatinthecentreofthecastlemaze.Someonemanagedtoscrambleoverthegatesand,aftermuchcollidingandgiggling,weallfoundourwaytothemiddleanddrankstrongciderwhilesomeonepassedaroundajoint.Irememberstaringupatthestars,feelingmyselfdisappearintotheirinfinitedepths,asthegroundgentlyswayedandlurchedaroundmelikethedeckofahugeship.Someonewasplayingaguitar,andIhadapairofpinksatinhighheelsonwhichIkickedintothelonggrassandneverwentbackfor.IthoughtIprobablyruledtheuniverse.
ItwasabouthalfanhourbeforeIrealizedtheothergirlshadgone.
Mysisterfoundme,thereinthecentreofthemaze,sometimelater,longafterthestarshadbeenobscuredbythenightclouds.AsIsaid,she’sprettysmart.Smarterthanme,anyway.
She’stheonlypersonIeverknewwhocouldfindherwayoutofthemazesafely.
‘Thiswillmakeyoulaugh.I’vejoinedthelibrary.’
WillwasoverbyhisCDcollection.Heswivelledthechairround,andwaitedwhileIputhisdrinkinhiscupholder.‘Really?Whatareyoureading?’
‘Oh,nothingsensible.Youwouldn’tlikeit.Justboy-meets-girlstuff.ButI’menjoyingit.’
‘YouwerereadingmyFlanneryO’Connortheotherday.’Hetookasipofhisdrink.‘WhenIwasill.’
‘Theshortstories?Ican’tbelieveyounoticedthat.’
‘Icouldn’thelpbutnotice.Youleftthebookoutontheside.Ican’tpickitup.’
‘Ah.’
‘Sodon’treadrubbish.TaketheO’Connorstorieshome.Readtheminstead.’
Iwasabouttosayno,andthenIrealizedIdidn’treallyknowwhyIwasrefusing.‘Allright.I’llbringthembackassoonasI’vefinished.’
‘Putsomemusiconforme,Clark?’
‘Whatdoyouwant?’
Hetoldme,noddingatitsroughlocation,andIflickedthroughuntilIfoundit.
‘IhaveafriendwhoplaysleadviolinintheAlbertSymphonia.Hecalledtosayhe’splayingnearherenextweek.Thispieceofmusic.Doyouknowit?’
‘Idon’tknowanythingaboutclassicalmusic.Imean,sometimesmydadaccidentallytunesintoClassicFM,but–’
‘You’veneverbeentoaconcert?’
‘No.’
Helookedgenuinelyshocked.
‘Well,IdidgotoseeWestlifeonce.ButI’mnotsureifthatcounts.Itwasmysister’schoice.Oh,andIwasmeanttogoseeRobbieWilliamsonmytwenty-secondbirthday,butIgotfoodpoisoning.’
Willgavemeoneofhislooks–thekindoflooksthatsuggestImayactuallyhavebeenlockedupinsomebody’scellarforseveralyears.
‘Youshouldgo.He’sofferedmetickets.Thiswillbereallygood.Takeyourmother.’
Ilaughedandshookmyhead.‘Idon’tthinkso.Mymumdoesn’treallygoout.Andit’snotmycupoftea.’
‘Likefilmswithsubtitlesweren’tyourcupoftea?’
Ifrownedathim.‘I’mnotyourproject,Will.Thisisn’tMyFairLady.’
‘Pygmalion.’
‘What?’
‘Theplayyou’rereferringto.It’sPygmalion.MyFairLadyisjustitsbastardoffspring.’
Iglaredathim.Itdidn’twork.IputtheCDon.WhenIturnedroundhewasstillshakinghishead.
‘You’rethemostterriblesnob,Clark.’
‘What?Me?’
‘Youcutyourselfofffromallsortsofexperiencesbecauseyoutellyourselfyouare“notthatsortofperson”.’
‘But,I’mnot.’
‘Howdoyouknow?You’vedonenothing,beennowhere.Howdoyouhavethefaintestideawhatkindofpersonyouare?’
Howcouldsomeonelikehimhavetheslightestcluewhatitfeltliketobeme?Ifeltalmostcrosswithhimforwilfullynotgettingit.
‘Goon.Openyourmind.’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘BecauseI’dbeuncomfortable.Ifeellike…Ifeellikethey’dknow.’
‘Who?Knowwhat?’
‘Everyoneelsewouldknow,thatIdidn’tbelong.’
‘HowdoyouthinkIfeel?’
Welookedateachother.
‘Clark,everysingleplaceIgotonowpeoplelookatmelikeIdon’tbelong.’
Wesatinsilenceasthemusicstarted.Will’sfatherwasonthetelephoneinhishall,andthesoundofmuffledlaughtercarriedthroughitintotheannexe,asiffromalongwayaway.Thedisabledentranceisoverthere,thewomanattheracecoursehadsaid.Asifhewereadifferentspecies.
IstaredattheCDcover.‘I’llgoifyoucomewithme.’
‘Butyouwon’tgoonyourown.’
‘Notachance.’
Wesatthere,whilehedigestedthis.‘Jesus,you’reapaininthearse.’
‘Soyoukeeptellingme.’
Imadenoplansthistime.Iexpectednothing.Iwasjustquietlyhopefulthat,aftertheracingdebacle,Willwasstillpreparedtoleavetheannexe.Hisfriend,theviolinist,sentusthepromisedfreetickets,withaninformationleafletonthevenueattached.Itwasfortyminutes’driveaway.Ididmyhomework,checkedthelocationofthedisabledparking,rangthevenuebeforehandtoassessthebestwaytogetWill’schairtohisseat.Theywouldseatusatthe
‘It’sactuallythebestplacetobe,’thewomanintheboxofficesaid,cheerfully.‘Yousomehowgetmoreofanimpactwhenyou’rerightinthepitneartheorchestra.I’veoftenbeentemptedtosittheremyself.’
SheevenaskedifIwouldlikesomeonetomeetusinthecarpark,tohelpustoourseats.AfraidthatWillwouldfeeltooconspicuous,Ithankedherandsaidno.
Astheeveningapproached,Idon’tknowwhogrewmorenervousaboutit,Willorme.Ifeltthefailureofourlastoutingkeenly,andMrsTraynordidn’thelp,cominginandoutoftheannexefourteentimestoconfirmwhereandwhenitwouldbetakingplaceandwhatexactlywewouldbedoing.
Will’seveningroutinetooksometime,shesaid.Sheneededtoensuresomeonewastheretohelp.Nathanhadotherplans.MrTraynorwasapparentlyoutfortheevening.‘It’sanhourandahalfminimum,’shesaid.
‘Andit’sincrediblytedious,’Willsaid.
Irealizedhewaslookingforanexcusenottogo.‘I’lldoit,’Isaid.‘IfWilltellsmewhattodo.Idon’tmindstayingtohelp.’IsaiditalmostbeforeIrealizedwhatIwasagreeingto.
‘Well,that’ssomethingforusbothtolookforwardto,’Willsaidgrumpily,afterhismotherhadleft.‘Yougetagoodviewofmybackside,andIgetabedbathfromsomeonewhofallsoveratthesightofnakedflesh.’
‘Idonotfalloveratthesightofnakedflesh.’
‘Clark,I’veneverseenanyonemoreuncomfortablewithahumanbodythanyou.Youactlikeit’ssomethingradioactive.’
‘Letyourmumdoit,then,’Isnappedback.
‘Yes,becausethatmakesthewholeideaofgoingoutsomuchmoreattractive.’
Andthentherewasthewardrobeproblem.Ididn’tknowwhattowear.
Ihadwornthewrongthingtotheraces.HowcouldIbesureIwouldn’tdosoagain?IaskedWillwhatwouldbebest,andhelookedatmeasifIweremad.‘Thelightswillbedown,’heexplained.‘Nobodywillbelookingatyou.They’llbefocusedonthemusic.’
‘Youknownothingaboutwomen,’Isaid.
Ibroughtfourdifferentoutfitstoworkwithmeintheend,haulingthemallontothebusinmyDad’sancientsuitcarrier.ItwastheonlywayIcouldconvincemyselftogoatall.
Nathanarrivedfortheteatimeshiftat5.30pm,andwhilehesawtoWillIdisappearedintothebathroomtogetready.FirstIputonwhatIthoughtofasmy‘artistic’outfit,agreensmockdresswithhugeamberbeadsstitchedintoit.Iimaginedthekindofpeoplewhowenttoconcertsmightbequiteartyandflamboyant.WillandNathanbothstaredatmeasIenteredthelivingroom
‘No,’saidWill,flatly.
‘Thatlookslikesomethingmymumwouldwear,’saidNathan.
‘YounevertoldmeyourmumwasNanaMouskouri,’Willsaid.
IcouldhearthembothchucklingasIdisappearedbackintothebathroom.
Thesecondoutfitwasaverysevereblackdress,cutonthebiasandstitchedwithwhitecollarandcuffs,whichIhadmademyself.Itlooked,Ithought,bothchicandParisian.
‘Youlooklikeyou’reabouttoservetheicecreams,’Willsaid.
‘Aw,mate,butyou’dmakeagreatmaid,’Nathansaid,approvingly.‘Feelfreetowearthatoneinthedaytime.Really.’
‘You’llbeaskinghertodusttheskirtingnext.’
‘Itisabitdusty,nowyoumentionit.’
‘You,’Isaid,‘arebothgoingtogetMrMuscleinyourteatomorrow.’
Idiscardedoutfitnumberthree–apairofyellowwide-leggedtrousers–alreadyanticipatingWill’sRupertBearreferences,andinsteadputonmyfourthoption,avintagedressindark-redsatin.ItwasmadeforamorefrugalgenerationandIalwayshadtosayasecretprayerthatthezipwouldmakeituppastmywaist,butitgavemetheoutlineofa1950sstarlet,anditwasa‘results’dress,oneofthoseoutfitsyoucouldn’thelpbutfeelgoodin.Iputasilverboleroovermyshoulders,tiedagreysilkscarfaroundmyneck,tocoverupmycleavage,appliedsomematchinglipstick,andthensteppedintothelivingroom.
‘Ka-pow,’saidNathan,admiringly.
Will’seyestravelledupanddownmydress.ItwasonlythenthatIrealizedhehadchangedintoashirtandsuitjacket.Clean-shaven,andwithhistrimmedhair,helookedsurprisinglyhandsome.Icouldn’thelpbutsmileatthesightofhim.Itwasn’tsomuchhowhelooked;itwasthefactthathehadmadetheeffort.
‘That’stheone,’hesaid.Hisvoicewasexpressionlessandoddlymeasured.AndasIreacheddowntoadjustmyneckline,hesaid,‘Butlosethejacket.’
Hewasright.Ihadknownitwasn’tquiteright.Itookitoff,foldeditcarefullyandlaiditonthebackofthechair.
‘Andthescarf.’
Myhandshottomyneck.‘Thescarf?Why?’
‘Itdoesn’tgo.Andyoulooklikeyou’retryingtohidesomethingbehindit.’
‘ButI’m…well,I’mallcleavageotherwise.’
‘So?’heshrugged.‘Look,Clark,ifyou’regoingtowearadresslikethatyouneedtowearitwithconfidence.Youneedtofillitmentallyaswellasphysically.’
‘Onlyyou,WillTraynor,couldtellawomanhowtowearabloodydress.’
ButItookthescarfoff.
NathanwenttopackWill’sbag.IwasworkingoutwhatIcouldaddabouthowpatronizinghewas,whenIturnedandsawthathewasstilllookingatme.
‘Youlookgreat,Clark,’hesaid,quietly.‘Really.’
Withordinarypeople–whatCamillaTraynorwouldprobablycall‘working-class’people–Ihadobservedafewbasicroutines,asfarasWillwasconcerned.Mostwouldstare.Afewmightsmilesympathetically,expresssympathy,oraskmeinakindofstagewhisperwhathadhappened.Iwasoftentemptedtorespond,‘Unfortunatefalling-outwithMI6,’justtoseetheirreaction,butIneverdid.
Here’sthethingaboutmiddle-classpeople.Theypretendnottolook,buttheydo.Theyweretoopolitetoactuallystare.Instead,theydidthisweirdthingofcatchingsightofWillintheirfieldofvisionandthendeterminedlynotlookingathim.Untilhe’dgonepast,atwhichpointtheirgazewouldflickertowardshim,evenwhiletheyremainedinconversationwithsomeoneelse.Theywouldn’ttalkabouthim,though.Becausethatwouldberude.
AswemovedthroughthefoyeroftheSymphonyHall,whereclustersofsmartpeoplestoodwithhandbagsandprogrammesinonehand,ginandtonicsintheother,Isawthisresponsepassthroughtheminagentleripplewhichfollowedustothestalls.Idon’tknowifWillnoticedit.SometimesIthoughttheonlywayhecoulddealwithitwastopretendhecouldseenoneofit.
Wesatdown,theonlytwopeopleatthefrontinthecentreblockofseats.Toourrighttherewasanothermaninawheelchair,chattingcheerfullytotwowomenwhoflankedhim.Iwatchedthem,hopingthatWillwouldnoticethemtoo.Buthestaredahead,hisheaddippedintohisshoulders,asifheweretryingtobecomeinvisible.
Thisisn’tgoingtowork,alittlevoicesaid.
‘Doyouneedanything?’Iwhispered
‘No,’heshookhishead.Heswallowed.‘Actually,yes.Something’sdiggingintomycollar.’
Ileantoverandranmyfingeraroundtheinsideofit;anylontaghadbeenleftinside.Ipulledatit,hopingtosnapit,butitprovedstubbornlyresistant.
‘Newshirt.Isitreallytroublingyou?’
‘No.IjustthoughtI’dbringitupforfun.’
‘Dowehaveanyscissorsinthebag?’
‘Idon’tknow,Clark.Believeitornot,Irarelypackitmyself.’
Therewerenoscissors.Iglancedbehindme,wheretheaudiencewerestillsettlingthemselvesintotheirseats,murmuringandscanningtheirprogrammes.IfWillcouldn’trelaxandfocusonthemusic,theoutingwouldbewasted.Icouldn’taffordaseconddisaster.
‘Don’tmove,’Isaid.
‘Why–’
Beforehecouldfinish,Ileantacross,gentlypeeledhiscollarfromthesideofhisneck,placedmymouthagainstitandtooktheoffendingtagbetweenmyfrontteeth.Ittookmeafewsecondstobitethroughit,andIclosedmyeyes,tryingtoignorethescentofcleanmale,thefeelofhisskinagainstmine,theincongruityofwhatIwasdoing
‘Gotit!’Isaid,pullingthetagfrommyteethandflickingitacrosstheseats.
Willstaredatme.
‘What?’
Iswivelledinmychairtocatchthoseaudiencememberswhosuddenlyseemedtofindtheirprogrammesabsolutelyfascinating.ThenIturnedbacktoWill.
‘Oh,comeon,it’snotasifthey’veneverseenagirlnibblingabloke’scollarbefore.’
Iseemedtohavebrieflysilencedhim.Willblinkedacoupleoftimes,madeasiftoshakehishead.Inoticedwithamusementthathisneckhadcolouredadeepred.
Istraightenedmyskirt.‘Anyway,’Isaid,‘Ithinkweshouldbothjustbegratefulthatitwasn’tinyourtrousers.’
Andthen,beforehecouldrespond,theorchestrawalkedoutintheirdinnerjacketsandcocktaildressesandtheaudiencehushed.Ifeltalittleflutterofexcitementdespitemyself.Iplacedmyhandstogetheronmylap,satupinmyseat.Theybegantotuneup,andsuddenlytheauditoriumwasfilledwithasinglesound–themostalive,three-dimensionalthingIhadeverheard.Itmadethehairsonmyskinstandup,mybreathcatchinmythroat.
Willlookedsidewaysatme,hisfacestillcarryingthemirthofthelastfewmoments.Okay,hisexpressionsaid.We’regoingtoenjoythis
Theconductorsteppedup,tappedtwiceontherostrum,andagreathushdescended.Ifeltthestillness,theauditoriumalive,expectant.Thenhebroughtdownhisbatonandsuddenlyeverythingwaspuresound.Ifeltthemusiclikeaphysicalthing;itdidn’tjustsitinmyears,itflowedthroughme,aroundme,mademysensesvibrate.Itmademyskinprickleandmypalmsdampen.Willhadn’tdescribedanyofitlikethis.IhadthoughtImightbebored.ItwasthemostbeautifulthingIhadeverheard.
Anditmademyimaginationdounexpectedthings;asIsatthere,IfoundmyselfthinkingofthingsIhadn’tthoughtofforyears,oldemotionswashingoverme,newthoughtsandideasbeingpulledfrommeasifmyperceptionitselfwerebeingstretchedoutofshape.Itwasalmosttoomuch,butIdidn’twantittostop.Iwantedtositthereforever.IstolealookatWill.Hewasrapt,suddenlyunselfconscious.Iturnedaway,unexpectedlyafraidtolookathim.Iwasafraidofwhathemightbefeeling,thedepthofhisloss,theextentofhisfears.WillTraynor’slifehadbeensofarbeyondtheexperiencesofmine.WhowasItotellhimhowheshouldwanttoliveit?
Will’sfriendleftanoteaskingustogobackstageandseehimafterwards,butWilldidn’twantto.Iurgedhimonce,butIcouldseefromthesetofhisjawthathewouldnotbebudged.Icouldn’tblamehim.Irememberedhowhisformerworkmateshadlookedathimthatday–thatmixtureofpity,revulsionand,somewhere,deepreliefthattheythemselveshadsomehowescapedthisparticularstrokeoffate.Isuspectedtherewereonlysomanyofthosesortsofmeetingshecouldstomach.
Wewaiteduntiltheauditoriumwasempty,thenIwheeledhimout,downtothecarparkinthelift,andloadedWillupwithoutincident.Ididn’tsaymuch;myheadwasstillringingwiththemusic,andIdidn’twantittofade.Ikeptthinkingbacktoit,thewaythatWill’sfriendhadbeensolostinwhathewasplaying.Ihadn’trealizedthatmusiccouldunlockthingsinyou,couldtransportyoutosomewhereeventhecomposerhadn’tpredicted.Itleftanimprintintheairaroundyou,asifyoucarrieditsremnantswithyouwhenyouwent.Forsometime,aswesatthereintheaudience,IhadcompletelyforgottenWillwasevenbesideme.
Wepulledupoutsidetheannexe.Infrontofus,justvisibleabovethewall,thecastlesat,floodlitunderthefullmoon,gazingserenelydownfromitspositiononthetopofthehill.
‘Soyou’renotaclassicalmusicperson.’
Ilookedintotherear-viewmirror.Willwassmiling.
‘Ididn’tenjoythatintheslightest.’
‘Icouldtell.’
‘Iespeciallydidn’tenjoythatbitneartheend,thebitwheretheviolinwassingingbyitself.’
‘Icouldseeyoudidn’tlikethatbit.Infact,Ithinkyouhadtearsinyoureyesyouhateditsomuch.’
Igrinnedbackathim.‘Ireallylovedit,’Isaid.‘I’mnotsureI’dlikeallclassicalmusic,butIthoughtthatwasamazing.’Irubbedmynose.‘Thankyou.Thankyoufortakingme.’
Wesatinsilence,gazingatthecastle.Normally,atnight,itwasbathedinakindoforangeglowfromthelightsdottedaroundthefortresswall.Buttonight,underafullmoon,itseemedfloodedinanetherealblue.
‘Whatkindofmusicwouldtheyhaveplayedthere,doyouthink?’Isaid.‘Theymusthavelistenedtosomething.’
‘Thecastle?Medievalstuff.Lutes,strings.Notmycupoftea,butI’vegotsomeIcanlendyou,ifyoulike.Youshouldwalkaroundthecastlewithitonearphones,ifyoureallywantedthefullexperience.’
‘Nah.Idon’treallygotothecastle.’
‘It’salwaystheway,whenyouliveclosebysomewhere.’
Myanswerwasnon-committal.Wesatthereamomentlonger,listeningtotheenginetickitswaytosilence.
‘Right,’Isaid,unfasteningmybelt.‘We’dbettergetyouin.Theeveningroutineawaits.’
‘Justwaitaminute,Clark.’
Iturnedinmyseat.Will’sfacewasinshadowandIcouldn’tquitemakeitout.
‘Justholdon.Justforaminute.’
‘Areyouallright?’Ifoundmygazedroppingtowardshischair,afraidsomepartofhimwaspinched,ortrapped,thatIhadgotsomethingwrong.
‘I’mfine.Ijust…’
Icouldseehispalecollar,hisdarksuitjacketacontrastagainstit.
‘Idon’twanttogoinjustyet.Ijustwanttositandnothavetothinkabout…’Heswallowed.
Eveninthehalf-darkitseemedeffortful.
‘Ijust…wanttobeamanwhohasbeentoaconcertwithagirlinareddress.Justforafewminutesmore.’
Ireleasedthedoorhandle.
‘Sure.’
Iclosedmyeyesandlaymyheadagainsttheheadrest,andwesattheretogetherforawhilelonger,twopeoplelostinrememberedmusic,halfhiddenintheshadowofacastleonamoonlithill
MysisterandIneverreallytalkedaboutwhathappenedthatnightatthemaze.I’mnotentirelysurewehadthewords.Sheheldmeforabit,thenspentsometimehelpingmefindmyclothes,andthensearchedinvaininthelonggrassformyshoesuntilItoldherthatitreallydidn’tmatter.Iwouldn’thavewornthemagain,anyway.Andthenwewalkedhomeslowly–meinmybarefeet,herwithherarmlinkedthroughmine,eventhoughwehadn’twalkedlikethatsinceshewasinherfirstyearatschoolandMumhadinsistedIneverlethergo.
Whenwegothome,westoodontheporchandshewipedatmyhairandthenatmyeyeswithadamptissue,andthenweunlockedthefrontdoorandwalkedinasifnothinghadhappened.
Dadwasstillup,watchingsomefootballmatch.‘Yougirlsareabitlate,’hecalledout.‘Iknowit’saFriday,butstill…’
‘Okay,Dad,’wecalledout,inunison.
Backthen,IhadtheroomthatisnowGranddad’s.Iwalkedswiftlyupstairsand,beforemysistercouldsayaword,Iclosedthedoorbehindme.
Ichoppedallmyhairoffthefollowingweek.Icancelledmyplaneticket.Ididn’tgooutwiththegirlsfrommyoldschoolagain.Mumwastoosunkinherowngrieftonotice,andDadputanychangeinmoodinourhouse,andmynewhabitoflockingmyselfinmybedroom,downto‘women’sproblems’.IhadworkedoutwhoIwas,anditwassomeoneverydifferentfromthegigglinggirlwhogotdrunkwithstrangers.Itwassomeonewhoworenothingthatcouldbeconstruedassuggestive.ClothesthatwouldnotappealtothekindofmenwhowenttotheRedLion,anyway.
Lifereturnedtonormal.Itookajobatthehairdresser’s,thenTheButteredBunandputitallbehindme.
Imusthavewalkedpastthecastlefivethousandtimessincethatday.
ButIhaveneverbeentothemazesince.13
Patrickstoodontheedgeofthetrack,joggingonthespot,hisnewNikeT-shirtandshortsstickingslightlytohisdamplimbs.IhadstoppedbytosayhelloandtotellhimthatIwouldn’tbeattheTriathlonTerrorsmeetingatthepubthatevening.Nathanwasoff,andIhadsteppedintotakeovertheeveningroutine.
‘That’sthreemeetingsyou’vemissed.’
‘Isit?’Icountedbackonmyfingers.‘Isupposeitis.’
‘You’llhavetocomenextweek.It’sallthetravelplansfortheXtremeViking.Andyouhaven’ttoldmewhatyouwanttodoforyourbirthday.’Hebegantodohisstretches,liftinghisleghighandpressinghischesttohisknee.‘Ithoughtmaybethecinema?Idon’twanttodoabigmeal,notwhileI’mtraining.’
‘Ah.MumandDadareplanningaspecialdinner.’
Hegrabbedathisheel,pointinghiskneetotheground.
Icouldn’thelpbutnoticethathislegwasbecomingweirdlysinewy.
‘It’snotexactlyanightout,isit?’
‘Well,noristhemultiplex.Anyway,IfeellikeIshould,Patrick.Mum’sbeenabitdown.’
Treenahadmovedoutthepreviousweekend(minusmylemonswashbag–Iretrievedthatthenightbeforeshewent).Mumwasdevastated;itwasactuallyworsethanwhenTreenahadgonetouniversitythefirsttimearound.ShemissedThomaslikeanamputatedlimb.Histoys,whichhadlitteredtheliving-roomfloorsincebabyhood,wereboxedupandputaway.Therewerenochocolatefingersorsmallcartonsofdrinkinthecupboard.Shenolongerhadareasontowalktotheschoolat3.15pm,nobodytochattoontheshortwalkhome.IthadbeentheonlytimeMumeverreallyspentoutsidethehouse.Nowshewentnowhereatall,apartfromtheweeklysupermarketshopwithDad.
Shefloatedaroundthehouselookingabitlostforthreedays,thenshebeganspringcleaningwithavigourthatfrightenedevenGranddad.Hewouldmouthgummyprotestsatherasshetriedtovacuumunderthechairthathewasstillsittingin,orflickathisshoulderswithherduster.Treenahadsaidshewouldn’tcomehomeforthefirstfewweeks,justtogiveThomasachancetosettle.Whensherangeachevening,Mumwouldspeaktothemandthencryforafullhalf-hourinherbedroomafterwards
‘You’realwaysworkinglatethesedays.IfeellikeIhardlyseeyou.’
‘Well,you’realwaystraining.Anyway,it’sgoodmoney,Patrick.I’mhardlygoingtosaynototheovertime.’
Hecouldn’targuewiththat.
IwasearningmorethanIhadeverearnedinmylife.IdoubledtheamountIgavemyparents,putsomeasideintoasavingsaccounteverymonth,andIwasstillleftwithmorethanIcouldspend.Partofitwas,IworkedsomanyhoursthatIwasneverawayfromGrantaHousewhentheshopswereopen.Theotherwas,simply,thatIdidn’treallyhaveanappetiteforspending.ThesparehoursIdidhaveIhadstartedtospendinthelibrary,lookingthingsupontheinternet.
TherewasawholeworldavailabletomefromthatPC,layeruponlayerofit,andithadbeguntoexertasirencall.
Ithadstartedwiththethank-youletter.Acoupleofdaysaftertheconcert,ItoldWillIthoughtweshouldwriteandthankhisfriend,theviolinist.
‘Iboughtanicecardonthewayin,’Isaid.‘Youtellmewhatyouwanttosay,andI’llwriteit.I’veevenbroughtinmygoodpen.’
‘Idon’tthinkso,’Willsaid.
‘What?’
‘Youheardme.’
‘Youdon’tthinkso?Thatmangaveusfrontofhouseseats.Yousaidyourselfitwasfantastic.Theleastyoucoulddoisthankhim.’
Will’sjawwasfixed,immovable.
Iputdownmypen.‘Orareyoujustsousedtopeoplegivingyoustuffthatyoudon’tfeelyouhaveto?’
‘Youhavenoidea,Clark,howfrustratingitistorelyonsomeoneelsetoputyourwordsdownforyou.Thephrase“writtenonbehalfof”is…humiliating.’
‘Yeah?Wellit’sstillbetterthanagreatbigfatnothing,’Igrumbled.‘I’mgoingtothankhim,anyway.Iwon’tmentionyourname,ifyoureallywanttobeanarseaboutit.’
Iwrotethecard,andpostedit.Isaidnothingmoreaboutit.Butthatevening,Will’swordsstillechoingaroundmyhead,Ifoundmyselfdivertingintothelibraryand,spyinganunusedcomputer,Iloggedontotheinternet.IlookedupwhethertherewereanydevicesthatWillcouldusetodohisownwriting.Withinanhour,Ihadcomeupwiththree–apieceofvoicerecognitionsoftware,anothertypeofsoftwarewhichreliedontheblinkingofaneye,and,asmysisterhadmentioned,atappingdevicethatWillcouldwearonhishead.
Hewaspredictablysniffyabouttheheaddevice,butheconcededthatthevoicerecognitionsoftwaremightbeuseful,andwithinaweekwemanaged,withNathan’shelp,toinstallitonhiscomputer,settingWillupsothatwiththecomputertrayfixedtohischair,henolongerneededsomeoneelsetotypeforhim.Hewasabitself-consciousaboutitinitially,butafterIinstructedhimtobegineverythingwith,‘Takealetter,MissClark,’hegotoverit.
EvenMrsTraynorcouldn’tfindanythingtocomplainabout.‘Ifthereisanyotherequipmentthatyouthinkmightbeuseful,’shesaid,herlipsstillpursedasifshecouldn’tquitebelievethismighthavebeenastraightforwardlygoodthing,‘doletusknow.’SheeyedWillnervously,asifhemightactuallybeabouttowrenchitoffwithhisjaw.
Threedayslater,justasIsetoffforwork,thepostmanhandedmealetter.Iopeneditonthebus,thinkingitmightbeanearlybirthdaycardfromsomedistantcousin.Itread,incomputerizedtext:
DearClark,
ThisistoshowyouthatIamnotanentirelyselfisharse.AndIdoappreciateyourefforts.
Thankyou.
Will
Ilaughedsohardthebusdriveraskedmeifmylotterynumbershadcomeup.
Afteryearsspentinthatboxroom,myclothesperchedonarailinthehallwayoutside,Treena’sbedroomfeltpalatial.ThefirstnightIspentinitIspunroundwithmyarmsoutstretched,justluxuriatinginthefactthatIcouldn’ttouchbothwallssimultaneously.IwenttotheDIYstoreandboughtpaintandnewblinds,aswellasanewbedsidelightandsomeshelves,whichIassembledmyself.It’snotthatI’mgoodatthatstuff;IguessIjustwantedtoseeifIcoulddoit.
Isetaboutredecorating,paintingforanhouranightafterIcamehomefromwork,andattheendoftheweekevenDadhadtoadmitI’ddoneareallygoodjob.Hestaredforabitatmycuttingin,fingeredtheblindsthatIhadputupmyself,andputahandonmyshoulder.‘Thisjobhasbeenthemakingofyou,Lou.’
Iboughtanewduvetcover,arugandsomeoversizedcushions–justincaseanyoneeverstoppedby,andfanciedlounging.Notthatanyonedid.Thecalendarwentonthebackofthenewdoor.Nobodysawitexceptforme.Nobodyelsewouldhaveknownwhatitmeant,anyway
IdidfeelabitbadaboutthefactthatoncewehadputThomas’scampbedupnexttoTreena’sintheboxroom,therewasn’tactuallyanyfloorspaceleft,butthenIrationalized–theydidn’tevenreallylivehereanymore.Andtheboxroomwassomewheretheywereonlygoingtosleep.Therewasnopointinthelargerroombeingemptyforweeksonend.
Iwenttoworkeachday,thinkingaboutotherplacesIcouldtakeWill.Ididn’thaveanyoverallplan,Ijustfocusedeachdayongettinghimoutandaboutandtryingtokeephimhappy.Thereweresomedays–dayswhenhislimbsburnt,orwheninfectionclaimedhimandhelaymiserableandfeverishinbed–thatwereharderthanothers.ButonthegooddaysIhadmanagedseveraltimestogethimoutintothespringsunshine.IknewnowthatoneofthethingsWillhatedmostwasthepityofstrangers,soIdrovehimtolocalbeautyspots,whereforanhourorsoitcouldbejustthetwoofus.Imadepicnicsandwesatoutontheedgesoffields,justenjoyingthebreezeandbeingawayfromtheannexe.
‘Myboyfriendwantstomeetyou,’Itoldhimoneafternoon,breakingoffpiecesofcheeseandpicklesandwichforhim.
Ihaddrivenseveralmilesoutoftown,upontoahill,andwecouldseethecastle,acrossthevalleyopposite,separatedfromusbyfieldsoflambs.
‘Why?’
‘HewantstoknowwhoI’mspendingalltheselatenightswith.’
Oddly,Icouldseehefoundthisquitecheering.
‘RunningMan.’
‘Ithinkmyparentsdotoo.’
‘Igetnervouswhenagirlsaysshewantsmetomeetherparents.Howisyourmum,anyway?’
‘Thesame.’
‘Yourdad’sjob?Anynews?’
‘No.Nextweek,they’retellinghimnow.Anyway,theysaiddidIwanttoinviteyoutomybirthdaydinneronFriday?Allveryrelaxed.Justfamily,really.Butit’sfine…Isaidyouwouldn’twantto.’
‘WhosaysIwouldn’twantto?’
‘Youhatestrangers.Youdon’tlikeeatinginfrontofpeople.Andyoudon’tlikethesoundofmyboyfriend.Itseemslikeano-brainertome.’
Ihadworkedhimoutnow.ThebestwaytogetWilltodoanythingwastotellhimyouknewhewouldn’twantto.Someobstinate,contrarypartofhimstillcouldn’tbearit.
Willchewedforaminute.‘No.I’llcometoyourbirthday.It’llgiveyourmothersomethingtofocuson,ifnothingelse.’
‘Really?OhGod,ifItellhershe’llstartpolishinganddustingthisevening.’
‘Areyousureshe’syourbiologicalmother?Isn’ttheresupposedtobesomekindofgeneticsimilaritythere?Sandwichplease,Clark.Andmorepickleonthenextbit.’
Ihadbeenonlyhalfjoking.Mumwentintoacompletetailspinatthethoughtofhostingaquadriplegic.Herhandsflewtoherface,andthenshestartedrearrangingstuffonthedresser,asifheweregoingtoarrivewithinminutesofmetellingher.
‘Butwhatifheneedstogototheloo?Wedon’thaveadownstairsbathroom.Idon’tthinkDaddywouldbeabletocarryhimupstairs.Icouldhelp…butI’dfeelabitworriedaboutwheretoputmyhands.WouldPatrickdoit?’
‘Youdon’tneedtoworryaboutthatsideofthings.Really.’
‘Andwhatabouthisfood?Willheneedhispureed?Isthereanythinghecan’teat?’
‘No,hejustneedshelppickingitup.’
‘Who’sgoingtodothat?’
‘Iwill.Relax,Mum.He’snice.You’lllikehim.’
Andsoitwasarranged.NathanwouldpickWillupanddrivehimover,andwouldcomebytwohourslatertotakehimhomeagainandrunthroughthenight-timeroutine.Ihadoffered,buttheybothinsistedIshould‘letmyhairdown’onmybirthday.Theyplainlyhadn’tmetmyparents.
Athalfpastsevenonthedot,IopenedthedoortofindWillandNathaninthefrontporch.Willwaswearinghissmartshirtandjacket.Ididn’tknowwhethertobepleasedthathehadmadetheeffort,orworriedthatmymumwouldnowspendthefirsttwohoursofthenightworryingthatshehadn’tdressedsmartlyenough.
‘Hey,you.’
Mydademergedintothehallwaybehindme.‘Aha.Wastherampokay,lads?’Hehadspentallafternoonmakingtheparticle-boardrampfortheoutsidesteps.
NathancarefullynegotiatedWill’schairupandintoournarrowhallway.‘Nice,’Nathansaid,asIclosedthedoorbehindhim.‘Verynice.I’veseenworseinhospitals.’
‘BernardClark.’DadreachedoutandshookNathan’shand.HehelditouttowardsWill,beforesnatchingitawayagainwithasuddenflushofembarrassment.‘Bernard.Sorry,um…Idon’tknowhowtogreeta…Ican’tshakeyour–’Hebegantostutter.
‘Acurtsywillbefine.’
Dadstaredathimandthen,whenherealizedWillwasjoking,heletoutagreatlaughofrelief.‘Hah!’hesaid,andclappedWillontheshoulder.‘Yes.Curtsy.Niceone.Hah!
Itbroketheice.Nathanleftwithawaveandawink,andIwheeledWillthroughtothekitchen.Mum,luckily,washoldingacasseroledish,whichabsolvedherofthesameanxiety.
‘Mum,thisisWill.Will,Josephine.’
‘Josie,please.’Shebeamedathim,herovenglovesuptoherelbows.‘Lovelytomeetyoufinally,Will.’
‘Pleasedtomeetyou,’hesaid.‘Don’tletmeinterrupt.’
Sheputdownthedishandherhandwenttoherhair,alwaysagoodsignwithmymother.Itwasashameshehadn’trememberedtotakeanovengloveofffirst.
‘Sorry,’shesaid.‘Roastdinner.It’sallinthetiming,youknow.’
‘Notreally,’Willsaid.‘I’mnotacook.ButIlovegoodfood.It’swhyIhavebeenlookingforwardtotonight.’
‘So…’Dadopenedthefridge.‘Howdowedothis?Doyouhaveaspecialbeer…cup,Will?’
IfitwasDad,ItoldWill,hewouldhavehadanadaptedbeercupbeforehehadawheelchair.
‘Gottogetyourprioritiesright,’Dadsaid.IrummagedinWill’sbaguntilIfoundhisbeaker.
‘Beerwillbefine.Thankyou.’
HetookasipandIstoodinthekitchen,suddenlyconsciousofourtiny,shabbyhousewithits1980swallpaperanddentedkitchencupboards.Will’shomewaselegantlyfurnished,itsthingssparseandbeautiful.Ourhouselookedasif90percentofitscontentscamefromthelocalpoundshop.Thomas’sdog-earedpaintingscoveredeverysparesurfaceofwall.Butifhehadnoticed,Willsaidnothing.HeandDadhadquicklyfoundasharedpointofreference,whichturnedouttobemygeneraluselessness.Ididn’tmind.Itkeptthembothhappy.
‘Didyouknow,sheoncedrovebackwardsintoabollardandsworeitwasthebollard’sfault…’
‘Youwanttoseeherloweringmyramp.It’slikeSkiSundaycomingoutofthatcarsometimes…’
Dadburstoutlaughing.
Ileftthemtoit.Mumfollowedmeout,fretting.Sheputatrayofglassesontothediningtable,thenglancedupattheclock.‘Where’sPatrick?’
‘Hewascomingstraightfromtraining,’Isaid.‘Perhapshe’sbeenheldup.’
‘Hecouldn’tputitoffjustforyourbirthday?Thischickenisgoingtobespoiltifhe’smuchlonger.’
‘Mum,itwillbefine.’
Iwaiteduntilshehadputthetraydown,andthenIslidmyarmsaroundherandgaveherahug.Shewasrigidwithanxiety.Ifeltasuddenwaveofsympathyforher.Itcouldn’tbeeasybeingmymother.
‘Really.Itwillbefine.’
Sheletgoofme,kissedthetopofmyhead,andbrushedherhandsdownherapron.‘Iwishyoursisterwashere.Itseemswrongtohaveacelebrationwithouther.’
Nottomeitdidn’t.Justforonce,Iwasquiteenjoyingbeingthefocusofattention.Itmightsoundchildish,butitwastrue.IlovedhavingWillandDadlaughingaboutme.Ilovedthefactthateveryelementofsupper–fromroastchickentochocolatemousse–wasmyfavourite.IlikedthefactthatIcouldbewhoIwantedtobewithoutmysister’svoiceremindingmeofwhoIhadbeen.
Thedoorbellrang,andMumflappedherhands.‘Thereheis.Lou,whydon’tyoustartserving?’
Patrickwasstillflushedfromhisexertionsatthetrack.‘Happybirthday,babe,’hesaid,stoopingtokissme.Hesmeltofaftershaveanddeodorantandwarm,recentlyshoweredskin.
‘Bestgostraightthrough.’Inoddedtowardsthelivingroom.‘Mum’shavingatimingmeltdown.’
‘Oh.’Heglanceddownathiswatch.‘Sorry.Musthavelosttrackoftime.’
‘Notyourtime,though,eh?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
Dadhadmovedthebiggatelegtableintothelivingroom.Hehadalso,onmyinstruction,movedoneofthesofastotheotherwallsothatWillwouldbeabletoentertheroomunobstructed.HemanoeuvredhiswheelchairtotheplacingIpointedto,andthenelevatedhimselfalittlesothathewouldbethesameheightaseveryoneelse.Isatonhis
Willinclinedhisheadtowardsme.‘Ifyoulookinthebackofthechair,there’salittlesomethingforthedinner.’
Ileantbackandreachedmyhanddownwardsintohisbag.Ipulleditupagain,retrievingabottleofLaurent-Perrierchampagne.
‘Youshouldalwayshavechampagneonyourbirthday,’hesaid.
‘Oh,lookatthat,’Mumsaid,bringingintheplates.‘Howlovely!Butwehavenochampagneglasses.’
‘Thesewillbefine,’Willsaid.
‘I’llopenit.’Patrickreachedforit,unwoundthewire,andplacedhisthumbsunderthecork.HekeptglancingoveratWill,asifhewerenotwhathehadexpectedatall.
‘Ifyoudothat,’Willobserved,‘it’sgoingtogoeverywhere.’Heliftedhisarmaninchorso,gesturingvaguely.‘Ifindthatholdingthecorkandturningthebottletendstobeasaferbet.’
‘There’samanwhoknowshischampagne,’Dadsaid.‘Thereyougo,Patrick.Turningthebottle,yousay?Well,whoknew?’
‘Iknew,’Patricksaid.‘That’showIwasgoingtodoit.’
Thechampagnewassafelypoppedandpoured,andmybirthdaywastoasted.
Granddadcalledoutsomethingthatmaywellhavebeen,‘Hear,hear.’
Istoodupandbowed.Iwaswearinga1960syellowA-lineminidressIhadgotfromthecharityshop.ThewomanhadthoughtitmightbeBiba,althoughsomeonehadcutthelabelout.
‘MaythisbetheyearourLoufinallygrowsup,’Dadsaid.‘Iwasgoingtosay“doessomethingwithherlife”butitseemslikeshefinallyis.Ihavetosay,Will,sinceshe’shadthejobwithyoushe’s–well,she’sreallycomeoutofherself.’
‘We’reveryproud,’Mumsaid.‘Andgrateful.Toyou.Foremployingher,Imean.’
‘Gratitude’sallmine,’Willsaid.Heglancedsidewaysatme.
‘ToLou,’Dadsaid.‘Andhercontinuedsuccess.’
‘Andtoabsentfamilymembers,’Mumsaid.
‘Blimey,’Isaid.‘Ishouldhaveabirthdaymoreoften.Mostdaysyoualljusthurlabuseatme.’
Theybegantotalk,DadtellingsomeotherstoryagainstmethatmadehimandMumlaughoutloud.Itwasgoodtoseethemlaughing.Dadhadlookedsoworndowntheselastweeks,andMumhadbeenhollow-eyedanddistracted,asifherrealselfwerealwayselsewhere.Iwantedtosavourthesemoments,ofthembrieflyforgettingtheirtroubles,insharedjokesandfamilialfondness.Justforamoment,IrealizedIwouldn’thavemindedifThomaswasthere.OrTreena,forthatmatter.
IwassolostinmythoughtsthatittookaminutetoregisterPatrick’sexpression.IwasfeedingWillasIsaidsomethingtoGranddad,foldingapieceofsmokedsalmoninmyfingersandplacingittoWill’slips.ItwassuchanunthinkingpartofmydailylifenowthattheintimacyofthegestureonlystruckmewhenIsawtheshockonPatrick’sface.
WillsaidsomethingtoDadandIstaredatPatrick,willinghimtostop.Onhisleft,Granddadwaspickingathisplatewithgreedydelight,lettingoutwhatwecalledhis‘foodnoises’–littlegruntsandmurmursofpleasure.
‘Delicioussalmon,’Willsaid,tomymother.‘Reallylovelyflavour.
‘Well,it’snotsomethingwewouldhaveeveryday,’shesaid,smiling.‘Butwedidwanttomaketodayspecial.’
Stopstaring,ItoldPatricksilently.
Finally,hecaughtmyeyeandlookedaway.Helookedfurious.
IfedWillanotherpiece,andthensomebreadwhenIsawhimglanceatit.Ihad,Irealizedinthatmoment,becomesoattunedtoWill’sneedsthatIbarelyneededtolookathimtoworkoutwhathewanted.Patrick,opposite,atewithhisheaddown,cuttingthesmokedsalmonintosmallpiecesandspearingthemwithhisfork.Helefthisbread.
‘So,Patrick,’Willsaid,perhapssensingmydiscomfort.‘Louisatellsmeyou’reapersonaltrainer.Whatdoesthatinvolve?’
Isowishedhehadn’tasked.Patricklaunchedintohissalesspiel,allaboutpersonalmotivationandhowafitbodymadeforahealthymind.ThenheseguedintohistrainingschedulefortheXtremeViking–thetemperaturesoftheNorthSea,thebodyfatratiosneededformarathonrunning,hisbesttimesineachdiscipline.Inormallytunedoutatthispoint,butallIcouldthinkofnow,withWillbesideme,washowinappropriateitwas.Whycouldn’thehavejustsaidsomethingvagueandleftitatthat?
‘Infact,whenLousaidyouwerecoming,IthoughtI’dtakealookatmybooksandseeiftherewasanyphysioIcouldrecommend.’
Ichokedonmychampagne.‘It’squitespecialist,Patrick.I’mnotsureyou’dreallybetheperson.’
‘Icandospecialist.Idosportsinjuries.Ihavemedicaltraining.’
‘Thisisnotasprainedankle,Pat.Really.’
‘There’samanIworkedwithacoupleofyearsagohadaclientwhowasparaplegic.He’salmostfullyrecoverednow,hesays.Doestriathlonsandeverything.’
‘Fancy,’saidmymother.
‘HepointedmetothisnewresearchinCanadathatsaysmusclescanbetrainedtorememberformeractivity.Ifyougetthemworkingenough,everyday,it’slikeabrainsynapse–itcancomeback.Ibetyouifwehookedyouupwithareallygoodregime,youcouldseeadifferenceinyourmusclememory.Afterall,Loutellsmeyouwerequitetheactionmanbefore.’
‘Patrick,’Isaidloudly.‘Youknownothingaboutit.’
‘Iwasjusttryingto–’
‘Welldon’t.Really.’
Thetablefellsilent.Dadcoughed,andexcusedhimselfforit.Granddadpeeredaroundthetableinwarysilence.
Mummadeasiftooffereveryonemorebread,andthenseemedtochangehermind.
WhenPatrickspokeagain,therewasafaintairofmartyrdominhistone.‘It’sjustresearchthatIthoughtmightbehelpful.ButI’llsaynomoreaboutit.’
Willlookedupandsmiled,hisfaceblank,polite.‘I’llcertainlybearitinmind.’
Igotuptocleartheplates,wantingtoescapethetable.ButMumscoldedme,tellingmetositdown.
‘You’rethebirthdaygirl,’shesaid–asifsheeverletanyoneelsedoanything,anyway.‘Bernard.Whydon’tyougoandgetthechicken?’
‘Ha-ha.Let’shopeit’sstoppedflappingaroundnow,eh?’Dadsmiled,histeethbaredinakindofgrimace.
Therestofthemealpassedoffwithoutincident.Myparents,Icouldsee,werecompletelycharmedbyWill.Patrick,lessso.HeandWillbarelyexchangedanotherword.SomewherearoundthepointwhereMumserveduptheroastpotatoes–Daddoinghisusualthingoftryingtostealextras–Istoppedworrying.DadwasaskingWillallsorts,abouthislifebefore,evenabouttheaccident,andheseemedcomfortableenoughtoanswerhimdirectly.Infact,Ilearntafairbitthathe’dnevertoldme.Hisjob,forexample,soundedprettyimportant,evenifheplayeditdown.Heboughtandsoldcompaniesandmadesureheturnedaprofitwhiledoingso.IttookDadafewattemptstopriseoutofhimthathisideaofprofitranintosixorsevenfigures.IfoundmyselfstaringatWill,tryingtoreconcilethemanIknewwiththisruthlessCitysuitthathenowdescribed.Dadtoldhimaboutthecompanythatwasabouttotakeoverthefurniturefactory,andwhenhesaidthenameWillnoddedalmostapologetically,andsaidthatyes,heknewofthem.Yes,hewouldprobablyhavegoneforittoo.Thewayhesaiditdidn’tsoundpromisingforDad’sjob.
MumjustcooedatWill,andmadeahugefussofhim.Irealized,watchinghersmile,thatatsomestageduringthemealhehadjustbecomeasmartyoungmanathertable.NowonderPatrickwaspissedoff.
‘Birthdaycake?’Granddadsaid,asshebegantoclearthedishes.
Itwassodistinct,sosurprising,thatDadandIstaredateachotherinshock.Thewholetablewentquiet.
‘No,’Iwalkedaroundthetableandkissedhim.‘No,Granddad.Sorry.Butitischocolatemousse.Youlikethat.’
Henoddedinapproval.Mymotherwasbeaming.Idon’tthinkanyofuscouldhavehadabetterpresent.
Themoussearrivedonthetable,andwithitalarge,squarepresent,aboutthesizeofatelephonedirectory,wrappedintissue.
‘Presents,isit?’Patricksaid.‘Here.Here’smine.’Hesmiledatmeasheplaceditinthemiddleofthetable.
Iraisedasmileback.Thiswasnotimetoargue,afterall.
‘Goon,’saidDad.‘Openit.’
Iopenedtheirsfirst,peelingthepapercarefullyawaysothatIdidn’ttearit.Itwasaphotographalbum,andoneverypagetherewasapicturefromayearinmylife.Measababy;meandTreenaassolemn,chubby-facedgirls;meonmyfirstdayatsecondaryschool,allhairclipsandoversizedskirt.Morerecently,therewasapictureofmeandPatrick,theonewhereIwasactuallytellinghimtopissoff.Andme,dressedinagreyskirt,myfirstdayinmynewjob.InbetweenthepageswerepicturesofourfamilybyThomas,lettersthatMumhadkeptfromschooltrips,mychildishhandwritingtellingofdaysonthebeach,losticecreamsandthievinggulls.Iflickedthrough,andonlyhesitatedbrieflywhenIsawthegirlwiththelong,darkflicked-backhair.Iturnedthepage.
‘CanIsee?’Willsaid.
‘It’snotbeen…thebestyear,’Mumtoldhim,asIflickedthroughthepagesinfrontofhim.‘Imean,we’refineandeverything.But,youknow,thingsbeingwhattheyare.AndthenGranddadsawsomethingonthedaytimetellyaboutmakingyourownpresents,andIthoughtthatwassomethingthatwould…youknow…reallymeansomething.’
‘Itdoes,Mum.’Myeyeshadfilledwithtears.‘Iloveit.Thankyou.’
‘Granddadpickedoutsomeofthepictures,’shesaid.
‘It’sbeautiful,’saidWill.
‘Iloveit,’Isaidagain.
ThelookofutterreliefsheandDadexchangedwasthesaddestthingIhaveeverseen.
‘Minenext.’Patrickpushedthelittleboxacrossthetable.Iopeneditslowly,feelingvaguelypanickedforamomentthatitmightbeanengagementring.Iwasn’tready.Ihadbarelygotmyheadaroundhavingmyownbedroom.Iopenedthelittlebox,andthere,againstthedark-bluevelvet,wasathingoldchainwithalittlestarpendant.Itwassweet,delicate,andnotremotelyme.Ididn’twearthatkindofjewellery,neverhad.
IletmyeyesrestonitwhileIworkedoutwhattosay.‘It’slovely,’Isaid,asheleantacrossthetableandfasteneditaroundmyneck.
‘Gladyoulikeit,’Patricksaid,andkissedmeonthemouth.Iswearhe’dneverkissedmelikethatinfrontofmyparentsbefore.
Willwatchedme,hisfaceimpassive.
‘Well,Ithinkweshouldeatpuddingnow,’Dadsaid.‘Beforeitgetstoohot.’Helaughedoutloudathisownjoke.Thechampagnehadboostedhisspiritsimmeasurably.
‘There’ssomethinginmybagforyoutoo,’Willsaid,quietly.‘Theoneonthebackofmychair.It’sinorangewrapping.’
IpulledthepresentfromWill’sbackpack.
Mymotherpaused,theservingspooninherhand.‘YougotLouapresent,Will?That’seversokindofyou.Isn’tthatkindofhim,Bernard?’
‘Itcertainlyis.’
ThewrappingpaperhadbrightlycolouredChinesekimonosonit.Ididn’thavetolookatittoknowIwouldsaveit.Perhapsevencreatesomethingtowearbasedonit.Iremovedtheribbon,puttingittoonesideforlater.Iopenedthepaper,andthenthetissuepaperwithinit,andthere,staringatmewasastrangelyfamiliarblackandyellowstripe.
Ipulledthefabricfromtheparcel,andinmyhandsweretwopairsofblackandyellowtights.Adult-sized,opaque,inawoolsosoftthattheyalmostslidthroughmyfingers.
‘Idon’tbelieveit,’Isaid.Ihadstartedtolaugh–ajoyous,unexpectedthing.‘OhmyGod!Wheredidyougetthese?’
‘Ihadthemmade.You’llbehappytoknowIinstructedthewomanviamybrand-newvoicerecognitionsoftware.’
‘Tights?’DadandPatricksaidinunison.
‘Onlythebestpairoftightsever.’
Mymotherpeeredatthem.‘Youknow,Louisa,I’mprettysureyouhadapairjustlikethatwhenyouwereverylittle.’
WillandIexchangedalook.
Icouldn’tstopbeaming.‘Iwanttoputthemonnow,’Isaid.
‘JesusChrist,she’lllooklikeMaxWallinabeehive,’myfathersaid,shakinghishead.
‘AhBernard,it’sherbirthday.Sure,shecanwearwhatshewants.’
Iranoutsideandpulledonapairinthehallway.Ipointedatoe,admiringthesillinessofthem.Idon’tthinkapresenthadevermademesohappyinmylife.
Iwalkedbackin.Willletoutasmallcheer.Granddadbangedhishandsonthetable.MumandDadburstoutlaughing.Patrickjuststared.
‘Ican’tevenbegintotellyouhowmuchIlovethese,’Isaid.‘Thankyou.Thankyou.’Ireachedoutahandandtouchedthebackofhisshoulder.‘Really.’
‘There’sacardintheretoo,’hesaid.‘Openitsomeothertime.’
MyparentsmadeahugefussofWillwhenheleft.
Dad,whowasdrunk,keptthankinghimforemployingme,andmadehimpromisetocomeback.‘IfIlosemyjob,maybeI’llcomeoverandwatchthefootiewithyouoneday,’hesaid.
‘I’dlikethat,’saidWill,eventhoughI’dneverseenhimwatchafootballmatch.
Mymumpressedsomeleftovermousseonhim,wrappingitinaTupperwarecontainer,‘Seeingasyoulikeditsomuch.’
Whatagentleman,theywouldsay,foragoodhourafterhehadgone.Arealgentleman.
Patrickcameouttothehallway,hishandsshoveddeepinhispockets,asifperhapstostoptheurgetoshakeWill’sown.Thatwasmymoregenerousconclusion.
‘Goodtomeetyou,Patrick,’Willsaid.‘Andthankyouforthe…advice.’
‘Oh,justtryingtohelpmygirlfriendgetthebestoutofherjob,’hesaid.‘That’sall.’Therewasadefiniteemphasisonthewordmy
‘Well,you’realuckyman,’Willsaid,asNathanbegantosteerhimout.‘Shecertainlygivesagoodbedbath.’HesaiditsoquicklythatthedoorwasclosedbeforePatrickevenrealizedwhathehadsaid.
‘Younevertoldmeyouweregivinghimbedbaths.’
WehadgonebacktoPatrick’shouse,anew-buildflatontheedgeoftown.Ithadbeenmarketedas‘loftliving’,eventhoughitoverlookedtheretailpark,andwasnomorethanthreefloorshigh.
‘Whatdoesthatmean–youwashhisdick?’
‘Idon’twashhisdick.’IpickedupthecleanserthatwasoneofthefewthingsIwasallowedtokeepatPatrick’splace,andbegantocleanoffmymake-upwithsweepingstrokes.
‘Hejustsaidyoudid.’
‘He’steasingyou.Andafteryougoingonandonabouthowheusedtobeanactionman,Idon’tblamehim.’
‘Sowhatisityoudoforhim?You’veobviouslynotbeengivingmethefullstory.’
‘Idowashhim,sometimes,butonlydowntohisunderwear.’
Patrick’sstarespokevolumes.Finally,helookedawayfromme,pulledoffhissocksandhurledthemintothelaundrybasket.‘Yourjobisn’tmeanttobeaboutthis.Nomedicalstuff,itsaid.Nointimatestuff.Itwasn’tpartofyourjobdescription.’Asuddenthoughtoccurredtohim.‘Youcouldsue.Constructivedismissal,Ithinkitis,whentheychangethetermsofyourjob?’
‘Don’tberidiculous.AndIdoitbecauseNathancan’talwaysbethere,andit’shorribleforWilltohavesomecompletestrangerfromanagencyhandlinghim.Andbesides,I’musedtoitnow.Itreallydoesn’tbotherme.’
HowcouldIexplaintohim–howabodycanbecomesofamiliartoyou?IcouldchangeWill’stubeswithadeftprofessionalism,spongebathehisnakedtophalfwithoutabreakinourconversation.Ididn’tevenbalkatWill’sscarsnow.Forawhile,allIhadbeenabletoseewasapotentialsuicide.NowhewasjustWill–maddening,mercurial,clever,funnyWill–whopatronizedmeandlikedtoplayProfessorHigginstomyElizaDoolittle.Hisbodywasjustpartofthewholepackage,athingtobedealtwith,atintervals,beforewegotbacktothetalking.Ithadbecome,Isupposed,theleastinterestingpartofhim.
‘Ijustcan’tbelieve…afterallwewentthrough…howlongittookyoutoletmecomeanywherenearyou…andhere’ssomestrangerwhoyou’requitehappytogetupcloseandpersonalwith–’
‘Canwenottalkaboutthistonight,Patrick?It’smybirthday.’
‘Iwasn’ttheonewhostartedit,withtalkofbedbathsandwhatnot.’
‘Isitbecausehe’sgoodlooking?’Idemanded.‘Isthatit?Woulditallbesomucheasierforyouifhelookedlike–youknow–apropervegetable?’
‘Soyoudothinkhe’sgoodlooking.’
Ipulledmydressovermyhead,andbeganpeelingmytightscarefullyfrommylegs,thedregsofmygoodmoodfinallyevaporating.‘Ican’tbelieveyou’redoingthis.Ican’tbelieveyou’rejealousofhim.’
‘I’mnotjealousofhim.’Histonewasdismissive.‘HowcouldIbejealousofacripple?’
Patrickmadelovetomethatnight.Perhaps‘madelove’isstretchingitabit.Wehadsex,amarathonsessioninwhichheseemeddeterminedtoshowoffhisathleticism,hisstrengthandvigour.Itlastedforhours.IfhecouldhaveswungmefromachandelierIthinkhewouldhavedoneso.Itwasnicetofeelsowanted,tofindmyselfthefocusofPatrick’sattentionaftermonthsofsemi-detachment.Butalittlepartofmestayedaloofduringthewholething.Isuspecteditwasn’tforme,afterall.Ihadworkedthatoutprettyquickly.ThislittleshowwasforWill’sbenefit.
‘Howwasthat,eh?’Hewrappedhimselfaroundmeafterwards,ourskinstickingslightlywithperspiration,andkissedmyforehead.
‘Great,’Isaid.
‘Iloveyou,babe.’
And,satisfied,herolledoff,threwanarmbackoverhishead,andwasasleepwithinminutes.
Whensleepstilldidn’tcome,Igotoutofbedandwentdownstairstomybag.Irifledthroughit,lookingforthebookofFlanneryO’Connorshortstories.ItwasasIpulledthemfrommybagthattheenvelopefellout.
Istaredatit.Will’scard.Ihadn’topeneditatthetable.Ididsonow,feelinganunlikelysponginessatitscentre.Islidthecardcarefullyfromitsenvelope,andopenedit.Insideweretencrisp￡50notes.Icountedthemtwice,unabletobelievewhatIwasseeing.Inside,itread:
Birthdaybonus.Don’tfuss.It’salegalrequirement.W.14
Maywasastrangemonth.Thenewspapersandtelevisionwerefullofheadlinesaboutwhattheytermed‘therighttodie’.Awomansufferingfromadegenerativediseasehadaskedthatthelawbeclarifiedtoprotectherhusband,shouldheaccompanyhertoDignitaswhenhersufferingbecametoomuch.Ayoungfootballplayerhadcommittedsuicideafterpersuadinghisparentstotakehimthere.Thepolicewereinvolved.TherewastobeadebateintheHouseofLords.
Iwatchedthenewsreportsandlistenedtothelegalargumentsfrompro-lifersandesteemedmoralphilosophers,anddidn’tquiteknowwhereIstoodonanyofit.ItallseemedweirdlyunrelatedtoWill.
We,inthemeantime,hadgraduallybeenincreasingWill’soutings–andthedistancethathewaspreparedtotravel.Wehadbeentothetheatre,downtheroadtoseethemorrisdancers(Willkeptastraightfaceattheirbellsandhankies,buthehadgoneslightlypinkwiththeeffort),drivenoneeveningtoanopen-airconcertatanearbystatelyhome(morehisthingthanmine),andoncetothemultiplexwhere,duetoinadequateresearchonmypart,weendedupwatchingafilmaboutagirlwithaterminalillness.
ButIknewhesawtheheadlinestoo.Hehadbegunusingthecomputermoresincewegotthenewsoftware,andhehadworkedouthowtomoveamousebydragginghisthumbacrossatrackpad.Thislaboriousexerciseenabledhimtoreadtheday’snewspapersonline.Ibroughthiminacupofteaonemorningtofindhimreadingabouttheyoungfootballplayer–adetailedfeatureaboutthestepshehadgonethroughtobringabouthisowndeath.HeblankedthescreenwhenherealizedIwasbehindhim.Thatsmallactionleftmewithalumpsomewherehighinmychestthattookafullhalf-hourtogoaway.
Ilookedupthesamepieceatthelibrary.Ihadbeguntoreadnewspapers.Ihadworkedoutwhichoftheirargumentstendedtogodeeper–thatinformationwasn’talwaysatitsmostusefulboileddowntostark,skeletalfacts.
Thefootballplayer’sparentshadbeensavagedbythetabloidnewspapers.HowCouldTheyLetHimDie?screamedtheheadlines.Icouldn’thelpbutfeelthesameway.LeoMcInerneywastwenty-four.Hehadlivedwithhisinjuryforalmostthreeyears,sonotmuchlongerthanWill.Surelyhewastooyoungtodecidethattherewasnothinglefttolivefor?AndthenIreadwhatWillhadread–notanopinionpiece,butacarefullyresearchedfeatureaboutwhathadactuallytakenplaceinthisyoungman’slife.Thewriterseemedtohavehadaccesstohisparents.
Leo,theysaid,hadplayedfootballsincehewasthreeyearsold.Hiswholelifewasfootball.Hehadbeeninjuredinwhattheytermeda‘milliontoone’accidentwhenatacklewentwrong.Theyhadtriedeverythingtoencouragehim,togivehimasensethathislifewouldstillholdvalue.Buthehadretreatedintodepression.Hewasanathletenotjustwithoutathleticism,butwithouteventheabilitytomoveor,onoccasion,breathewithoutassistance.Hegleanednopleasurefromanything.Hislifewaspainful,disruptedbyinfection,anddependentontheconstantministrationsofothers.Hemissedhisfriends,butrefusedtoseethem.Hetoldhisgirlfriendhewouldn’tseeher.Hetoldhisparentsdailythathedidn’twanttolive.He
Hehadtriedtocommitsuicidetwicebystarvinghimselfuntilhospitalized,andwhenreturnedhomehadbeggedhisparentstosmotherhiminhissleep.WhenIreadthat,IsatinthelibraryandstucktheballsofmyhandsinmyeyesuntilIcouldbreathewithoutsobbing
Dadlosthisjob.Hewasprettybraveaboutit.Hecamehomethatafternoon,gotchangedintoashirtandtieandheadedbackintotownonthenextbus,toregisterattheJobCentre.
Hehadalreadydecided,hetoldMum,thathewouldapplyforanything,despitebeingaskilledcraftsmanwithyearsofexperience.‘Idon’tthinkwecanaffordtobepickyatthemoment,’hesaid,ignoringMum’sprotestations.
ButifIhadfoundithardtogetemployment,prospectsfora55-year-oldmanwhohadonlyeverheldonejobwereharder.Hecouldn’tevengetajobasawarehousemanorasecurityguard,hesaid,despairingly,ashereturnedhomefromanotherroundofinterviews.Theywouldtakesomeunreliablesnot-nosedseventeen-year-oldbecausethegovernmentwouldmakeuptheirwages,buttheywouldn’ttakeamaturemanwithaprovenworkrecord.Afterafortnightofrejections,heandMumadmittedtheywouldhavetoapplyforbenefits,justtotidethemover,andspenttheireveningsporingoverincomprehensible,fifty-pageformswhichaskedhowmanypeopleusedtheirwashingmachine,andwhenwasthelasttimetheyhadleftthecountry(Dadthoughtitmighthavebeen1988).IputWill’sbirthdaymoneyintothecashtininthekitchencupboard.Ithoughtitmightmakethemfeelbettertoknowtheyhadalittlesecurity.
WhenIwokeupinthemorning,ithadbeenpushedbackundermydoorinanenvelope.
Thetouristscame,andthetownbegantofill.MrTraynorwasaroundlessandlessnow;hishourslengthenedasthevisitornumberstothecastlegrew.IsawhimintownoneThursdayafternoon,whenIwalkedhomeviathedrycleaner’s.Thatwouldn’thavebeenunusualinitself,exceptforthefacthehadhisarmaroundared-hairedwomanwhoclearlywasn’tMrsTraynor.Whenhesawmehedroppedherlikeahotpotato.
Iturnedaway,pretendingtopeerintoashopwindow,unsureifIwantedhimtoknowthatIhadseenthem,andtriedveryhardnottothinkaboutitagain
OntheFridayaftermydadlosthisjob,Willreceivedaninvitation–aweddinginvitationfromAliciaandRupert.Well,strictlyspeaking,theinvitationcamefromColonelandMrsTimothyDewar,Alicia’sparents,invitingWilltocelebratetheirdaughter’smarriagetoRupertFreshwell.Itarrivedinaheavyparchmentenvelopewithascheduleofcelebrations,andafat,foldedlistofthingsthatpeoplecouldbuythemfromstoresIhadneverevenheardof.
‘She’sgotsomenerve,’Iobserved,studyingthegiltlettering,thegold-edgedpieceofthickcard.‘Wantmetothrowit?’
‘Whateveryouwant.’Will’swholebodywasastudyindeterminedindifference.
Istaredatthelist.‘Whatthehellisacouscoussieranyway?’
Perhapsitwassomethingtodowiththespeedwithwhichheturnedawayandbeganbusyinghimselfwithhiscomputerkeyboard.Perhapsitwashistoneofvoice.ButforsomereasonIdidn’tthrowitaway.Iputitcarefullyintohisfolderinthekitchen.
Willgavemeanotherbookofshortstories,onethathe’dorderedfromAmazon,andacopyofTheRedQueen.Iknewitwasn’tgoingtobemysortofbookatall.‘Ithasn’tevengotastory,’Isaid,afterstudyingthebackcover.
‘So?’Willreplied.‘Challengeyourselfabit.’
Itried–notbecauseIreallyhadanappetiteforgenetics–butbecauseIcouldn’tbearthethoughtthatWillwouldgoonandonatmeifIdidn’t.Hewaslikethatnow.Hewasactuallyabitofabully.And,reallyannoyingly,hewouldquizmeonhowmuchIhadreadofsomething,justtomakesureIreallyhad.
‘You’renotmyteacher,’Iwouldgrumble.
‘ThankGod,’hewouldreply,withfeeling.
Thisbook–whichwasactuallysurprisinglyreadable–wasallaboutakindofbattleforsurvival.Itclaimedthatwomendidn’tpickmenbecausetheylovedthematall.Itsaidthatthefemaleofthespecieswouldalwaysgoforthestrongestmale,inordertogiveheroffspringthebestchance.Shecouldn’thelpherself.Itwasjustthewaynaturewas.
Ididn’tagreewiththis.AndIdidn’tliketheargument.Therewasanuncomfortableundercurrenttowhathewastryingtopersuademeof.Willwasphysicallyweak,damaged,inthisauthor’seyes.Thatmadehimabiologicalirrelevance.Itwouldhavemadehislifeworthless.
HehadbeengoingonandonaboutthisforthebestpartofanafternoonwhenIbuttedin.‘There’sonethingthisMattRidleyblokehasn’tfactoredin,’Isaid.
Willlookedupfromhiscomputerscreen.‘Ohyes?’
‘Whatifthegeneticallysuperiormaleisactuallyabitofadickhead?’
OnthethirdSaturdayofMay,TreenaandThomascamehome.Mymotherwasoutofthedoorandupthegardenpathbeforetheyhadmadeithalfwaydownthestreet.Thomas,sheswore,clutchinghimtoher,hadgrownseveralinchesinthetimetheyhadbeenaway.Hehadchanged,wassogrown-up,lookedsomuchthelittleman.Treenahadcutoffherhairandlookedoddlysophisticated.ShewaswearingajacketIhadn’tseenbefore,andstrappysandals.Ifoundmyselfwondering,meanly,whereshehadfoundthemoney.
‘Sohowisit?’Iasked,whileMumwalkedThomasaroundthegarden,showinghimthefrogsinthetinypond.DadwaswatchingfootballwithGranddad,exclaiminginmildfrustrationatanothersupposedmissedopportunity.
‘Great.Reallygood.Imean,it’shardnothavinganyhelpwithThomas,anditdidtakehimawhiletosettleinatthecrèche.’Sheleantforwards.‘Althoughyoumustn’ttellMum–Itoldherhewasfine.’
‘Butyoulikethecourse.’
Treena’sfacebrokeoutintoasmile.‘It’sthebest.Ican’ttellyou,Lou,thejoyofjustusingmybrainagain.Ifeellikethere’sbeenthisbigchunkofmemissingforages…andit’slikeI’vefounditagain.Doesthatsoundwanky?’
Ishookmyhead.Iwasactuallygladforher.Iwantedtotellheraboutthelibrary,andthecomputers,andwhatIhaddoneforWill.ButIthoughtthisshouldprobablybehermoment.Wesatonthefoldawaychairs,underthetatteredsunshade,andsippedatourmugsoftea.Herfingers,Inoticed,werealltherightcolours.
‘Shemissesyou,’Isaid.
‘We’llbebackmostweekendsfromnowon.Ijustneeded…Lou,itwasn’tjustaboutsettlingThomasin.Ijustneededabitoftimetobeawayfromitall.Ijustwantedtimetobeadifferentperson.’
Shelookedabitlikeadifferentperson.Itwasweird.Justafewweeksawayfromhomecouldrubthefamiliarityrightoffsomeone.IfeltlikeshewasonthepathtobeingsomeoneIwasn’tquitesureof.Ifelt,weirdly,asifIwerebeingleftbehind.
‘Mumtoldmeyourdisabledblokecametodinner.’
‘He’snotmydisabledbloke.Hisname’sWill.’
‘Sorry.Will.Soit’sgoingwell,then,theoldanti-bucketlist?’
‘So-so.Sometripshavebeenmoresuccessfulthanothers.’Itoldheraboutthehorseracingdisaster,andtheunexpectedtriumphoftheviolinconcert.Itoldheraboutourpicnics,andshelaughedwhenItoldheraboutmybirthdaydinner.
‘Doyouthink…?’Icouldseeherworkingoutthebestwaytoputit.‘Doyouthinkyou’llwin?’
Likeitwassomekindofcontest.
Ipulledatendrilfromthehoneysuckleandbeganpickingoffitsleaves.‘Idon’tknow.IthinkI’mgoingtoneedtoupmygame.’ItoldherwhatMrsTraynorhadsaidtomeaboutgoingabroad.
‘Ican’tbelieveyouwenttoaviolinconcert,though.You,ofallpeople!’
‘Ilikedit.’
Sheraisedaneyebrow.
‘No.Really,Idid.Itwas…emotional.’
Shelookedatmecarefully.‘Mumsayshe’sreallynice.’
‘Heisreallynice.’
‘Andhandsome.’
‘Aspinalinjurydoesn’tmeanyouturnintoQuasimodo.’Pleasedon’tsayanythingaboutitbeingatragicwaste,Itoldhersilently.
Butperhapsmysisterwassmarterthanthat.‘Anyway.Shewasdefinitelysurprised.IthinkshewaspreparedforQuasimodo.’
‘That’stheproblem,Treen,’Isaid,andthrewtherestofmyteaintotheflowerbed.‘Peoplealwaysare.’
Mumwascheerfuloversupperthatnight.Shehadcookedlasagne,Treena’sfavourite,andThomaswasallowedtostayupasatreat.Weateandtalkedandlaughedandtalkedaboutsafethings,likethefootballteam,andmyjob,andwhatTreena’sfellowstudentswerelike.MummusthaveaskedTreenaahundredtimesifshewassureshewasmanagingokayonherown,whethertherewasanythingsheneededforThomas–asiftheyhadanythingsparetheycouldhavegivenher.IwasgladIhadwarnedTreenaabouthowbroketheywere.Shesaidno,gracefullyandwithconviction.ItwasonlyafterwardsIthoughttoaskifitwasthetruth.
ThatnightIwaswokenatmidnightbythesoundofcrying.ItwasThomas,intheboxroom.IcouldhearTreenatryingtocomforthim,toreassurehim,thesoundofthelightgoingonandoff,abedbeingrearranged.Ilayinthedark,watchingthesodiumlightfilterthroughmyblindsontomynewlypaintedceiling,andwaitedforittostop.Butthesamethinwailbeganagainattwo.Thistime,IheardMumpaddingacrossthehallway,andmurmuredconversation.Then,finally,Thomaswassilentagain.
AtfourIwoketothesoundofmydoorcreakingopen.Iblinkedgroggily,turningtowardsthelight.Thomasstoodsilhouettedagainstthedoorway,hisoversizedpyjamasloosearoundhislegs,hiscomfortblankethalfspooledonthefloor.Icouldn’tseehisface,buthestoodthereuncertainly,asifunsurewhattodonext.
‘Comehere,Thomas,’Iwhispered.Ashepaddedtowardsme,Icouldseehewasstillhalfasleep.Hisstepswerehalting,histhumbthrustintohismouth,histreasuredblanketclutchedtohisside.Iheldtheduvetopenandheclimbedintobedbesideme,histuftyheadburrowingintotheotherpillow,andcurledupintoafoetalball.Ipulledtheduvetoverhimandlaythere,gazingathim,marvellingatthecertaintyandimmediacyofhissleep.
‘Night,night,sweetheart,’Iwhispered,andkissedhisforehead,andafatlittlehandcreptoutandtookachunkofmyT-shirtinitsgrasp,asiftoreassureitselfthatIcouldn’tmoveaway.
‘Whatwasthebestplaceyou’veevervisited?’
Weweresittingintheshelter,waitingforasuddensqualltostopsothatwecouldwalkaroundthereargardensofthecastle.Willdidn’tlikegoingtothemainarea–toomanypeopletogawpathim.Butthevegetablegardenswereoneofitshiddentreasures,visitedbyfew.Itssecludedorchardsandfruitgardenswereseparatedbyhoneyedpea-shinglepathsthatWill’schaircouldnegotiatequitehappily.
‘Intermsofwhat?Andwhat’sthat?’
Ipouredsomesoupfromaflaskandheldituptohislips.‘Tomato.’
‘Okay.Jesus,that’shot.Givemeaminute.’Hesquintedintothedistance.‘IclimbedMountKilimanjarowhenIhitthirty.Thatwasprettyincredible.’
‘Howhigh?’
‘AlittleovernineteenthousandfeettoUhuruPeak.Thatsaid,Iprettymuchcrawledthelastthousandorso.Thealtitudehitsyouprettyhard.’
‘Wasitcold?’
‘No…’hesmiledatme.‘It’snotlikeEverest.NotthetimeofyearthatIwent,anyway.’Hegazedoffintothedistance,brieflylostinhisremembrance.‘Itwasbeautiful.TheroofofAfrica,theycallit.Whenyou’reupthere,it’slikeyoucanactuallyseetotheendoftheworld.’
Willwassilentforamoment.Iwatchedhim,wonderingwherehereallywas.Whenwehadtheseconversationshebecameliketheboyinmyclass,theboywhohaddistancedhimselffromusbyventuringaway.
‘Sowhereelsehaveyouliked?’
‘Troud’EauDoucebay,Mauritius.Lovelypeople,beautifulbeaches,greatdiving.Um…TsavoNationalPark,Kenya,allredearthandwildanimals.Yosemite.That’sCalifornia.Rockfacessotallyourbraincan’tquiteprocessthescaleofthem.’
Hetoldmeofanighthe’dspentrockclimbing,perchedonaledgeseveralhundredfeetup,howhe’dhadtopinhimselfintohissleepingbag,andattachittotherockface,becausetorolloverinhissleepwouldhavebeendisastrous.
‘You’veactuallyjustdescribedmyworstnightmare,rightthere.’
‘Ilikemoremetropolitanplacestoo.Sydney,Iloved.TheNorthernTerritories.Iceland.There’saplacenotfarfromtheairportwhereyoucanbatheinthevolcanicsprings.It’slikeastrange,nuclearlandscape.Oh,andridingacrossCentralChina.Iwenttothisplaceabouttwodays’ridefromtheCapitalofSichuanprovince,andthelocalsspatatmebecausetheyhadn’tseenawhitepersonbefore.’
‘Isthereanywhereyouhaven’tbeen?’
Hetookanothersipofsoup.‘NorthKorea?’Hepondered.‘Oh,I’veneverbeentoDisneyland.Willthatdo?NotevenEurodisney.’
‘IoncebookedatickettoAustralia.Neverwent,though.’
Heturnedtomeinsurprise.
‘Stuffhappened.It’sfine.PerhapsIwillgooneday.’
‘Not“perhaps”.You’vegottogetawayfromhere,Clark.Promisemeyouwon’tspendtherestofyourlifestuckaroundthisbloodyparodyofaplacemat.’
‘Promiseme?Why?’Itriedtomakemyvoicelight.‘Whereareyougoing?’
‘Ijust…can’tbearthethoughtofyoustayingaroundhereforever.’Heswallowed.‘You’retoobright.Toointeresting.’Helookedawayfromme.‘Youonlygetonelife.It’sactuallyyourdutytoliveitasfullyaspossible.’
‘Okay,’Isaid,carefully.‘ThentellmewhereIshouldgo.Wherewouldyougo,ifyoucouldgoanywhere?’
‘Rightnow?’
‘Rightnow.Andyou’renotallowedtosayKilimanjaro.IthastobesomewhereIcanimaginegoingmyself.’
WhenWill’sfacerelaxed,helookedlikesomeonequitedifferent.Asmilesettledacrosshisfacenow,hiseyescreasingwithpleasure.‘Paris.IwouldsitoutsideacafeinLeMaraisanddrinkcoffeeandeataplateofwarmcroissantswithunsaltedbutterandstrawberryjam.’
‘LeMarais?’
‘It’salittledistrictinthecentreofParis.ItisfullofcobbledstreetsandteeteringapartmentblocksandgaymenandorthodoxJewsandwomenofacertainagewhooncelookedlikeBrigitteBardot.It’stheonlyplacetostay.’
Iturnedtofacehim,loweringmyvoice.‘Wecouldgo,’Isaid.‘WecoulddoitontheEurostar.Itwouldbeeasy.Idon’tthinkwe’devenneedtoaskNathantocome.I’veneverbeentoParis.I’dlovetogo.Reallylovetogo.Especiallywithsomeonewhoknowshiswayaround.Whatdoyousay,Will?’
Icouldseemyselfinthatcafe.Iwasthere,atthattable,maybeadmiringanewpairofFrenchshoes,purchasedinachiclittleboutique,orpickingatapastrywithParisianredfingernails.Icouldtastethecoffee,smellthesmokefromthenexttable’sGauloises.
‘No.’
‘What?’Ittookmeamomenttodragmyselfawayfromthatroadsidetable.
‘No.’
‘Butyoujusttoldme–’
‘Youdon’tgetit,Clark.Idon’twanttogothereinthis–thisthing.’Hegesturedatthechair,hisvoicedropping.‘IwanttobeinParisasme,theoldme.Iwanttositinachair,leaningback,myfavouriteclotheson,withprettyFrenchgirlswhopassbygivingmetheeyejustastheywouldanyothermansittingthere.NotlookingawayhurriedlywhentheyrealizeI’mamaninanovergrownbloodypram.’
‘Butwecouldtry,’Iventured.‘Itneedn’tbe–’
‘No.No,wecouldn’t.BecauseatthemomentIcanshutmyeyesandknowexactlyhowitfeelstobeintheRuedesFrancsBourgeois,cigaretteinhand,clementinejuiceinatall,coldglassinfrontofme,thesmellofsomeone’ssteakfritescooking,thesoundofamopedinthedistance.Iknoweverysensationofit.’
Heswallowed.‘ThedaywegoandI’minthisbloodycontraption,allthosememories,thosesensationswillbewipedout,erasedbythestruggletogetbehindthetable,upanddownParisiankerbs,thetaxidriverswhorefusetotakeus,andthewheelchairbloodypowerpackthatwouldn’tchargeinaFrenchsocket.Okay?’
Hisvoicehadhardened.Iscrewedthetopbackonthevacuumflask.IexaminedmyshoesquitecarefullyasIdidit,becauseIdidn’twanthimtoseemyface.
‘Okay,’Isaid.
‘Okay.’Willtookadeepbreath.
Belowusacoachstoppedtodisgorgeanotherloadofvisitorsoutsidethecastlegates.Wewatchedinsilenceastheyfiledoutofthevehicleandintotheoldfortressinasingle,obedientline,primedtostareattheruinsofanotherage.
It’spossibleherealizedIwasabitsubdued,becauseheleantintomealittle.Andhisfacesoftened.‘So,Clark.Therainseemstohavestopped.Whereshallwegothisafternoon.Themaze?’
‘No.’ItcameoutmorequicklythanIwouldhaveliked,andIcaughtthelookWillgaveme.
‘Youclaustrophobic?’
‘Somethinglikethat.’Ibegantogatherupourthings.‘Let’sjustgobacktothehouse.’
Thefollowingweekend,Icamedowninthemiddleofthenighttofetchsomewater.Ihadbeenhavingtroublesleeping,andhadfoundthatactuallygettingupwasmarginallypreferabletolyinginmybedbattingawaytheswirlingmessofmythoughts.
Ididn’tlikebeingawakeatnight.Icouldn’thelpbutwonderwhetherWillwasawake,ontheothersideofthecastle,andmyimaginationkeptprisingmywayintohisthoughts.Itwasadarkplacetogoto.
Herewasthetruthofit:Iwasgettingnowherewithhim.Timewasrunningout.Icouldn’tevenpersuadehimtotakeatriptoParis.Andwhenhetoldmewhy,itwashardformetoargue.HehadagoodreasonforturningdownalmosteverysinglelongertripIsuggestedtohim.AndwithouttellinghimwhyIwassoanxioustotakehim,Ihadlittleleverageatall.
IwaswalkingpastthelivingroomwhenIheardthesound–amuffledcough,orperhapsanexclamation.Istopped,retracedmystepsandstoodinthedoorway.Ipushedgentlyatthedoor.Ontheliving-roomfloor,thesofacushionsarrangedintoasortofhaphazardbed,laymyparents,undertheguestquilt,theirheadslevelwiththegasfire.Westaredateachotherforamomentinthehalf-light,myglassmotionlessinmyhand.
‘What–whatareyoudoingthere?’
Mymotherpushedherselfupontoherelbow.‘Ssh.Don’traiseyourvoice.We…’shelookedatmyfather.‘Wefanciedachange.’
‘What?’
‘Wefanciedachange.’Mymotherglancedatmyfatherforbackup.
‘We’vegivenTreenaourbed,’Dadsaid.HewaswearinganoldblueT-shirtwitharipintheshoulder,andhishairstuckupononeside.‘SheandThomas,theyweren’tgettingontoowellintheboxroom.Wesaidtheycouldhaveours.’
‘Butyoucan’tsleepdownhere!Youcan’tbecomfortablelikethis.’
‘We’refine,love,’Dadsaid.‘Really.’
Andthen,asIstood,dumblystrugglingtocomprehend,headded,‘It’sonlyatweekends.Andyoucan’tsleepinthatboxroom.Youneedyoursleep,whatwith…’Heswallowed.‘Whatwithyoubeingtheonlyoneofusatworkandall.’
Myfather,thegreatlump,couldn’tmeetmyeye.
‘Goonbacktobednow,Lou.Goon.We’refine.’Mumpracticallyshooedmeaway.
Iwalkedbackupthestairs,mybarefeetsilentonthecarpet,dimlyawareofthebriefmurmuredconversationbelow.
IhesitatedoutsideMumandDad’sroom,nowhearingwhatIhadnotheardbefore–Thomas’smuffledsnoringwithin.ThenIwalkedslowlybackacrossthelandingtomyownroom,andIclosedthedoorcarefullybehindme.Ilayinmyoversizedbedandstaredoutofthewindowatthesodiumlightsofthestreet,untildawn–finally,thankfully–broughtmeafewprecioushoursofsleep.
Therewereseventy-ninedaysleftonmycalendar.Istartedtofeelanxiousagain.
AndIwasn’talone.
MrsTraynorhadwaiteduntilNathanwastakingcareofWillonelunchtime,thenaskedmetoaccompanyhertothebighouse.ShesatmedowninthelivingroomandaskedmehowIthoughtthingswere.
‘Well,we’regoingoutalotmore,’Isaid.
Shenodded,asifinagreement.
‘Hetalksmorethanhedid.’
‘Toyou,perhaps.’Shegaveahalf-laughthatwasn’treallyalaughatall.‘Haveyoumentionedgoingabroadtohim?’
‘Notyet.Iwill.It’sjust…youknowwhathe’slike.’
‘Ireallydon’tmind,’shesaid,‘ifyouwanttogosomewhere.Iknowweprobablyweren’tthemostenthusiasticadvocatesofyouridea,butwe’vebeentalkingalot,andwebothagree…’
Wesatthereinsilence.Shehadmademecoffeeinacupandsaucer.Itookasipofit.Italwaysmademefeelaboutsixty,havingasaucerbalancedonmylap.
‘So–Willtellsmehewenttoyourhouse.’
‘Yes,itwasmybirthday.Myparentsweredoingaspecialdinner.’
‘Howwashe?’
‘Good.Reallygood.Hewasreallysweetwithmymum.’Icouldn’thelpbutsmilewhenIthoughtbacktoit.‘Imean,she’sabitsadbecausemysisterandhersonmovedout.Mummissesthem.Ithinkhe…hejustwantedtotakehermindoffit.’
MrsTraynorlookedsurprised.‘Thatwas…thoughtfulofhim.’
‘Mymumthoughtso.’
Shestirredathercoffee.‘Ican’trememberthelasttimeWillagreedtohavesupperwithus.’
Sheprobedalittlemore.Neveraskingadirectquestion,ofcourse–thatwasn’therway.ButIcouldn’tgivehertheanswersshewanted.SomedaysIthoughtWillwashappier–hewentoutwithmewithoutafuss,heteasedme,proddedmementally,seemedalittlemoreengagedwiththeworldoutsidetheannexe–butwhatdidIreallyknow?WithWillIsensedavastinternalhinterland,aworldhewouldn’tgivemeevenaglimpseof.TheselastcoupleofweeksI’dhadtheuncomfortablefeelingthathinterlandwasgrowing.
‘Heseemsalittlehappier,’shesaid.Itsoundedalmostasifsheweretryingtoreassureherself.
‘Ithinkso.’
‘Ithasbeenvery–’hergazeflickeredtowardsme‘–rewarding,toseehimalittlemorelikehisoldself.Iamverywellawarethatalltheseimprovementsareduetoyou.’
‘Notallofthem.’
‘Icouldn’treachhim.Icouldn’tgetanywherenearhim.’Sheplacedhercupandsauceronherknee.‘He’sasingularperson,Will.Fromthetimehehitadolescence,IalwayshadtofightthefeelingthatinhiseyesIhadsomehowdonesomethingwrong.I’veneverbeenquitesurewhatitwas.’Shetriedtolaugh,butitwasn’treallyalaughatall,glancingbrieflyatmeandthenlookingaway.
Ipretendedtosipmycoffee,eventhoughtherewasnothinginmycup.
‘Doyougetonwellwithyourmother,Louisa?’
‘Yes,’Isaid,thenadded,‘it’smysisterwhodrivesmenuts.’
MrsTraynorgazedoutofthewindows,towhereherpreciousgardenhadbeguntobloom,itsblossomsapaleandtastefulmeldingofpinks,mauvesandblues
‘Wehavejusttwoandahalfmonths.’Shespokewithoutturningherhead.
Iputmycoffeecuponthetable.Ididitcarefully,sothatitdidn’tclatter.‘I’mdoingmybest,MrsTraynor.’
‘Iknow,Louisa.’Shenodded.
Iletmyselfout.
LeoMcInerneydiedon22May,intheanonymousroomofaflatinSwitzerland,wearinghisfavouritefootballshirt,withbothhisparentsathisside.Hisyoungerbrotherrefusedtocome,butissuedastatementsayingthatnoonecouldhavebeenmoreloved,ormoresupportedthanhisbrother.Leodrankthemilkysolutionoflethalbarbiturateat3.47pmandhisparentssaidthatwithinminuteshewasinwhatappearedtobeadeepsleep.Hewaspronounceddeadatalittleafterfouro’clockthatafternoonbyanobserverwhohadwitnessedthewholething,alongsideavideocameratheretoforestallanysuggestionofwrongdoing.
‘Helookedatpeace,’hismotherwasquotedassaying.‘It’stheonlythingIcanholdonto.’
SheandLeo’sfatherhadbeeninterviewedthreetimesbypoliceandfacedthethreatofprosecution.Hatemailhadbeenpostedtotheirhouse.Shelookedalmosttwentyyearsolderthanhergivenage.Andyet,therewassomethingelseinherexpressionwhenshespoke;somethingthat,alongsidethegriefandtheangerandtheanxietyandexhaustion,toldofadeep,deeprelief.
‘HefinallylookedlikeLeoagain.’15
‘Socomeon,then,Clark.Whatexcitingeventshaveyougotplannedforthisevening?’
Wewereinthegarden.NathanwasdoingWill’sphysio,gentlymovinghiskneesupanddowntowardshischest,whileWilllayonablanket,hisfaceturnedtothesun,hisarmsspreadoutasthoughhewassunbathing.Isatonthegrassalongsidethemandatemysandwiches.Irarelywentoutatlunchtimeanymore.
‘Why?’
‘Curiosity.I’minterestedinhowyouspendyourtimewhenyou’renothere.’
‘Well…tonightit’saquickboutofadvancedmartialarts,thenahelicopterisflyingmetoMonteCarloforsupper.AndthenImighttakeinacocktailinCannesonthewayhome.Ifyoulookupataround–ooh–around2am,I’llgiveyouawaveonmywayover,’Isaid.Ipeeledthetwosidesofmysandwichapart,checkingthefilling.‘I’mprobablyfinishingmybook.’
WillglancedupatNathan.‘Tenner,’hesaid,grinning.
Nathanreachedintohispocket.‘Everytime,’hesaid.
Istaredatthem.‘Everytimewhat?’Isaid,asNathanputthemoneyintoWill’shand.
‘Hesaidyou’dbereadingabook.Isaidyou’dbewatchingtelly.Healwayswins.’
Mysandwichstilledatmylips.‘Always?You’vebeenbettingonhowboringmylifeis?’
‘That’snotawordwewoulduse,’Willsaid.Thefaintlyguiltylookinhiseyestoldmeotherwise.
Isatupstraight.‘Letmegetthisstraight.YoutwoarebettingactualmoneythatonaFridaynightIwouldeitherbeathomereadingabookorwatchingtelevision?’
‘No,’saidWill.‘IhadeachwayonyouseeingRunningMandownatthetrack.’
NathanreleasedWill’sleg.HepulledWill’sarmstraightandbeganmassagingitfromthewristup.
‘WhatifIsaidIwasactuallydoingsomethingcompletelydifferent?’
‘Butyouneverdo,’Nathansaid.
‘Actually,I’llhavethat.’IpluckedthetennerfromWill’shand.‘Becausetonightyou’rewrong.’
‘Yousaidyouweregoingtoreadyourbook!’heprotested.
‘NowIhavethis,’Isaid,brandishingtheten-poundnote.‘I’llbegoingtothepictures.Sothere.Lawofunintendedconsequences,orwhateveritisyoucallit.’
Istoodup,pocketedthemoney,andshovedtheremainsofmylunchintoitsbrownpaperbag.IwassmilingasIwalkedawayfromthembut,weirdly,andfornoreasonthatIcouldimmediatelyunderstand,myeyeswerepricklingwithtears.
IhadspentanhourworkingonthecalendarbeforecomingtoGrantaHousethatmorning.SomedaysIjustsatandstaredatitfrommybed,magicmarkerinhand,tryingtoworkoutwhatIcouldtakeWillto.Iwasn’tyetconvincedthatIcouldgetWilltogomuchfurtherafield,andevenwithNathan’shelpthethoughtofanovernightvisitseemeddaunting.
Iscannedthelocalpaper,glancingatfootballmatchesandvillagefêtes,butwasafraidaftertheracingdebaclethatWill’schairmightgetstuckinthegrass.Iwasconcernedthatcrowdsmightleavehimfeelingexposed.Ihadtoruleoutallhorse-relatedactivities,whichinanarealikeoursmeantasurprisingamountofoutdoorstuff.Iknewhewouldn’twanttowatchPatrickrunning,andcricketandrugbylefthimcold.SomedaysIfeltcrippledbymyowninabilitytothinkupnewideas.
PerhapsWillandNathanwereright.PerhapsIwasboring.PerhapsIwastheleastwell-equippedpersonintheworldtotrytocomeupwiththingsthatmightinflameWill’sappetiteforlife.
Abook,orthetelevision.
Putlikethat,itwashardtobelieveanydifferently.
AfterNathanleft,Willfoundmeinthekitchen.Iwassittingatthesmalltable,peelingpotatoesforhiseveningmeal,anddidn’tlookupwhenhepositionedhiswheelchairinthedoorway.Hewatchedmelongenoughformyearstoturnpinkwiththescrutiny.
‘Youknow,’Isaid,finally,‘Icouldhavebeenhorribletoyoubackthere.Icouldhavepointedoutthatyoudonothingeither.’
‘I’mnotsureNathanwouldhaveofferedparticularlygoododdsonmegoingoutdancing,’Willsaid.
‘Iknowit’sajoke,’Icontinued,discardingalongpieceofpotatopeel.‘Butyoujustmademefeelreallycrap.Ifyouweregoingtobetonmyboringlife,didyouhavetomakemeawareofit?Couldn’tyouandNathanjusthavehaditassomekindofprivatejoke?’
Hedidn’tsayanythingforabit.WhenIfinallylookedup,hewaswatchingme.‘Sorry,’hesaid.
‘Youdon’tlooksorry.’
‘Well…okay…maybeIwantedyoutohearit.Iwantedyoutothinkaboutwhatyou’redoing.’
‘What,howI’mlettingmylifeslipby…?’
‘Yes,actually.’
‘God,Will.Iwishyou’dstoptellingmewhattodo.WhatifIlikewatchingtelevision?WhatifIdon’twanttodomuchelseotherthanreadabook?’Myvoicehadbecomeshrill.‘WhatifI’mtiredwhenIgethome?WhatifIdon’tneedtofillmydayswithfreneticactivity?’
‘Butonedayyoumightwishyouhad,’hesaid,quietly.‘DoyouknowwhatIwoulddoifIwereyou?’
Iputdownmypeeler.‘Isuspectyou’regoingtotellme.’
‘Yes.AndI’mcompletelyunembarrassedabouttellingyou.I’dbedoingnightschool.I’dbetrainingasaseamstressorafashiondesignerorwhateveritisthattapsintowhatyoureallylove.’Hegesturedatmyminidress,aSixties-inspiredPucci-typedress,madewithfabricthathadoncebeenapairofGranddad’scurtains.
ThefirsttimeDadhadseenithehadpointedatmeandyelled,‘Hey,Lou,pullyourselftogether!’Ithadtakenhimafullfiveminutestostoplaughing.
‘I’dbefindingoutwhatIcoulddothatdidn’tcostmuch–keep-fitclasses,swimming,volunteering,whatever.I’dbeteachingmyselfmusicorgoingforlongwalkswithsomebodyelse’sdog,or–’
‘Okay,okay,Igetthemessage,’Isaid,irritably.‘ButI’mnotyou,Will.’
‘Luckilyforyou.’
Wesatthereforabit.Willwheeledhimselfin,andraisedtheheightofhischairsothatwefacedeachotheroverthetable.
‘Okay,’Isaid.‘Sowhatdidyoudoafterwork?Thatwassovaluable?’
‘Well,therewasn’tmuchtimeleftafterwork,butItriedtodosomethingeveryday.Ididrockclimbingatanindoorcentre,andsquash,andIwenttoconcerts,andtriednewrestaurants–’
‘It’seasytodothosethingsifyouhavemoney,’Iprotested.
‘AndIwentrunning.Yes,really,’hesaid,asIraisedaneyebrow.
‘AndItriedtolearnnewlanguagesforplacesIthoughtImightvisitoneday.AndIsawmyfriends–orpeopleIthoughtweremyfriends…’Hehesitatedforamoment.‘AndIplannedtrips.IlookedforplacesI’dneverbeen,thingsthatwouldfrightenmeorpushmetomylimit.IswamtheChannelonce.Iwentparagliding.Iwalkedupmountainsandskieddownthemagain.Yes–’hesaid,asImadetointerrupt‘–Iknowalotoftheseneedmoney,butalotofthemdon’t.Andbesides,howdoyouthinkImademoney?’
‘RippingpeopleoffintheCity?’
‘Iworkedoutwhatwouldmakemehappy,andIworkedoutwhatIwantedtodo,andItrainedmyselftodothejobthatwouldmakethosetwothingshappen.’
‘Youmakeitsoundsosimple.’
‘Itissimple,’hesaid.‘Thethingis,it’salsoalotofhardwork.Andpeopledon’twanttoputinalotofwork.’
Ihadfinishedthepotatoes.Ithrewthepeelintothebin,andputthepanontothestovereadyforlater.IturnedandliftedmyselfonmyarmssothatIwassittingonthetablefacinghim,mylegsdangling.
‘Youhadabiglife,didn’tyou?’
‘Yeah,Idid.’Hemovedabitcloser,andraisedhischairsothathewasalmostateyelevel.‘That’swhyyoupissmeoff,Clark.BecauseIseeallthistalent,allthis…’Heshrugged.‘Thisenergyandbrightness,and–’
‘Don’tsaypotential…’
‘…potential.Yes.Potential.AndIcannotforthelifeofmeseehowyoucanbecontenttolivethistinylife.Thislifethatwilltakeplacealmostentirelywithinafive-mileradiusandcontainnobodywhowilleversurpriseyouorpushyouorshowyouthingsthatwillleaveyourheadspinningandunabletosleepatnight.’
‘ThisisyourwayoftellingmeIshouldbedoingsomethingfarmoreworthwhilethanpeelingyourpotatoes.’
‘I’mtellingyouthere’sawholeworldoutthere.ButthatI’dbeverygratefulifyou’ddomesomepotatoesfirst.’Hesmiledatme,andIcouldn’thelpbutsmileback.
‘Don’tyouthink–’Istarted,andthenbrokeoff.
‘Goon.’
‘Don’tyouthinkit’sactuallyharderforyou…toadapt,Imean?Becauseyou’vedoneallthatstuff?’
‘AreyouaskingmeifIwishI’dneverdoneit?’
‘I’mjustwonderingifitwouldhavebeeneasierforyou.Ifyou’dledasmallerlife.Tolivelikethis,Imean.’
‘Iwillnever,everregretthethingsI’vedone.Becausemostdays,ifyou’restuckinoneofthese,allyouhavearetheplacesinyourmemorythatyoucangoto.’Hesmiled.Itwastight,asifitcosthim.‘Soifyou’reaskingmewouldIratherbereminiscingabouttheviewofthecastlefromtheminimart,orthatlovelyrowofshopsdownofftheroundabout,then,no.Mylifewasjustfine,thanks.’
Islidoffthetable.Iwasn’tentirelysurehow,butIfelt,yetagain,likeI’dsomehowbeenarguedintoacorner.Ireachedforthechoppingboardonthedrainer.
‘AndLou,I’msorry.Aboutthemoneything.’
‘Yeah.Well.’Iturned,andbeganrinsingthechoppingboardunderthesink.‘Don’tthinkthat’sgoingtogetyouyourtennerback.’
TwodayslaterWillendedupinhospitalwithaninfection.Aprecautionarymeasure,theycalledit,althoughitwasobvioustoeveryonethathewasinalotofpain.Somequadriplegicshadnosensationbut,whilehewasimpervioustotemperature,belowhischestWillcouldfeelbothpainandtouch.Iwentintoseehimtwice,bringinghimmusicandnicethingstoeat,andofferingtokeephimcompany,butpeculiarlyIfeltintheway,andrealizedquitequicklythatWilldidn’tactuallywanttheextraattentioninthere.Hetoldmetogohomeandenjoysometimetomyself.
Ayearpreviously,Iwouldhavewastedthosefreedays;Iwouldhavetrawledtheshops,maybegoneovertomeetPatrickforlunch.Iwouldprobablyhavewatchedsomedaytimetelevision,andmaybemadeavagueattempttosortoutmyclothes.Imighthavesleptalot.
Now,however,Ifeltoddlyrestlessanddislocated.Imissedhavingareasontogetupearly,apurposetomyday.
Ittookmehalfamorningtoworkoutthatthistimecouldbeuseful.Iwenttothelibraryandbegantoresearch.IlookedupeverywebsiteaboutquadriplegicsthatIcouldfind,andworkedoutthingswecoulddowhenWillwasbetter.Iwrotelists,addingtoeachentrytheequipmentorthingsImightneedtoconsiderforeachevent.
Idiscoveredchatroomsforthosewithspinalinjuries,andfoundtherewerethousandsofmenandwomenouttherejustlikeWill–leadinghiddenlivesinLondon,Sydney,Vancouver,orjustdowntheroad–aidedbyfriendsorfamily,orsometimes,heartbreakinglyalone
Iwasn’ttheonlycarerinterestedinthesesites.Thereweregirlfriends,askinghowtheycouldhelptheirpartnersgaintheconfidencetogooutagain,husbandsseekingadviceonthelatestmedicalequipment.Therewereadvertisementsforwheelchairsthatwouldgoonsandoroff-road,cleverhoistsorinflatablebathingaids.
Therewerecodestotheirdiscussions.IworkedoutthatSCIwasaspinalcordinjury,ABtheable-bodied,aUTIaninfection.IsawthataC4/5spinalinjurywasfarmoreseverethanaC11/12,mostofwhomstillseemedtohaveuseoftheirarmsortorso.Therewerestoriesofloveandloss,ofpartnersstrugglingtocopewithdisabledspousesaswellasyoungchildren.Therewerewiveswhofeltguiltythattheyhadprayedtheirhusbandswouldstopbeatingthem–andthenfoundtheyneverwouldagain.Therewerehusbandswhowantedtoleavedisabledwivesbutwereafraidofthereactionoftheircommunity.Therewasexhaustionanddespair,andalotofblackhumour–jokesaboutexplodingcatheterbags,otherpeople’swell-meaningidiocy,ordrunkenmisadventures.Fallingoutofchairsseemedtobeacommontheme.Andtherewerethreadsaboutsuicide–thosewhowantedto,thosewhoencouragedthemtogivethemselvesmoretime,tolearntolookattheirlivesinadifferentway.Ireadeachthread,andfeltlikeIwasgettingasecretinsightintotheworkingsofWill’sbrain.
AtlunchtimeIleftthelibraryandwentforabriefwalkaroundtowntoclearmyhead.Itreatedmyselftoaprawnsandwichandsatonthewallwatchingtheswansinthelakebelowthecastle.Itwaswarmenoughformetotakeoffmyjacket,andIletmyfacetilttowardsthesun.Therewassomethingcuriouslyrestfulaboutwatchingtherestoftheworldgettingonwithitsbusiness.Afterspendingallmorningstuckintheworldoftheconfined,justbeingabletowalkoutandeatmylunchinthesunfeltlikeafreedom.
WhenIhadfinished,Iwalkedbacktothelibrary,reclaimedmycomputerterminal.AndItookabreathandtypedamessage.
Hi–Iamthefriend/carerofa35yoC5/6quadriplegic.Hewasverysuccessfulanddynamicinhisformerlifeandishavingtroubleadjustingtohisnewone.Infact,Iknowthathedoesnotwanttolive,andIamtryingtothinkofwaysofchanginghismind.PleasecouldanyonetellmehowIcoulddothis?Anyideasforthingshemightenjoy,orwaysIcouldgethimtothinkdifferently?Alladvicegratefullyreceived.
IcalledmyselfBusyBee.ThenIsatbackinmychair,chewedatmythumbnailforabit,andfinallypressed‘Send’
WhenIsatdownattheterminalthenextmorning,Ihadfourteenanswers.Iloggedintothechatroom,andblinkedasIsawthelistofnames,theresponseswhichhadcomefrompeopleworldwide,throughoutthedayandnight.Thefirstonesaid:
DearBusyBee,
Welcometoourboard.I’msureyourfriendwillgainalotofcomfortfromhavingsomeonelookingoutforhim.
I’mnotsosureaboutthat,Ithought.
Mostofusonherehavehitadefinitehumpatsomepointinourlives.Itmaybethatyourfriendhashithis.Don’tlethimpushyouaway.Staypositive.Andremindhimthatitisnothisplacetodecidebothwhenweenteranddepartthisworld,butthatoftheLord.Hedecidedtochangeyourfriend’slife,inHisownwisdomandtheremaybealessoninitthatHe–
Iscanneddowntothenextone.
DearBee,
Thereisnowayaroundit,beingaquadcansuck.Ifyourguywasabitofaplayertoo,thenheisgoingtofinditextrahard.Thesearethethingsthathelpedme.Alotofcompany,evenwhenIdidn’tfeellikeit.Goodfood.Gooddocs.Goodmeds,depressionmedswhennecessary.Youdidn’tsaywhereyouwerebased,butifyoucangethimtalkingtoothersintheSCIcommunityitmayhelp.Iwasprettyreluctantatfirst(Ithinksomepartofmedidn’twanttoadmitIwasactuallyaquad)butitdoeshelptoknowyou’renotaloneoutthere.
Oh,andDON’TlethimwatchanyfilmslikeTheDivingBellandtheButterfly.Majordowner!
Letusknowhowyougeton.
Allbest,
Ritchie
IlookedupTheDivingBellandtheButterfly.‘Thestoryofamanwhosuffersaparalysingstroke,andhisattemptstocommunicatewiththeoutsideworld,’itsaid.Iwrotethetitledownonmypad,uncertainwhetherIwasdoingsotomakesureWillavoidedit,orsoIrememberedtowatchit.
ThenexttwoanswerswerefromaSeventh-dayAdventist,andamanwhosesuggestedwaysinwhichIcouldcheerWillupwerecertainlynotcoveredbymyworkingcontract.Iflushedandhurriedlyscrolleddown,afraidthatsomeonemightglanceatthescreenfrombehindme.AndthenIhesitatedonthenextreply.
HiBusyBee,
Whydoyouthinkyourfriend/charge/whateverneedshismindchanging?IfIcouldworkoutawayofdyingwithdignity,andifIdidn’tknowitwoulddevastatemyfamily,Iwouldtakeit.Ihavebeenstuckinthischaireightyearsnow,andmylifeisaconstantroundofhumiliationsandfrustrations.Canyoureallyputyourselfinhisshoes?Doyouknowhowitfeelstonotevenbeabletoemptyyourbowelswithouthelp?Toknowthatforeverafteryouaregoingtobestuckinyourbed/unabletoeat,dress,communicatewiththeoutsideworldwithoutsomeonetohelpyou?Toneverhavesexagain?Tofacetheprospectofsores,andillhealthandevenventilators?Yousoundlikeaniceperson,andI’msureyoumeanwell.Butitmaynotbeyoulookingafterhimnextweek.Itmaybesomeonewhodepresseshim,orevendoesn’tlikehimverymuch.That,likeeverythingelse,isoutofhiscontrol.WeSCIsknowthatverylittleisunderourcontrol–whofeedsus,dressesus,washesus,dictatesourmedication.Livingwiththatknowledgeisveryhard.
SoIthinkyouareaskingthewrongquestion.WhoaretheABtodecidewhatourlivesshouldbe?Ifthisisthewronglifeforyourfriend,shouldn’tthequestionbe:HowdoIhelphimtoendit?
Bestwishes,
Gforce,Missouri,US
Istaredatthemessage,myfingersbrieflystilledonthekeyboard.ThenIscrolleddown.Thenextfewwerefromotherquadriplegics,criticizingGforceforhisbleakwords,protestingthattheyhadfoundawayforward,thattheirswasalifeworthliving.TherewasabriefargumentgoingonthatseemedtohavelittletodowithWillatall.
Andthenthethreaddraggeditselfbacktomyrequest.Thereweresuggestionsofantidepressants,massage,miraclerecoveries,storiesofhowmembers’ownliveshadbeengivennewvalue.Therewereafewpracticalsuggestions:winetasting,music,art,speciallyadaptedkeyboards.
‘Apartner,’saidGrace31fromBirmingham.‘Ifhehaslove,hewillfeelhecangoon.Withoutit,Iwouldhavesunkmanytimesover.’
ThatphraseechoedinmyheadlongafterIhadleftthelibrary.
WillcameoutofhospitalonThursday.Ipickedhimupintheadaptedcar,andbroughthimhome.Hewaspaleandexhausted,andstaredoutofthewindowlistlesslyforthewholejourney.
‘Nosleepintheseplaces,’heexplained,whenIaskedhimifhewasokay.‘There’salwayssomeonemoaninginthenextbed.’
Itoldhimhewouldhavetheweekendtorecover,butafterthatIhadaseriesofoutingsplanned.ItoldhimIwastakinghisadviceandtryingnewthings,andhewouldhavetocomewithme.Itwasasubtlechangeinemphasis,butIknewthatwastheonlywayIcouldgethimtoaccompanyme.
Infact,Ihaddevisedadetailedscheduleforthenextcoupleofweeks.Eacheventwascarefullymarkedonmycalendarinblack,withredpenoutliningtheprecautionsIshouldtake,andgreenfortheaccessoriesIwouldneed.EverytimeIlookedatthebackofmydoorIfeltalittleglimmerofexcitement,boththatIhadbeensoorganized,butalsothatoneoftheseeventsmightactuallybethethingthatchangedWill’sviewoftheworld.
AsmyDadalwayssays,mysisteristhebrainsofourfamily.
Theartgallerytriplastedashadeundertwentyminutes.Andthatincludeddrivingroundtheblockthreetimesinsearchofasuitableparkingspace.Wegotthere,andalmostbeforeIhadclosedthedoorbehindhimhesaidalltheworkwasterrible.IaskedhimwhyandhesaidifIcouldn’tseeithecouldn’texplainit.Thecinemahadtobeabandonedafterthestafftoldus,apologetically,thattheirliftwasoutoforder.Others,suchasthefailedattempttogoswimming,requiredmoretimeandorganization–theringingoftheswimmingpoolbeforehand,thebookingofNathanforovertime,andthen,whenwegotthere,theflaskofhotchocolatedrunkinsilenceintheleisurecentrecarparkwhenWillresolutelyrefusedtogoin.
ThefollowingWednesdayevening,wewenttohearasingerhehadonceseenliveinNewYork.Thatwasagoodtrip.Whenhelistenedtomusicheworeanexpressionofintenseconcentration.Mostofthetime,itwasasifWillwerenotwhollypresent,asifthereweresomepartofhimstrugglingwithpain,ormemories,ordarkthoughts.Butwithmusicitwasdifferent.
AndthenthefollowingdayItookhimtoawinetasting,partofapromotionaleventheldbyavineyardinaspecialistwineshop.IhadtopromiseNathanIwouldn’tgethimdrunk.IheldupeachglassforWilltosniff,andheknewwhatitwasevenbeforehe’dtastedit.ItriedquitehardnottosnortwhenWillspatitintothebeaker(itdidlookreallyfunny),andhelookedatmefromunderhisbrowsandsaidIwasacompletechild.Theshopownerwentfrombeingweirdlydisconcertedbyhavingamaninawheelchairinhisshoptoquiteimpressed.Astheafternoonwenton,hesatdownandstartedopeningotherbottles,discussingregionandgrapewithWill,whileIwanderedupanddownlookingatthelabels,becoming,frankly,alittlebored.
‘Comeon,Clark.Getaneducation,’hesaid,noddingatmetositdownbesidehim.
‘Ican’t.Mymumtoldmeitwasrudetospit.’
ThetwomenlookedateachotherasifIwerethemadone.Andyethedidn’tspiteverytime.Iwatchedhim.Andhewassuspiciouslytalkativefortherestoftheafternoon–swifttolaugh,andevenmorecombativethanusual.
Andthen,onthewayhome,weweredrivingthroughatownwedidn’tnormallygotoand,aswesat,motionless,intraffic,IglancedoverandsawtheTattooandPiercingParlour.
‘Ialwaysquitefanciedatattoo,’Isaid.
Ishouldhaveknownafterwardsthatyoucouldn’tjustsaystufflikethatinWill’spresence.Hedidn’tdosmalltalk,orshootingthebreeze.HeimmediatelywantedtoknowwhyIhadn’thadone.
‘Oh…Idon’tknow.Thethoughtofwhateveryonewouldsay,Iguess.’
‘Why?Whatwouldtheysay?’
‘Mydadhatesthem.’
‘Howoldareyouagain?’
‘Patrickhatesthemtoo.’
‘Andheneverdoesanythingthatyoumightnotlike.’
‘Imightgetclaustrophobic.Imightchangemymindonceitwasdone.’
‘Thenyougetitremovedbylaser,surely?’
Ilookedathiminmyrear-viewmirror.Hiseyesweremerry.
‘Comeon,then,’hesaid.‘Whatwouldyouhave?’
IrealizedIwassmiling.‘Idon’tknow.Notasnake.Oranyone’sname.’
‘Iwasn’texpectingaheartwithabannersaying“mother”.’
‘Youpromisenottolaugh?’
‘YouknowIcan’tdothat.OhGod,you’renotgoingtohavesomeIndianSanskritproverborsomething,areyou?Whatdoesn’tkillmemakesmestronger.’
‘No.I’dhaveabee.Alittleblackandyellowbee.Ilovethem.’
Henodded,asifthatwereaperfectlyreasonablethingtowant.‘Andwherewouldyouhaveit?Ordaren’tIask?’
Ishrugged.‘Dunno.Myshoulder?Lowerhip?’
‘Pullover,’hesaid.
‘Why,areyouokay?’
‘Justpullover.There’saspacethere.Look,onyourleft.’
Ipulledthecarintothekerbandglancedbackathim.‘Goon,then,’hesaid.‘We’vegotnothingelseontoday.’
‘Goonwhere?’
‘Tothetattooparlour.’
Istartedtolaugh.‘Yeah.Right.’
‘Whynot?’
‘Youhavebeenswallowinginsteadofspitting.’
‘Youhaven’tansweredmyquestion.’
Iturnedinmyseat.Hewasserious.
‘Ican’tjustgoandgetatattoo.Justlikethat.’
‘Whynot?’
‘Because…’
‘Becauseyourboyfriendsaysno.Becauseyoustillhavetobeagoodgirl,evenattwenty-seven.Becauseit’stooscary.C’mon,Clark.Livealittle.What’sstoppingyou?’
Istareddowntheroadatthetattooparlourfrontage.Theslightlygrimywindowborealargeneonheart,andsomeframedphotographsofAngelinaJolieandMickeyRourke.
Will’svoicebrokeintomycalculations.‘Okay.Iwill,ifyouwill.’
Iturnedbacktohim.‘You’dgetatattoo?’
‘Ifitpersuadedyou,justonce,toclimboutofyourlittlebox.’
Iswitchedofftheengine.Wesat,listeningtoittickitswaydown,thedullmurmurofthecarsqueuingalongtheroadbesideus.
‘It’squitepermanent.’
‘No“quite”aboutit.’
‘Patrickwillhateit.’
‘Soyoukeepsaying.’
‘Andwe’llprobablygethepatitisfromdirtyneedles.Anddieslow,horrible,painfuldeaths.’IturnedtoWill.‘Theyprobablywouldn’tbeabletodoitnow.Notactuallyrightnow.’
‘Probablynot.Butshallwejustgoandcheck?’
Twohourslaterweexitedthetattooparlour,meeightypoundslighterandbearingasurgicalpatchovermyhipwheretheinkwasstilldrying.Itsrelativelysmallsize,thetattooartistsaid,meantthatIcouldhaveitlinedandcolouredinonevisit,sothereIwas.Finished.Tattooed.Or,asPatrickwouldnodoubtsay,scarredforlife.Underthatwhitedressingsatafatlittlebumblebee,culledfromthelaminatedringbinderofimagesthatthetattooartisthadhandeduswhenwewalkedin.Ifeltalmosthystericalwithexcitement.IkeptreachingaroundtopeekatituntilWilltoldmetostop,orIwasgoingtodislocatesomething.
Willhadbeenrelaxedandhappyinthere,oddlyenough.Theyhadnotgivenhimasecondlook.Theyhaddoneafewquads,theysaid,whichexplainedtheeasewithwhichtheyhadhandledhim.TheyweresurprisedwhenWillsaidhecouldfeeltheneedle.Sixweeksearliertheyhadfinishedinkingaparaplegicwhohadhadtrompel’oeilbionicsinkedthewholewaydownonesideofhisleg.
ThetattooistwiththeboltthroughhisearhadtakenWillintothenextroomand,withmytattooist’shelp,laidhimdownonaspecialtablesothatallIcouldseethroughtheopendoorwerehislowerlegs.Icouldhearthetwomenmurmuringandlaughingoverthebuzzofthetattooingneedle,thesmellofantisepticsharpinmynostrils.
Whentheneedlefirstbitintomyskin,Ichewedmylip,determinednottoletWillhearmesqueal.Ikeptmymindonwhathewasdoingnextdoor,tryingtoeavesdroponhisconversation,wonderingwhatitwashewashavingdone.Whenhefinallyemerged,aftermyownhadbeenfinished,herefusedtoletmesee.Isuspecteditmightbesomethingto
‘You’reabadbloodyinfluenceonme,WillTraynor,’Isaid,openingthecardoorandloweringtheramp.Icouldn’tstopgrinning.
‘Showme.’
Iglanceddownthestreet,thenturnedandpeeledalittleofthedressingdownfrommyhip.
‘It’sgreat.Ilikeyourlittlebee.Really.’
‘I’mgoingtohavetowearhigh-waistedtrousersaroundmyparentsfortherestofmylife.’Ihelpedhimsteerhischairontotherampandraisedit.‘Mindyou,ifyourmumgetstohearyou’vehadonetoo…’
‘I’mgoingtotellherthegirlfromthecouncilestateledmeastray.’
‘Okaythen,Traynor,youshowmeyours.’
Hegazedatmesteadily,halfsmiling.‘You’llhavetoputanewdressingonitwhenwegethome.’
‘Yeah.Likethatneverhappens.Goon.I’mnotdrivingoffuntilyoudo.’
‘Liftmyshirt,then.Totheright.Yourright.’
Ileantthroughthefrontseats,andtuggedathisshirt,peelingbackthepieceofgauzebeneath.There,darkagainsthispaleskinwasablackandwhitestripedinkrectangle,smallenoughthatIhadtolooktwicebeforeIrealizedwhatitsaid.
Bestbefore:19March2007
Istaredatit.Ihalflaughed,andthenmyeyesfilledwithtears.‘Isthatthe–’
‘Dateofmyaccident.Yes.’Heraisedhiseyestotheheavens.‘Oh,forChrist’ssake,don’tgetmaudlin,Clark.Itwasmeanttobefunny.’
‘Itisfunny.Inacrappysortofway.’
‘Nathanwillenjoyit.Oh,comeon,don’tlooklikethat.It’snotasifI’mruiningmyperfectbody,isit?’
IpulledWill’sshirtbackdownandthenIturnedandfireduptheignition.Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Ididn’tknowwhatanyofthismeant.Wasthishimcomingtotermswithhisstate?Orjustanotherwayofshowinghiscontemptforhisownbody?
‘Hey,Clark,domeafavour,’hesaid,justasIwasabouttopullaway.‘Reachintothebackpackforme.Thezippedpocket.’
Iglancedintotherear-viewmirror,andputthehandbrakeonagain.Ileantthroughthefrontseatsandputmyhandinthebag,rummagingaroundaccordingtohisinstructions.
‘Youwantpainkillers?’Iwasinchesfromhisface.Hehadmorecolourinhisskinthanatanytimesincehecamebackfromhospital.‘I’vegotsomeinmy–’
‘No.Keeplooking.’
Ipulledoutapieceofpaperandsatback.Itwasafoldedten-poundnote.
‘Thereyougo.Theemergencytenner.’
‘So?’
‘It’syours.’
‘Forwhat?’
‘Thattattoo.’Hegrinnedatme.‘Rightupuntilyouwereinthatchair,Ididn’tthinkforaminuteyouweregoingtoactuallydoit.’16
Therewasnowayaroundit.Thesleepingarrangementsjustweren’tworking.EveryweekendthatTreenacamehome,theClarkfamilybeganalengthy,nocturnalgameofmusicalbeds.AftersupperonFridaynightMumandDadwouldofferuptheirbedroom,andTreenawouldacceptit,aftertheyhadreassuredherthatno,theywerenotintheleastbitputout,andhowmuchbetterThomaswasatsleepinginaroomheknew.Itwouldmean,theysaid,thateveryonegotagoodnight’ssleep.
ButMumsleepingdownstairsalsoinvolvedherandDadneedingtheirownquilt,theirownpillowsandevenunder-sheet,asMumcouldn’tsleepproperlyunlessherbedwasjustasshelikedit.SoaftersuppersheandTreenawouldstripMumandDad’sbedandputonanewsetofsheets,togetherwithamattressprotector,justincaseThomashadanaccident.MumandDad’sbedding,meanwhile,wouldbefoldedandplacedinthecornerofthelivingroom,whereThomaswoulddiveintoitandontoitandstringthesheetacrossthediningchairstoturnitintoatent.
Granddadofferedhisroom,butnobodytookit.ItsmeltofyellowingcopiesoftheRacingPostandOldHolborn,anditwouldhavetakenallweekendtoclearout.Iwouldalternatelyfeelguilty–allthiswasmyfault,afterall–whileknowingIwouldnotoffertoreturntotheboxroom.Ithadbecomeakindofspectreforme,thatairlesslittleroomwithnowindows.Thethoughtofsleepinginthereagainmademychestfeeltight.Iwastwenty-sevenyearsold.Iwasthemainearnerofthefamily.Icouldnotsleepinwhatwasessentiallyacupboard.
OneweekendIofferedtosleepatPatrick’s,andeveryonelookedsecretlyrelieved.Butthen,whileIwasaway,Thomasputstickyfingersallovermynewblindsanddrewonmynewduvetcoverinpermanentpen,atwhichpointMumandDaddecideditwouldbebestiftheysleptinmyroom,whileTreenaandThomaswentintotheirs,wheretheoddbitoffelttipapparentlydidn’tmatter.
Onceyouhadaccountedforalltheextrabedstrippingandlaundry,mespendingFridayandSaturdaynightsatPat’s,Mumadmitted,wasn’tactuallymuchhelpatall.
AndthentherewasPatrick.Patrickwasnowamanobsessed.Heate,drank,livedandbreathedtheXtremeViking.Hisflat,normallysparselyfurnishedandimmaculate,wasstrungwithtrainingschedulesanddietarysheets.HehadanewlightweightbikewhichlivedinthehallwayandwhichIwasn’tallowedtotouch,incaseIinterferedwithitsfinelybalancedlightweightracingcapabilities.
Andhewasrarelyhome,evenonaFridayorSaturdaynight.Whatwithhistrainingandmyworkhoursweseemedtohavebecomeusedtospendinglesstimetogether.Icouldfollowhimdowntothetrackandwatchhimpushhimselfroundandroundincirclesuntilhehadcompletedtherequisitenumberofmiles,orIcouldstayhomeandwatchtelevisiondrinkstheconsistencyoffrogspawn.TreenaandIhadtriedoneonceandspatitout,gaggingtheatrically,likechildren.
ThetruthofitwasIdidn’tlikePatrick’sflat.Hehadboughtitayearago,whenhefinallyfelthismotherwouldbeokaybyherself.Hisbusinesshaddonewell,andhehadtoldmeitwasimportantthatoneofusgetontothepropertyladder.Isupposethatwouldhavebeenthecueforustohaveaconversationaboutwhetherweweregoingtolivetogether,butsomehowitdidn’thappen,andneitherofusisthetypetobringupsubjectsthatmakeusfeelabituncomfortable.Asaresult,therewasnothingofmeinthatflat,despiteouryearstogether.Ihadneverquitebeenabletotellhim,butIwouldratherliveinmyhouse,withallitsnoiseandclutter,thaninthatsoulless,featurelessbachelorpad,withitsallocatedparkingspacesandexecutiveviewofthecastle.
Andbesides,itwasabitlonely.
‘Gottosticktotheschedule,babe,’hewouldsay,ifItoldhim.‘IfIdoanyfewerthantwenty-threemilesatthisstageofthegame,I’llnevermakeitbackonschedule.’Thenhewouldgivemethelatestupdateonhisshinsplintsoraskmetopasshimtheheatspray.
Whenhewasn’ttraining,hewasatendlessmeetingswithothermembersofhisteam,comparingkitandfinalizingtravelarrangements.SittingamongstthemwaslikebeingwithabunchofKoreanspeakers.Ihadnoideawhatanyofitmeant,andnogreatdesiretoimmersemyself.
AndIwassupposedtobegoingwiththemtoNorwayinsevenweeks’time.Ihadn’tyetworkedouthowtotellPatrickthatIhadn’taskedtheTraynorsforthetimeoff.HowcouldI?BythetimetheXtremeVikingtookplace,therewouldbelessthanoneweekofmycontractlefttorun.IsupposeIwaschildishlyrefusingtodealwithitall,buttruthfully,allIcouldseewasWillandatickingclock.Notalotelseseemedtoregister.
ThegreatironyofallthiswasthatIdidn’tevensleepwellatPatrick’sflat.Idon’tknowwhatitwas,butIcametoworkfromtherefeelinglikeIwasspeakingthroughaglassjar,andlookinglikeIhadbeenpunchedinbotheyes.IbeganpaintingconcealeronmydarkshadowswiththesameslapdashabandonasifIweredecorating.
‘What’sgoingon,Clark?’Willsaid.
Iopenedmyeyes.Hewasrightbesideme,hisheadcockedtooneside,watchingme.Igotthefeelinghemighthavebeenthereforsometime.MyhandwentautomaticallyformymouthincaseIhadbeendribbling.
ThefilmIwassupposedtohavebeenwatchingwasnowaseriesofslow-movingcredits.
‘Nothing.Sorry.It’sjustwarminhere.’Ipushedmyselfupright.
‘It’sthesecondtimeyou’vefallenasleepinthreedays.’Hestudiedmyface.‘Andyoulookbloodyawful.’
SoItoldhim.Itoldhimaboutmysister,andoursleepingarrangements,andhowIdidn’twanttomakeafussbecauseeverytimeIlookedatDad’sfaceIsawhisbarelyconcealeddespairthathecouldnotevenprovidehisfamilywithahousewecouldallsleepin.
‘He’sstillnotfoundanything?’
‘No.Ithinkit’shisage.Butwedon’ttalkaboutit.It’s…’Ishrugged.‘It’stoouncomfortableforeveryone.’
Wewaitedforthemovietofinish,andthenIwalkedovertotheplayer,ejectedtheDVDandputitbackinitscase.Itfeltsomehowwrong,tellingWillmyproblems.Theyseemedembarrassinglytrivialnexttohis.
‘I’llgetusedtoit,’Isaid.‘It’llbefine.Really.’
Willseemedpreoccupiedfortherestoftheafternoon.Iwashedup,thencamethroughandsetuphiscomputerforhim.WhenIbroughthimadrink,heswivelledhischairtowardsme.
‘It’squitesimple,’hesaid,asifwehadbeeninconversation.‘Youcansleephereatweekends.There’saroomgoingspare–itmightaswellgetsomeuse.’
Istopped,thebeakerinmyhand.‘Ican’tdothat.’
‘Whynot?I’mnotgoingtopayyoufortheextrahoursyou’rehere.’
Iplacedthebeakerinhisholder.‘Butwhatwouldyourmumthink?’
‘Ihavenoidea.’
Imusthavelookedtroubled,becauseheadded,‘It’sokay.I’msafeintaxis.’
‘What?’
‘Ifyou’reworriedIhavesomedevioussecretplantoseduceyou,youcanjustpullmyplugout.’
‘Funny.’
‘Seriously.Thinkaboutit.Youcouldhaveitasyourbackupoption.Thingsmightchangefasterthanyouthink.Yoursistermightdecideshedoesn’twanttospendeveryweekendathomeafterall.Orshemightmeetsomeone.Amillionthingsmightchange.’
Andyoumightnotbehereintwomonths,Itoldhimsilently,andimmediatelyhatedmyselfforthinkingit.
‘Tellmesomething,’hesaid,ashewenttoleavetheroom.‘Whyisn’tRunningManofferingyouhisplace?’
‘Oh,hehas,’Isaid.
Helookedatme,asifhewereabouttopursuetheconversation.
Andthenheseemedtochangehismind.‘LikeIsaid.’Heshrugged.‘Theoffer’sthere.’
ThesearethethingsthatWillliked.
Watchingfilms,especiallyforeignoneswithsubtitles.Hecouldoccasionallybepersuadedintoanactionthriller,evenanepicromance,butdrewthelineatromanticcomedies.IfIdaredtorentone,hewouldspendtheentire120minuteslettingoutlittlepfftsofderision,orpointingoutthegreatclichésintheplot,untilitwasnofunformeatall.
Listeningtoclassicalmusic.Heknewanawfullotaboutit.Healsolikedsomemodernstuff,butsaidjazzwasmostlypretentiousguff.WhenhesawthecontentsofmyMP3playeroneafternoon,helaughedsohardhenearlydislodgedoneofhistubes.
Sittinginthegarden,nowthatitwaswarm.SometimesIstoodinthewindowandwatchedhim,hisheadtiltedback,justenjoyingthesunonhisface.WhenIremarkedonhisabilitytobestillandjustenjoythemoment–somethingIhadnevermastered–hepointedoutthatifyoucan’tmoveyourarmsandlegs,youhaven’tactuallygotalotofchoice.
Makingmereadbooksormagazines,andthentalkaboutthem.Knowledgeispower,Clark,hewouldsay.Ihatedthisatfirst;itfeltlikeIwasatschool,beingquizzedonmypowersofmemory.ButafterawhileIrealizedthat,inWill’seyes,therewerenowronganswers.Heactuallylikedmetoarguewithhim.HeaskedmewhatIthoughtofthingsinthenewspapers,disagreedwithmeaboutcharactersinbooks.Heseemedtoholdopinionsonalmosteverything–whatthegovernmentwasdoing,whetheronebusinessshouldbuyanother,whethersomeoneshouldhavebeensenttojail.IfhethoughtIwasbeinglazy,orparrotingmyparents’orPatrick’sideas,hewouldjustsayaflat,‘No.Notgoodenough.’HewouldlooksodisappointedifIsaidIknewnothingaboutit;Ihadbeguntoanticipatehimandnowreadanewspaperonthebusonthewayin,justsoIfeltprepared.‘Goodpoint,Clark,’hewouldsay,andIwouldfindmyselfbeaming.AndthengivemyselfakickforallowingWilltopatronizemeagain.
Gettingashave.Everytwodaysnow,Ilathereduphisjawandmadehimpresentable.Ifhewasn’thavingabadday,hewouldleanbackinhischair,closehiseyes,andtheclosestthingIsawtophysicalpleasurewouldspreadacrosshisface.PerhapsI’veinventedthat.PerhapsIsawwhatIwantedtosee.ButhewouldbecompletelysilentasIgentlyranthebladeacrosshischin,smoothingandscraping,andwhenhedidopenhiseyeshisexpressionhadsoftened,likesomeonecomingoutofaparticularlysatisfactorysleep.Hisfacenowheldsomecolourfromourtimespentoutside;hiswasthekindofskinthattannedeasily.Ikepttherazorshighupinthebathroomcabinet,tuckedbehindalargebottleofconditioner.
Beingabloke.EspeciallywithNathan.Occasionally,beforetheeveningroutine,theywouldgoandsitattheendofthegardenandNathanwouldcrackopenacoupleofbeers.SometimesIheardthemdiscussingrugby,orjokingaboutsomewomantheyhadseenonthetelevision,anditwouldn’tsoundlikeWillatall.ButIunderstoodheneededthis;heneededsomeonewithwhomhecouldjustbeabloke,doingblokeythings.Itwasasmallbitof‘normal’inhisstrange,separatelife.
Commentingonmywardrobe.Actually,thatshouldberaisinganeyebrowatmywardrobe.Exceptfortheblackandyellowtights.OnthetwooccasionsIhadwornthosehehadn’tsaidanything,butsimplynodded,asifsomethingwererightwiththeworld.
‘Yousawmydadintowntheotherday.’
‘Oh.Yes.’Iwashangingwashingoutonaline.ThelineitselfwashiddeninwhatMrsTraynorcalledtheKitchenGarden.Ithinkshedidn’twantanythingasmundaneaslaundrypollutingtheviewofherherbaceousborders.Myownmotherpeggedherwhitesoutalmostasabadgeofpride.Itwaslikeachallengetoherneighbours:Beatthis,ladies!ItwasallDadcoulddotostopherputtingasecondrevolvingclothesdryeroutthefront.
‘Heaskedmeifyou’dsaidanythingaboutit.’
‘Oh.’Ikeptmyfaceastudiedblank.Andthen,becauseheseemedtobewaiting,‘Evidentlynot.’
‘Washewithsomeone?’
Iputthelastpegbackinthepegbag.Irolleditup,andplaceditintheemptylaundrybasket.Iturnedtohim.
‘Yes.’
‘Awoman.’
‘Yes.’
‘Red-haired?’
‘Yes.’
Willthoughtaboutthisforaminute.
‘I’msorryifyouthinkIshouldhavetoldyou,’Isaid.‘Butit…itdidn’tseemlikemybusiness.’
‘Andit’sneveraneasyconversationtohave.’
‘No.’
‘Ifit’sanyconsolation,Clark,it’snotthefirsttime,’hesaid,andheadedbackintothehouse.
DeirdreBellowssaidmynametwicebeforeIlookedup.Iwasscribblinginmynotepad,placenamesandquestionmarks,prosandcons,andIhadprettymuchforgottenIwasevenonabus.IwastryingtoworkoutawayofgettingWilltothetheatre.Therewasonlyonewithintwohours’drive,anditwasshowingOklahoma!ItwashardtoimagineWillnoddingalongto‘OhWhatABeautifulMorning’,butalltheserioustheatrewasinLondon.AndLondonstillseemedlikeanimpossibility.
Basically,IcouldnowgetWilloutofthehouse,butwehadprettymuchreachedtheendofwhatwasavailablewithinanhour’sradius,andIhadnoideahowtogethimtogofurther.
‘Inyourownlittleworld,eh,Louisa?’
‘Oh.Hi,Deirdre.’Iscoochedoverontheseattomakeroomforher.
DeirdrehadbeenfriendswithMumsincetheyweregirls.Sheownedasoft-furnishingsshopandhadbeendivorcedthreetimes.Shepossessedhairthickenoughtobeawig,andafleshy,sadfacethatlookedlikeshewasstilldreamingwistfullyofthewhiteknightwhowouldcomeandsweepheraway.
‘Idon’tnormallygetthebusbutmycar’sinforaservice.Howareyou?Yourmumtoldmeallaboutyourjob.Soundsveryinteresting.’
Thisisthethingaboutgrowingupinasmalltown.Everypartofyourlifeisupforgrabs.Nothingissecret–notthetimeIwascaughtsmokingattheout-of-townsupermarketcarparkwhenIwasfourteen,northefactthatmyfatherhadre-tiledthedownstairsloo.TheminutiaeofeverydayliveswerecurrencyforwomenlikeDeirdre.
‘It’sgood,yes.’
‘Andwellpaid.’
‘Yes.’
‘IwassorelievedforyouafterthewholeButteredBunthing.Suchashametheyshutthecafe.We’relosingalltheusefulshopsinthistown.Irememberwhenwehadagrocer,abakerandabutcheronthehighstreet.Allweneededwasacandlestickmaker!’
‘Mmm.’Isawherglanceatmylistandclosedmynotepad.‘Still.Atleastwedohavesomewheretobuycurtains.How’stheshop?’
‘Oh,fine…yes…What’sthat,then?Somethingtodowithwork?’
‘I’mjustworkingonthingsthatWillmightliketodo.’
‘Isthatyourdisabledman?’
‘Yes.Myboss.’
‘Yourboss.That’sanicewayofputtingit.’Shenudgedme.‘Andhow’syourcleveroldsistergettingonatuniversity?’
‘She’sgood.AndThomas.’
‘She’llenduprunningthecountry,thatone.Ihavetosay,though,Louisa,Iwasalwayssurprisedyoudidn’tleavebeforeher.Wealwaysthoughtyouweresuchabrightlittlething.Notthatwestilldon’t,ofcourse.’
Iraisedapolitesmile.Iwasn’tsurewhatelseIcoulddo.
‘Butstill.Someone’sgottodoit,eh?Andit’sniceforyourmumthatoneofyouishappytostaysoclosetohome.’
Iwantedtocontradicther,andthenIrealizedthatnothingIhaddoneinthelastsevenyearssuggestedIhadeitheranyambitionoranydesiretomovefurtherthantheendofmystreet.Isatthere,asthebus’stiredoldenginesnarledandjudderedbeneathus,andhadasuddensenseoftimeracing,oflosingwholechunksofitinmysmalljourneysbackwardsandforwardsalongthesamestretch.Roundandroundthecastle.WatchingPatrickgoroundandroundthetrack.Thesamepettyconcerns.Thesameroutines.
‘Oh,well.Here’smystop.’Deirdreroseheavilybesideme,hoistingherpatenthandbagoverhershoulder.‘Giveyourmummylove.TellherI’llberoundtomorrow.’
Ilookedup,blinking.‘Igotatattoo,’Isaidsuddenly.‘Ofabee.’
Shehesitated,holdingontothesideoftheseat.
‘It’sonmyhip.Anactualtattoo.It’spermanent,’Iadded.
Deirdreglancedtowardsthedoorofthebus.Shelookedabitpuzzled,andthengavemewhatIthinkshethoughtwasareassuringsmile.
‘Well,that’sverynice,Louisa.AsIsaid,tellyourmumI’llberoundtomorrow.’
Everyday,whilehewaswatchingtelevision,orotherwiseengaged,IsatinfrontofWill’scomputerandworkedoncomingupwiththemagiceventthatmightMakeWillHappy.Butastimewenton,Ifoundthatmylistofthingswecouldn’tdo,placeswecouldn’tgoto,hadbeguntoexceedmyideasforthosewecouldbyasignificantfactor.Whentheonefigurefirstexceededtheother,Iwentbackontothechatroomsites,andaskedtheiradvice.
Ha!saidRitchie.Welcometoourworld,Bee
FromtheensuingconversationsIlearntthatgettingdrunkinawheelchaircamewithitsownhazards,includingcatheterdisasters,fallingdownkerbs,andbeingsteeredtothewronghomebyotherdrunks.Ilearntthattherewasnosingleplacewherenon-quadsweremoreorlesshelpfulthananywhereelse,butthatPariswassingledoutastheleastwheelchair-friendlyplaceonearth.Thiswasdisappointing,assomesmall,optimisticpartofmehadstillhopedwemightmakeitthere.
Ibegantocompileanewlist–thingsyoucannotdowithaquadriplegic.
Goonatubetrain(mostundergroundstationsdon’thavelifts),whichprettymuchruledoutactivitiesinhalfofLondonunlesswewantedtopayfortaxis.
Goswimming,withouthelp,andunlessthetemperaturewaswarmenoughtostopinvoluntaryshiveringwithinminutes.Evendisabledchangingroomsarenotmuchusewithoutapoolhoist.NotthatWillwouldhaveallowedhimselfintoapoolhoist.
Gotothecinema,unlessguaranteedaseatatthefront,orunlessWill’sspasmswerelow-gradethatday.IhadspentatleasttwentyminutesofRearWindowonmyhandsandkneespickingupthepopcornthatWill’sunexpectedkneejerkhadsentflyingintotheair.
Goonabeach,unlessyourchairhadbeenadaptedwith‘fatwheels’.Will’shadn’t.
Flyonaircraftwherethedisabled‘quota’hadalreadybeenusedup.
Goshopping,unlessalltheshopshadgottheirstatutoryrampsinplace.Manyaroundthecastleusedtheirlistedbuildingstatustosaytheycouldn’tfitthem.Somewereeventellingthetruth.
Goanywheretoohot,ortoocold(temperatureissues).
Goanywherespontaneously(bagsneededtobepacked,routestobedouble-checkedforaccessibility).
Goouttoeat,iffeelingself-consciousaboutbeingfed,or–dependingonthecathetersituation–iftherestaurant’sbathroomwasdownaflightofstairs.
Goonlongtrainjourneys(exhausting,andtoodifficulttogetheavymotorizedchairontotrainwithouthelp)
Getahaircutifithadbeenraining(allthehairstucktoWill’swheels.Weirdly,thismadebothofusnauseous).
Gotofriend’shouses,unlesstheyhadwheelchairramps.Mosthouseshavestairs.Mostpeopledonothaveramps.Ourhousewasarareexception.Willsaidtherewasnobodyhewantedtoseeanyway.
Godownthehillfromthecastleinheavyrain(thebrakeswerenotalwayssafe,andthatchairwastooheavyformetohold).
Goanywherewheretherewerelikelytobedrunks.Willwasamagnetfordrunks.Theywouldcrouchdown,breathefumesalloverhim,andmakebig,sympatheticeyes.Sometimestheywould,indeed,trytowheelhimoff.
Goanywherewheretheremightbecrowds.Thismeantthat,assummerapproached,outingsaroundthecastleweregettingharder,andhalftheplacesIthoughtwemightbeabletogo–fairs,outdoortheatre,concerts–wereruledout.
When,strugglingforideas,Iaskedtheonlinequadswhatwasthethingtheywouldliketodomostinalltheworld,theanswernearlyalwayscamebackas,‘Havesex.’Igotquitealotofunsoliciteddetailonthatone.
Butessentiallyitwasnotahugehelp.Therewereeightweekstogo,andIhadrunoutofideas.
Acoupleofdaysafterourdiscussionunderthewashingline,IreturnedhometofindDadstandinginthehallway.Thiswouldhavebeenunusualinitself(thelastfewweeksheseemedtohaveretreatedtothesofainthedaytime,supposedlytokeepGranddadcompany),buthewaswearinganironedshirt,hadshaved,andthehallwaywasfilledwiththescentofOldSpice.Iamprettysurehe’dhadthatbottleofaftershavesince1974.
‘Thereyouare.’
Iclosedthedoorbehindme.‘HereIam.’
Iwasfeelingtiredandanxious.IhadspentthewholebusjourneyhometalkingonmymobilephonetoatravelagentaboutplacestotakeWill,butwewerebothstumped.Ineededtogethimfurtherawayfromhome.Buttheredidn’tseemtobeasingleplaceoutsideafive-mileradiusofthecastlethatheactuallywantedtovisit.
‘Areyouokaygettingyourownteatonight?’
‘Sure.IcanjoinPatrickatthepublater.Why?’Ihungupmycoatonafreepeg.
TherackwassomuchemptierwithallTreena’sandThomas’scoatsgone.
‘Iamtakingyourmotheroutfordinner.’
Ididaquickmentalcalculation.‘DidImissherbirthday?’
‘Nope.We’recelebrating.’Heloweredhisvoice,asifitweresomekindofsecret.‘Igotajob.’
‘Youdidn’t!’AndnowIcouldseeit;hiswholebodyhadlightened.Hewasstandingstraighteragain,hisfacewreathedinsmiles.Helookedyearsyounger.
‘Dad,that’sfantastic.’
‘Iknow.Yourmother’soverthemoon.And,youknow,she’shadatoughfewmonthswhatwithTreenagoingandGranddadandall.SoIwanttotakeherouttonight,treatherabit.’
‘Sowhat’sthejob?’
‘I’mgoingtobeheadofmaintenance.Upatthecastle.’
Iblinked.‘Butthat’s–’
‘MrTraynor.That’sright.Herangmeandsaidhewaslookingforsomeone,andyourman,Willthere,hadtoldhimthatIwasavailable.IwentthisafternoonandshowedhimwhatIcoulddo,andI’monamonth’strial.BeginningSaturday.’
‘You’regoingtoworkforWill’sdad?’
‘Well,hesaidtheyhavetodoamonth’strial,togothroughtheproperproceduresandall,buthesaidhecouldn’tthinkofanyreasonwhyIshouldn’tgetit.’
‘That–that’sgreat,’Isaid.Ifeltweirdlyunbalancedbythenews.‘Ididn’tevenknowtherewasajobgoing.’
‘Norme.It’sgreat,though.He’samanwhounderstandsquality,Lou.Italkedtohimaboutgreenoak,andheshowedmesomeoftheworkdonebythepreviousman.Youwouldn’tbelieveit.Shocking.Hesaidhewasveryimpressedbymywork.’
Hewasanimated,moresothanIhadseenhimformonths.
Mumhadappearedbesidehim.Shewaswearinglipstick,andhergoodpairofheels.‘There’savan.Hegetshisownvan.Andthepayisgood,Lou.It’sevenabitmorethanyourdadwasgettingatthefurniturefactory.’
Shewaslookingupathimlikehewassomekindofall-conqueringhero.Herface,whensheturnedtome,toldmeIshoulddothesame.Itcouldcontainamillionmessages,mymother’sface,andthisonetoldmeDadshouldbeallowedhismoment.
‘That’sgreat,Dad.Really.’Isteppedforwardandgavehimahug.
‘Well,it’sreallyWillyoushouldthank.Whatasmashingbloke.I’mjustbloodygratefulthathethoughtofme.’
Ilistenedtothemleavethehouse,thesoundofMumfussinginthehallmirror,Dad’srepeatedreassurancesthatshelookedlovely,thatshewasjustfineasshewas.Iheardhimpattinghispocketsforkeys,wallet,loosechange,followedbyabriefburstoflaughter.Andthenthedoorslammed,IheardthehumofthecarpullingawayandthentherewasjustthedistantsoundofthetelevisioninGranddad’sroom.Isatonthestairs.AndthenIpulledoutmyphoneandrangWill’snumber.
Ittookhimawhiletoanswer.Ipicturedhimheadingtothehands-freedevice,depressingthebuttonwithhisthumb.
‘Hello?’
‘Isthisyourdoing?’
Therewasabriefpause.‘Isthatyou,Clark?’
‘Didyougetmydadajob?’
Hesoundedalittlebreathless.Iwondered,absently,whetherhewassittingupokay.
‘Ithoughtyou’dbepleased.’
‘Iampleased.It’sjust…Idon’tknow.Ifeelweird.’
‘Youshouldn’tdo.Yourdadneededajob.Mineneededaskilledmaintenanceman.’
‘Really?’Icouldn’tkeepthescepticismfrommyvoice.
‘What?’
‘Thishasnothingtodowithwhatyouaskedmetheotherday?Abouthimandtheotherwoman?’
Therewasalongpause.Icouldseehimthere,inhislivingroom,lookingoutthroughtheFrenchwindows.
Hisvoice,whenitcame,wascareful.‘YouthinkI’dblackmailmyfatherintogivingyoursajob?’
Putlikethatitdidsoundfar-fetched.
Isatdownagain.‘Sorry.Idon’tknow.It’sjustweird.Thetiming.It’sallabitconvenient.’
‘Thenbepleased,Clark.It’sgoodnews.Yourdadwillbegreat.Anditmeans…’Hehesitated.
‘Itmeanswhat?’
‘…thatonedayyoucangooffandspreadyourwingswithoutworryingabouthowyourparentsaregoingtobeabletosupportthemselves.’
Itwasasifhehadpunchedme.Ifelttheairdisappearfrommylungs.
‘Lou?’
‘Yes?’
‘You’reawfullyquiet.’
‘I’m…’Iswallowed.‘Sorry.Distractedbysomething.Granddad’scallingme.Butyes.Thanksfor–forputtingawordinforhim.’Ihadtogetoffthephone.BecauseoutofnowhereahugelumphadlodgeditselfsomewhereinmythroatandIwasn’tsureIcouldsayanythingelse.
Iwalkedtothepub.Theairwasthickwiththesmellofblossom,andpeoplesmiledastheypassedmeonthestreet.Icouldn’traiseasinglegreetinginreturn.IjustknewIcouldn’tstayinthathouse,alonewithmythoughts.IfoundtheTriathlonTerrorsallinthebeergarden,theirtwotablespushedtogetherinadappledcorner,armsandlegsspillingofftheendsinsinewypinkangles.Igotafewpolitenods(nonefromthewomen)andPatrickstood,creatingasmallspaceformebesidehim.IrealizedIreallywishedTreenawasaround.
Thepubgardenwasfull,withthatpeculiarlyEnglishmixofbrayingstudentsandpost-worksalesmenintheirshirtsleeves.Thispubwasafavouritewithtourists,andamongtheEnglishvoiceswereavarietyofotheraccents–Italian,French,American.Fromthewestwalltheycouldseethecastle,and–justastheydideverysummer–thetouristswereliningupforphotographswithitbehindtheminthedistance.
‘Iwasn’texpectingyou.Doyouwantadrink?’
‘Inaminute.’Ijustwantedtositthere,toletmyheadrestagainstPatrick.IwantedtofeellikeIusedtofeel–normal,untroubled.Iwantednottothinkaboutdeath.
‘Ibrokemybesttimetoday.Fifteenmilesinjust79.2minutes.’
‘Great.’
‘Cookingwithgasnow,eh,Pat?’someonesaid.
Patrickbunchedbothhisfistsandmadearevvingnoisewithhismouth.
‘That’sgreat.Really.’Itriedtolookpleasedforhim.
Ihadadrink,andthenanother.Ilistenedtotheirtalkofmileage,oftheskinnedkneesandhypothermicswimmingbouts.Itunedout,andwatchedtheotherpeopleinthepub,wonderingabouttheirlives.Eachofthemwouldhavehugeeventsintheirownfamilies–babieslovedandlost,darksecrets,greatjoysandtragedies.Iftheycouldputitintoperspective,iftheycouldjustenjoyasunnyeveninginapubgarden,thensurelyIshouldtoo.
AndthenItoldPatrickaboutDad’sjob.HisfacelookedalittlelikeIimagineminehad.Ihadtorepeatit,justsohecouldbesurehehadheardmeright.
‘That’s…verycosy.Youbothworkingforhim.’
Iwantedtotellhimthen,Ireallydid.IwantedtoexplainthatsomuchofeverythingwastiedupinmybattletokeepWillalive.IwantedtotellhimhowafraidIwasthatWillseemedtobetryingtobuymemyfreedom.ButIknewIcouldsaynothing.ImightaswellgettherestofitoverwhileIcould.
‘Um…that’snottheonlything.HesaysIcanstaytherewhenIwant,inthespareroom.Togetpastthewholebedproblemathome.’
Patricklookedatme.‘You’regoingtoliveathishouse?’
‘Imight.It’saniceoffer,Pat.Youknowwhatit’sbeenlikeathome.Andyou’reneverhere.Ilikecomingtoyourhouse,but…well,ifI’mhonest,itdoesn’tfeellikehome.’
Hewasstillstaringatme.‘Thenmakeithome.’
‘What?’
‘Movein.Makeithome.Putyourstuffup.Bringyourclothes.It’sabouttimewemovedintogether.’
Itwasonlyafterwards,whenIthoughtaboutit,thatIrealizedhehadactuallylookedreallyunhappyashesaidthis.Notlikeamanwhohadfinallyworkedouthecouldnotlivewithouthisgirlfriendclosebyhim,andwantedtomakeajoyousunionofourtwolives.Helookedlikesomeonewhofeltoutmanoeuvred.
‘Youreallywantmetomovein?’
‘Yes.Sure.’Herubbedathisear.‘Imean,I’mnotsayinglet’sgetmarriedoranything.Butitdoesmakesense,right?’
‘Youoldromantic.’
‘Imeanit,Lou.It’stime.It’sprobablybeentimeforages,butIguessI’vejustbeenwrappedupinonethingandanother.Movein.It’llbegood.’Hehuggedme.‘Itwillbereallygood.’
AroundustheTriathlonTerrorshaddiplomaticallyresumedtheirchatter.AsmallcheerwentupasagroupofJapanesetouristsgotthephotographtheyhadwanted.Birdssang,thesundipped,theworldturned.Iwantedtobepartofit,notstuckinasilentroom,worryingaboutamaninawheelchair.
‘Yes,’Isaid.‘Itwillbegood.’17
Theworstthingaboutworkingasacarerisnotwhatyoumightthink.It’snottheliftingandcleaning,themedicinesandwipesandthedistantbutsomehowalwaysperceptiblesmellofdisinfectant.It’snoteventhefactthatmostpeopleassumeyou’reonlydoingitbecauseyoureallyaren’tsmartenoughtodoanythingelse.It’sthefactthatwhenyouspendalldayinreallycloseproximitytosomeone,thereisnoescapefromtheirmoods.Oryourown.
Willhadbeendistantwithmeallmorning,sinceIhadfirsttoldhimmyplans.Itwasnothinganoutsidercouldhaveputtheirfingeron,buttherewerefewerjokes,perhapslesscasualconversation.Heaskedmenothingaboutthecontentsoftheday’snewspapers.
‘That’s…whatyouwanttodo?’Hiseyeshadflickered,buthisfacebetrayednothing.
Ishrugged.ThenInoddedmoreemphatically.Ifelttherewassomethingchildishlynon-committalaboutmyresponse.‘It’sabouttime,really,’Isaid.‘Imean,Iamtwenty-seven.’
Hestudiedmyface.Somethingtightenedinhisjaw.
Ifeltsuddenly,unbearablytired.Ifeltthispeculiarurgetosaysorry,andIwasn’tsurewhatfor.
Hegavealittlenod,raisedasmile.‘Gladyou’vegotitallsortedout,’hesaid,andwheeledhimselfintothekitchen.
Iwasstartingtofeelreallycrosswithhim.IhadneverfeltjudgedbyanyoneasIfeltjudgedbyWillnow.Itwasasifmedecidingtosettledownwithmyboyfriendhadmademelessinterestingtohim.LikeIcouldnolongerbehispetproject.Icouldn’tsayanyofthistohim,ofcourse,butIwasjustascoolwithhimashewaswithme.
Itwas,frankly,exhausting.
Intheafternoon,therewasaknockatthebackdoor.Ihurrieddownthecorridor,myhandsstillwetfromwashingup,andopenedittofindamanstandingthereinadarksuit,abriefcaseinhand.
‘Ohno.We’reBuddhist,’Isaidfirmly,closingthedoorasthemanbegantoprotest.
TwoweekspreviouslyapairofJehovah’sWitnesseshadkeptWillcaptiveatthebackdoorforalmostfifteenminutes,whilehestruggledtoreversehischairbackoverthedislodgeddoormat.WhenIfinallyshutthedoortheyhadopenedtheletterboxtocallthat‘hemorethananyone’shouldunderstandwhatitwastolookforwardtotheafterlife.
‘Um…I’mheretoseeMrTraynor?’themansaid,andIopenedthedoorcautiously.InallmytimeatGrantaHousenobodyhadevercometoseeWillviathebackdoor.
‘Lethimin,’Willsaid,appearingbehindme.‘Iaskedhimtocome.’WhenIstillstoodthere,headded,‘It’sokay,Clark…he’safriend.’
Themansteppedoverthethreshold,heldouthishandandshookmine.‘MichaelLawler,’hesaid.
Hewasabouttosaysomethingelse,butWillmovedhischairbetweenus,effectivelycuttingoffanyfurtherconversation.
‘We’llbeinthelivingroom.Couldyoumakesomecoffee,thenleaveusforawhile?’
‘Um…okay.’
MrLawlersmiledatme,alittleawkwardly,andfollowedWillintothelivingroom.WhenIwalkedinwithatrayofcoffeesomeminuteslatertheywerediscussingcricket.TheconversationaboutlegsandrunscontinueduntilIhadnofurtherreasontolurk.
Brushinginvisibledustfrommyskirt,Istraightenedupandsaid,‘Well.I’llleaveyoutoit.’
‘Thanks,Louisa.’
‘Yousureyoudon’twantanythingelse?Biscuits?’
‘Thankyou,Louisa.’
WillnevercalledmeLouisa.Andhehadneverbanishedmefromanythingbefore.
MrLawlerstayedalmostanhour.Ididmychores,thenhungaroundinthekitchen,wonderingifIwasbraveenoughtoeavesdrop.Iwasn’t.Isat,atetwoBourboncreams,chewedmynails,listenedtothelowhumoftheirvoices,andwonderedforthefifteenthtimewhyWillhadaskedthismannottousethefrontentrance.
Hedidn’tlooklikeadoctor,orconsultant.Hecouldhavebeenafinancialadviser,buthesomehowdidn’thavetherightairabouthim.Hecertainlydidn’tlooklikeaphysiotherapist,occupationaltherapistordietician–oroneofthelegionsofotherpeopleemployedbythelocalauthoritytopopbyandassessWill’sever-changingneeds.Youcouldspotthoseamileoff.Theyalwayslookedexhausted,butwerebriskly,determinedlycheerful.Theyworewoollensinmutedcolours,withsensibleshoes,anddrovedustyestatecarsfulloffoldersandboxesofequipment.MrLawlerhadanavy-blueBMW.Hisgleaming5-serieswasnotalocalauthoritysortofacar
Finally,MrLawleremerged.Heclosedhisbriefcase,andhisjackethungoverhisarm.Henolongerlookedawkward.
Iwasinthehallwaywithinseconds.
‘Ah.Wouldyoumindpointingmetowardsthebathroom?’
Ididso,mutely,andstoodthere,fidgeting,untilheemerged.
‘Right.Sothat’sallfornow.’
‘Thankyou,Michael.’Willdidn’tlookatme.‘I’llwaittohearfromyou.’
‘Ishouldbeintouchlaterthisweek,’MrLawlersaid.
‘Emailwouldbepreferabletoletter–atleast,fornow.’
‘Yes.Ofcourse.’
Iopenedthebackdoortoseehimout.Then,asWilldisappearedbackintothelivingroom,Ifollowedhimintothecourtyardandsaidlightly,‘So–doyouhavefartogo?’
Hisclotheswerebeautifullycut;theycarriedthesharpedgeofthecityintheirtailoring,seriousmoneyintheirthreadcount.
‘London,unfortunately.Still,hopethetrafficwon’tbetoobadatthistimeoftheafternoon.’
Isteppedoutafterhim.ThesunwashighintheskyandIhadtosquinttoseehim.‘So…um…whereinLondonareyoubased?’
‘RegentStreet.’
‘TheRegentStreet?Nice.’
‘Yes.Notabadplacetobe.Right.Thankyouforthecoffee,Miss…’
‘Clark.LouisaClark.’
Hestoppedthenandlookedatmeforamoment,andIwonderedwhetherhehadsussedmyinadequateattemptstoworkoutwhohemightbe.
‘Ah.MissClark,’hesaid,hisprofessionalsmileswiftlyreinstated.‘Thankyou,anyway.’
Heputhisbriefcasecarefullyonthebackseat,climbedintohiscarandwasgone.
Thatnight,IstoppedoffatthelibraryonmywayhometoPatrick’s.Icouldhaveusedhiscomputer,butIstillfeltlikeIshouldask,andthisjustseemedeasier.Isatdownattheterminal,andtyped‘MichaelLawler’and‘RegentStreet,London’intothesearchengine.Knowledgeispower,Will,Itoldhim,silently.
Therewere3,290results,thefirstthreeofwhichrevealeda‘MichaelLawler,practitioneratlaw,specialistinwills,probateandpowerofattorney’basedinthatsamestreet.Istaredatthescreenforafewminutes,thenItypedinhisnameagain,thistimeagainstthesearchengineofimages,andtherehewas,atsomeRoundTablefunction,inadarksuit–MichaelLawler,specialistinwillsandprobate,thesamemanwhohadspentanhourwithWill.
ImovedintoPatrick’sthatnight,inthehourandahalfbetweenmefinishingworkandhimheadingofftothetrack.Itookeverythingexceptmybedandthenewblinds.Hearrivedwithhiscar,andweloadedmybelongingsintobinbags.Withintwotripswehaditall–barmyschoolbooksintheloft–athis.
Mumcried;shethoughtshewasforcingmeout.
‘Forgoodness’sake,love.It’stimeshemovedon.She’stwenty-sevenyearsold,’myfathertoldher.
‘She’sstillmybaby,’shesaid,pressingtwotinsoffruitcakeandacarrierbagofcleaningproductsintomyarms.
Ididn’tknowwhattosaytoher.Idon’tevenlikefruitcake.
Itwassurprisinglyeasy,fittingmybelongingsintoPatrick’sflat.Hehadnexttonothing,anyway,andIhadalmostnothingfromyearsspentintheboxroom.TheonlythingwefelloutoverwasmyCDcollection,whichapparentlycouldonlybecombinedwithhisonceIhadstickeredthebacksofmineandsortedthemintoalphabeticalorder.
‘Makeyourselfathome,’hekeptsaying,asifIweresomekindofguest.Wewerenervous,strangelyawkwardwitheachother,liketwopeopleonafirstdate.WhileIwasunpacking,hebroughtmeteaandsaid,‘Ithoughtthiscouldbeyourmug.’Heshowedmewhereeverythinglivedinthekitchen,thensaid,severaltimes,‘Ofcourse,putstuffwhereyouwant.Idon’tmind.’
Hehadclearedtwodrawersandthewardrobeinthespareroom.Theothertwodrawerswerefilledwithhisfitnessclothes.Ididn’tknowthereweresomanypermutationsofLycraandfleece.Mywildlycolourfulclothesleftseveralfeetofspacestillempty,thewirehangersjanglingmournfullyintheclosetspace.
‘I’llhavetobuymorestuffjusttofillitup,’Isaid,lookingatit.
Helaughednervously.‘What’sthat?’
Helookedatmycalendar,tackeduponthespare-roomwall,withitsideasingreenanditsactualplannedeventsinblack.Whensomethinghadworked(music,winetasting),Iputasmileyfacenexttoit.Whenithadn’t(horseracing,artgalleries),itstayedblank.Therewaslittlemarkedinforthenexttwoweeks–Willhadbecomeboredoftheplacesnearby,andasyetIcouldnotpersuadehimtoventurefurtherafield.IglancedoveratPatrick.Icouldseehimeyeingthe12Augustdate,whichwasnowunderlinedwithexclamationmarksinblack.
‘Um…it’sjustremindingmeaboutmyjob.’
‘Youdon’tthinkthey’regoingtorenewyourcontract?’
‘Idon’tknow,Patrick.’
Patricktookthepenfromitsclip,lookedatthenextmonth,andscribbledunderweek28:‘Timetostartjobhunting.’
‘Thatwayyou’recoveredforwhateverhappens,’hesaid.Hekissedmeandleftmetoit.
Ilaidmycreamsoutcarefullyinthebathroom,tuckedmyrazors,moisturizerandtamponsneatlyintohismirroredcabinet.Iputsomebooksinaneatrowalongthespare-roomfloorunderthewindow,includingthenewtitlesthatWillhadorderedfromAmazonforme.Patrickpromisedtoputupsomeshelveswhenhehadasparemoment.
Andthen,ashelefttogorunning,Isatandlookedoutovertheindustrialestatetowardsthecastle,andpractisedsayingthewordhome,silentlyundermybreath.
Iamprettyhopelessatkeepingsecrets.TreenasaysItouchmynoseassoonasIeventhinkoflying.It’saprettystraightforwardgiveaway.MyparentsstilljokeaboutthetimeIwroteabsencenotesformyselfafterbunkingoffschool.‘DearMissTrowbridge,’theyread.‘PleaseexcuseLouisaClarkfromtoday’slessonsasIamverypoorlywithwomen’sproblems.’Dadhadstruggledtokeepastraightfaceevenwhilehewassupposedtobetearingastripoffme.
KeepingWill’splanfrommyfamilyhadbeenonething–Iwasgoodatkeepingsecretsfrommyparents(it’soneofthethingswelearnwhilegrowingup,afterall)–butcopingwiththeanxietybymyselfwassomethingelseentirely.
IspentthenextcoupleofnightstryingtoworkoutwhatWillwasupto,andwhatIcoulddotostophim,mythoughtsracingevenasPatrickandIchatted,cookingtogetherinthelittlegalleykitchen.(Iwasalreadydiscoveringnewthingsabouthim–like,hereallydidknowahundreddifferentthingstodowithturkeybreast.)Atnightwemadelove–itseemedalmostobligatoryatthemoment,asifweshouldtakefulladvantageofourfreedom.ItwasasifPatricksomehowfeltIowedhimsomething,givenmyconstantphysicalproximitytoWill.Butassoonashedroppedofftosleep,Iwaslostinmythoughtsagain.
Therewerejustoversevenweeksleft
AndWillwasmakingplans,evenifIwasn’t.
Thefollowingweek,ifWillnoticedthatIwaspreoccupied,hedidn’tsayanything.Wewentthroughthemotionsofourdailyroutine–Itookhimforshortdrivesintothecountry,cookedhismeals,sawtohimwhenwewereinhishouse.Hedidn’tmakejokesaboutRunningMananymore.
Italkedtohimaboutthelatestbookshehadrecommended:wehaddoneTheEnglishPatient(Ilovedthis),andaSwedishthriller(whichIhadn’t).Weweresolicitouswitheachother,almostexcessivelypolite.Imissedhisinsults,hiscrabbiness–theirabsencejustaddedtotheloomingsenseofthreatthathungoverme.
Nathanwatchedusboth,asifhewereobservingsomekindofnewspecies.
‘Youtwohadarow?’heaskedmeonedayinthekitchen,asIunpackedthegroceries.
‘You’dbetteraskhim,’Isaid.
‘That’sexactlywhathesaid.’
Helookedatmesideways,anddisappearedintothebathroomtounlockWill’smedicalcabinet.
Meanwhile,I’dlastedthreedaysafterMichaelLawler’svisitbeforeIrangMrsTraynor.Iaskedifwecouldmeetsomewhereotherthanherhouse,andweagreedonalittlecafethathadopenedinthegroundsofthecastle.Thesamecafe,ironically,thathadcostmemyjob.
ItwasamuchsmarteraffairthanTheButteredBun–alllimedoakandbleachedwoodtablesandchairs.Itsoldhome-madesoupfullofactualvegetables,andfancycakes.Andyoucouldn’tbuyanormalcoffee,onlylattes,cappuccinosandmacchiatos.Therewerenobuilders,orgirlsfromthehairdresser’s.Isatnursingmytea,andwonderedabouttheDandelionLadyandwhethershewouldfeelcomfortableenoughtositinhereandreadanewspaperallmorning.
‘Louisa,I’msorryI’mlate.’CamillaTraynorenteredbriskly,herhandbagtuckedunderherarm,dressedinagreysilkshirtandnavytrousers.
Ifoughttheurgetostandup.TherewasneveratimewhenIspoketoherthatIdidn’tstillfeellikeIwasengagedinsomekindofinterview.
‘Iwasheldupincourt.’
‘Sorry.Togetyououtofwork,Imean.Ijust…well,Iwasn’tsureitcouldwait.’
Sheheldupahand,andmouthedsomethingatthewaitress,whowithinsecondshadbroughtheracappuccino.Thenshesatacrossfromme.IfelthergazelikeIwastransparent.
‘Willhadalawyercometothehouse,’Isaid.‘Ifoundoutheisaspecialistinwillsandprobate.’Icouldn’tthinkofanygentlerwaytoopentheconversation.
ShelookedlikeI’djustsmackedherintheface.Irealized,toolate,thatshemightactuallyhavethoughtI’dhavesomethinggoodtotellher.
‘Alawyer?Areyousure?’
‘Ilookedhimupontheinternet.He’sbasedinRegentStreet.InLondon,’Iaddedunnecessarily.‘HisnameisMichaelLawler.’
Sheblinkedhard,asiftryingtotakethisin.‘DidWilltellyouthis?’
‘No.Idon’tthinkhewantedmetoknow.I…Igothisnameandlookedhimup.’
Hercoffeearrived.Thewaitressputitonthetableinfrontofher,butMrsTraynordidn’tseemtonotice.
‘Didyouwantanythingelse?’thegirlsaid.
‘No,thankyou.’
‘Wehavecarrotcakeonspecialtoday.Wemakeithereourselves.It’sgotalovelybuttercreamfill–’
‘No.’MrsTraynor’svoicewassharp.‘Thankyou.’
Thegirlstoodtherejustlongenoughtoletusknowshewasoffendedandthenstalkedoff,hernotepadswingingconspicuouslyfromonehand.
‘I’msorry,’Isaid.‘YoutoldmebeforethatIshouldletyouknowanythingimportant.Istayedawakehalfthenighttryingtoworkoutwhethertosayanything.’
Herfacelookedalmostleachedofcolour.
Iknewhowshefelt.
‘Howisheinhimself?Haveyou…haveyoucomeupwithanyotherideas?Outings?’
‘He’snotkeen.’ItoldheraboutParis,andmylistofthingsIhadcompiled.
AllthewhileIspoke,Icouldseehermindworkingaheadofme,calculating,assessing.
‘Anywhere,’shesaid,finally.‘I’llfinanceit.Anytripyouwant.I’llpayforyou.ForNathan.Just–justseeifyoucangethimtoagreetoit.’
Inodded.
‘Ifthere’sanythingelseyoucanthinkof…justtobuyussometime.I’llpayyourwagesbeyondthesixmonths,obviously.’
‘That’s…that’sreallynotanissue.’
Wefinishedourcoffeesinsilence,bothlostinourthoughts.AsIwatchedher,surreptitiously,Inoticedthatherimmaculatehairstylewasnowfleckedwithgrey,hereyesasshadowedasmyown.IrealizedIdidn’tfeelanybetterforhavingtoldher,tohavepassedmyownheightenedanxietyontoher–butwhatchoicedidIhave?Thestakesweregettinghigherwitheverydaythatpassed.Thesoundoftheclockstrikingtwoseemedtospurheroutofherstasis.
‘IsupposeIshouldgetbacktowork.Pleaseletmeknowanythingthatyou…youcancomeupwith,Louisa.Itmightbebetterifwehavetheseconversationsawayfromtheannexe.’
Istoodup.‘Oh,’Isaid,‘you’llneedmynewnumber.Ijustmoved.’Asshereachedintoherhandbagforapen,Iadded,‘ImovedinwithPatrick…myboyfriend.’
Idon’tknowwhythisnewssurprisedhersomuch.Shelookedstartled,andthenshehandedmeherpen.
‘Ididn’tknowyouhadaboyfriend.’
‘Ididn’tknowIneededtotellyou.’
Shestood,onehandrestingonthetable.‘Willmentionedtheotherdaythatyou…hethoughtyoumightbemovingintotheannexe.Atweekends.’
IscribbledPatrick’shomenumber.
‘Well,IthoughtitmightbemorestraightforwardforeveryoneifImovedinwithPatrick.’Ihandedhertheslipofpaper.‘ButI’mnotfaraway.Justbytheindustrialestate.Itwon’taffectmyhours.Ormypunctuality.’
Westoodthere.MrsTraynorseemedagitated,herhandrunningthroughherhair,reachingdownforthechainaroundherneck.Finally–asifshecouldnothelpherself–sheblurtedout,‘Woulditreallyhavehurtyoutohavewaited?Justafewweeks?’
‘I’msorry?’
‘Will…IthinkWillisveryfondofyou.’Shebitherlip.‘Ican’tsee…Ican’tseehowthisreallyhelps.’
‘Holdon.AreyoutellingmeIshouldn’thavemovedinwithmyboyfriend?’
‘I’mjustsayingthatthetimingisnotideal.Willisinaveryvulnerablestate.We’realldoingourbesttokeephimoptimistic…andyou–’
‘Iwhat?’Icouldseethewaitresswatchingus,hernotepadstilledinherhand.‘Iwhat?Daredtohavealifeawayfromwork?’
Sheloweredhervoice.‘IamdoingeverythingIcan,Louisa,tostopthis…thing.Youknowthetaskwe’refacing.AndI’mjustsayingthatIwish–giventhefactheisveryfondofyou–thatyouhadwaitedawhilelongerbeforerubbingyour…yourhappinessinhisface.’
IcouldhardlybelievewhatIwashearing.Ifeltthecolourrisetomyface,andtookadeepbreathbeforeIspokeagain.
‘HowdareyousuggestIwoulddoanythingtohurtWill’sfeelings.Ihavedoneeverything,’Ihissed.‘IhavedoneeverythingIcanthinkof.I’vecomeupwithideas,gothimout,talkedtohim,readtohim,lookedafterhim.’Mylastwordsexplodedoutofmychest.‘I’vecleanedupafterhim.I’vechangedhisbloodycatheter.I’vemadehimlaugh.I’vedonemorethanyourbloodyfamilyhavedone.’
MrsTraynorstoodverystill.Shedrewherselfuptoherfullheight,tuckedherhandbagunderherarm.‘Ithinkthisconversationhasprobablyended,MissClark.’
‘Yes.Yes,MrsTraynor.Ithinkitprobablyhas.’
Sheturned,andwalkedswiftlyoutofthecafe.
Whenthedoorslammedshut,IrealizedItoowasshaking.
ThatconversationwithMrsTraynorkeptmejanglingforthenextcoupleofdays.Ikepthearingherwords,theideathatIwasrubbingmyhappinessinhisface.Ididn’tthinkWillcouldbeaffectedbyanythingthatIdid.WhenhehadseemeddisapprovingaboutmydecisiontomoveinwithPatrick,IhadthoughtitwasabouthimnotlikingPatrickratherthananyfeelingshehadforme.Moreimportantly,Ididn’tthinkIhadlookedparticularlyhappy.
Athome,Icouldn’tshakethisfeelingofanxiety.Itwaslikealow-levelcurrentrunningthroughme,anditfedintoeverythingIdid.IaskedPatrick,‘Wouldwehavedonethisifmysisterhadn’tneededmyroomathome?’
HehadlookedatmeasifIweredaft.Heleantoverandpulledmetohim,kissingthetopofmyhead.Thenheglanceddown.‘Doyouhavetowearthesepyjamas?Ihateyouinpyjamas.’
‘They’recomfortable.’
‘Theylooklikesomethingmymumwouldwear.’
‘I’mnotgoingtowearabasqueandsuspenderseverynightjusttokeepyouhappy.Andyou’renotansweringmyquestion.’
‘Idon’tknow.Probably.Yes.’
‘Butweweren’ttalkingaboutit,werewe?’
‘Lou,mostpeoplemoveinwitheachotherbecauseit’ssensible.Youcanlovesomeoneandstillseethefinancialandpracticaladvantages.’
‘Ijust…don’twantyoutothinkImadethishappen.Idon’twanttofeellikeImadethishappen.’
Hesighed,androlledontohisback.‘Whydowomenalwayshavetogooverandoverasituationuntilitbecomesaproblem?Iloveyou,youloveme,we’vebeentogethernearlysevenyearsandtherewasnoroomatyourparents’houseanymore.It’sactuallyprettysimple.’
Butitdidn’tfeelsimple.
ItfeltlikeIwaslivingalifeIhadn’thadachancetoanticipate.
ThatFridayitrainedallday–warm,heavysheetsofit,likewewereinthetropics,makingthegutteringgurgleandbowingthestemsofthefloweringshrubsasifinsupplication.Willstaredoutofthewindowslikeadogdeniedawalk.Nathancameandwent,aplasticbagliftedabovehishead.Willwatchedadocumentaryaboutpenguins,andafterwards,whileheloggedontohiscomputer,Ibusiedmyself,sothatwedidn’thavetotalktoeachother.Ifeltourdiscomfortwitheachotherkeenly,andbeinginthesameroomashimallthetimemadeitthatmuchworse.
Ihadfinallybeguntounderstandtheconsolationsofcleaning.Imopped,cleanedwindowsandchangedduvets.Iwasaconstantwhirlofactivity.Nodustmoteescapedmyeye,notearingmyforensicattentions.Iwasdislodgingthelimescaleonthebathroomtapsusingkitchenrollsoakedinvinegar(mymother’stip)whenIheardWill’schairbehindme.
‘Whatareyoudoing?’
Iwasbentlowoverthebath.Ididn’tturnround.‘I’mdescalingyourtaps.’
Icouldfeelhimwatchingme.
‘Saythatagain,’hesaid,afterabeat.
‘What?’
‘Saythatagain.’
Istraightenedup.‘Why,areyouhavingproblemswithyourhearing?I’mdescalingyourtaps.’
‘No,Ijustwantyoutolistentowhatyou’resaying.Thereisnoreasontodescalemytaps,Clark.Mymotherwon’tnoticeit,Iwon’tcare,andit’smakingthebathroomstinklikeafishandchipshop.Besides,I’dliketogoout.’
Iwipedalockofhairfrommyface.Itwastrue.Therewasadefinitewaftoflargehaddockintheatmosphere.
‘Comeon.It’sfinallystoppedraining.Ijustspoketomydad.Hesaidhe’llgiveusthekeystothecastleafterfiveo’clock,onceallthetouristsareout.’
Ididn’tfeelgreatabouttheideaofushavingtomakepoliteconversationduringawalkaroundthegrounds.Butthethoughtofbeingoutoftheannexewasappealing.
‘Okay.Givemefiveminutes.Ineedtotryandgetthesmellofvinegaroffmyhands.’
ThedifferencebetweengrowinguplikemeandgrowinguplikeWillwasthatheworehissenseofentitlementlightly.Ithinkifyougrowupashehaddone,withwealthyparents,inanicehouse,ifyougotogoodschoolsandnicerestaurantsasamatterofcourse,youprobablyjusthavethissensethatgoodthingswillfallintoplace,thatyourpositionintheworldisnaturallyanelevatedone.
Willhadescapedintotheemptygroundsofthecastlehiswholechildhood,hesaid.Hisdadlethimroamtheplace,trustinghimnottotouchanything.After5.30pm,whenthelastofthetouristshadgone,asthegardenersbegantotrimandtidy,asthecleanersemptiedthebinsandsweptuptheemptycartonsofdrinkandcommemorativetoffeefudge,ithadbecomehisprivateplayground.Ashetoldmethis,ImusedthatifTreenaandIhadbeengiventhefreedomofthecastle,alltoourselves,wewouldhavebeenairpunchingwithdisbeliefandgettinggiddyallovertheplace.
‘FirstgirlIeverkissedwasinfrontofthedrawbridge,’hesaid,slowingtolooktowardsitaswewalkedalongthegravelpath.
‘Didyoutellheritwasyourplace?’
‘No.PerhapsIshouldhavedone.Shedumpedmeaweeklaterfortheboywhoworkedintheminimart.’
Iturnedandstaredathiminshock.‘NotTerryRowlands?Darkslicked-backhair,tattoosuptohiselbows?’
Heraisedaneyebrow.‘That’shim.’
‘Hestillworksthere,youknow.Intheminimart.Ifthatmakesyoufeelanybetter.’
‘I’mnotsurehe’dfeelentirelyenviousofwhereIendedup,’Willsaid,andIstoppedtalkingagain.
Itwasstrangeseeingthecastlelikethis,insilence,thetwoofustheonlypeoplethereapartfromtheoddgardenerinthedistance.Insteadofgazingatthetourists,beingdistractedbytheiraccentsandtheiralienlives,Ifoundmyselflookingatthecastleforperhapsthefirsttime,beginningtoabsorbsomeofitshistory.Itsflintedwallshadstoodthereformorethan800years.Peoplehadbeenbornanddiedthere,heartsfilledandbroken.Now,inthesilence,youcouldalmostheartheirvoices,theirownfootstepsonthepath.
‘Okay,confessiontime,’Isaid.‘Didyoueverwalkaroundhereandpretendsecretlythatyouweresomekindofwarriorprince?’
Willlookedsidewaysatme.‘Honestly?’
‘Ofcourse.’
‘Yes.IevenborrowedoneoftheswordsoffthewallsoftheGreatHallonce.Itweighedaton.IrememberbeingpetrifiedthatIwouldn’tbeabletoliftitbackontoitsstand.’
Wehadreachedtheswellofthehill,andfromhere,atthefrontofthemoat,wecouldlookdownthelongsweepofgrasstotheruinedwallthathadmarkedtheboundary.Beyonditlaythetown,theneonsignsandqueuesoftraffic,thebustlethatmarkedthesmalltown’srushhour.UphereitwassilentapartfromthebirdsandthesofthumofWill’schair.
Hestoppedthechairbrieflyandswivelleditsothatwelookeddownatthegrounds.‘I’msurprisedwenevermeteachother,’hesaid.‘WhenIwasgrowingup,Imean.Ourpathsmusthavecrossed.’
‘Whywouldthey?Wedidn’texactlymoveinthesamecircles.AndIwouldjusthavebeenthebabyyoupassedinthepram,whileswingingyoursword.’
‘Ah.Iforgot–Iampositivelyancientcomparedtoyou.’
‘Eightyearswoulddefinitelyhavequalifiedyouasan“olderman”,’Isaid.‘EvenwhenIwasateenagermydadwouldneverhaveletmegooutwithanolderman.’
‘Notevenifhehadhisowncastle?’
‘Well,thatwouldchangethings,obviously.’
Thesweetsmellofthegrassroseuparoundusaswewalked,Will’swheelshissingthroughtheclearpuddlesonthepath.Ifeltrelieved.Ourconversationwasn’tquiteasithadbeen,butperhapsthatwasonlytobeexpected.MrsTraynorhadbeenright–itwouldalwaysbehardforWilltowatchotherpeoplemovingonwiththeirlives.Imadeamentalnotetothinkmorecarefullyabouthowmyactionsmightmakeanimpactonhislife.Ididn’twanttobeangryanymore.
‘Let’sdothemaze.Ihaven’tdoneitforages.’
Iwaspulledbackfrommythoughts.‘Oh.No,thanks.’Iglancedover,noticingsuddenlywherewewere.
‘Why,areyouafraidofgettinglost?C’mon,Clark.It’llbeachallengeforyou.Seeifyoucanmemorizetherouteyoutakein,thentakethereverseoneout.I’lltimeyou.Iusedtodoitallthetime.’
Iglancedbacktowardsthehouse.‘I’dreallyrathernot.’Eventhethoughtofithadbroughtaknottomystomach.
‘Ah.Playingsafeagain.’
‘That’snotit.’
‘Noproblem.We’lljusttakeourboringlittlewalkandgobacktotheboringlittleannexe.’
Iknowhewasjoking.Butsomethinginhistonereallygottome.IthoughtofDeirdreonthebus,hercommentsabouthowgooditwasthatoneofusgirlshadstayedbehind.Minewastobethesmalllife,myambitionsthepettyones
Iglancedoveratthemaze,atitsdark,denseboxhedging.Iwasbeingridiculous.PerhapsIhadbeenbehavingridiculouslyforyears.Itwasallover,afterall.AndIwasmovingon.
‘Justrememberwhichturnyoutake,thenreverseittocomeout.It’snotashardasitlooks.Really.’
IlefthimonthepathbeforeIcouldthinkaboutit.Itookabreath,andwalkedinpastthesignthatwarned‘NoUnaccompaniedChildren’,stridingbrisklybetweenthedark,damphedgingwhichstillglistenedwithraindrops.
It’snotsobad,it’snotsobad,Ifoundmyselfmurmuringundermybreath.It’sjustaloadofoldhedges.Itookarightturn,thenaleftthroughabreakinthehedge.Itookanotherright,aleft,andasIwentIrehearsedinmyheadthereverseofwhereIhadbeen.Right.Left.Break.Right.Left
Myheartratebegantorisealittle,sothatIcouldhearthebloodpumpinginmyears.IforcedmyselftothinkaboutWillontheothersideofthehedge,glancingdownathiswatch.Itwasjustasillytest.Iwasnolongerthatnaiveyoungwoman.Iwastwenty-seven.Ilivedwithmyboyfriend.Ihadaresponsiblejob.Iwasadifferentperson.
Iturned,wentstraighton,andturnedagain.
Andthen,almostfromnowhere,thepanicrosewithinmelikebile.IthoughtIsawamandartingattheendofthehedge.EventhoughItoldmyselfitwasjustmyimagination,theactofreassuringmyselfmademeforgetmyreversedinstructions.Right.Left.Break.Right.Right?HadIgotthatthewrongwayaround?Mybreathcaughtinmythroat.Iforcedmyselfonwards,onlytorealizethatIhadcompletelylostmybearings.Istoppedandglancedaroundmeatthedirectionoftheshadows,tryingtoworkoutwhichdirectionwaswest.
AndasIstoodthere,itdawnedonmethatIcouldn’tdoit.Icouldn’tstayinthere.Iwhippedround,andbegantowalkinwhatIthoughtwasasoutherlydirection.Iwouldgetout.Iwastwenty-sevenyearsold.Itwasfine.ButthenIheardtheirvoices,thecatcalling,themockinglaughter.Isawthem,dartinginandoutofthegapsinthehedge,feltmyownfeetswaydrunkenlyundermyhighheels,theunforgivingprickleofthehedgeasIfellagainstit,tryingtosteadymyself.
‘Iwanttogetoutnow,’Ihadtoldthem,myvoiceslurringandunsteady.‘I’vehadenough,guys.’
Andtheyhadallvanished.Themazewassilent,justthedistantwhispersthatmighthavebeenthemontheothersideofthehedge–ormighthavebeenthewinddislodgingtheleaves.
‘Iwanttogooutnow,’Ihadsaid,myvoicesoundinguncertaineventome.Ihadgazedupatthesky,brieflyunbalancedbythevast,studdedblackofthespaceaboveme.AndthenIjumpedassomeonecaughtmearoundmywaist–thedark-hairedone.TheonewhohadbeentoAfrica.
‘Youcan’tgoyet,’hesaid.‘You’llspoilthegame.’
Ihadknownthen,justfromthefeelofhishandsonmywaist.Ihadrealizedthatsomebalancehadshifted,thatsomerestraintonbehaviourhadbeguntoevaporate.AndIhadlaughed,pushedathishandsasiftheywereajoke,unwillingtolethimknowthatIknew.Iheardhimshoutforhisfriends.AndIbrokeawayfromhim,runningsuddenly,tryingtofightmywaytotheexit,myfeetsinkingintothedampgrass.Iheardthemallaroundme,theirraisedvoices,theirbodiesunseen,andfeltmythroatconstrictinpanic.IwastoodisorientatedtoworkoutwhereIwas.Thetallhedgeskeptswaying,pitchingtowardsme.Ikeptgoing,pushingmywayaroundcorners,stumbling,duckingintoopenings,tryingtogetawayfromtheirvoices.Buttheexitnevercame.EverywhereIturnedtherewasjustanotherexpanseofhedge,anothermockingvoice.
Istumbledintoanopening,brieflyexultantthatIwasnearfreedom.ButthenIsawIwasbackatthecentreagain,backwhereIhadstarted.IreeledasIsawthemallstandingthere,asiftheyhadsimplybeenwaitingforme.
‘Thereyougo,’oneofthemsaid,ashishandgrabbedmyarm.‘Itoldyoushewasupforit.Comeon,Lou-lou,givemeakissandI’llshowyouthewayout.’Hisvoicewassoftanddrawling.
‘Giveusallakissandwe’llallshowyouthewayout.’
Theirfaceswereablur.
‘Ijust…Ijustwantyouto–’
‘Comeon,Lou.Youlikeme,don’tyou?You’vebeensittingonmylapallevening.Onekiss.Howhardisthat?’
Iheardasnigger.
‘Andyou’llshowmehowtogetout?’Myvoicesoundedpathetic,eventome.
‘Justone.’Hemovedcloser.
Ifelthismouthonmine,ahandsqueezingmythigh.
Hebrokeaway,andIheardthetenorofhisbreathingchange.‘AndnowJake’sturn.’
Idon’tknowwhatIsaidthen.Someonehadmyarm.Iheardthelaughter,feltahandinmyhair,anothermouthonmine,insistent,invasive,andthen–
‘Will…’
Iwassobbingnow,crouchedovermyself.‘Will,’Iwassayinghisname,overandoveragain,myvoiceragged,emergingsomewherefrommychest.Iheardhimsomewherefaroff,beyondthehedge.
‘Louisa?Louisa,whereareyou?What’sthematter?’
Iwasinthecorner,asfarunderthehedgeasIcouldget.Tearsblurredmyeyes,myarmswrappedtightlyaroundme.Icouldn’tgetout.Iwouldbestuckhereforever.Nobodywouldfindme.
‘Will…’
‘Whereare–?’
Andtherehewas,infrontofme.
‘I’msorry,’Isaid,lookingup,myfacecontorted.‘I’msorry.Ican’t…doit.’
Heliftedhisarmacoupleofinches–themaximumhecouldmanage.‘OhJesus,whatthe–?Comehere,Clark.Hemovedforward,thenglanceddownathisarminfrustration.‘Bloodyuselessthing…It’sokay.Justbreathe.Comehere.Justbreathe.Slowly.’
Iwipedmyeyes.Atthesightofhim,thepanichadbeguntosubside.Istoodup,unsteadily,andtriedtostraightenmyface.‘I’msorry.I…don’tknowwhathappened.’
‘Areyouclaustrophobic?’Hisface,inchesfrommine,wasetchedwithworry.‘Icouldseeyoudidn’twanttogoin.Ijust…Ijustthoughtyouwerebeing–’
Ishutmyeyes.‘Ijustwanttogonow.’
‘Holdontomyhand.We’llgoout.’
Hehadmeoutoftherewithinminutes.Heknewthemazebackwards,hetoldmeaswewalked,hisvoicecalm,reassuring.Ithadbeenachallengeforhimasaboytolearnhiswaythrough.Ientwinedmyfingerswithhisandfeltthewarmthofhishandassomethingcomforting.IfeltfoolishwhenIrealizedhowclosetotheentranceIhadbeenallalong.
Westoppedatabenchjustoutside,andIrummagedinthebackofhischairforatissue.Wesatthereinsilence,meontheendofthebenchbesidehim,bothofuswaitingformyhiccoughingtosubside.
Hesat,sneakingsidewaysglancesatme.
‘So…?’hesaid,finally,whenImusthavelookedasifIcouldspeakwithoutfallingapartagain.‘Youwanttotellmewhat’sgoingon?’
Itwistedthetissueinmyhands.‘Ican’t.’
Heclosedhismouth.
Iswallowed.‘It’snotyou,’Isaid,hurriedly.‘Ihaven’ttalkedtoanyoneabout…It’s…it’sstupid.Andalongtimeago.Ididn’tthink…Iwould…’
Ifelthiseyesonme,andwishedhewouldn’tlook.Myhandswouldn’tstoptrembling,andmystomachfeltasifitweremadeofamillionknots.
Ishookmyhead,tryingtotellhimthattherewerethingsIcouldn’tsay.Iwantedtoreachforhishandagain,butIdidn’tfeelIcould.Iwasconsciousofhisgaze,couldalmosthearhisunspokenquestions.
Belowus,twocarshadpulledupnearthegates.Twofiguresgotout–fromhereitwasimpossibletoseewho–andembraced.Theystoodthereforafewminutes,perhapstalking,andthengotbackintotheircarsanddroveoffintheoppositedirection.IwatchedthembutIcouldn’tthink.Mymindfeltfrozen.Ididn’tknowwhattosayaboutanythinganymore.
‘Okay.Here’sathing,’hesaid,finally.Iturnedaround,buthewasn’tlookingatme.‘I’lltellyousomethingthatInevertellanyone.Allright?’
‘Allright.’Iscrewedthetissueintoaballinmyhands,waiting.
Hetookadeepbreath.
‘Igetreally,reallyscaredofhowthisisgoingtogo.’Heletthatsettleintheairbetweenus,andthen,inalow,calmvoice,hecarriedon.‘Iknowmostpeoplethinklivinglikemeisabouttheworstthingthatcouldhappen.Butitcouldgetworse.Icouldendupnotbeingabletobreathebymyself,notbeingabletotalk.Icouldgetcirculatoryproblemsthatmeanmylimbshavetobeamputated.Icouldbehospitalizedindefinitely.Thisisn’tmuchofalife,Clark.ButwhenIthinkabouthowmuchworseitcouldget–somenightsIlieinmybedandIcan’tactuallybreathe.’
Heswallowed.‘Andyouknowwhat?Nobodywantstohearthatstuff.Nobodywantsyoutotalkaboutbeingafraid,orinpain,orbeingscaredofdyingthroughsomestupid,randominfection.Nobodywantstoknowhowitfeelstoknowyouwillneverhavesexagain,nevereatfoodyou’vemadewithyourownhandsagain,neverholdyourownchild.NobodywantstoknowthatsometimesIfeelsoclaustrophobic,beinginthischair,Ijustwanttoscreamlikeamadmanatthethoughtofspendinganotherdayinit.Mymotherishangingonbyathreadandcan’tforgivemeforstilllovingmyfather.MysisterresentsmeforthefactthatyetagainIhaveovershadowedher–andbecausemyinjuriesmeanshecan’tproperlyhateme,likeshehassincewewerechildren.Myfatherjustwantsitalltogoaway.Ultimately,theywanttolookonthebrightside.Theyneedmetolookonthebrightside.’
Hepaused.‘Theyneedtobelievethereisabrightside.’
Iblinkedintothedarkness.‘DoIdothat?’Isaid,quietly.
‘You,Clark,’helookeddownathishands,‘aretheonlypersonIhavefeltabletotalktosinceIendedupinthisbloodything.’
AndsoItoldhim.
Ireachedforhishand,thesameonethathadledmeoutofthemaze,andIlookedstraightdownatmyfeetandItookabreathandItoldhimaboutthewholenight,andhowtheyhadlaughedatmeandmadefunofhowdrunkandstonedIwas,andhowIhadpassedoutandlatermysisterhadsaiditmightactuallybeagoodthing,thenotrememberingandtheirwords.Ifilleditwithmyownhumiliation.ItoldhimhowIsawtheirfaceseverytimeIwentanywherebeyondthetown,andhowPatrickandMumandDadandmysmalllifehadbeenjustfineforme,withalltheirproblemsandlimitations.Theyhadletmefeelsafe.
Bythetimewefinishedtalkingtheskyhadgrowndark,andtherewerefourteenmessagesonmymobilephonewonderingwherewewere.
‘Youdon’tneedmetotellyouitwasn’tyourfault,’hesaid,quietly.
Aboveustheskyhadbecomeendlessandinfinite.
Itwistedthehandkerchiefinmyhand.‘Yes.Well.Istillfeel…responsible.Idranktoomuchtoshowoff.Iwasaterribleflirt.Iwas–’
‘No.Theywereresponsible.’
Nobodyhadeversaidthosewordsaloudtome.EvenTreena’slookofsympathyhadheldsomemuteaccusation.Well,ifyouwillgetdrunkandsillywithmenyoudon’tknow…
Hisfingerssqueezedmine.Afaintmovement,butthereitwas.
‘Louisa.Itwasn’tyourfault.’
Icriedthen.Notsobbing,thistime.Thetearsleftmesilently,andtoldmesomethingelsewasleavingme.Guilt.Fear.AfewotherthingsIhadn’tyetfoundwordsfor.Ileantmyheadgentlyonhisshoulderandhetiltedhisheaduntilitrestedagainstmine.
‘Right.Areyoulisteningtome?’
Imurmuredayes.
‘ThenI’lltellyousomethinggood,’hesaid,andthenhewaited,asifhewantedtobesurehehadmyattention‘Somemistakes…justhavegreaterconsequencesthanothers.Butyoudon’thavetoletthatnightbethethingthatdefinesyou.’
Ifelthisheadtiltagainstmine.
‘You,Clark,havethechoicenottoletthathappen.’
Thesighthatleftmethenwaslong,andshuddering.Wesatthereinsilence,lettinghiswordssinkin.Icouldhavestayedthereallnight,abovetherestoftheworld,thewarmthofWill’shandinmine,feelingtheworstofmyselfslowlybegintoebbaway.
‘We’dbettergetback,’hesaid,eventually.‘Beforetheycalloutasearchparty.’
Ireleasedhishandandstood,alittlereluctantly,feelingthecoolbreezesonmyskin.Andthen,almostluxuriously,Istretchedmyarmshighabovemyhead.Iletmyfingersstraightenintheeveningair,thetensionofweeks,months,perhapsyears,easingalittle,andletoutadeepbreath.
Belowmethelightsofthetownwinked,acircleoflightamidtheblackcountrysidebelowus.Iturnedbacktowardshim.‘Will?’
‘Yes?’
Icouldbarelyseehiminthedimlight,butIknewhewaswatchingme.‘Thankyou.Thankyouforcomingtogetme.’
Heshookhishead,andturnedhischairbacktowardsthepath.18
‘Disneylandisgood.’
‘Itoldyou,nothemeparks.’
‘Iknowyousaidthat,butit’snotjustrollercoastersandwhirlingteacups.AtFloridayou’vegotthefilmstudiosandthesciencecentre.It’sactuallyquiteeducational.’
‘Idon’tthinka35-year-oldformercompanyheadneedseducating.’
‘Therearedisabledloosoneverycorner.Andthemembersofstaffareincrediblycaring.Nothingistoomuchtrouble.’
‘You’regoingtosaythereareridesspeciallyforhandicappedpeoplenext,aren’tyou?’
‘Theyaccommodateeveryone.Whydon’tyoutryFlorida,MissClark?Ifyoudon’tlikeityoucouldgoontoSeaWorld.Andtheweatherislovely.’
‘InWillversuskillerwhaleIthinkIknowwhowouldcomeoffworst.’
Hedidn’tseemtohearme.‘Andtheyareoneofthetop-ratedcompaniesfordealingwithdisability.YouknowtheydoalotofMake-A-WishFoundationstuffforpeoplewhoaredying?’
‘Heisnotdying.’IputthephonedownonthetravelagentjustasWillcamein.Ifumbledwiththereceiver,tryingtosetitbackinitscradle,andsnappedmynotepadshut.
‘Everythingallright,Clark?’
‘Fine.’Ismiledbrightly.
‘Good.Gotanicefrock?’
‘What?’
‘WhatareyoudoingonSaturday?’
Hewaswaitingexpectantly.Mybrainwasstillstalledonkillerwhaleversustravelagent.
‘Um…nothing.Patrick’sawayalldaytraining.Why?’
Hewaitedjustafewsecondsbeforehesaidit,asifitactuallygavehimsomepleasuretosurpriseme.
‘We’regoingtoawedding.’
Afterwards,IwasneverentirelysurewhyWillchangedhismindaboutAliciaandRupert’snuptials.Isuspectedtherewasprobablyalargedoseofnaturalcontrarinessinhisdecision–nobodyexpectedhimtogo,probablyleastofallAliciaandRupertthemselves.Perhapsitwasaboutfinallygettingclosure.ButIthinkinthelastcoupleofmonthsshehadlostthepowertowoundhim.
WedecidedwecouldmanagewithoutNathan’shelp.IcalleduptomakesurethemarqueewassuitableforWill’swheelchair,andAliciasoundedsoflusteredwhensherealizedweweren’tactuallydecliningtheinvitationthatitdawnedonmeherembossedcorrespondencereallyhadbeenforappearance’ssake.
‘Um…well…thereisaverysmallstepupintothemarquee,butIsupposethepeoplewhoareputtingitupdidsaytheycouldprovidearamp…’Shetailedoff.
‘Thatwillbelovely,then.Thankyou,’Isaid.‘We’llseeyouontheday.’
Wewentonlineandpickedoutaweddingpresent.Willspent￡120onasilverpictureframe,andavasethathesaidwas‘absolutelyvile’foranother￡60.Iwasshockedthathewouldspendthatmuchmoneyonsomeonehedidn’tevenreallylike,butIhadworkedoutwithinweeksofbeingemployedbytheTraynorsthattheyhaddifferentideasaboutmoney.Theywrotefour-figurechequeswithoutgivingitathought.IhadseenWill’sbankstatementonce,whenithadbeenleftonthekitchentableforhimtolookat.Itcontainedenoughmoneytobuyourhousetwiceover–andthatwasonlyhiscurrentaccount.
Idecidedtowearmyreddress–partlybecauseIknewWilllikedit(andIfiguredtodayhewasgoingtoneedalltheminorboostshecouldget)–butalsobecauseIdidn’tactuallyhaveanyotherdresseswhichIfeltbraveenoughtowearatsuchagathering.WillhadnoideaofthefearIfeltatthethoughtofgoingtoasocietywedding,letaloneas‘thehelp’.EverytimeIthoughtofthebrayingvoices,theassessingglancesinourdirection,IwantedtospendthedaywatchingPatrickrunincirclesinstead.Perhapsitwasshallowofmetoevencare,butIcouldn’thelpit.Thethoughtofthoseguestslookingdownonbothofuswasalreadytyingmystomachinknots.
Ididn’tsayanythingtoWill,butIwasafraidforhim.Goingtotheweddingofanexseemedamasochisticactatthebestoftimes,buttogotoapublicgathering,onethatwouldbefullofhisoldfriendsandworkcolleagues,towatchhermarryhisformerfriend,seemedtomeasure-fireroutetodepression.Itriedtosuggestasmuchthedaybeforeweleft,buthebrusheditoff.
‘IfI’mnotworriedaboutit,Clark,Idon’tthinkyoushouldbe,’hesaid.
IrangTreenaandtoldher.
‘Checkhiswheelchairforanthraxandammunition,’wasallshesaid.
‘It’sthefirsttimeI’vegothimaproperdistancefromhomeandit’sgoingtobeabloodydisaster.’
‘Maybehejustwantstoremindhimselfthatthereareworsethingsthandying?’
‘Funny.’
Hermindwasonlyhalfonourphonecall.Shewaspreparingforaweek’sresidentialcoursefor‘potentialfuturebusinessleaders’,andneededMumandmetolookafterThomas.Itwasgoingtobefantastic,shesaid.Someofthetopnamesinindustrywouldbethere.Hertutorhadputherforwardandshewastheonlypersononthewholecoursewhodidn’thavetopayherownfees.Icouldtellthat,asshespoketome,shewasalsodoingsomethingonacomputer.Icouldhearherfingersonthekeyboard.
‘Niceforyou,’Isaid.
‘It’sinsomecollegeatOxford.Noteventheex-poly.Theactual“dreamingspires”Oxford.’
‘Great.’
Shepausedforamoment.‘He’snotsuicidal,ishe?’
‘Will?Nomorethanusual.’
‘Well,that’ssomething.’Iheardthepingofanemail.
‘I’dbettergo,Treen.’
‘Okay.Havefun.Oh,anddon’twearthatreddress.Itshowswaytoomuchcleavage.’
Themorningoftheweddingdawnedbrightandbalmy,asIhadsecretlyknownitwould.GirlslikeAliciaalwaysgottheirownway.Someonehadprobablyputinagoodwordwiththeweathergods.
‘That’sremarkablybitterofyou,Clark,’Willsaid,whenItoldhim.
‘Yes,well,I’velearntfromthebest.’
NathanhadcomeearlytogetWillreadysothatwecouldleavethehousebynine.Itwasatwo-hourdrive,andIhadbuiltinreststops,planningourroutecarefullytoensurewehadthebestfacilitiesavailable.Igotreadyinthebathroom,pullingstockingsovermynewlyshavedlegs,paintingonmake-upandthenrubbingitoffagainincasetheposhgueststhoughtIlookedlikeacallgirl.Idarednotputascarfaroundmyneck,butIhadbroughtawrap,whichIcoulduseasashawlifIfeltoverexposed.
‘Notbad,eh?’Nathansteppedback,andtherewasWill,inadarksuitandacornflower-blueshirtwithatie.Hewasclean-shaven,andcarriedafainttanonhisface.Theshirtmadehiseyeslookpeculiarlyvivid.Theyseemed,suddenly,tocarryaglintofthesun.
‘Notbad,’Isaid–because,weirdly,Ididn’twanttosayhowhandsomeheactuallylooked.‘She’llcertainlybesorryshe’smarryingthatbrayingbucketoflard,anyway.’
Willraisedhiseyesheavenwards.‘Nathan,dowehaveeverythinginthebag?’
‘Yup.Allsetandreadytogo.’HeturnedtoWill.‘Nosnoggingthebridesmaids,now.’
‘Asifhe’dwantto,’Isaid.‘They’llallbewearingpie-crustcollarsandsmellofhorse.’
Will’sparentscameouttoseehimoff.Isuspectedtheyhadjusthadanargument,asMrsTraynorcouldnothavestoodfurtherawayfromherhusbandunlesstheyhadactuallybeeninseparatecounties.Shekeptherarmsfoldedfirmly,evenasIreversedthecarforWilltogetin.Shedidn’toncelookatme.
‘Don’tgethimtoodrunk,Louisa,’shesaid,brushingimaginarylintfromWill’sshoulder.
‘Why?’Willsaid.‘I’mnotdriving.’
‘You’requiteright,Will,’hisfathersaid.‘Ialwaysneededagoodstiffdrinkortwotogetthroughawedding.’
‘Evenyourown,’MrsTraynormurmured,addingmoreaudibly,‘Youlookverysmart,darling.’Shekneltdown,adjustingthehemofWill’strousers.‘Really,verysmart.’
‘Sodoyou.’MrTraynoreyedmeapprovinglyasIsteppedoutofthedriver’sseat.‘Veryeye-catching.Giveusatwirl,then,Louisa.’
Willturnedhischairaway.‘Shedoesn’thavetime,Dad.Let’sgetontheroad,Clark.I’mguessingit’sbadformtowheelyourselfinbehindthebride.’
Iclimbedbackintothecarwithrelief.WithWill’schairsecuredintheback,andhissmartjackethungneatlyoverthepassenger’sseatsothatitwouldn’tcrease,wesetoff.
IcouldhavetoldyouwhatAlicia’sparents’housewouldbelikeevenbeforeIgotthere.Infact,myimaginationgotitsonearlyspotonthatWillaskedmewhyIwaslaughingasIslowedthecar.Alarge,Georgianrectory,itstallwindowspartlyobscuredbyshowersofpalewisteria,itsdriveacaramelpeashingle,itwastheperfecthouseforacolonel.Icouldalreadypicturehergrowingupwithinit,herhairintwoneatblondeplaitsasshesatastrideherfirstfatponyonthelawn.
Twomeninreflectivetabardsweredirectingtrafficintoafieldbetweenthehouseandthechurchbesideit.Iwounddownthewindow.‘Isthereacarparkbesidethechurch?’
‘Guestsarethisway,Madam.’
‘Well,wehaveawheelchair,anditwillsinkintothegrasshere,’Isaid.‘Weneedtoberightbesidethechurch.Look,I’llgojustthere.’
Theylookedateachother,andmurmuredsomethingbetweenthemselves.Beforetheycouldsayanythingelse,Idroveupandparkedinthesecludedspotbesidethechurch.Andhereitstarts,Itoldmyself,catchingWill’seyeinthemirrorasIturnedofftheignition.
‘Chillout,Clark.It’sallgoingtobefine,’hesaid.
‘I’mperfectlyrelaxed.WhywouldyouthinkIwasn’t?’
‘You’reridiculouslytransparent.Plusyou’vechewedofffourofyourfingernailswhileyou’vebeendriving.’
Iparked,climbedout,adjustedmywraparoundmyself,andclickedthecontrolsthatwouldlowertheramp.‘Okay,’Isaid,asWill’swheelsmettheground.Acrosstheroadfromusinthefield,peoplewereclimbingoutofhuge,Germaniccars,womeninfuchsiadressesmutteringtotheirhusbandsastheirheelssankintothegrass.Theywereallleggyandstreamlinedinpalemutedcolours.Ifiddledwithmyhair,wonderingifIhadputontoomuchlipstick.IsuspectedIlookedlikeoneofthoseplastictomatoesyousqueezeketchupoutof.
‘So…howareweplayingtoday?’
Willfollowedmylineofvision.‘Honestly?’
‘Yup.Ineedtoknow.Andpleasedon’tsayShockandAwe.Areyouplanningsomethingterrible?’
Will’seyesmetmine.Blue,unfathomable.Asmallcloudofbutterflieslandedinmystomach.
‘We’regoingtobeincrediblywellbehaved,Clark.’
Thebutterflies’wingsbegantobeatwildly,asiftrappedagainstmyribcage.Ibegantospeak,butheinterruptedme.
‘Look,we’lljustdowhateverittakestomakeitfun,’hesaid.
Fun.Likegoingtoanex’sweddingcouldeverbelesspainfulthanrootcanalsurgery.ButitwasWill’schoice.Will’sday.Itookabreath,tryingtopullmyselftogether.
‘Oneexception,’Isaid,adjustingthewraparoundmyshouldersforthefourteenthtime.
‘What?’
‘You’renottodotheChristyBrown.IfyoudotheChristyBrownIwilldrivehomeandleaveyoustuckherewiththepointy-heads.’
AsWillturnedandbeganmakinghiswaytowardsthechurch,IthoughtIheardhimmurmur,‘Spoilsport.’
Wesatthroughtheceremonywithoutincident.AlicialookedasridiculouslybeautifulasIhadknownshewould,herskinpolishedapalecaramel,thebias-cutoff-whitesilkskimmingherslimfigureasifitwouldn’tdareresttherewithoutpermission.Istaredatherasshefloateddowntheaisle,wonderinghowitwouldfeeltobetallandlong-leggedandlooklikesomethingmostofusonlysawinairbrushedposters.Iwonderedifateamofprofessionalshaddoneherhairandmake-up.Iwonderedifshewaswearingcontrolpants.Ofcoursenot.Shewouldbewearingpalewispsofsomethinglacy–underwearforwomenwhodidn’tneedanythingactuallysupported,andwhichcostmorethanmyweeklysalary.
Whilethevicardronedon,andthelittleballet-shodbridesmaidsshuffledintheirpews,Igazedaroundmeattheotherguests.Therewasbarelyawomantherewhodidn’tlooklikeshemightappearinthepagesofaglossymagazine.Theirshoes,whichmatchedtheiroutfitstotheexacthue,lookedasiftheyhadneverbeenwornbefore.Theyoungerwomenstoodelegantlyinfour-orfive-inchheels,withperfectlymanicuredtoenails.Theolderwomen,inkittenheels,worestructuredsuits,boxedshoulderswithsilkliningsincontrastingcolours,andhatsthatlookedasiftheydefiedgravity.
Themenwerelessinterestingtolookat,butnearlyallhadthatairaboutthemthatIcouldsometimesdetectinWill–ofwealthandentitlement,asensethatlifewouldsettleitselfagreeablyaroundyou.Iwonderedaboutthecompaniestheyran,theworldstheyinhabited.Iwonderediftheynoticedpeoplelikeme,whonanniedtheirchildren,orservedtheminrestaurants.Orpoledancedfortheirbusinesscolleagues,Ithought,rememberingmyinterviewsattheJobCentre.
TheweddingsIwenttousuallyhadtoseparatethebrideandgroom’sfamiliesforfearofsomeonebreachingthetermsoftheirparole.
WillandIhadpositionedourselvesattherearofthechurch,Will’schairjusttotherightofmyendofthepew.HelookedupbrieflyasAliciawalkeddowntheaisle,butapartfromthathefacedstraightahead,hisexpressionunreadable.Forty-eightchoristers(Icounted)sangsomethinginLatin.Rupertsweatedintohispenguinsuitandraisedaneyebrowasifhefeltpleasedandabitdaftatthesametime.Nobodyclappedorcheeredastheywerepronouncedmanandwife.Rupertlookedabitawkward,divedintowardshisbridelikesomebodyapplebobbingandslightlymissedhermouth.Iwonderediftheupperclassesfeltitwasabit‘off’toreallygetstuckinatthealtar.
Andthenitwasover.Willwasalreadymakinghiswayouttowardstheexitofthechurch.Iwatchedthebackofhishead,uprightandcuriouslydignified,andwantedtoaskhimifithadbeenamistaketocome.Iwantedtoaskhimifhestillhadfeelingsforher.Iwantedtotellhimthathewastoogoodforthatsillycaramelwoman,nomatterwhatappearancesmightsuggest,andthat…Ididn’tknowwhatelseIwantedtosay.
Ijustwantedtomakeitbetter.
‘Youokay?’Isaid,asIcaughtup.
Thebottomlinewas,itshouldhavebeenhim.
Heblinkedacoupleoftimes.‘Fine,’hesaid.Heletoutalittlebreath,asifhehadbeenholdingit.Thenhelookedupatme.‘Comeon,let’sgoandgetadrink.’
Themarqueewassituatedinawalledgarden,thewrought-irongatewayintoitintertwinedwithgarlandsofpale-pinkflowers.Thebar,positionedatthefarend,wasalreadycrowded,soIsuggestedthatWillwaitedoutsidewhileIwentandgothimadrink.IweavedmywaythroughtablescladinwhitelinenclothsandladenwithmorecutleryandglasswarethanIhadeverseen.Thechairshadgiltbacks,liketheonesyouseeatfashionshows,andwhitelanternshungaboveeachcentrepieceoffreesiasandlilies.Theairwasthickwiththescentofflowers,tothepointwhereIfounditalmoststifling.
‘Pimm’s?’thebarmansaid,whenIgottothefront.‘Um…’Ilookedaround,seeingthatthiswasactuallytheonlydrinkonoffer.‘Oh.Okay.Two,please.’
Hesmiledatme.‘Theotherdrinkscomeoutlater,apparently.ButMissDewarwantedeveryonetostartwithPimm’s.’Thelookhegavemewasslightlyconspiratorial.Ittoldmewiththefaintestliftofaneyebrowwhathethoughtofthat.
Istaredatthepinklemonadedrink.Mydadsaiditwasalwaystherichestpeoplewhowerethetightest,butIwasamazedthattheywouldn’tevenstarttheweddingwithalcohol.‘Iguessthat’llhavetodo,then,’Isaid,andtooktheglassesfromhim.
WhenIfoundWill,therewasamantalkingtohim.Young,bespectacled,hewashalfcrouching,onearmrestingonthearmofWill’schair.Thesunwasnowhighinthesky,andIhadtosquinttoseethemproperly.Icouldsuddenlyseethepointofallthosewide-brimmedhats.
‘Sobloodygoodtoseeyououtagain,Will,’hewassaying.‘Theofficeisn’tthesamewithoutyou.Ishouldn’tsayasmuch…butit’snotthesame.Itjustisn’t.’
Helookedlikeayoungaccountant–thekindofmanwhoisonlyreallycomfortableinasuit.
‘It’sniceofyoutosayso.’
‘Itwasjustsoodd.Likeyoufelloffacliff.Onedayyouwerethere,directingeverything,thenextwewerejustsupposedto…’
Heglancedupashenoticedmestandingthere.‘Oh,’hesaid,andIfelthiseyessettleonmychest.‘Hello.’
‘LouisaClark,meetFreddieDerwent.’
IputWill’sglassinhisholderandshooktheyoungerman’shand.
Headjustedhissightline.‘Oh,’hesaidagain.‘And–’
‘I’mafriendofWill’s,’Isaid,andthen,notentirelysurewhy,letmyhandrestlightlyonWill’sshoulder
‘Lifenotallbad,then,’FreddieDerwentsaid,withalaughthatwasabitlikeacough.Heflushedalittleashespoke.‘Anyway…mustmingle.Youknowthesethings–apparently,we’remeanttoseethemasanetworkingopportunity.Butgoodtoseeyou,Will.Really.And…andyou,MissClark.’
‘Heseemednice,’Isaid,aswemovedaway.IliftedmyhandfromWill’sshoulderandtookalongsipofmyPimm’s.Itwasactuallytastierthanitlooked.Ihadbeenslightlyalarmedbythepresenceofcucumber.
‘Yes.Yes,he’sanicekid.’
‘Nottooawkward,then.’
‘No.’Will’seyesflickereduptomeetmine.‘No,Clark,nottooawkwardatall.’
AsiffreedbythesightofFreddieDerwentdoingso,overthenexthourseveralmorepeopleapproachedWilltosayhello.Somestoodalittlewaybackfromhim,asifthisabsolvedthemofthehandshakedilemma,whileothershoistedthekneesoftheirtrousersandcroucheddownalmostathisfeet.IstoodbyWillandsaidlittle.Iwatchedhimstiffenslightlyattheapproachoftwoofthem.
One–abig,bluffmanwithacigar–seemednottoknowwhattosaywhenhewasactuallythereinfrontofWill,andsettledfor,‘Bloodynicewedding,wasn’tit?Thoughtthebridelookedsplendid.’Iguessedhehadn’tknownAlicia’sromantichistory.
Another,whoseemedtobesomebusinessrivalofWill’s,hitamorediplomaticnote,buttherewassomethinginhisverydirectgaze,hisstraightforwardquestionsaboutWill’scondition,thatIcouldseemadeWilltense.Theywereliketwodogscirclingeachother,decidingwhethertobaretheirteeth.
‘NewCEOofmyoldcompany,’Willsaid,asthemanfinallydepartedwithawave.‘IthinkhewasjustmakingsurethatIwouldn’tbetryingtostageatakeover.’
Thesungrewfierce,thegardenbecameafragrantpit,peopleshelteredunderdappledtrees.ItookWillintothedoorwayofthemarquee,worriedabouthistemperature.Insidethemarqueehugefanshadbeenkickedintolife,whirringlazilyoverourheads.Inthedistance,undertheshelterofasummerhouse,astringquartetplayedmusic.Itwaslikeascenefromafilm.
Alicia,floatingaroundthegarden–anetherealvision,air-kissingandexclaiming–didn’tapproachus.
IwatchedWilldraintwoglassesofPimm’sandwassecretlyglad.
Lunchwasservedat4pm.Ithoughtthatwasaprettyoddtimetoservelunchbut,asWillpointedout,itwasawedding.Timeseemedtohavestretchedandbecomemeaningless,anyway,itspassageblurredbyendlessdrinksandmeanderingconversations.Idon’tknowifitwastheheat,ortheatmosphere,butbythetimewearrivedatourtableIfeltalmostdrunk.WhenIfoundmyselfbabblingincoherentlytotheelderlymanonmyleft,Irealizeditwasactuallyapossibility.
‘IsthereanyalcoholinthatPimm’sstuff?’IsaidtoWill,afterIhadmanagedtotipthecontentsofthesaltcellarintomylap.
‘Aboutthesameasaglassofwine.Ineachone.’
Istaredathiminhorror.Bothofhim.‘You’rekidding.Ithadfruitinit!Ithoughtthatmeantitwasalcoholfree.HowamIgoingtodriveyouhome?’
‘Somecareryouare,’hesaid.Heraisedaneyebrow.‘What’sitworthformenottotellmymother?’
IwasstunnedbyWill’sreactiontothewholeday.IhadthoughtIwasgoingtogetTaciturnWill,SarcasticWill.Attheveryleast,SilentWill.Buthehadbeencharmingtoeverybody.Eventhearrivalofsoupatlunchdidn’tfazehim.Hejustaskedpolitelywhetheranybodywouldliketoswaphissoupfortheirbread,andthetwogirlsonthefarsideofthetable–whoprofessedthemselves‘wheatintolerant’–nearlythrewtheirrollsathim.
ThemoreanxiousIgrewabouthowIwasgoingtosoberup,themoreupbeatandcarefreeWillbecame.TheelderlywomanonhisrightturnedouttobeaformerMPwhohadcampaignedontherightsofthedisabled,andshewasoneofthefewpeopleIhadseentalktoWillwithouttheslightestdiscomfort.AtonepointIwatchedherfeedhimasliceof
Iwaslessfortunatewiththemanonmyleft.Hetookaboutfourminutes–thebriefestofquizzesaboutwhoIwas,whereIlived,whoIknewthere–toworkoutthattherewasnothingIhadtosaythatmightbeofinteresttohim.Heturnedbacktothewomanonhisleft,leavingmetoploughsilentlythroughwhatremainedofmylunch.Atonepoint,whenIstartedtofeelproperlyawkward,IfeltWill’sarmslideoffthechairbesideme,andhishandlandedonmyarm.Iglancedupandhewinkedatme.Itookhishandandsqueezedit,gratefulthathecouldseeit.Andthenhemovedhischairbacksixinches,andbroughtmeintotheconversationwithMaryRawlinson.
‘SoWilltellsmeyou’reinchargeofhim,’shesaid.Shehadpiercingblueeyes,andwrinklesthattoldofalifeimpervioustoskincareroutines.
‘Itry,’Isaid,glancingathim.
‘Andhaveyoualwaysworkedinthisfield?’
‘No.Iusedto…workinacafe.’I’mnotsureIwouldhavetoldanybodyelseatthisweddingthatfact,butMaryRawlinsonnoddedapprovingly.
‘Ialwaysthoughtthatmightberatheraninterestingjob.Ifyoulikepeople,andarerathernosy,whichIam.’Shebeamed.
Willmovedhisarmbackontohischair.‘I’mtryingtoencourageLouisatodosomethingelse,towidenherhorizonsabit.’
‘Whatdidyouhaveinmind?’sheaskedme.
‘Shedoesn’tknow,’Willsaid.‘LouisaisoneofthesmartestpeopleIknow,butIcan’tmakeherseeherownpossibilities.’
MaryRawlinsongavehimasharplook.‘Don’tpatronizeher,dear.She’squitecapableofansweringforherself.’
Iblinked.
‘Iratherthinkthatyouofallpeopleshouldknowthat,’sheadded.
Willlookedasifhewereabouttosaysomething,andthenclosedhismouth.Hestaredatthetableandshookhisheadalittle,buthewassmiling.
‘Well,Louisa,Iimagineyourjobatthemomenttakesupanawfullotofmentalenergy.AndIdon’tsupposethisyoungmanistheeasiestofclients.’
‘Youcansaythatagain.’
‘ButWillisquiterightaboutseeingpossibilities.Here’smycard.I’montheboardofacharitableorganizationthatencouragesretraining.Perhapsyouwouldliketoconsidersomethingdifferentinthefuture?’
‘I’mveryhappyworkingwithWill,thankyou.’
Itookthecardthatsheprofferedregardless,alittlestunnedthatthiswomanwouldhavetheslightestinterestinwhatIdidwithmylife.ButevenasItookit,Ifeltlikeanimposter.TherewasnowayIwouldbeabletogiveupwork,evenifIknewwhatIwantedtolearn.Iwasn’tconvincedIwasthekindofpersonwhowouldsuitretraining
‘…it’sverygoodthatyou’vegotoverthehump,sotospeak.Iknowitcanbecrushingtohavetoreadjustyourlifesodramaticallyaroundnewexpectations.’
Istaredattheremainsofmypoachedsalmon.IhadneverheardanyonespeaktoWilllikethat.
Hefrownedatthetable,andthenturnedbacktoher.‘I’mnotsureIamoverthehump,’hesaid,quietly.
Sheeyedhimforamoment,andglancedoveratme.
Iwonderedifmyfacebetrayedme.
‘Everythingtakestime,Will,’shesaid,placingherhandbrieflyonhisarm.‘Andthat’ssomethingthatyourgenerationfinditalothardertoadjustto.Youhaveallgrownupexpectingthingstogoyourwayalmostinstantaneously.Youallexpecttolivethelivesyouchose.Especiallyasuccessfulyoungmanlikeyourself.Butittakestime.’
‘MrsRawlinson–Mary–I’mnotexpectingtorecover,’hesaid.
‘I’mnottalkingaboutphysically,’shesaid.‘I’mtalkingaboutlearningtoembraceanewlife.’
Andthen,justasIwaitedtohearwhatWillwasgoingtosaynext,therewasaloudtappingofaspoononaglass,andtheroomhushedforthespeeches.
Ibarelyheardwhattheysaid.Itseemedtometobeonepuffed-uppenguin-suitedmanafteranother,referringtopeopleandplacesIdidn’tknow,provokingpolitelaughter.Isatandchewedmywaythroughthedark-chocolatetrufflesthathadarrivedinsilverbasketsonthetable,anddrankthreecupsofcoffeeinquicksuccessionsothataswellasfeelingdrunkIfeltjitteryandwired.Will,ontheotherhand,wasapictureofstillness.Hesatandwatchedtheguestsapplaudhisex-girlfriend,andlistenedtoRupertdroneonaboutwhataperfectlywonderfulwomanshewas.Nobodyacknowledgedhim.Idon’tknowifthatwasbecausetheywantedtosparehisfeelings,orbecausehispresencetherewasactuallyabitofanembarrassment.OccasionallyMaryRawlinsonleantinandmutteredsomethingintohisearandhenoddedslightly,asifinagreement.
Whenthespeechesfinallyended,anarmyofstaffappearedandbeganclearingthecentreoftheroomfordancing.Willleantintome.‘Maryremindedmethereisaverygoodhoteluptheroad.Ringthemandseeifwecanstaythere.’
‘What?’
Maryhandedmeanameandatelephonenumberscribbledonanapkin.
‘It’sokay,Clark,’hesaid,quietly,sothatshecouldn’thear.‘I’llpay.Goon,andthenyoucanstopworryingabouthowmuchyou’vedrunk.Grabmycreditcardfrommybag.They’llprobablywanttotakethenumber.’
Itookit,reachedformymobilephoneandwalkedoffintothefurtherreachesofthegarden.Theyhadtworoomsavailable,theysaid–asingle,andadoubleonthegroundfloor.Yes,itwassuitablefordisabledaccess.‘Perfect,’Isaid,andthenhadtoswallowasmallyelpwhentheytoldmetheprice.IgavethemWill’screditcardnumber,feelingslightlysickasIreadthenumbers.
‘So?’hesaid,whenIreappeared.
‘I’vedoneit,but…’Itoldhimhowmuchthetworoomshadcometo.
‘That’sfine,’hesaid.‘Nowringthatblokeofyourstotellhimyou’restayingoutallnight,thenhaveanotherdrink.Infact,havesix.ItwouldpleasemenoendtoseeyougethammeredonAlicia’sfather’sbill.’
AndsoIdid.
Somethinghappenedthatevening.Thelightsdropped,sothatourlittletablewaslessconspicuous,theoverpoweringfragranceoftheflowerswastemperedbytheeveningbreezes,andthemusicandthewineandthedancingmeantthatinthemostunlikelyofplaces,weallbegantoactuallyenjoyourselves.WillwasthemostrelaxedIhadseenhim.SandwichedbetweenmeandMary,hetalkedandsmiledather,andtherewassomethingaboutthesightofhimbeingbrieflyhappythatrepelledthosepeoplewhomightotherwisehavelookedathimaskance,orofferedpityingglances.Hemademelosemywrapandsitupstraight.Itookoffhisjacketandloosenedhistie,andwebothtriednottogiggleatthesightofthedancing.IcannottellyouhowmuchbetterIfeltonceIsawthewayposhpeopledanced.Themenlookedasiftheyhadbeenelectrocuted,thewomendidlittlepointyfingersatthestarsandlookedhorriblyself-consciousevenastheytwirled.
MaryRawlinsonmuttered,‘DearGod,’severaltimes.Sheglancedoveratme.Herlanguagehadgotfruitierwitheverydrink.‘Youdon’twanttogoandstrutyourstuff,Louisa?’
‘God,no.’
‘Jollysensibleofyou.I’veseenbetterdancingatabloodyYoungFarmersClubdisco.’
Atnine,IgotatextfromNathan.
Allokay?
Yes.Lovely,believeitornot.Willhavinggreattime.
Andhewas.IwatchedhimlaughinghardatsomethingMaryhadsaid,andsomethinginmegrewstrangeandtight.Thishadshownmeitcouldwork.Hecouldbehappy,ifsurroundedbytherightpeople,ifallowedtobeWill,insteadofTheManintheWheelchair,thelistofsymptoms,theobjectofpity.
Andthen,at10pm,theslowdancesbegan.WewatchedRupertwheelAliciaaroundthedancefloor,applaudedpolitelybyonlookers.Herhairhadbeguntodroop,andshewrappedherarmsaroundhisneckasifsheneededthesupport.Rupert’sarmslinkedaroundher,restingonthesmallofherback.Beautifulandwealthyasshewas,Ifeltalittlesorryforher.Ithoughtsheprobablywouldn’trealizewhatshehadlostuntilitwasmuchtoolate.
Halfwaythroughthesong,othercouplesjoinedthemsothattheywerepartiallyobscuredfromview,andIgotdistractedbyMarytalkingaboutcarers’allowances,untilsuddenlyIlookedupandthereshewas,standingrightinfrontofus,thesupermodelinherwhitesilkdress.Myheartlodgedinmythroat.
AlicianoddedagreetingtoMary,anddippedalittlefromherwaistsothatWillcouldhearheroverthemusic.Herfacewasalittletense,asifshehadhadtoprimeherselftocomeover.
‘Thankyouforcoming,Will.Really.’Sheglancedsidewaysatmebutsaidnothing.
‘Pleasure,’Willsaid,smoothly.‘Youlooklovely,Alicia.Itwasagreatday.’
Aflickerofsurprisepassedacrossherface.Andthenafaintwistfulness.‘Really?Youreallythinkso?Idothink…Imean,there’ssomuchIwanttosay–’
‘Really,’Willsaid.‘There’snoneed.YourememberLouisa?’
‘Ido.’
Therewasabriefsilence.
IcouldseeRuperthoveringinthebackground,eyeingusallwarily.Sheglancedbackathim,andthenheldoutahandinahalf-wave.‘Well,thankyouanyway,Will.Youareasuperstarforcoming.Andthankyouforthe…’
‘Mirror.’
‘Ofcourse.Iabsolutelylovedthemirror.’Shestoodupandwalkedbacktoherhusband,whoturnedaway,alreadyclaspingherarm.
Wewatchedthemcrossthedancefloor
‘Youdidn’tbuyheramirror.’
‘Iknow.’
Theywerestilltalking,Rupert’sgazeflickeringbacktous.Itwasasifhecouldn’tbelieveWillhadsimplybeennice.Mindyou,neithercouldI.
‘Doesit…diditbotheryou?’Isaidtohim.
Helookedawayfromthem.‘No,’hesaid,andhesmiledatme.Hissmilehadgoneabitlopsidedwithdrinkandhiseyesweresadandcontemplativeatthesametime.
Andthen,asthedancefloorbrieflyemptiedforthenextdance,Ifoundmyselfsaying,‘Whatdoyousay,Will?Goingtogivemeawhirl?’
‘What?’
‘Comeon.Let’sgivethesefuckerssomethingtotalkabout.’
‘Ohgood,’Marysaid,raisingaglass.‘Fuckingmarvellous.’
‘Comeon.Whilethemusicisslow.BecauseIdon’tthinkyoucanpogointhatthing.’
Ididn’tgivehimanychoice.IsatdowncarefullyonWill’slap,drapedmyarmsaroundhisnecktoholdmyselfinplace.Helookedintomyeyesforaminute,asifworkingoutwhetherhecouldrefuseme.Then,astonishingly,Willwheeledusoutontothedancefloor,andbeganmovinginsmallcirclesunderthesparklinglightsofthemirrorballs.
Ifeltsimultaneouslyacutelyself-consciousandmildlyhysterical.Iwassittingatananglethatmeantmydresshadrisenhalfwayupmythighs.
‘Leaveit,’Willmurmuredintomyear.
‘Thisis…’
‘Comeon,Clark.Don’tletmedownnow.’
Iclosedmyeyesandwrappedmyarmsaroundhisneck,lettingmycheekrestagainsthis,breathinginthecitrussmellofhisaftershave.Icouldfeelhimhummingalongwiththemusic.
‘Aretheyallappalledyet?’hesaid.Iopenedoneeye,andglancedoutintothedimlight.
Acoupleofpeopleweresmilingencouragingly,butmostseemednottoknowwhattomakeofit.Marysalutedmewithherdrink.AndthenIsawAliciastaringatus,herfacebrieflyfalling.Whenshesawmelooking,sheturnedawayandmutteredsomethingtoRupert.Heshookhishead,asifweweredoingsomethingdisgraceful.
Ifeltamischievoussmilecreepingacrossmyface.‘Ohyes,’Isaid.
‘Hah.Moveincloser.Yousmellfantastic.’
‘Sodoyou.Although,ifyoukeepturninginleft-handcirclesImaythrowup.’
Willchangeddirection.Myarmsloopedaroundhisneck,Ipulledbackalittletolookathim,nolongerself-conscious.Heglanceddownatmychest.Tobefair,withmepositionedwhereIwas,therewasn’tanywhereelsehecouldreallylook.Heliftedhisgazefrommycleavageandraisedaneyebrow.‘Youknow,youwouldneverhaveletthosebreastssoclosetomeifIweren’tinawheelchair,’hemurmured.
Ilookedbackathimsteadily.‘Youwouldneverhavelookedatmybreastsifyouhadn’tbeeninawheelchair.’
‘What?OfcourseIwould.’
‘Nope.Youwouldhavebeenfartoobusylookingatthetallblondegirlswiththeendlesslegsandthebighair,theoneswhocansmellanexpenseaccountatfortypaces.Andanyway,Iwouldn’thavebeenhere.Iwouldhavebeenservingthedrinksoverthere.Oneoftheinvisibles.’
Heblinked.
‘Well?I’mright,aren’tI?’
Willglancedoveratthebar,thenbackatme.‘Yes.Butinmydefence,Clark,Iwasanarse.’
Iburstoutlaughingsohardthatevenmorepeoplelookedoverinourdirection.
Itriedtostraightenmyface.‘Sorry,’Imumbled.‘IthinkI’mgettinghysterical.’
‘Doyouknowsomething?’
Icouldhavelookedathisfaceallnight.Thewayhiseyeswrinkledatthecorners.Thatplacewherehisneckmethisshoulder.‘What?’
‘Sometimes,Clark,youareprettymuchtheonlythingthatmakesmewanttogetupinthemorning.’
‘Thenlet’sgosomewhere.’ThewordswereoutalmostbeforeIknewwhatIwantedtosay.
‘What?’
‘Let’sgosomewhere.Let’shaveaweekwherewejusthavefun.Youandme.Noneofthese…’
Hewaited.‘Arses?’
‘…arses.Sayyes,Will.Goon.’
Hiseyesdidn’tleavemine.
Idon’tknowwhatIwastellinghim.Idon’tknowwhereitallcamefrom.IjustknewifIdidn’tgethimtosayyestonight,withthestarsandthefreesiasandthelaughterandMary,thenIhadnochanceatall.
‘Please.’
Thesecondsbeforeheansweredmeseemedtotakeforever.
‘Okay,’hesaid.19Nathan
Theythoughtwecouldn’ttell.TheyfinallygotbackfromtheweddingaroundlunchtimethefollowingdayandMrsTraynorwassomadshecouldbarelyevenspeak.
‘Youcouldhaverung,’shesaid.
Shehadstayedinjusttomakesuretheyarrivedbackokay.IhadlistenedtoherpacingupanddownthetiledcorridornextdoorsinceIgotthereat8am
‘Imusthavecalledortextedyoubotheighteentimes.ItwasonlywhenImanagedtocalltheDewars’houseandsomebodytoldme“themaninthewheelchair”hadgonetoahotelthatIcouldbesureyouhadn’tbothhadsometerribleaccidentonthemotorway.’
‘“Themaninthewheelchair”.Nice,’Willobserved.
Butyoucouldseehewasn’tbothered.Hewasalllooseandrelaxed,carriedhishangoverwithhumour,eventhoughIhadthefeelinghewasinsomepain.ItwasonlywhenhismumstartedtohaveagoatLouisathathestoppedsmiling.Hejumpedinandjustsaidthatifshehadanythingtosaysheshouldsayittohim,asithadbeenhisdecisiontostayovernight,andLouisahadsimplygonealongwithit.
‘AndasfarasIcansee,Mother,asa35-year-oldmanI’mnotstrictlyanswerabletoanybodywhenitcomestochoosingtospendanightatahotel.Eventomyparents.’
Shehadstaredatthemboth,mutteredsomethingabout‘commoncourtesy’andthenlefttheroom.
Louisalookedabitshakenbuthehadgoneoverandmurmuredsomethingtoher,andthatwasthepointatwhichIsawit.Shewentkindofpinkandlaughed,thekindoflaughyoudowhenyouknowyoushouldn’tbelaughing.Thekindoflaughthatspokeofaconspiracy.AndthenWillturnedtoherandtoldhertotakeiteasyfortherestoftheday
‘Ican’tbewalkingaroundthecastlewithsomeonewhohassoclearlyjustdonethewalkofshame,’hesaid.
‘Walkofshame?’Icouldn’tkeepthesurprisefrommyvoice.
‘Notthatwalkofshame,’Louisasaid,flickingmewithherscarf,andgrabbedhercoattoleave.
‘Takethecar,’hecalledout.‘It’llbeeasierforyoutogetback.’
IwatchedWill’seyesfollowherallthewaytothebackdoor.
Iwouldhaveofferedyouseventofourjustonthebasisofthatlookalone.
Hedeflatedalittleaftersheleft.ItwasasifhehadbeenholdingonuntilbothhismumandLouisahadlefttheannexe.Ihadbeenwatchinghimcarefullynow,andoncehissmilelefthisfaceIrealizedIdidn’tlikethelookofhim.Hisskinheldafaintblotchiness,hehadwincedtwicewhenhethoughtnoonewaslooking,andIcouldseeevenfromherethathehadgoosebumps.Alittlealarmbellhadstartedtosound,distantbutshrill,insidemyhead.
‘Youfeelingokay,Will?’
‘I’mfine.Don’tfuss.’
‘Youwanttotellmewhereithurts?’
Helookedabitresignedthen,asifheknewIsawstraightthroughhim.Wehadworkedtogetheralongtime.
‘Okay.Bitofaheadache.And…um…Ineedmytubeschanged.Probablyquitesharpish.’
IhadtransferredhimfromhischairontohisbedandnowIbegangettingtheequipmenttogether.‘WhattimedidLoudothemthismorning?’
‘Shedidn’t.’Hewinced.Andhelookedalittleguilty.‘Orlastnight.’
‘What?’
Itookhispulse,andgrabbedthebloodpressureequipment.Sureenough,itwasskyhigh.WhenIputmyhandonhisforeheaditcameawaywithafaintsheenofsweat.Iwentforthemedicinecabinet,andcrushedsomevasodilatordrugs.Igavethemtohiminwater,makingsurehedrankeverylastbit.ThenIproppedhimup,placinghislegsoverthesideofthebed,andIchangedhistubesswiftly,watchinghimallthewhile
‘AD?’
‘Yeah.Notyourmostsensiblemove,Will.’
Autonomicdysreflexiawasprettymuchourworstnightmare.ItwasWill’sbody’smassiveoverreactionagainstpain,discomfort–or,say,anun-emptiedcatheter–hisdamagednervoussystem’svainandmisguidedattempttostayincontrol.Itcouldcomeoutofnowhereandsendhisbodyintomeltdown.Helookedpale,hisbreathinglaboured.
‘How’syourskin?’
‘Bitprickly.’
‘Sight?’
‘Fine.’
‘Aw,man.Youthinkweneedhelp?’
‘Givemetenminutes,Nathan.I’msureyou’vedoneeverythingweneed.Givemetenminutes.’
Heclosedhiseyes.Icheckedhisbloodpressureagain,wonderinghowlongIshouldleaveitbeforecallinganambulance.ADscaredthehelloutofmebecauseyouneverknewwhichwayitwasgoingtogo.Hehadhaditoncebefore,whenIhadfirststartedworkingwithhim,andhehadendedupinhospitalfortwodays.
‘Really,Nathan.I’lltellyouifIthinkwe’reintrouble.’
Hesighed,andIhelpedhimbackwardssothathewasleaningagainsthisbedhead.
HetoldmeLouisahadbeensodrunkhehadn’twantedtorisklettingherlooseonhisequipment.‘Godknowswhereshemighthavestucktheruddytubes.’Hehalflaughedashesaidit.IthadtakenLouisaalmosthalfanhourjusttogethimoutofhischairandintobed,hesaid.Theyhadbothendeduponthefloortwice.‘LuckilywewerebothsodrunkbythenIdon’tthinkeitherofusfeltathing.’Shehadhadthepresenceofmindtocalldowntoreception,andtheyhadaskedaportertohelplifthim.‘Nicechap.IhaveavaguememoryofinsistingLouisagivehimafifty-poundtip.Iknewshewasproperlydrunkbecausesheagreedtoit.’
Willhadbeenafraidwhenshefinallylefthisroomthatshewouldn’tactuallymakeittohers.He’dhadvisionsofhercurledupinalittleredballonthestairs.
MyownviewofLouisaClarkwasalittlelessgenerousjustatthatmoment.‘Will,mate,Ithinkmaybenexttimeyoushouldworryalittlemoreaboutyourself,yeah?’
‘I’mallright,Nathan.I’mfine.Feelingbetteralready.’
IfelthiseyesonmeasIcheckedhispulse.
‘Really.Itwasn’therfault.’
Hisbloodpressurewasdown.Hiscolourwasreturningtonormalinfrontofme.IletoutabreathIhadn’trealizedIhadbeenholding.
Wechattedabit,passingthetimewhileeverythingsettleddown,discussingthepreviousday’sevents.Hedidn’tseemabitbotheredabouthisex.Hedidn’tsaymuch,butforallhewasobviouslyexhausted,helookedokay.
Iletgoofhiswrist.‘Nicetattoo,bytheway.’
Hegavemeawrylook.
‘Makesureyoudon’tgraduatetoan“Endby”,yeah?’
Despitethesweatsandthepainandtheinfection,helookedforonceliketherewassomethingelseonhismindotherthanthethingthatconsumedhim.Icouldn’thelpthinkingthatifMrsTraynorhadknownthis,shemightnothavekickedoffashardasshedid.
Wedidn’ttellheranythingofthelunchtimeevents–Willmademepromisenotto–butwhenLoucamebacklaterthatafternoonshewasprettyquiet.Shelookedpale,withherhairwashedandpulledbacklikeshewastryingtolooksensible.Ikindofguessedhowshefelt;sometimeswhenyougethammeredtillthesmallhoursyoufeelprettygoodinthemorning,butreallyit’sjustbecauseyou’restillabitdrunk.Thatoldhangoverisjusttoyingwithyou,workingoutwhentobite.Ifigureditmusthavebittenheraroundlunchtime.
Butitbecameclearafterawhilethatitwasn’tjustthehangovertroublingher.
Willkeptonandonatheraboutwhyshewasbeingsoquiet,andthenshesaid,‘Yes,well,I’vediscoveredit’snotthemostsensiblethingtostayoutallnightwhenyou’vejustmovedinwithyourboyfriend.’
Shewassmilingasshesaidit,butitwasaforcedsmile,andWillandIbothknewthattheremusthavebeensomeseriouswords.
Icouldn’treallyblametheguy.Iwouldn’thavewantedmymissusstayingoutallnightwithsomebloke,evenifhewasaquad.Andhehadn’tseenthewayWilllookedather.
Wedidn’tdomuchthatafternoon.LouisaemptiedWill’sbackpack,revealingeveryfreehotelshampoo,conditioner,miniaturesewingkitandshowercapshecouldlayherhandson.(‘Don’tlaugh,’shesaid.‘Atthoseprices,Willpaidforabloodyshampoofactory.’)WewatchedsomeJapaneseanimatedfilmwhichWillsaidwasperfecthangoverviewing,andIstuckaround–partlybecauseIwantedtokeepaneyeonhisbloodpressureandpartly,tobehonest,becauseIwasbeingabitmischievous.IwantedtoseehisreactionwhenIannouncedIwasgoingtokeepthembothcompany.
‘Really?’hesaid.‘YoulikeMiyazaki?’
Hecaughthimselfimmediately,sayingthatofcourseIwouldloveit…itwasagreatfilm…blah,blah,blah.Butthereitwas.Iwasgladforhim,ononelevel.Hehadthoughtaboutonethingfortoolong,thatman.
Sowewatchedthefilm.Pulleddowntheblinds,tookthephoneoffthehook,andwatchedthisweirdcartoonaboutagirlwhoendsupinaparalleluniverse,withalltheseweirdcreatures,halfofwhomyoucouldn’ttelliftheyweregoodorbad.LousatrightupclosetoWill,handinghimhisdrinkor,atonepoint,wipinghiseyewhenhegotsomethinginit.Itwasquitesweet,really,althoughalittlebitofmewonderedwhatonearththiswasgoingtoleadto.
Andthen,asLouisapulleduptheblindsandmadeusallsometea,theylookedateachotherliketwopeoplewonderingwhethertoletyouinonasecret,andtheytoldmeaboutgoingaway.Tendays.Notsurewhereyet,butitwouldprobablybelonghaulanditwouldbegood.WouldIcomeandhelp?
Doesabearshitinthewoods?
Ihadtotakemyhatofftothegirl.Ifyouhadtoldmefourmonthsagothatwe’dgetWilloffonalong-haulholiday–hell,thatwewouldgethimoutofthishouse–Iwouldhavetoldyouthatyouwereafewsandwichesshortofapicnic.Mindyou,I’dhaveaquietwordwithheraboutWill’smedicalcarebeforewewent.Wecouldn’taffordanearmisslikethatagainifwewerestuckinthemiddleofnowhere.
TheyeventoldMrsTasshepoppedby,justasLouisawasleaving.Willsaidit,likeitwasnomoreremarkablethanhimgoingforawalkaroundthecastle.
Ihavetotellyou,Iwasreallypleased.Thatruddyonlinepokersitehadeatenallmymoney,andIwasn’tevenplanningonaholidaythisyear.IevenforgaveLouisaforbeingstupidenoughtolistentoWillwhenhesaidhehadn’twantedhertodohistubes.Andbelieveme,Ihadbeenprettypissedaboutthat.Soitwasalllookinggreat,andIwaswhistlingwhenIshoulderedmywayintomycoat,alreadylookingforwardtowhitesandsandblueseas.IwaseventryingtoworkoutifIcouldtieinashortvisithometoAuckland.
AndthenIsawthem–MrsTraynorstandingoutsidethebackdoor,asLouwaitedtosetoffdowntheroad.Idon’tknowwhatsortofachatthey’dhadalready,buttheybothlookedgrim.
Ionlycaughtthelastlinebut,tobehonest,thatwasenoughforme.
‘Ihopeyouknowwhatyou’redoing,Louisa.’20
‘Youwhat?’
WewereonthehillsjustoutsidetownwhenItoldhim.Patrickwashalfwaythroughasixteen-milerunandwantedmetotimehimwhilefollowingbehindonthebicycle.AsIwasmarginallylessproficientonabicyclethanIwasatparticlephysics,thisinvolvedalotofswearingandswervingonmypart,andalotofexasperatedshoutingonhis.Hehadactuallywantedtodotwenty-fourmiles,butIhadtoldhimIdidn’tthinkmyseatcouldtakeit,andbesides,oneofusneededtodotheweeklyshopafterwegothome.Wewereoutoftoothpasteandinstantcoffee.Mindyou,itwasonlymewhowantedthecoffee.Patrickwasonherbaltea.
AswereachedthetopofSheepcoteHill,mepuffing,mylegslikelead,Idecidedtojustthrowitoutthere.Ifiguredwestillhadtenmileshomeforhimtorecoverhisgoodmood.
‘I’mnotcomingtotheXtremeViking.’
Hedidn’tstop,buthecameclose.Heturnedtofaceme,hislegsstillmovingunderhim,andhelookedsoshockedthatInearlyswervedintoatree.
‘What?Why?’
‘I’m…working.’
Heturnedbacktotheroadandpickedupspeed.Wehadreachedthebrowofthehill,andIhadtoclosemyfingersaroundthebrakesalittletostopmyselfovertakinghim.
‘Sowhendidyouworkthisout?’Finebeadsofsweathadbrokenoutonhisforehead,andtendonsstoodoutonhiscalves.Icouldn’tlookatthemtoolongorIstartedwobbling.
‘Attheweekend.Ijustwantedtobesure.’
‘Butwe’vebookedyourflightsandeverything.’
‘It’sonlyeasyJet.I’llreimburseyouthe￡39ifyou’rethatbothered.’
‘It’snotthecost.Ithoughtyouweregoingtosupportme.Yousaidyouwerecomingtosupportme.’
Hecouldlookquitesulky,Patrick.Whenwewerefirsttogether,Iusedtoteasehimaboutit.IcalledhimMrGrumpyTrousers.Itmademelaugh,andhimsocrossthatheusuallystoppedsulkingjusttoshutmeup.
‘Oh,comeon.I’mhardlynotsupportingyounow,amI?Ihatecycling,Patrick.YouknowIdo.ButI’msupportingyou.’
Wewentonanothermilebeforehespokeagain.Itmighthavebeenme,butthepoundingofPatrick’sfeetontheroadseemedtohavetakenonagrim,resolutetone.Wewerehighabovethelittletownnow,mepuffingontheuphillstretches,tryingandfailingtostopmyheartracingeverytimeacarcamepast.IwasonMum’soldbike(Patrickwouldn’tletmeanywherenearhisracingdemon)andithadnogearssoIwasfrequentlylefttailinghim.
Heglancedbehind,andslowedhispaceafractionsothatIcoulddrawlevel.‘Sowhycan’ttheygetanagencypersonin?’hesaid.
‘Anagencyperson?’
‘TocometotheTraynors’house.Imean,ifyou’rethereforsixmonthsyoumustbeentitledtoaholiday.’
‘It’snotthatsimple.’
‘Idon’tseewhynot.Youstartedworkthereknowingnothing,afterall.’
Iheldmybreath.ThiswasquitehardgiventhatIwascompletelybreathlessfromcycling.‘Becauseheneedstogoonatrip.’
‘What?’
‘Heneedstogoonatrip.SotheyneedmeandNathantheretohelphim.’
‘Nathan?Who’sNathan?’
‘Hismedicalcarer.TheguyyoumetwhenWillcametoMum’s.’
IcouldseePatrickthinkingaboutthis.Hewipedsweatfromhiseyes.
‘Andbeforeyouask,’Iadded,‘no,IamnothavinganaffairwithNathan.’
Heslowed,andglanceddownatthetarmac,untilhewaspracticallyjoggingonthespot.‘Whatisthis,Lou?Because…becauseitseemstomethatthereisalinebeingblurredherebetweenwhatisworkandwhatis…’heshrugged,‘…normal.’
‘It’snotanormaljob.Youknowthat.’
‘ButWillTraynorseemstotakepriorityovereverythingthesedays.’
‘Oh,andthisdoesn’t?’Itookmyhandoffthehandlebars,andgesturedtowardshisshiftingfeet.
‘That’sdifferent.Hecalls,youcomerunning.’
‘Andyougorunning,Icomerunning.’Itriedtosmile.
‘Veryfunny.’Heturnedaway.
‘It’ssixmonths,Pat.Sixmonths.YouweretheonewhothoughtIshouldtakethisjob,afterall.Youcan’thaveagoatmefortakingitseriously.’
‘Idon’tthink…Idon’tthinkit’saboutthejob…Ijust…Ithinkthere’ssomethingyou’renottellingme.’
Ihesitated,justamomenttoolong.‘That’snottrue.’
‘Butyouwon’tcometotheViking.’
‘I’vetoldyou,I–’
Heshookhisheadslightly,asifhecouldn’thearmeproperly.Thenhebegantorundowntheroad,awayfromme.Icouldseefromthesetofhisbackhowangryhewas.
‘Oh,comeon,Patrick.Can’twejuststopforaminuteanddiscussthis?’
Histonewasmulish.‘No.Itwillthrowoutmytime.’
‘Thenlet’sstoptheclock.Justforfiveminutes.’
‘No.Ihavetodoitinrealconditions.’
Hebegantorunfaster,asifhehadgainedanewmomentum.
‘Patrick?’Isaid,strugglingsuddenlytokeepupwithhim.Myfeetslippedonthepedals,andIcursed,kickingapedalbacktotryandsetoffagain.‘Patrick?Patrick!’
IstaredatthebackofhisheadandthewordswereoutofmymouthalmostbeforeIknewwhatIwassaying.‘Okay.Willwantstodie.Hewantstocommitsuicide.Andthistripismylastattempttochangehismind.’
Patrick’sstrideshortenedandthenslowed.Hestoppedontheroadahead,hisbackstraight,stillfacingawayfromme.Heturnedslowly.Hehadfinallystoppedjogging.
‘Saythatagain.’
‘HewantstogotoDignitas.InAugust.I’mtryingtochangehismind.ThisisthelastchanceIhave.’
Hewasstaringatmelikehedidn’tknowquitewhethertobelieveme.
‘Iknowitsoundsmad.ButIhavetochangehismind.So…soIcan’tcometotheViking.’
‘Whydidn’tyoutellmethisbefore?’
‘IhadtopromisehisfamilyIwouldn’ttellanyone.Itwouldbeawfulforthemifitgotout.Awful.Look,evenhedoesn’tknowIknow.It’sallbeen…tricky.I’msorry.’Ireachedoutahandtohim.‘IwouldhavetoldyouifIcould.’
Hedidn’tanswer.Helookedcrushed,asifIhaddonesomethingterrible.Therewasafaintfrownonhisface,andheswallowedtwice,hard.
‘Pat–’
‘No.Just…Ijustneedtorunnow,Lou.Bymyself.’Heranahandacrosshishair.‘Okay?’
Iswallowed.‘Okay.’
Helookedforamomentasifhehadforgottenwhywewereevenoutthere.Thenhestruckoffagain,andIwatchedhimdisappearontheroadaheadofme,hisheadfacingresolutelyahead,hislegseatinguptheroadbeneathhim.
Ihadputtherequestoutonthedayafterwereturnedfromthewedding.
Cananyonetellmeagoodplacetogowherequadriplegicscanhaveadventures?Iamlookingforthingsthatanable-bodiedpersonmightbeabletodo,thingsthatmightmakemydepressedfriendforgetforawhilethathislifeisabitlimited.Idon’treallyknowwhatI’mhopingfor,butallsuggestionsgratefullyreceived.Thisisquiteurgent.BusyBee.
AsIloggedonIfoundmyselfstaringatthescreenindisbelief.Therewereeighty-nineresponses.Iscrolledupanddownthescreen,unsureatfirstwhethertheycouldallpossiblybeinresponsetomyrequest.ThenIglancedaroundmeattheothercomputerusersinthelibrary,desperateforoneofthemtolookatmesothatIcouldtellthem.Eighty-nineresponses!Toasinglequestion!
Thereweretalesofbungeejumpingforquadriplegics,ofswimming,canoeing,evenhorseriding,withtheaidofaspecialframe.(WhenIwatchedtheonlinevideothislinkedto,IwasalittledisappointedthatWillhadsaidhereallycouldn’tstandhorses.Itlookedace.)
Therewasswimmingwithdolphins,andscubadivingwithsupporters.Therewerefloatingchairsthatwouldenablehimtogofishing,andadaptedquadbikesthatwouldallowhimtooff-road.Someofthemhadpostedphotographsorvideosofthemselvestakingpartintheseactivities.Afewofthem,includingRitchie,hadrememberedmypreviousposts,
Thisallsoundslikegoodnews.Ishefeelingbetter?
Itypedaquickresponse:
Maybe.ButI’mhopingthistripwillreallymakeadifference.
Ritchieresponded:
Attagirl!Ifyou’vegotthefundstosortitallout,thesky’sthelimit!
Scootagirlwrote:
Makesureyoupostupsomepicsofhiminthebungeeharness.Lovethelookonguys’faceswhenthey’reupsidedown!
Ilovedthem–thesequadsandtheircarers–fortheircourageandtheirgenerosityandtheirimaginations.Ispenttwohoursthateveningwritingdowntheirsuggestions,followingtheirlinkstorelatedwebsitestheyhadtriedandtested,eventalkingtoafewinthechatrooms.BythetimeIleftIhadadestination;wewouldheadtoCalifornia,toTheFourWindsRanch,aspecialistcentrewhichofferedexperiencedhelp‘inawaythatwillmakeyouforgetyoueverneededhelp’,accordingtoitswebsite.Theranchitself,alow-slungtimberbuildingsetintoaforestclearingnearYosemite,hadbeensetupbyaformerstuntmanwhorefusedtolethisspinalinjurylimitthethingshecoulddo,andtheonlinevisitorsbookwasfullofhappyandgratefulholidaymakerswhosworethathehadchangedthewaytheyfeltabouttheirdisability–andthemselves.Atleastsixofthechat-roomusershadbeenthere,andallsaidithadturnedtheirlivesaround.
Itwaswheelchairfriendly,butwithallthefacilitiesyouwouldexpectfromaluxuryhotel.Therewereoutsidesunkenbathswithdiscreethoists,andspecialistmasseurs.Therewastrainedmedicalhelponsite,andacinemawithspacesforwheelchairsbesidethenormalseats.Therewasanaccessibleoutdoorhottubwhereyoucouldsitandstareupatthestars.Wewouldspendaweekthere,andthenafewdaysonthecoastatahotelcomplexwhereWillcouldswim,andgetagoodlookattheruggedcoastline.Bestofall,IhadfoundaclimaxtotheholidaythatWillwouldneverforget–askydive,withthehelpofparachuteinstructorswhoweretrainedinhelpingquadsjump.TheyhadspecialequipmentthatwouldstrapWilltothem(apparently,themostimportantthingwassecuringtheirlegssothattheirkneesdidn’tflyupandbashthemintheface).
Iwouldshowhimthehotelbrochure,butIwasn’tgoingtotellhimaboutthis.Iwasjustgoingtoturnuptherewithhimandthenwatchhimdoit.Forthosefew,preciousminutesWillwouldbeweightless,andfree.Hewouldescapethedreadedchair.Hewouldescapegravity.
Iprintedoutalltheinformationandkeptthatonesheetatthetop.WheneverIlookedatitIfeltagermofexcitementbuilding–bothatthethoughtofmyfirsteverlong-haultrip,butalsoatthethoughtthatthismightjustbeit.
ThismightbethethingthatwouldchangeWill’smind.
IshowedNathanthenextmorning,thetwoofusstoopingfurtivelyoverourcoffeesinthekitchenasifweweredoingsomethingproperlyclandestine.HeflickedthroughthepapersthatIhadprintedoff.
‘Ihavespokentootherquadsabouttheskydivingthing.There’snomedicalreasonhecan’tdoit.Andthebungeejumping.Theyhavespecialharnessestorelieveanypotentialpressurepointsonhisspine.’
Istudiedhisfaceanxiously.IknewNathandidn’tratemycapabilitieswhenitcametoWill’smedicalwell-being.ItwasimportanttomethathewashappywithwhatI’dplanned.
‘Theplaceherehaseverythingwemightneed.Theysayifwecallaheadandbringadoctor’sprescription,theycanevengetanygenericdrugsthatwemightneed,sothatthereisnochanceofusrunningout.’
Hefrowned.‘Looksgood,’hesaid,finally.‘Youdidagreatjob.’
‘Youthinkhe’lllikeit?’
Heshrugged.‘Ihaven’tgotaclue.But–’hehandedmethepapers‘–you’vesurprisedussofar,Lou.’Hissmilewasaslything,breakinginfromthesideofhisface.‘Noreasonyoucouldn’tdoitagain.’
IshowedMrsTraynorbeforeIleftfortheevening.
ShehadjustpulledintothedriveinhercarandIhesitated,outofsightofWill’swindow,beforeIapproachedher.‘Iknowthisisexpensive,’Isaid.‘But…Ithinkitlooksamazing.IreallythinkWillcouldhavethetimeofhislife.If…ifyouknowwhatImean.’
Sheglancedthroughitallinsilence,andthenstudiedthefiguresthatIhadcompiled.
‘I’llpayformyself,ifyoulike.Formyboardandlodging.Idon’twantanyonethinking–’
‘It’sfine,’shesaid,cuttingmeoff.‘Dowhatyouhavetodo.Ifyouthinkyoucangethimtogothenjustbookit.’
Iunderstoodwhatshewassaying.Therewasnotimeforanythingelse.
‘Doyouthinkyoucanpersuadehim?’shesaid.
‘Well…ifI…ifImakeoutthatit’s…’Iswallowed,‘…partlyformybenefit.HethinksI’veneverdoneenoughwithmylife.HekeepstellingmeIshouldtravel.ThatIshould…dothings.’
Shelookedatmeverycarefully.Shenodded.‘Yes.ThatsoundslikeWill.’Shehandedbackthepaperwork.
‘Iam…’Itookabreath,andthen,tomysurprise,IfoundthatIcouldn’tspeak.Iswallowedhard,twice.‘Whatyousaidbefore.I–’
Shedidn’tseemtowanttowaitformetospeak.Sheduckedherhead,herslimfingersreachingforthechainaroundherneck.‘Yes.Well,I’dbettergoin.I’llseeyoutomorrow.Letmeknowwhathesays.’
Ididn’tgobacktoPatrick’sthatevening.Ihadmeantto,butsomethingledmeawayfromtheindustrialparkand,instead,Icrossedtheroadandboardedthebusthatledtowardshome.Iwalkedthe180stepstoourhouse,andletmyselfin.Itwasawarmevening,andallthewindowswereopeninanattempttocatchthebreeze.Mumwascooking,singingawayinthekitchen.Dadwasonthesofawithamugoftea,Granddadnappinginhischair,hisheadlollingtooneside.Thomaswascarefullydrawinginblackfelttiponhisshoes.Isaidhelloandwalkedpastthem,wonderinghowitcouldfeelsoswiftlyasifIdidn’tquitebelonghereanymore.
Treenawasworkinginmyroom.Iknockedonthedoor,andwalkedintofindheratthedesk,hunchedoverapileoftextbooks,glassesthatIdidn’trecognizeperchedonhernose.ItwasstrangetoseehersurroundedbythethingsIhadchosenformyself,withThomas’spicturesalreadyobscuringthewallsIhadpaintedsocarefully,hispendrawingstillscrawledoverthecornerofmyblind.IhadtogathermythoughtssothatIdidn’tfeelinstinctivelyresentful.
Sheglancedoverhershoulderatme.‘DoesMumwantme?’shesaid.Sheglancedupattheclock.‘IthoughtshewasgoingtodoThomas’stea.’
‘Sheis.He’shavingfishfingers.’
Shelookedatme,thenremovedtheglasses.‘Youokay?Youlooklikeshit.’
‘Sodoyou.’
‘Iknow.Iwentonthisstupiddetoxdiet.It’sgivenmehives.’Shereachedahanduptoherchin.
‘Youdon’tneedtodiet.’
‘Yeah.Well…there’sthisblokeIlikeinAccountancy2.IthoughtImightstartmakingtheeffort.Hugehivesalloveryourfaceisalwaysagoodlook,right?’
Isatdownonthebed.Itwasmyduvetcover.IhadknownPatrickwouldhateit,withitscrazygeometricpattern.IwassurprisedKatrinadidn’t.
Sheclosedherbook,andleantbackinherchair.‘Sowhat’sgoingon?’
Ibitmylip,untilsheaskedmeagain.
‘Treen,doyouthinkIcouldretrain?’
‘Retrain?Aswhat?’
‘Idon’tknow.Somethingtodowithfashion.Design.Ormaybejusttailoring.’
‘Well…therearedefinitelycourses.I’mprettysuremyunihasone.Icouldlookitup,ifyouwant.’
‘Butwouldtheytakepeoplelikeme?Peoplewhodon’thavequalifications?’
Shethrewherpenupintheairandcaughtit.‘Oh,theylovematurestudents.Especiallymaturestudentswithaprovenworkethic.Youmighthavetodoaconversioncourse,butIdon’tseewhynot.Why?What’sgoingon?’
‘Idon’tknow.It’sjustsomethingWillsaidawhileback.About…aboutwhatIshoulddowithmylife.’
‘And?’
‘AndIkeepthinking…maybeit’stimeIdidwhatyou’redoing.NowthatDadcansupporthimselfagain,maybeyou’renottheonlyonecapableofmakingsomethingofherself?’
‘You’dhavetopay.’
‘Iknow.I’vebeensaving.’
‘Ithinkit’sprobablyabitmorethanyou’vemanagedtosave.’
‘Icouldapplyforagrant.Ormaybealoan.AndI’vegotenoughtoseemethroughforabit.ImetthisMPwomanwhosaidshehaslinkstosomeagencythatcouldhelpme.Shegavemehercard.’
‘Hangon,’Katrinasaid,swivellingonherchair,‘I>don’treallygetthis.IthoughtyouwantedtostaywithWill.Ithoughtthewholepointofthiswasthatyouwantedtokeephimaliveandkeepworkingwithhim.’
‘Ido,but…’Istaredupattheceiling.
‘Butwhat?’
‘It’scomplicated.’
‘So’squantitiveeasing.ButIstillgetthatitmeansprintingmoney.’
Sherosefromherchairandwalkedovertoshutthebedroomdoor.Sheloweredhervoicesothatnobodyoutsidecouldpossiblyhear.
‘Youthinkyou’regoingtolose?Youthinkhe’sgoingto…?’
‘No,’Isaidhurriedly.‘Well,Ihopenot.I’vegotplans.Bigplans.I’llshowyouinabit.’
‘But…’
Istretchedmyarmsaboveme,twistingmyfingerstogether.‘But,IlikeWill.Alot.’
Shestudiedme.Shewaswearingherthinkingface.Thereisnothingmoreterrifyingthanmysister’sthinkingfacewhenitistraineddirectlyonyou.
‘Oh,shit.’
‘Don’t…’
‘Sothisisinteresting,’shesaid.
‘Iknow.’Idroppedmyarms.
‘Youwantajob.Sothat…’
‘It’swhattheotherquadstellme.TheoneswhoItalktoonthemessageboards.Youcan’tbeboth.Youcan’tbecarerand…’Iliftedmyhandstocovermyface.
Icouldfeelhereyesonme.
‘Doesheknow?’
‘No.I’mnotsureIknow.Ijust…’Ithrewmyselfdownonherbed,facefirst.ItsmeltofThomas.UnderlaidwithafainthintofMarmite.‘Idon’tknowwhatIthink.AllIknowisthatmostofthetimeIwouldratherbewithhimthananyoneelseIknow.’
‘IncludingPatrick.’
Andthereitwas,outthere.ThetruththatIcouldbarelyadmittomyself.
Ifeltmycheeksfloodwithcolour.‘Yes,’Isaidintotheduvet.‘Sometimes,yes.’
‘Fuck,’shesaid,afteraminute.‘AndIthoughtIlikedtomakemylifecomplicated.’
Shelaydownbesidemeonthebed,andwestaredupattheceiling.DownstairswecouldhearGranddadwhistlingtunelessly,accompaniedbythewhineandclunkofThomasdrivingsomeremote-controlvehiclebackwardsandforwardsintoapieceofskirting.Forsomeunexplainedreasonmyeyesfilledwithtears.Afteraminute,Ifeltmysister’sarmsnakearoundme.
‘Youfuckingmadwoman,’shesaid,andwebothbegantolaugh.
‘Don’tworry,’Isaid,wipingatmyface.‘I’mnotgoingtodoanythingstupid.’
‘Good.BecausethemoreIthinkaboutthis,themoreIthinkit’sabouttheintensityofthesituation.It’snotreal,it’saboutthedrama.’
‘What?’
‘Well,thisisactuallifeordeath,afterall,andyou’relockedintothisman’slifeeveryday,lockedintohisweirdsecret.That’sgottocreateakindoffalseintimacy.Eitherthatoryou’regettingsomeweirdFlorenceNightingalecomplex.’
‘Believeme,thatisdefinitelynotit.’
Welaythere,staringattheceiling.
‘Butitisabitmad,thinkingaboutlovingsomeonewhocan’t…youknow,loveyouback.MaybethisisjustapanicreactiontothefactthatyouandPatrickhavefinallymovedintogether.’
‘Iknow.You’reright.’
‘Andyoutwohavebeentogetheralongtime.You’reboundtogetcrushesonotherpeople.’
‘EspeciallywhilePatrickisobsessedwithbeingMarathonMan.’
‘AndyoumightgooffWillagain.Imean,Irememberwhenyouthoughthewasanarse.’
‘Istilldosometimes.’
Mysisterreachedforatissueanddabbedatmyeyes.Thenshethumbedatsomethingonmycheek.
‘Allthatsaid,thecollegeideaisgood.Because–let’sbeblunt–whetheritallgoestitsupwithWill,orwhetheritdoesn’t,you’restillgoingtoneedaproperjob.You’renotgoingtowanttobeacarerforever.’
‘It’snotgoingtogo“titsup”,asyoucallit,withWill.He’s…he’sgoingtobeokay.’
‘Sureheis.’
MumwascallingThomas.Wecouldhearher,singingitbeneathusinthekitchen.‘Thomas.TomtomtomtomThomas…’
Treenasighedandrubbedathereyes.‘YougoingbacktoPatrick’stonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘YouwanttograbaquickdrinkattheSpottedDogandshowmetheseplans,then?I’llseeifMumwillputThomastobedforme.Comeon,youcantreatme,seeingasyou’renowloadedenoughtogotocollege.’
ItwasaquartertotenbythetimeIgotbacktoPatrick’s.
Myholidayplans,astonishingly,hadmetwithKatrina’scompleteapproval.Shehadn’tevendoneherusualthingofadding,‘Yes,butitwouldbeevenbetterifyou…’TherehadbeenapointwhereIwonderedifshewasdoingitjusttobenice,becauseIwasobviouslygoingabitnuts.Butshekeptsayingthingslike,‘Wow,Ican’tbelieveyoufoundthis!You’vegottotakelotsofpicturesofhimbungeejumping.’And,‘Imaginehisfacewhenyoutellhimabouttheskydiving!It’sgoingtobebrilliant.’
Anyonewatchingusatthepubmighthavethoughtthatweweretwofriendswhoactuallyreallyquitelikedeachother.
Stillmullingthisover,Iletmyselfinquietly.TheflatwasdarkfromoutsideandIwonderedifPatrickwashavinganearlynightaspartofhisintensivetraining.Idroppedmybagonthefloorinthehallandpushedattheliving-roomdoor,thinkingasIdidsothatitwasniceofhimtohaveleftalightonforme.
AndthenIsawhim.Hewassittingatatablelaidwithtwoplaces,acandleflickeringbetweenthem.AsIclosedthedoorbehindme,hestoodup.Thecandlewasburnthalfwaydowntothebase.
‘I’msorry,’hesaid.
Istaredathim.
‘Iwasanidiot.You’reright.Thisjobofyoursisonlyforsixmonths,andIhavebeenbehavinglikeachild.Ishouldbeproudthatyou’redoingsomethingsoworthwhile,andtakingitallsoseriously.Iwasjustabit…thrown.SoI’msorry.Really.’
Heheldoutahand.Itookit.
‘It’sgoodthatyou’retryingtohelphim.It’sadmirable.’
‘Thankyou.’Isqueezedhishand.
Whenhespokeagain,itwasafterashortbreath,asifhehadsuccessfullymanagedsomepre-rehearsedspeech.‘I’vemadesupper.I’mafraidit’ssaladagain.’Hereachedpastmeintothefridge,andpulledouttwoplates.‘Ipromisewe’llgosomewhereforablowoutmealoncetheVikingisover.OrmaybeonceI’montocarbloading.Ijust…’Heblewouthischeeks.‘IguessIhaven’tbeenabletothinkaboutmuchelselately.Iguessthat’sbeenpartoftheproblem.Andyou’reright.There’snoreasonyoushouldfollowmeabout.It’smything.Youhaveeveryrighttoworkinstead.’
‘Patrick…’Isaid.
‘Idon’twanttoarguewithyou,Lou.Forgiveme?’
Hiseyeswereanxiousandhesmeltofcologne.Thosetwofactsdescendeduponmeslowlylikeaweight.
‘Sitdown,anyway,’hesaid.‘Let’seat,andthen…Idon’tknow.Enjoyourselves.Talkaboutsomethingelse.Notrunning.’Heforcedalaugh.
Isatdownandlookedatthetable.
ThenIsmiled.‘Thisisreallynice,’Isaid.
Patrickreallycoulddo101thingswithturkeybreast.
Weatethegreensalad,thepastasaladandseafoodsaladandanexoticfruitsaladthathehadpreparedforpudding,andIdrankwinewhilehestucktomineralwater.Ittookusawhile,butwedidbegintorelax.There,infrontofme,wasaPatrickIhadn’tseenforsometime.Hewasfunny,attentive.Hepolicedhimselfrigidlysothathedidn’tsayanythingaboutrunningormarathons,andlaughedwheneverhecaughttheconversationveeringinthatdirection.Ifelthisfeetmeetmineunderthetableandourlegsentwine,andslowlyIfeltsomethingthathadfelttightanduncomfortablebegintoeaseinmychest.
Mysisterwasright.MylifehadbecomestrangeanddisconnectedfromeveryoneIknew–Will’splightandhissecretshadswampedme.IhadtomakesurethatIdidn’tlosesightoftherestofme.
IbegantofeelguiltyabouttheconversationIhadhadearlierwithmysister.Patrickwouldn’tletmegetup,noteventohelphimclearthedishes.Ataquarterpastelevenheroseandmovedtheplatesandbowlstothekitchenetteandbegantoloadthedishwasher.Isat,listeningtohimashetalkedtomethroughthelittledoorway.Iwasrubbingatthepointwheremyneckmetmyshoulder,tryingtoreleasesomeoftheknotsthatseemedtobefirmlyembeddedthere.Iclosedmyeyes,tryingtorelaxintoit,sothatitwasafewminutesbeforeIrealizedtheconversationhadstopped.
Iopenedmyeyes.Patrickwasstandinginthedoorway,holdingmyholidayfolder.Heheldupseveralpiecesofpaper.‘What’sallthis?’
‘It’s…thetrip.TheoneItoldyouabout.’
IwatchedhimflickthroughthepaperworkIhadshownmysister,takingintheitinerary,thepictures,theCalifornianbeach.
‘Ithought…’Hisvoice,whenitemerged,soundedstrangelystrangled.‘IthoughtyouweretalkingaboutLourdes.’
‘What?’
‘Or…Idon’tknow…StokeMandeville…orsomewhere.Ithought,whenyousaidyoucouldn’tcomebecauseyouhadtohelphim,itwasactualwork.Physio,orfaithhealing,orsomething.Thislookslike…’Heshookhisheaddisbelievingly.‘Thislooksliketheholidayofalifetime.’
‘Well…itkindofis.Butnotforme.Forhim.’
Patrickgrimaced.‘No…’hesaid,shakinghishead.‘Youwouldn’tenjoythisatall.Hottubsunderthestars,swimmingwithdolphins…Oh,look,“five-starluxury”and“twenty-four-hourroomservice”.’Helookedupatme.‘Thisisn’taworktrip.Thisisabloodyhoneymoon.’
‘That’snotfair!’
‘Butthisis?You…youreallyexpectmetojustsitherewhileyouswanoffwithanothermanonaholidaylikethis?’
‘Hiscareriscomingtoo.’
‘Oh.Ohyes,Nathan.Thatmakesitallright,then.’
‘Patrick,comeon–it’scomplicated.’
‘Soexplainittome.’Hethrustthepaperstowardsme.‘Explainthistome,Lou.ExplainitinawaythatIcanpossiblyunderstand.’
‘ItmatterstomethatWillwantstolive,thatheseesgoodthingsinhisfuture.’
‘Andthosegoodthingswouldincludeyou?’
‘That’snotfair.Look,haveIeveraskedyoutostopdoingthejobyoulove?’
‘Myjobdoesn’tinvolvehottubswithstrangemen.’
‘Well,Idon’tmindifitdoes.Youcanhavehottubswithstrangemen!Asoftenasyoulike!There!’Itriedtosmile,hopinghewouldtoo.
Buthewasn’thavinganyofit.‘Howwouldyoufeel,Lou?HowwouldyoufeelifIsaidIwasgoingonsomekeep-fitconventionwith–Idon’tknow–LeannefromtheTerrorsbecausesheneededcheeringup?’
‘Cheeringup?’IthoughtofLeanne,withherflickyblondehairandherperfectlegs,andIwonderedabsentlywhyhehadthoughtofhernamefirst.
‘AndthenhowwouldyoufeelifIsaidsheandIweregoingtoeatouttogetherallthetime,andmaybesitinahottuborgoondaysouttogether.Insomedestinationsixthousandmilesaway,justbecauseshehadbeenabitdown.Thatreallywouldn’tbotheryou?’
‘He’snot“abitdown”,Pat.Hewantstokillhimself.HewantstotakehimselfofftoDignitas,andendhisownbloodylife.’Icouldhearmybloodthumpinginmyears.‘Andyoucan’tturnitaroundlikethis.YouweretheonewhocalledWillacripple.Youweretheonewhomadeouthecouldn’tpossiblybeathreattoyou.“Theperfectboss,”yousaid.Someonenotevenworthworryingabout.’
Heputthefolderbackdownontheworktop.
‘Well,Lou…I’mworryingnow.’
Isankmyfaceintomyhandsandletitrestthereforaminute.OutinthecorridorIheardafiredoorswing,andthevoicesofpeopleswallowedupasadoorwasunlockedandclosedbehindthem.
Patrickslidhishandslowlybackwardsandforwardsalongtheedgeofthekitchencabinets.Alittlemuscleworkedinhisjaw.‘Youknowhowthisfeels,Lou?ItfeelslikeImightberunning,butIfeellikeI’mpermanentlyjustalittlebitbehindtherestofthefield.Ifeellike…’Hetookadeepbreath,asifheweretryingtocomposehimself.‘Ifeellikethere’ssomethingbadonthebendaroundthecorner,andeveryoneelseseemstoknowwhatitisexceptme.’
Heliftedhiseyestomine.‘Idon’tthinkI’mbeingunreasonable.ButIdon’twantyoutogo.Idon’tcareifyoudon’twanttodotheViking,butIdon’twantyoutogoonthis…thisholiday.Withhim.’
‘ButI–’
‘Nearlysevenyears,we’vebeentogether.Andyou’veknownthisman,hadthisjob,forfivemonths.Fivemonths.Ifyougowithhimnow,you’retellingmesomethingaboutourrelationship.Abouthowyoufeelaboutus.’
‘That’snotfair.Itdoesn’thavetosayanythingaboutus,’Iprotested
‘ItdoesifIcansayallthisandyou’restillgoingtogo.’
Thelittleflatseemedsostillaroundus.HewaslookingatmewithanexpressionIhadneverseenbefore.
Whenmyvoiceemerged,itdidsoasawhisper.‘Butheneedsme.’
IrealizedalmostassoonasIsaidit,heardthewordsandhowtheytwistedandregroupedintheair,knewalreadyhowIwouldhavefeltifhehadsaidthesametome.
Heswallowed,shookhisheadalittleasifhewerehavingtroubletakinginwhatIsaid.Hishandcametorestonthesideoftheworktop,andthenhelookedupatme.
‘WhateverIsayisn’tgoingtomakeadifference,isit?’
ThatwasthethingaboutPatrick.HealwayswassmarterthanIgavehimcreditfor.
‘Patrick,I–’
Heclosedhiseyes,justforamoment,andthenheturnedandwalkedoutofthelivingroom,leavingthelastoftheemptydishesonthesideboard.21Steven
Thegirlmovedinattheweekend.Willdidn’tsayanythingtoCamillaorme,butIwalkedintotheannexeonSaturdaymorningstillinmypyjamastoseeifWillneededanyhelp,asNathanwasdelayed,andthereshewas,walkingupthehallwaywithabowlfulofcerealinonehandandthenewspaperintheother.Sheblushedwhenshesawme.Idon’tknowwhy–Iwaswearingmydressinggown,allperfectlydecent.IrememberthinkingafterwardsthattherehadbeenatimewhenithadbeenperfectlynormaltofindprettyyoungthingscreepingoutofWill’sbedroominthemorning.
‘JustbringingWillhispost,’Isaid,wavingit.
‘He’snotupyet.Doyouwantmetogivehimashout?’Herhandwenttoherchest,shieldingherselfwiththenewspaper.ShewaswearingaMinnieMouseT-shirtandthekindofembroideredtrousersyouusedtoseeChinesewomenwearinginHongKong.
‘No,no.Notifhe’ssleeping.Lethimrest.’
WhenItoldCamilla,Ithoughtshe’dbepleased.Shehadbeensowretchedlycrossaboutthegirlmovinginwithherboyfriend,afterall.Butshejustlookedabitsurprised,andthenadoptedthattenseexpressionwhichmeantshewasalreadyimaginingallsortsofpossibleandundesirableconsequences.Shedidn’tsayasmuch,butIwasprettysureshewasnotkeenonLouisaClark.Thatsaid,Ididn’tknowwhoitwasCamillaapprovedofthesedays.HerdefaultsettingseemedtobestuckonDisapprove.
WenevergottothebottomofwhathadpromptedLouisatostay–Willjustsaid‘familyissues’–butshewasabusylittlething.Whenshewasn’tlookingafterWill,shewasdashingaround,cleaningandwashing,whizzingbackwardsandforwardstothetravelagent’sandtothelibrary.Iwouldhaveknownheranywhereintownbecauseshewassoconspicuous.Sheworethebrightest-colouredclothingofanyoneI’dseenoutsidethetropics–littlejewel-hueddressesandstrange-lookingshoes.
IwouldhavesaidtoCamillathatshebrightenedtheplaceup.ButIcouldn’tmakethatsortofremarktoCamillaanymore.
Willhadapparentlytoldherthatshecouldusehiscomputer,butsherefused,infavourofusingthoseatthelibrary.Idon’tknowifshewasafraidofbeingseentobetakingadvantage,orifitwasbecauseshedidn’twanthimtoseewhateveritwasthatshewasdoing.
Whicheveritwas,Willseemedalittlehappierwhenshewasaround.AcoupleoftimesIheardtheirconversationsfilteringthroughmyopenwindow,andI’msureIheardWilllaugh.IspoketoBernardClark,justtomakesurehewasquitehappywiththearrangement,andhesaiditwasabittrickyasshehadsplitupwithherlong-termboyfriend,andallsortsofthingsseemedtobeupintheairattheirhome.Healsomentionedthatshehadappliedforsomeconversioncoursetocontinuehereducation.IdecidednottotellCamillaaboutthatone.Ididn’twanthertothinkwhatthatmightmean.Willsaidshewasintofashionandthatsortofthing.Shewascertainlyeasyontheeye,andhadalovelyfigure–but,honestly,Iwasn’tsurewhoonearthwouldbuythekindsofthingsshewore.
OnMondayevening,sheaskedifCamillaandIwouldcomewithNathanintotheannexe.Shehadlaidoutthetablewithbrochures,printedtimetables,insurancedocumentsandotherthingsthatshe’dprintedofftheinternet.Therewerecopiesforeachofus,inclearplasticfolders.Itwasallterriblyorganized.
Shewanted,shesaid,topresentuswithherplansforaholiday.(ShehadwarnedCamillathatshewouldmakeitsoundlikeshewastheonegleaningallthebenefit,butIcouldstillseeCamilla’seyesgrowalittlesteelyasshedetailedallthethingsshehadbookedforthem.)
Itwasanextraordinarytripthatseemedtoinvolveallsortsofunusualactivities,thingsIcouldn’timagineWilldoingevenbeforehisaccident.Buteverytimeshementionedsomething–white-waterrafting,orbungeejumpingorwhathaveyou–shewouldholdupadocumentinfrontofWill,showingotherinjuredyoungmentakingpart,andsay,‘IfI’mgoingtotryallthesethingsyoukeepsayingIshould,thenyouhavetodothemwithme.’
Ihavetoadmit,Iwassecretlyratherimpressedbyher.Shewasaresourcefullittlething.
Willlistenedtoher,andIcouldseehimreadingthedocumentsshelaidoutinfrontofhim.
‘Wheredidyoufindallthisinformation?’hesaid,finally.
Sheraisedhereyebrowsathim.‘Knowledgeispower,Will,’shesaid.
Andmysonsmiled,asifshehadsaidsomethingparticularlyclever.
‘So…’Louisasaid,whenallthequestionshadbeenasked.‘Wewillbeleavingineightdays’time.Areyouhappy,MrsTraynor?’Therewasafaintairofdefianceinthewayshesaidit,asifsheweredaringCamillatosayno.
‘Ifthat’swhatyouallwanttodo,thenit’squiteallrightbyme,’Camillasaid.
‘Nathan?Areyoustillupforit?’
‘Youbet.’
‘And…Will?’
Wealllookedathim.Therewasatime,notthatlongago,whenanyoneoftheseactivitieswouldhavebeenunthinkable.TherewasatimewhenWillwouldhavetakenpleasureinsayingnojusttoupsethismother.Hehadalwaysbeenlikethat,ourson–quitecapableofdoingtheoppositeofwhatwasright,simplybecausehedidn’twanttobeseentobecomplying,insomeway.Idon’tknowwhereitcamefrom,thisurgetosubvert.Perhapsitwaswhatmadehimsuchabrilliantnegotiator.
Helookedupatme,hiseyesunreadable,andIfeltmyjawtense.Andthenhelookedatthegirl,andsmiled.
‘Whynot?’hesaid.‘I’mquitelookingforwardtoseeingClarkthrowherselfintosomerapids.’
Thegirlseemedtophysicallydeflatealittle–withrelief–asifshehadhalfexpectedhimtosayno.
It’sfunny–Iadmit,whenshefirstwoundherwayintoourlivesIwasalittlesuspiciousofher.Will,despiteallhisbluster,hadbeenvulnerable.Iwasalittleafraidthathecouldbemanipulated.He’sawealthyyoungman,despiteitall,andthatwretchedAliciarunningoffwithhisfriendhadmadehimfeelaboutasworthlessasanyoneinhispositioncouldfeel.
ButIsawthewayLouisalookedathimthen,astrangemixtureofprideandgratitudeonherface,andIwassuddenlyimmenselygladthatshewasthere.Myson,althoughweneversaidasmuch,wasinthemostuntenableofsituations.Whateveritwasshewasdoing,itseemedtobegivinghimjustasmallrespitefromthat.
Therewas,forafewdays,afaintbutdefinitelycelebratoryairinthehouse.Camillaworeanairofquiethopefulness,althoughsherefusedtoadmittomethatthatwaswhatitwas.Iknewhersubtext:whatdidwereallyhavetocelebrate,whenallwassaidanddone?IheardheronthetelephonetoGeorginalateatnight,justifyingwhatshehadagreedto.Hermother’sdaughter,Georgina,shewasalreadylookingforanywayinwhichLouisamighthaveusedWill’ssituationtoadvantageherself.
‘Sheofferedtopayforherself,Georgina,’Camillasaid.And,‘No,darling.Idon’treallythinkwehaveachoice.WehaveverylittletimeandWillhasagreedtoit,soI’mjustgoingtohopeforthebest.Ithinkyoureallyhavetodothesamenow.’
IknewwhatitcosthertodefendLouisa,toevenbenicetoher.Butshetoleratedthatgirlbecausesheknew,asIdid,thatLouisawasouronlychanceofkeepingoursonevenhalfwayhappy.
LouisaClarkhadbecome,althoughneitherofussaidit,ouronlychanceofkeepinghimalive.
IwentforadrinkwithDellalastnight.Camillawasvisitinghersister,sowewentforawalkdownbytheriveronthewayback.
‘Will’sgoingtotakeaholiday,’Isaid.
‘Howwonderful,’shereplied.
PoorDella.Icouldseeherfightingherinstinctiveurgetoaskmeaboutourfuture–toconsiderhowthisunexpecteddevelopmentmightaffectit–butIdidn’tsupposesheeverwould.Notuntilthiswasallresolved.
Wewalked,watchingtheswans,smilingatthetouristssplashingaroundintheirboatsintheearlyeveningsun,andshechattedawayabouthowthismightallbeactuallyratherwonderfulforWill,andprobablyshowedthathewasreallylearningtoadapttohissituation.ItwasasweetthingforhertosayasIknewthat,insomerespects,shemightlegitimatelyhavehopedforanendtoitall.ItwasWill’saccidentthathadsocurtailedourplansforalifetogether,afterall.ShemusthavesecretlyhopedthatmyresponsibilitiestowardsWillwouldonedayendsothatIcouldbefree.
AndIwalkedalongbesideher,feelingherhandrestinginthecrookofmyarm,listeningtohersing-songvoice.Icouldn’ttellherthetruth–thetruththatjustahandfulofusknew.Thatifthegirlfailedwithherranchesandherbungeejumpingandhottubsandwhathaveyou,shewouldparadoxicallybesettingmefree.BecausetheonlywayIwouldeverbeabletoleavemyfamilywasifWilldecided,afterall,thathewasstilldeterminedtogotothisinfernalplaceinSwitzerland.
Iknewit,andCamillaknewit.Evenifneitherofuswouldadmitittoourselves.Onlyonmyson’sdeathwouldIbefreetolivethelifeofmychoosing
‘Don’t,’shesaid,catchingmyexpression.
DearDella.ShecouldtellwhatIwasthinking,evenwhenIdidn’tknowmyself.
‘It’sgoodnews,Steven.Really.Youneverknow,thismightbethestartofawholenewindependentlifeforWill.’
Iplacedmyhandoverhers.AbravermanmighthavetoldherwhatIreallythought.Abravermanwouldhavelethergolongago–her,andmaybeevenmywifetoo.
‘You’reright,’Isaid,forcingasmile.‘Let’shopehecomesbackfulloftalesofbungeeropesorwhateverhorroritistheyoungpeopleliketoinflictuponeachother.’
Shenudgedme.‘Hemightmakeyouputoneupinthecastle.’
‘White-waterraftinginthemoat?’Isaid.‘Ishallfileitawayasapossibleattractionfornextsummer’sseason.’
Sustainedbythisunlikelypicture,wewalked,occasionallychuckling,allthewaydowntotheboathouse.
AndthenWillgotpneumonia.22
IranintoAccidentandEmergency.Thesprawlinglayoutofthehospitalandmynaturallackofanykindofinternalcompassmeantthatthecritical-carewardtookmeforevertofind.Ihadtoaskthreetimesbeforesomeonepointedmeintherightdirection.IfinallyswungopenthedoorstoWardC12,breathlessandgasping,andthere,inthecorridor,wasNathan,sittingreadinganewspaper.HelookedupasIapproachedhim.
‘Howishe?’
‘Onoxygen.Stable.’
‘Idon’tunderstand.HewasfineonFridaynight.HehadabitofacoughSaturdaymorning,but…butthis?Whathappened?’
Myheartwasracing.Isatdownforamoment,tryingtocatchmybreath.IhadbeenrunningprettymuchsinceIreceivedNathan’stextmessageanhourpreviously.Hesatup,andfoldedhisnewspaper.
‘It’snotthefirsttime,Lou.Hegetsabitofbacteriainhislungs,hiscoughmechanismdoesn’tworklikeitshould,hegoesdownprettyfast.ItriedtodosomeclearingtechniquesonhimSaturdayafternoonbuthewasintoomuchpain.Hegotafeveroutofnowhere,thenhegotastabbingpaininhischest.WehadtocallanambulanceSaturdaynight.’
‘Shit,’Isaid,bendingover.‘Shit,shit,shit.CanIgoin?’
‘He’sprettygroggy.Notsureyou’llgetmuchoutofhim.AndMrsTiswithhim.’
IleftmybagwithNathan,cleanedmyhandswithantibacteriallotion,thenpushedatthedoorandentered.
Willwasinthemiddleofthehospitalbed,hisbodycoveredwithablueblanket,wireduptoadripandsurroundedbyvariousintermittentlybleepingmachines.Hisfacewaspartiallyobscuredbyanoxygenmaskandhiseyeswereclosed.Hisskinlookedgrey,tingedwithablue-whitenesswhichmadesomethinginmeconstrict.MrsTraynorsatnextto
‘MrsTraynor,’Isaid.
Sheglancedupwithastart.‘Oh.Louisa.’
‘How…howishedoing?’IwantedtogoandtakeWill’sotherhand,butIdidn’tfeellikeIcouldsitdown.Ihoveredtherebythedoor.Therewasanexpressionofsuchdejectiononherfacethateventobeintheroomfeltlikeintruding.
‘Abitbetter.Theyhavehimonsomeverystrongantibiotics.’
‘Isthere…anythingIcando?’
‘Idon’tthinkso,no.We…wejusthavetowait.Theconsultantwillbemakinghisroundsinanhourorso.He’llbeabletogiveusmoreinformation,hopefully.’
Theworldseemedtohavestopped.Istoodtherealittlelonger,lettingthesteadybeepofthemachinesburnarhythmintomyconsciousness.
‘Wouldyoulikemetotakeoverforawhile?Soyoucanhaveabreak?’
‘No.IthinkI’llstay,actually.’
AbitofmewashopingthatWillwouldhearmyvoice.Abitofmewashopinghiseyeswouldopenabovethatclearplasticmask,andhewouldmutter,‘Clark.ComeandsitdownforGod’ssake.You’remakingtheplacelookuntidy.’
Buthejustlaythere.
Iwipedatmyfacewithahand.‘Would…wouldyoulikemetogetyouadrink?’
MrsTraynorlookedup.‘Whattimeisit?’
‘Aquartertoten.’
‘Isitreally?’Sheshookherhead,asifshefoundthathardtobelieve.‘Thankyou,Louisa.Thatwouldbe…thatwouldbeverykind.Iseemtohavebeenhereratheralongtime.’
IhadbeenoffonFriday–inpartbecausetheTraynorsinsistedIwasowedadayoff,butmostlybecausetherewasnowayIcouldgetapassportotherthanheadingtoLondononthetrainandqueuingupatPettyFrance.IhadpoppedbytheirhouseonFridaynight,onmyreturn,toshowWillmyspoilsandtomakesurehisownpassportwasstillvalid.Ithoughthehadbeenalittlequiet,buttherehadbeennothingparticularlyunusualinthat.Somedayshewasinmorediscomfortthanothers.Ihadassumeditwasoneofthosedays.IfI’mhonest,mymindwassofullofourtravelplansthatIdidn’thavealotofroomtothinkaboutanythingelse.
IspentSaturdaymorningpickingupmybelongingsfromPatrick’shousewithDad,andthenIwentshoppinginthehighstreetwithMumintheafternoontopickupaswimsuitandsomeholidaynecessities,andIstayedoveratmyparents’houseSaturdayandSundaynights.Itwasatightsqueeze,withTreenaandThomasthereaswell.OnMondaymorningIgotupat7,readytobeattheTraynors’by8am.Iarrivedtheretofindthewholeplaceclosedup,thefrontandbackdoorslocked.Therewasnonote.IstoodunderthefrontporchandrangNathan’sphonethreetimeswithoutananswer.MrsTraynor’sphonewassettovoicemail.Finally,asIsatonthestepsforforty-fiveminutes,Nathan’stextarrived.
Weareatcountyhospital.Willhaspneumonia.WardC12.
Nathanleft,andIsatoutsideWill’sroomforafurtherhour.Iflickedthroughthemagazinesthatsomebodyhadapparentlyleftonthetablein1982,andthenpulledapaperbackfrommybagandtriedtoreadthat,butitwasimpossibletoconcentrate.
Theconsultantcameround,butIdidn’tfeelthatIcouldfollowhiminwhileWill’smotherwasinthere.Whenheemerged,fifteenminuteslater,MrsTraynorcameoutbehindhim.I’mnotsureifshetoldmesimplybecauseshehadtotalktosomebody,andIwastheonlypersonavailable,butshesaidinavoicethickwithreliefthattheconsultantwasfairlyconfidentthattheyhadgottheinfectionundercontrol.Ithadbeenaparticularlyvirulentbacterialstrain.ItwasluckythatWillhadgonetohospitalwhenhehad.Her‘or…’hunginthesilencebetweenus.
‘Sowhatdowedonow?’Isaid.
Sheshrugged.‘Wewait.’
‘Wouldyoulikemetogetyousomelunch?OrperhapsIcouldsitwithWillwhileyougoandgetsome?’
Justoccasionally,somethinglikeunderstandingpassedbetweenmeandMrsTraynor.Herfacesoftenedbrieflyand–withoutthatcustomary,rigidexpression–Icouldseesuddenlyhowdesperatelytiredshelooked.IthinkshehadagedtenyearsinthetimethatIhadbeenwiththem.
‘Thankyou,Louisa,’shesaid.‘Iwouldverymuchliketoniphomeandchangemyclothes,ifyouwouldn’tmindstayingwithhim.Idon’treallywantWilltobeleftalonerightnow.’
Aftershe’dgoneIwentin,closingthedoorbehindme,andsatdownbesidehim.Heseemedcuriouslyabsent,asiftheWillIknewhadgoneonabrieftripsomewhereelseandleftonlyashell.Iwondered,briefly,ifthatwashowitwaswhenpeopledied.ThenItoldmyselftostopthinkingaboutdeath.
Isatandwatchedtheclocktickandheardtheoccasionalmurmuringvoicesoutsideandthesoftsqueakofshoesonthelinoleum.Twiceanursecameinandcheckedvariouslevels,pressedacoupleofbuttons,tookhistemperature,butstillWilldidn’tstir.
‘Heis…okay,isn’the?’Iaskedher.
‘He’sasleep,’shesaid,reassuringly.‘It’sprobablythebestthingforhimrightnow.Trynottoworry.’
It’saneasythingtosay.ButIhadalotoftimetothink,inthathospitalroom.IthoughtaboutWillandthefrighteningspeedwithwhichhehadbecomedangerouslyill.IthoughtaboutPatrick,andthefactthatevenasIhadcollectedmythingsfromhisflat,unpeeledandrolledupmywallcalendar,foldedandpackedtheclothesIhadlaidsocarefullyinhischestofdrawers,mysadnesswasneverthecripplingthingIshouldhaveexpected.Ididn’tfeeldesolate,oroverwhelmed,oranyofthethingsyoushouldfeelwhenyousplitapartaloveofseveralyears.Ifeltquitecalm,andabitsadandperhapsalittleguilty–bothatmypartinthesplit,andthefactthatIdidn’tfeelthethingsIprobablyshould.Ihadsenthimtwotextmessages,tosayIwasreally,reallysorry,andthatIhoped
Afteranhour,Ileantover,liftedtheblanketfromWill’sarm,andthere,palebrownagainstthewhitesheet,layhishand.Acannulawastapedtothebackofitwithsurgicaltape.WhenIturneditover,thescarswerestilllividonhiswrists.Iwondered,briefly,iftheywouldeverfade,orifhewouldbepermanentlyremindedofwhathehadtriedtodo.
Itookhisfingersgentlyinmineandclosedmyownaroundthem.Theywerewarm,thefingersofsomeoneverymuchliving.IwassooddlyreassuredbyhowtheyfeltinmyownthatIkeptthemthere,gazingatthem,atthecallusesthattoldofalifenotentirelylivedbehindadesk,atthepinkseashellnailsthatwouldalwayshavetobetrimmedbysomebodyelse.
Will’sweregoodman’shands–attractiveandeven,withsquared-offfingers.Itwashardtolookatthemandbelievethattheyheldnostrength,thattheywouldneveragainpicksomethingupfromatable,strokeanarmormakeafist.
Itracedhisknuckleswithmyfinger.SomesmallpartofmewonderedwhetherIshouldbeembarrassedifWillopenedhiseyesatthispoint,butIcouldn’tfeelit.Ifeltwithsomecertaintythatitwasgoodforhimtohavehishandinmine.Hopingthatinsomeway,throughthebarrierofhisdruggedsleep,heknewthistoo,Iclosedmyeyesandwaited.
Willfinallywokeupshortlyafterfour.Iwasoutsideinthecorridor,lyingacrossthechairs,readingadiscardednewspaper,andIjumpedwhenMrsTraynorcameouttotellme.Shelookedalittlelighterwhenshementionedhewastalking,andthathewantedtoseeme.ShesaidshewasgoingtogodownstairsandringMrTraynor.
Andthen,asifshecouldn’tquitehelpherself,sheadded,‘Pleasedon’ttirehim.’
‘Ofcoursenot,’Isaid.
Mysmilewascharming.
‘Hey,’Isaid,peepingmyheadroundthedoor.
Heturnedhisfaceslowlytowardsme.‘Hey,yourself.’
Hisvoicewashoarse,asifhehadspentthepastthirty-sixhoursnotsleepingbutshouting.Isatdownandlookedathim.Hiseyesflickereddownwards.
‘Youwantmetoliftthemaskforaminute?’
Henodded.Itookitandcarefullysliditupoverhishead.Therewasafinefilmofmoisturewhereithadmethisskin,andItookatissueandwipedgentlyaroundhisface.
‘Sohowareyoufeeling?’
‘Beenbetter.’
Agreatlumphadrisen,unbidden,tomythroat,andItriedtoswallowit.‘Idon’tknow.You’lldoanythingforattention,WillTraynor.Ibetthiswasalljusta–’
Heclosedhiseyes,cuttingmeoffinmid-sentence.Whenheopenedthemagain,theyheldahintofanapology.‘Sorry,Clark.Idon’tthinkIcandowittytoday.’
Wesat.AndItalked,lettingmyvoicerattleawayinthelittlepale-greenroom,tellinghimaboutgettingmythingsbackfromPatrick’s–howmucheasierithadbeengettingmyCDsoutofhiscollection,givenhisinsistenceonapropercataloguingsystem.
‘Youokay?’hesaid,whenIhadfinished.Hiseyesweresympathetic,likeheexpectedittohurtmorethanitactuallydid.
‘Yeah.Sure.’Ishrugged.‘It’sreallynotsobad.I’vegototherthingstothinkaboutanyway.’
Willwassilent.‘Thethingis,’hesaid,eventually,‘I’mnotsureI’mgoingtobebungeejumpinganytimesoon.’
Iknewit.IhadhalfexpectedthiseversinceIhadfirstreceivedNathan’stext.Buthearingthewordsfallfromhismouthfeltlikeablow.
‘Don’tworry,’Isaid,tryingtokeepmyvoiceeven.‘It’sfine.We’llgosomeothertime.’
‘I’msorry.Iknowyouwerereallylookingforwardtoit.’
Iplacedahandonhisforehead,andsmoothedhishairback.‘Shh.Really.It’snotimportant.Justgetwell.’
Heclosedhiseyeswithafaintwince.Iknewwhattheysaid–thoselinesaroundhiseyes,thatresignedexpression.Theysaidtherewasn’tnecessarilygoingtobeanothertime.Theysaidhethoughthewouldneverbewellagain.
IstoppedoffatGrantaHouseonthewaybackfromthehospital.Will’sfatherletmein,lookingalmostastiredasMrsTraynor.Hewascarryingabatteredwaxjacket,asifhewerejustonhiswayout.ItoldhimMrsTraynorwaswithWillagain,andthattheantibioticswereconsideredtobeworkingwell,butthatshehadaskedmetolethimknowthatshewouldbespendingthenightatthehospitalagain.Whyshecouldn’ttellhimherself,Idon’tknow.Perhapsshejusthadtoomuchtothinkabout.
‘Howdoeshelook?’
‘Bitbetterthanthismorning,’Isaid.‘HehadadrinkwhileIwasthere.Oh,andhesaidsomethingrudeaboutoneofthenurses.’
‘Stillhisimpossibleself.’
‘Yeah,stillhisimpossibleself.’
JustforamomentIsawMrTraynor’smouthcompressandhiseyesglisten.Helookedawayatthewindowandthenbackatme.Ididn’tknowwhetherhewouldhavepreferreditifI’dlookedaway.
‘Thirdbout.Intwoyears.’
Ittookmeaminutetocatchup.‘Ofpneumonia?’
Henodded.‘Wretchedthing.He’sprettybrave,youknow.Underallthatbluster.’Heswallowedandnodded,asiftohimself.‘It’sgoodyoucanseeit,Louisa.’
Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Ireachedoutahandandtouchedhisarm.‘Idoseeit.’
Hegavemeafaintnod,thentookhispanamahatfromthecoathooksinthehall.Mutteringsomethingthatmighthavebeenathankyouoragoodbye,MrTraynormovedpastmeandoutofthefrontdoor.
TheannexefeltoddlysilentwithoutWillinit.IrealizedhowmuchIhadbecomeusedtothedistantsoundofhismotorizedchairmovingbackwardsandforwards,hismurmuredconversationswithNathaninthenextroom,thelowhumoftheradio.Nowtheannexewasstill,theairlikeavacuumaroundme.
Ipackedanovernightbagofallthethingshemightwantthenextday,includingcleanclothes,histoothbrush,hairbrushandmedication,plusearphonesincasehewaswellenoughtolistentomusic.AsIdidsoIhadtofightapeculiarandrisingfeelingofpanic.Asubversivelittlevoicekeptrisingupinsideme,saying,Thisishowitwouldfeelifheweredead.Todrownitout,Iturnedontheradio,tryingtobringtheannexebacktolife.Ididsomecleaning,madeWill’sbedwithfreshsheetsandpickedsomeflowersfromthegarden,whichIputinthelivingroom.Andthen,whenIhadgoteverythingready,Iglancedoverandsawtheholidayfolderonthetable.
Iwouldspendthefollowingdaygoingthroughallthepaperworkandcancellingeverytrip,everyexcursionIhadbooked.TherewasnosayingwhenWillwouldbewellenoughtodoanyofthem.Theconsultanthadstressedthathehadtorest,tocompletehiscourseofantibiotics,tostaywarmanddry.White-waterraftingandscubadivingwerenotpartofhisplanforconvalescence.
Istaredatmyfolders,atalltheeffortandworkandimaginationthathadgoneintocompilingthem.IstaredatthepassportthatIhadqueuedtocollect,rememberingmymountingsenseofexcitementevenasIsatonthetrainheadingintothecity,andforthefirsttimesinceIhadembarkeduponmyplan,Ifeltproperlydespondent.Therewerejustoverthreeweekstogo,andIhadfailed.Mycontractwasduetoend,andIhaddonenothingtonoticeablychangeWill’smind.IwasafraidtoevenaskMrsTraynorwhereonearthwewentfromhere.Ifeltsuddenlyoverwhelmed.Idroppedmyheadintomyhandsand,inthesilentlittlehouse,Ileftitthere
‘Evening.’
Myheadshotup.Nathanwasstandingthere,fillingthelittlekitchenwithhisbulk.Hehadhisbackpackoverhisshoulder.
‘Ijustcametodropoffsomeprescriptionmedsforwhenhegetsback.You…okay?’
Iwipedbrisklyatmyeyes.‘Sure.Sorry.Just…justalittledauntedaboutcancellingthislot.’
Nathanswunghisbackpackoffhisshoulderandsatdownoppositeme.‘It’sapisser,that’sforsure.’Hepickedupthefolder,andbeganflickingthrough.‘Youwantahandtomorrow?Theydon’twantmeatthehospital,soIcouldstopbyforanhourinthemorning.Helpyouputinthecalls.’
‘That’skindofyou.Butno.I’llbefine.ProbablysimplerifIdoitall.’
Nathanmadetea,andwesatoppositeeachotheranddrankit.IthinkitwasthefirsttimeNathanandIhadreallytalkedtoeachother–atleast,withoutWillbetweenus.Hetoldmeaboutapreviousclientofhis,C3/4quadriplegicwithaventilator,whohadbeenillatleastonceamonthforthewholetimeheworkedthere.HetoldmeaboutWill’spreviousboutsofpneumonia,thefirstofwhichhadnearlykilledhim,andfromwhichithadtakenhimweekstorecover.
‘Hegetsthislookinhiseye…’hesaid.‘Whenhe’sreallysick.It’sprettyscary.Likehejust…retreats.Likehe’salmostnoteventhere.’
‘Iknow.Ihatethatlook.’
‘He’sa–’hebegan.Andthen,abruptly,hiseyesslidawayfrommeandheclosedhismouth.
Wesatholdingourmugs.FromthecornerofmyeyeIstudiedNathan,lookingathisfriendlyopenfacethatseemedbrieflytohaveclosedoff.AndIrealizedIwasabouttoaskaquestiontowhichIalreadyknewtheanswer.
‘Youknow,don’tyou?’
‘Knowwhat?’
‘About…whathewantstodo.’
Thesilenceintheroomwassuddenandintense.
Nathanlookedatmecarefully,asifweighinguphowtoreply.
‘Iknow,’Isaid.‘I’mnotmeantto,butIdo.That’swhat…that’swhattheholidaywasmeanttobeabout.That’swhattheoutingswereallabout.Metryingtochangehismind.’
Nathanputhismugonthetable.‘Ididwonder,’hesaid.‘Youseemed…tobeonamission.’
‘Iwas.Am.’
Heshookhishead,whethertosayIshouldn’tgiveup,ortotellmethatnothingcouldbedone,Iwasn’tsure.
‘Whatarewegoingtodo,Nathan?’
Ittookhimamomentortwobeforehespokeagain.‘Youknowwhat,Lou?IreallylikeWill.Idon’tmindtellingyou,Ilovetheguy.I’vebeenwithhimtwoyearsnow.I’veseenhimathisworst,andI’veseenhimonhisgooddays,andallIcansaytoyouisIwouldn’tbeinhisshoesforallthemoneyintheworld.’
Hetookaswigofhistea.‘TherehavebeentimeswhenI’vestayedoverandhe’swokenupscreamingbecauseinhisdreamshe’sstillwalkingandskiinganddoingstuffandjustforthosefewminutes,whenhisdefencesarerightdownandit’sallabitraw,heliterallycan’tbearthethoughtofneverdoingitagain.Hecan’tbearit.I’vesattherewithhimandthereisnothingIcansaytotheguy,nothingthatisgoingtomakeitanybetter.He’sbeendealttheshittiesthandofcardsyoucanimagine.Andyouknowwhat?IlookedathimlastnightandIthoughtabouthislifeandwhatit’slikelytobecome…andalthoughthereisnothingI’dlikemoreintheworldthanforthebigguytobehappy,I…Ican’tjudgehimforwhathewantstodo.It’shischoice.Itshouldbehischoice.’
Mybreathhadstartedtocatchinmythroat.‘But…thatwasbefore.You’vealladmittedthatitwasbeforeIcame.He’sdifferentnow.He’sdifferentwithme,right?’
‘Sure,but–’
‘Butifwedon’thavefaiththathecanfeelbetter,evengetbetter,thenhowishesupposedtokeepthefaiththatgoodthingsmighthappen?’
Nathanputhismugonthetable.Helookedstraightintomyeyes.
‘Lou.He’snotgoingtogetbetter.’
‘Youdon’tknowthat.’
‘Ido.Unlessthereissomemassivebreakthroughinstemcellresearch,Willislookingatanotherdecadeinthatchair.Minimum.Heknowsit,evenifhisfolksdon’twanttoadmitit.Andthisishalfthetrouble.Shewantstokeephimaliveatanycost.MrTthinksthereisapointwherewehavetolethimdecide.’
‘Ofcoursehegetstodecide,Nathan.Buthehastoseewhathisactualchoicesare.’
‘He’sabrightguy.Heknowsexactlywhathischoicesare.’
Myvoiceliftedinthelittleroom.‘No.You’rewrong.YoutellmehewasinthesameplacebeforeIcame.Youtellmehehasn’tchangedhisoutlookevenalittlebitjustthroughmebeinghere.’
‘Ican’tseeinsidehishead,Lou.’
‘YouknowI’vechangedthewayhethinks.’
‘No,Iknowthathewilldoprettymuchanythingtomakeyouhappy.’
Istaredathim.‘Youthinkhe’sgoingthroughthemotionsjusttokeepmehappy?’IfeltfuriouswithNathan,furiouswiththemall.‘Soifyoudon’tbelieveanyofthiscandoanygood,whywereyougoingtocomeatall?Whydidyouevenwanttocomeonthistrip?Justaniceholiday,wasit?’
‘No.Iwanthimtolive.’
‘But–’
‘ButIwanthimtoliveifhewantstolive.Ifhedoesn’t,thenbyforcinghimtocarryon,you,me–nomatterhowmuchwelovehim–webecomejustanothershittybunchofpeopletakingawayhischoices.’
Nathan’swordsreverberatedintothesilence.Iwipedasolitarytearfrommycheekandtriedtomakemyheartratereturntonormal.Nathan,apparentlyembarrassedbymytears,scratchedabsentlyathisneck,andthen,afteraminute,silentlyhandedmeapieceofkitchenroll.
‘Ican’tjustletithappen,Nathan.’
Hesaidnothing.
‘Ican’t.’
Istaredatmypassport,sittingonthekitchentable.Itwasaterriblepicture.Itlookedlikesomeoneelseentirely.Someonewhoselife,whosewayofbeing,mightactuallybenothinglikemyown.Istaredatit,thinking.
‘Nathan?’
‘What?’
‘IfIcouldfixsomeotherkindoftrip,somethingthedoctorswouldagreeto,wouldyoustillcome?Wouldyoustillhelpme?’
‘CourseIwould.’Hestood,rinsedhismugandhauledhisbackpackoverhisshoulder.Heturnedtofacemebeforeheleftthekitchen.‘ButI’vegottobehonest,Lou.I’mnotsureevenyouaregoingtobeabletopullthisoneoff.’23
Exactlytendayslater,Will’sfatherdisgorgedusfromthecaratGatwickAirport,Nathanwrestlingourluggageontoatrolley,andmecheckingandcheckingagainthatWillwascomfortable–untilevenhebecameirritated.
‘Takecareofyourselves.Andhaveagoodtrip,’MrTraynorsaid,placingahandonWill’sshoulder.‘Don’tgetuptotoomuchmischief.’Heactuallywinkedatmewhenhesaidthis.
MrsTraynorhadn’tbeenabletoleaveworktocometoo.Isuspectedthatactuallymeantshehadn’twantedtospendtwohoursinacarwithherhusband.
Willnoddedbutsaidnothing.Hehadbeendisarminglyquietinthecar,gazingoutofthewindowwithhisimpenetrablestare,ignoringNathanandmeaswechattedabouttrafficandwhatwealreadyknewwehadforgotten.
EvenaswewalkedacrosstheconcourseIwasn’tsureweweredoingtherightthing.MrsTraynorhadnotwantedhimtogoatall.Butfromthedayheagreedtomyrevisedplan,Iknewshehadbeenafraidtotellhimheshouldn’t.Sheseemedtobeafraidoftalkingtousatallthatlastweek.ShesatwithWillinsilence,talkingonlytothemedicalprofessionals.Orbusiedherselfinhergarden,cuttingthingsdownwithfrighteningefficiency.
‘Theairlineismeanttomeetus.They’remeanttocomeandmeetus,’Isaid,aswemadeourwaytothecheck-indesk,flickingthroughmypaperwork.
‘Chillout.They’rehardlygoingtopostsomeoneatthedoors,’Nathansaid.
‘Butthechairhastotravelasa“fragilemedicaldevice”.Icheckedwiththewomanonthephonethreetimes.Andweneedtomakesurethey’renotgoingtogetfunnyaboutWill’son-boardmedicalequipment.’
Theonlinequadcommunityhadgivenmereamsofinformation,warnings,legalrightsandchecklists.Ihadsubsequentlytriple-checkedwiththeairlinethatwewouldbegivenbulkheadseats,andthatWillwouldbeboardedfirst,andnotmovedfromhispowerchairuntilwewereactuallyatthegates.Nathanwouldremainontheground,removethejoystickandturnittomanual,andthencarefullytieandbolsterthechair,securingthepedals.Hewouldpersonallyoverseeitsloadingtoprotectagainstdamage.Itwouldbepink-taggedtowarnluggagehandlersofitsextremedelicacy.WehadbeenallocatedthreeseatsinarowsothatNathancouldcompleteanymedicalassistancethatWillneededwithoutpryingeyes.Theairlinehadassuredmethatthearmrestsliftedsothatwewouldn’tbruiseWill’shipswhiletransferringhimfromthewheelchairtohisaircraftseat.Wewouldkeephimbetweenusatalltimes.Andwewouldbethefirstallowedofftheaircraft.
Allthiswasonmy‘airport’checklist.Thatwasthesheetinfrontofmy‘hotel’checklistbutbehindmy‘daybeforeweleave’checklistandtheitinerary.Evenwithallthesesafeguardsinplace,Ifeltsick.
EverytimeIlookedatWillIwonderedifIhaddonetherightthing.WillhadonlybeenclearedbyhisGPfortravelthenightbefore.Heatelittleandspentmuchofeverydayasleep.Heseemednotjustwearyfromhisillness,butexhaustedwithlife,tiredofourinterference,ourupbeatattemptsatconversation,ourrelentlessdeterminationtotrytomakethingsbetterforhim.Hetoleratedme,butIgotthefeelingthatheoftenwantedtobeleftalone.Hedidn’tknowthatthiswastheonethingIcouldnotdo.
‘There’stheairlinewoman,’Isaid,asauniformedgirlwithabrightsmileandaclipboardwalkedbrisklytowardsus.
‘Well,she’sgoingtobealotofuseontransfer,’Nathanmuttered.‘Shedoesn’tlooklikeshecouldliftafrozenprawn.’
‘We’llmanage,’Isaid.‘Betweenus,wewillmanage.’
Ithadbecomemycatchphrase,eversinceIhadworkedoutwhatIwantedtodo.SincemyconversationwithNathanintheannexe,Ihadbeenfilledwitharenewedzealtoprovethemallwrong.Justbecausewecouldn’tdotheholidayI’dplanneddidnotmeanthatWillcouldnotdoanythingatall.
Ihitthemessageboards,firingoutquestions.WheremightbeagoodplaceforafarweakerWilltoconvalesce?Didanyoneelseknowwherewecouldgo?Temperaturewasmymainconsideration–theEnglishclimatewastoochangeable(therewasnothingmoredepressingthananEnglishseasideresortintherain).MuchofEuropewastoohotinlateJuly,rulingoutItaly,Greece,theSouthofFranceandothercoastalareas.Ihadavision,yousee.IsawWill,relaxingbythesea.Theproblemwas,withonlyafewdaystoplanitandgo,therewasadiminishingchanceofmakingitareality.
Therewerecommiserationsfromtheothers,andmany,manystoriesaboutpneumonia.Itseemedtobethespectrethathauntedthemall.Therewereafewsuggestionsastoplaceswecouldgo,butnonethatinspiredme.Or,moreimportantly,nonethatIfeltWillwouldbeinspiredby.Ididnotwantspas,orplaceswherehemightseeotherpeopleinthesamepositionashewas.Ididn’treallyknowwhatIwanted,butIscrolledbackwardsthroughthelistoftheirsuggestionsandknewthatnothingwasright.
ItwasRitchie,thatchat-roomstalwart,whohadcometomyaidintheend.TheafternoonthatWillwasreleasedfromhospital,hetyped:
Givemeyouremailaddress.Cousinistravelagent.Ihavegothimonthecase.
Ihadrungthenumberhegavemeandspokentoamiddle-agedmanwithabroadYorkshireaccent.Whenhetoldmewhathehadinmind,alittlebellofrecognitionrangsomewheredeepinmymemory.Andwithintwohours,wehaditsorted.IwassogratefultohimthatIcouldhavecried.
‘Thinknothingofit,pet,’hesaid.‘Youjustmakesurethatblokeofyourshasagoodtime.’
Thatsaid,bythetimeweleftIwasalmostasexhaustedasWill.Ihadspentdayswranglingwiththefinerrequirementsofquadriplegictravel,andrightupuntilthemorningweleftIhadnotbeenconvincedthatWillwouldbewellenoughtocome.Now,seatedwiththebags,Igazedathim,withdrawnandpaleinthebustlingairport,andwonderedagainifIhadbeenwrong.Ihadasuddenmomentofpanic.Whatifhegotillagain?Whatifhehatedeveryminute,ashehadwiththehorseracing?WhatifIhadmisreadthiswholesituation,andwhatWillneededwasnotanepicjourney,buttendaysathomeinhisownbed?
Butwedidn’thavetendaystospare.Thiswasit.Thiswasmyonlychance.
‘They’recallingourflight,’Nathansaid,ashestrolledbackfromthedutyfree.Helookedatme,raisedaneyebrow,andItookabreath.
‘Okay,’Ireplied.‘Let’sgo.’
Theflightitself,despitetwelvelonghoursintheair,wasnottheordealIhadfeared.NathanprovedhimselfdextrousatdoingWill’sroutinechangesundercoverofablanket.Theairlinestaffweresolicitousanddiscreet,andcarefulwiththechair.Willwas,aspromised,loadedfirst,achievedtransfertohisseatwithnobruising,andthensettledinbetweenus.
WithinanhourofbeingintheairIrealizedthat,oddlyenough,abovetheclouds,providedhisseatwastiltedandhewaswedgedinenoughtobestable,Willwasprettymuchequaltoanyoneinthecabin.Stuckinfrontofascreen,withnowheretomoveandnothingtodo,therewasverylittle,30,000feetup,thatseparatedhimfromanyoftheotherpassengers.Heateandwatchedafilm,andmostlyheslept.
NathanandIsmiledcautiouslyateachotherandtriedtobehaveasifthiswerefine,allgood.Igazedoutofthewindow,mythoughtsasjumbledasthecloudsbeneathus,unableyettothinkaboutthefactthatthiswasnotjustalogisticalchallengebutanadventureforme–thatI,LouClark,wasactuallyheadedtotheothersideoftheworld.Icouldn’tseeit.Icouldn’tseeanythingbeyondWillbythen.Ifeltlikemysister,whenshehadfirstgivenbirthtoThomas.‘It’slikeI’mlookingthroughafunnel,’shehadsaid,gazingathisnewbornform.‘Theworldhasjustshrunktomeandhim.’
ShehadtextedmewhenIwasintheairport.
Youcandothis.Ambloodyproudofyouxxx
Icalleditupnow,justtolookatit,feelingsuddenlyemotional,perhapsbecauseofherchoiceofwords.OrperhapsbecauseIwastiredandafraidandstillfindingithardtobelievethatIhadevengotusthisfar.Finally,toblockmythoughts,Iturnedonmylittletelevisionscreen,gazingunseeingatsomeAmericancomedyseriesuntiltheskiesaroundusgrewdark.
AndthenIwoketofindthattheairstewardesswasstandingoveruswithbreakfast,thatWillwastalkingtoNathanaboutafilmtheyhadjustwatchedtogether,andthat–astonishingly,andagainstalltheodds–thethreeofuswerelessthananhourawayfromlandinginMauritius.
Idon’tthinkIbelievedthatanyofthiscouldactuallyhappenuntilwetoucheddownatSirSeewoosagurRamgoolamInternationalAirport.WeemergedgroggilythroughArrivals,stillstifffromourtimeintheair,andIcouldhaveweptwithreliefatthesightoftheoperator’sspeciallyadaptedtaxi.Thatfirstmorning,asthedriverspedustowardstheresort,Iregisteredlittleoftheisland.True,thecoloursseemedbrighterthanEngland,theskymorevivid,anazurebluethatjustdisappearedandgrewdeeperanddeepertoinfinity.Isawthattheislandwaslushandgreen,fringedwithacresofsugarcanecrops,theseavisiblelikeastripofmercurythroughthevolcanichills.Theairwastingedwithsomethingsmokyandgingery,thesunsohighintheskythatIhadtosquintintothewhitelight.Inmyexhaustedstateitwasasifsomeonehadwokenmeupinthepagesofaglossymagazine.
Butevenasmysenseswrestledwiththeunfamiliar,mygazereturnedrepeatedlytoWill,tohispale,wearyface,tothewayhisheadseemedoddlyslumpedonhisshoulders.Andthenwepulledintoapalm-tree-lineddriveway,stoppedoutsidealowframedbuildingandthedriverwasalreadyoutandunloadingourbags.
Wedeclinedtheofferoficedtea,ofatouraroundthehotel.WefoundWill’sroom,dumpedhisbags,settledhimintohisbedandalmostbeforewehaddrawnthecurtains,hewasasleepagain.Andthentherewewere.Ihaddoneit.Istoodoutsidehisroom,finallylettingoutadeepbreath,whileNathangazedoutofthewindowatthewhitesurfonthecoralreefbeyond.Idon’tknowifitwasthejourney,orbecausethiswasthemostbeautifulplaceIhadeverbeeninmylife,butIfeltsuddenlytearful.
‘It’sokay,’Nathansaid,catchingsightofmyexpression.Andthen,totallyunexpectedly,hewalkeduptomeandenvelopedmeinahugebearhug.‘Relax,Lou.It’sgoingtobeokay.Really.Youdidgood.’
ItwasalmostthreedaysbeforeIstartedtobelievehim.Willsleptformostofthefirstforty-eighthours–andthen,astonishingly,hebegantolookbetter.Hisskinregaineditscolourandhelosttheblueshadowsaroundhiseyes.Hisspasmslessenedandhebegantoeatagain,wheelinghiswayslowlyalongtheendless,extravagantbuffetandtellingmewhathewantedonhisplate.IknewhewasfeelingmorelikehimselfwhenhebulliedmeintotryingthingsIwouldneverhaveeaten–spicycreolecurriesandseafoodwhosenameIdidnotrecognize.HeswiftlyseemedmoreathomeinthisplacethanIdid.Andnowonder.Ihadtoremindmyselfthat,formostofhislife,thishadbeenWill’sdomain–thisglobe,thesewideshores–notthelittleannexeintheshadowofthecastle.
Thehotelhad,aspromised,comeupwiththespecialwheelchairwithwidewheels,andmostmorningsNathantransferredWillintoitandweallthreewalkeddowntothebeach,mecarryingaparasolsothatIcouldprotecthimifthesungrewtoofierce.Butitneverdid;thatsouthernpartoftheislandwasrenownedforseabreezesand,outofseason,theresorttemperaturesrarelyrosepasttheearlytwenties.Wewouldstopatasmallbeachneararockyoutcrop,justoutofviewofthemainhotel.Iwouldunfoldmychair,placemyselfnexttoWillunderapalmtree,andwewouldwatchNathanattempttowindsurf,orwaterski–occasionallyshoutingencouragement,plustheoddwordofabuse–fromourspotonthesand.
AtfirstthehotelstaffwantedtodoalmosttoomuchforWill,offeringtopushhischair,constantlypressingcooldrinksuponhim.Weexplainedwhatwedidn’tneedfromthem,andtheycheerfullybackedoff.Itwasgood,though,duringthemomentswhenIwasn’twithhim,toseeportersorreceptionstaffstoppingbytochatwithhim,orsharingwithhimsomeplacethattheythoughtweshouldgo.Therewasoneganglyyoungman,Nadil,whoseemedtotakeituponhimselftoactasWill’sunofficialcarerwhenNathanwasnotaround.OnedayIcameouttofindhimandafriendgentlyloweringWilloutofhischairontoacushionedsunbedhehadpositionedby‘our’tree.
‘Thisbetter,’hesaid,givingmethethumbsupasIwalkedacrossthesand.‘YoujustcallmewhenMrWillwanttogobackinhischair.’
Iwasabouttoprotest,andtellthemtheyshouldnothavemovedhim.ButWillhadclosedhiseyesandlaytherewithalookofsuchunexpectedcontentmentthatIjustclosedmymouthandnodded.
Asforme,asmyanxietyaboutWill’shealthbegantoebb,IslowlybegantosuspectthatIwasactuallyinparadise.Ihadnever,inmylife,imaginedIwouldspendtimesomewherelikethis.EverymorningIwoketothesoundoftheseabreakinggentlyontheshore,unfamiliarbirdscallingtoeachotherfromthetrees.Igazedupatmyceiling,watchingthesunlightplayingthroughtheleaves,andfromnextdoorheardthemurmuredconversationthattoldmeWillandNathanhadalreadybeenuplongbeforeme.Idressedinsarongsandswimsuits,enjoyingthefeelingofthewarmsunonmyshouldersandback.Myskingrewfreckled,mynailsbleached,andIbegantofeelararehappinessatthesimplepleasuresofexistinghere–ofwalkingonabeach,eatingunfamiliarfoods,swimminginwarm,clearwaterwhereblackfishgazedshylyfromundervolcanicrocks,orwatchingthesunsinkfieryredintothehorizon.Slowlythepastfewmonthsbegantoslipaway.Tomyshame,IhardlythoughtofPatrickatall.
Ourdaysfellintoapattern.Weatebreakfasttogether,allthreeofus,atthegentlyshadedtablesaroundthepool.Willusuallyhadfruitsalad,whichIfedtohimbyhand,andsometimesfollowedupwithabananapancakeashisappetitegrew.Wethenwentdowntothebeach,wherewestayed–mereading,Willlisteningtomusic–whileNathanpractisedhiswatersportskills.Willkepttellingmetotrysomethingtoo,butatfirstIsaidno.Ijustwantedtostaynexttohim.WhenWillinsisted,Ispentonemorningwindsurfingandkayaking,butIwashappiestjusthangingaroundnexttohim.
OccasionallyifNadilwasaround,andtheresortwasquiet,heandNathanwouldeaseWillintothewarmwaterofthesmallerpool,Nathanholdinghimunderhisheadsothathecouldfloat.Hedidn’tsaymuchwhentheydidthis,buthelookedquietlycontented,asifhisbodywererememberinglong-forgottensensations.Historso,longpale,grewgolden.Hisscarssilveredandbegantofade.Hegrewcomfortablewithoutashirt.
Atlunchtimewewouldwheelourwayovertooneoftheresort’sthreerestaurants.Thesurfaceofthewholecomplexwastiled,withonlyafewsmallstepsandslopes,whichmeantthatWillcouldmoveinhischairwithcompleteautonomy.Itwasasmallthing,buthimbeingabletogethimselfadrinkwithoutoneofusaccompanyinghimmeantnotsomucharestformeandNathanasthebriefremovalofoneofWill’sdailyfrustrations–beingentirelydependentonotherpeople.Notthatanyofushadtomovemuchanywhere.Itseemedwhereveryouwere,beachorpoolside,oreventhespa,oneofthesmilingstaffwouldpopupwithsomedrinktheythoughtyoumightlike,usuallydecoratedwithafragrantpinkflower.Evenasyoulayonthebeach,asmallbuggywouldpass,andasmilingwaiterwouldofferyouwater,fruitjuice,orsomethingstronger.
Intheafternoons,whenthetemperatureswereattheirhighest,Willwouldreturntohisroomandsleepforacoupleofhours.Iwouldswiminthepool,orreadmybook,andthenintheeveningwewouldallmeetagaintoeatsupperatthebeachsiderestaurant.Iswiftlydevelopedatasteforcocktails.NadilhadworkedoutthatifhegaveWillthe
ExceptthisWillwasdifferent.ThisplaceseemedtohavegrantedhimapeacethathadbeenmissingthewholetimeIhadknownhim.
‘He’sdoinggood,huh?’saidNathan,ashemetmebythebuffet.
‘Yes,Ithinkheis.’
‘Youknow–’Nathanleanttowardsme,reluctantforWilltoseeweweretalkingabouthim‘–Ithinktheranchthingandalltheadventureswouldhavebeengreat.Butlookingathimnow,Ican’thelpthinkingthisplacehasworkedoutbetter.’
Ididn’ttellhimwhatIhaddecidedonthefirstday,whenwecheckedin,mystomachknottedwithanxiety,alreadycalculatinghowmanydaysIhaduntilthereturnhome.Ihadtotryforeachofthosetendaystoforgetwhywewereactuallythere–thesix-monthcontract,mycarefullyplottedcalendar,everythingthathadcomebefore.IhadtojustliveinthemomentandtrytoencourageWilltodothesame.Ihadtobehappy,inthehopethatWillwouldbetoo.
Ihelpedmyselftoanothersliceofmelon,andsmiled.‘Sowhat’sonlater?Arewedoingthekaraoke?Orhaveyourearsnotyetrecoveredfromlastnight?’
Onthefourthnight,Nathanannouncedwithonlyfaintembarrassmentthathehadadate.KarenwasafellowKiwistayinginthenexthotel,andhehadagreedtogodowntothetownwithher.
‘Justtomakesureshe’sallright.Youknow…I’mnotsureifit’sagoodplaceforhertogoalone.’
‘No,’Willsaid,noddinghisheadsagely.‘Verychivalrousofyou,Nate.’
‘Ithinkthatisaveryresponsiblethingtodo.Verycivicminded,’Iagreed.
‘IhavealwaysadmiredNathanforhisselflessness.Especiallywhenitcomestothefairersex.’
‘Pissoff,youtwo,’Nathangrinned,anddisappeared.
Karenswiftlybecameafixture.Nathandisappearedwithhermosteveningsand,althoughhereturnedforlateduties,wetacitlygavehimasmuchtimeaspossibletoenjoyhimself.
Besides,Iwassecretlyglad.IlikedNathan,andIwasgratefulthathehadcome,butIpreferreditwhenitwasjustWillandI.Ilikedtheshorthandweseemedtofallintowhennobodyelsewasaround,theeasyintimacythathadsprungupbetweenus.Ilikedthewayheturnedhisfaceandlookedatmewithamusement,likeIhadsomehowturnedouttobesomuchmorethanhehadexpected.
Onthepenultimatenight,ItoldNathanthatIdidn’tmindifhewantedtobringKarenbacktothecomplex.Hehadbeenspendingnightsinherhotel,andIknewitmadeitdifficultforhim,walkingthetwentyminuteseachwayinordertosortWilloutlastthingatnight.
‘Idon’tmind.Ifitwill…youknow…giveyouabitofprivacy.’
Hewascheerful,alreadylostintheprospectofthenightahead,anddidn’tgivemeanotherthoughtbeyondanenthusiastic,‘Thanks,mate.’
‘Niceofyou,’saidWill,whenItoldhim.
‘Niceofyou,youmean,’Isaid.‘It’syourroomI’vedonatedtothecause.’
Thatnightwegothimintomine,andNathanhelpedWillintobedandgavehimhismedicationwhileKarenwaitedinthebar.InthebathroomIchangedintomyT-shirtandknickersandthenopenedthebathroomdoorandpotteredovertothesofawithmypillowundermyarm.IfeltWill’seyesonme,andfeltoddlyself-consciousforsomeonewhohadspentmostofthepreviousweekwalkingaroundinfrontofhiminabikini.Iplumpedmypillowdownonthesofaarm.
‘Clark?’
‘What?’
‘Youreallydon’thavetosleepoverthere.Thisbedislargeenoughforanentirefootballteamasitis.’
Thethingis,Ididn’treallyeventhinkaboutit.Thatwashowitwas,bythen.Perhapsthedaysspentnear-nakedonthebeachhadloosenedusallupalittle.PerhapsitwasthethoughtofNathanandKarenontheothersideofthewall,wrappedupineachother,acocoonofexclusion.PerhapsIdidjustwanttobenearhim.Ibegantowalktowardsthebed,thenflinchedatasuddencrashofthunder.Thelightsstuttered,someoneshoutedoutside.FromnextdoorweheardNathanandKarenburstoutlaughing.
Iwalkedtothewindowandpulledbackthecurtain,feelingthesuddenbreeze,theabruptdropintemperature.Outatseaastormhadexplodedintolife.Dramaticflashesofforkedlightningbrieflyilluminatedthesky,andthen,asifinafterthought,theheavydrumbeatrollofadelugehittheroofofourlittlebungalow,sofiercethatatfirst
‘I’dbetterclosetheshutters,’Isaid.
‘No,don’t.’
Iturned.
‘Throwthedoorsopen.’Willnoddedtowardstheoutside.‘Iwanttoseeit.’
Ihesitated,thenslowlyopenedtheglassdoorsoutontotheterrace.Therainhammereddownontothehotelcomplex,drippingfromourroof,sendingriversrunningawayfromourterraceandouttowardsthesea.Ifeltthemoistureonmyface,theelectricityintheair.Thehairsonmyarmsstoodboltupright.
‘Canyoufeelit?’hesaid,frombehindme.
‘It’sliketheendoftheworld.’
Istoodthere,lettingthechargeflowthroughme,thewhiteflashesimprintingthemselvesonmyeyelids.Itcausedmybreathtocatchinmythroat.
Iturnedback,andwalkedovertothebed,seatingmyselfonitsedge.Ashewatched,Ileantforwardsandgentlypulledhissun-brownednecktowardsme.Iknewjusthowtomovehimnow,howIcouldmakehisweight,hissolidity,workwithme.Holdinghimclosetome,Ileantacrossandplacedafatwhitepillowbehindhisshouldersbeforereleasinghimbackintoitssoftembrace.Hesmeltofthesun,asifithadseepeddeepintohisskin,andIfoundmyselfinhalingsilently,asifheweresomethingdelicious.
Then,stillalittledamp,Iclimbedinbesidehim,soclosethatmylegstouchedhis,andtogetherwegazedoutattheblue-whitescorchasthelightninghitthewaves,atthesilveredstairrodsofrain,thegentlyshiftingmassofturquoisethatlayonlyahundredfeetaway.
Theworldaroundusshrank,untilitwasjustthesoundofthestorm,themauveblue-blacksea,andthegentlybillowinggauzecurtains.Ismeltthelotusflowersonthenightbreeze,heardthedistantsoundsofclinkingglassesandhastilydrawn-backchairs,ofmusicfromsomefar-offcelebration,feltthechargeofnatureunleashed.IreachedacrossforWill’shand,andtookitinmyown.Ithought,briefly,thatIwouldneverfeelasintenselyconnectedtotheworld,toanotherhumanbeing,asIdidatthatmoment.
‘Notbad,eh,Clark?’Willsaidintothesilence.Inthefaceofthestorm,hisfacewasstillandcalm.Heturnedbrieflyandsmiledatme,andtherewassomethinginhiseyesthen,somethingtriumphant.
‘No,’Isaid.‘Notbadatall.’
Ilaystill,listeningtohisbreathingslowanddeepen,thesoundoftherainbelowit,felthiswarmfingersentwinedwithmine.Ididnotwanttogohome.IthoughtImightnevergohome.HereWillandIweresafe,lockedinourlittleparadise.EverytimeIthoughtaboutheadingbacktoEngland,agreatclawoffeargrippedmystomachandbegantotightenitshold.
It’sgoingtobeokay.ItriedtorepeatNathan’swordstomyself.It’sgoingtobeokay
Finally,Iturnedontomyside,awayfromthesea,andgazedatWill.Heturnedhisheadtolookbackatmeinthedimlight,andIfelthewastellingmethesamething.It’sgoingtobeokay.ForthefirsttimeinmylifeItriednottothinkaboutthefuture.Itriedtojustbe,tosimplylettheevening’ssensationstravelthroughme.Ican’tsayhowlongwestayedlikethat,justgazingateachother,butgraduallyWill’seyelidsgrewheavier,untilhemurmuredapologeticallythathethoughthemight…Hisbreathingdeepened,hetippedoverthatsmallcrevasseintosleep,andthenitwasjustmewatchinghisface,lookingatthewayhiseyelashesseparatedintolittlepointsnearthecornerofhiseyes,atthenewfrecklesonhisnose.
ItoldmyselfIhadtoberight.Ihadtoberight.
Thestormfinallyblewitselfoutsometimeafter1am,disappearingsomewhereoutatsea,itsflashesofangergrowingfainterandthenfinallydisappearingaltogether,offtobringmeteorologicaltyrannytosomeotherunseenplace.Theairslowlygrewstillaroundus,thecurtainssettling,thelastofthewaterdrainingawaywithagurgle.SometimeintheearlyhoursIgotup,gentlyreleasingmyhandfromWill’s,andclosedtheFrenchwindows,mufflingtheroominsilence.Willslept–asound,peacefulsleepthatherarelysleptathome.
Ididn’t.IlaythereandwatchedhimandItriedtomakemyselfthinknothingatall.
Twothingshappenedonthelastday.Onewasthat,underpressurefromWill,Iagreedtotryscubadiving.Hehadbeenonatmefordays,statingthatIcouldn’tpossiblycomeallthiswayandnotgounderthewater.Ihadbeenhopelessatwindsurfing,barelyabletoliftmysailfromthewaves,andhadspentmostofmyattemptsatwater-skiingfaceplantingmywayalongthebay.Buthewasinsistentand,thedaybefore,hearrivedbackatlunchannouncingthathehadbookedmeinforahalf-daybeginners’divingcourse.
Itdidn’tgetofftoagoodstart.WillandNathansatonthesideofthepoolasmyinstructortriedtogetmetobelieveIwouldcontinuetobreatheunderwater,buttheknowledgethattheywerewatchingmemademehopeless.I’mnotstupid–Iunderstoodthattheoxygentanksonmybackwouldkeepmylungsworking,thatIwasnotabouttodrown–buteverytimemyheadwentunder,Ipanickedandburstthroughthesurface.ItwasasifmybodyrefusedtobelievethatitcouldstillbreatheunderneathseveralthousandgallonsofMauritius’sfinestchlorinated.
‘Idon’tthinkIcandothis,’Isaid,asIemergedfortheseventhtime,spluttering.
James,mydivinginstructor,glancedbehindmeatWillandNathan.
‘Ican’t,’Isaid,crossly.‘It’sjustnotme.’
Jamesturnedhisbackonthetwomen,tappedmeontheshoulderandgesturedtowardstheopenwater.‘Somepeopleactuallyfinditeasieroutthere,’hesaidquietly.
‘Inthesea?’
‘Somepeoplearebetterthrowninatthedeepend.Comeon.Let’sgooutontheboat.’
Three-quartersofanhourlater,Iwasgazingunderwateratthebrightlycolouredlandscapethathadbeenhiddenfromview,forgettingtobeafraidthatmyoxygenmightfail,thatagainstallevidenceIwouldsinktothebottomanddieawaterydeath,eventhatIwasafraidatall.Iwasdistractedbythesecretsofanewworld.Inthesilence,brokenonlybytheexaggeratedooshshooofmyownbreath,Iwatchedshoalsoftinyiridescentfish,andlargerblackandwhitefishthatstaredatmewithblank,inquisitivefaces,withgentlyswayinganemonesfilteringthegentlecurrentsoftheirtiny,unseenhaul.Isawdistantlandscapes,twiceasbrightlycolouredandvariedastheywereaboveland.Isawcavesandhollowswhereunknowncreatureslurked,distantshapesthatshimmeredintheraysofthesun.Ididn’twanttocomeup.Icouldhavestayedthereforever,inthatsilentworld.ItwasonlywhenJamesstartedgesticulatingtowardsthedialofhisoxygentankthatIrealizedIdidn’thaveachoice.
IcouldbarelyspeakwhenIfinallywalkedupthebeachtowardsWillandNathan,beaming.MymindwasstillhummingwiththeimagesIhadseen,mylimbssomehowstillpropellingmeunderthewater.
‘Good,eh?’saidNathan.
‘Whydidn’tyoutellme?’IexclaimedtoWill,throwingmyflippersdownonthesandinfrontofhim.‘Whydidn’tyoumakemedothatearlier?Allthat!Itwasallthere,allthetime!Justrightundermynose!’
Willgazedatmesteadily.Hesaidnothing,buthissmilewasslowandwide.‘Idon’tknow,Clark.Somepeoplejustwon’tbetold.’
Iletmyselfgetdrunkthatlastnight.Itwasn’tjustthatwewereleavingthenextday.ItwasthefirsttimeIhadfelttrulythatWillwaswellandthatIcouldletgo.Iworeawhitecottondress(myskinhadcolourednow,sothatwearingwhitedidn’tautomaticallymakemeresembleacorpsewearingashroud)andapairofsilverystrappysandals,andwhenNadilgavemeascarletflowerandinstructedmetoputitinmyhairIdidn’tscoffathimasImighthavedoneaweekearlier.
‘Well,hello,CarmenMiranda,’Willsaid,whenImetthematthebar.‘Don’tyoulookglamorous.’
Iwasabouttomakesomesarcasticreply,andthenIrealizedhewaslookingatmewithgenuinepleasure.
‘Thankyou,’Isaid.‘You’renotlookingtooshabbyyourself.’
Therewasadiscoatthemainhotelcomplex,soshortlybefore10pm–whenNathanlefttobewithKaren–weheadeddowntothebeachwiththemusicinourearsandthepleasantbuzzofthreecocktailssweeteningmymovements.
Oh,butitwassobeautifuldownthere.Thenightwaswarm,carryingonitsbreezesthescentsofdistantbarbecues,ofwarmoilsonskin,ofthefaintsalttangofthesea.WillandIstoppednearourfavouritetree.Someonehadbuiltafireonthebeach,perhapsforcooking,andallthatwasleftwasapileofglowingembers.
‘Idon’twanttogohome,’Isaid,intothedarkness.
‘It’sahardplacetoleave.’
‘Ididn’tthinkplaceslikethisexistedoutsidefilms,’Isaid,turningsothatIfacedhim.‘Ithasactuallymademewonderifyoumighthavebeentellingthetruthaboutalltheotherstuff.’
Hewassmiling.Hiswholefaceseemedrelaxedandhappy,hiseyescrinklingashelookedatme.Ilookedathim,andforthefirsttimeitwasn’twithafaintfeargnawingawayatmyinsides.
‘You’regladyoucame,right?’Isaid,tentatively.
Henodded.‘Ohyes.’
‘Hah!’Ipunchedtheair.
Andthen,assomeoneturnedthemusicupbythebar,IkickedoffmyshoesandIbegantodance.Itsoundsstupid–thekindofbehaviourthatonanotherdayyoumightbeembarrassedby.Butthere,intheinkydark,halfdrunkfromlackofsleep,withthefireandtheendlessseaandinfinitesky,withthesoundsofthemusicinourearsandWillsmilingandmyheartburstingwithsomethingIcouldn’tquiteidentify,Ijustneededtodance.Idanced,laughing,notself-conscious,notworryingaboutwhetheranybodycouldseeus.IfeltWill’seyesonmeandIknewheknew–thatthiswastheonlypossibleresponsetothelasttendays.Hell,tothelastsixmonths.
Thesongended,andIflopped,breathless,athisfeet.
‘You…’hesaid.
‘What?’Mysmilewasmischievous.Ifeltfluid,electrified.Ibarelyfeltresponsibleformyself.
Heshookhishead.
Irose,slowly,ontomybarefeet,walkedrightuptohischairandthenslidontohislapsothatmyfacewasinchesfromhis.Afterthepreviousevening,itsomehowdidn’tseemlikesuchaleaptomake.
‘You.…’Hisblueeyes,glintingwiththelightofthefire,lockedontomine.Hesmeltofthesun,andthebonfire,andsomethingsharpandcitrussy.
Ifeltsomethinggive,deepinsideme
‘You…aresomethingelse,Clark.’
IdidtheonlythingIcouldthinkof.Ileantforward,andIplacedmylipsonhis.Hehesitated,justforamoment,andthenhekissedme.AndjustforamomentIforgoteverything–themillionandonereasonsIshouldn’t,myfears,thereasonwewerehere.Ikissedhim,breathinginthescentofhisskin,feelinghissofthairundermyfingertips,andwhenhekissedmebackallofthisvanishedanditwasjustWillandme,onanislandinthemiddleofnowhere,underathousandtwinklingstars.
Andthenhepulledback.‘I…I’msorry.No–’
Myeyesopened.Iliftedahandtohisfaceandletittracehisbeautifulbones.Ifeltthefaintgritofsaltundermyfingertips.‘Will…’Ibegan.‘Youcan.You–’
‘No.’Itheldahintofmetal,thatword.‘Ican’t.’
‘Idon’tunderstand.’
‘Idon’twanttogointoit.’
‘Um…Ithinkyouhavetogointoit.’
‘Ican’tdothisbecauseIcan’t…’heswallowed.‘Ican’tbethemanIwanttobewithyou.Andthatmeansthatthis–’helookedupintomyface‘–thisjustbecomes…anotherreminderofwhatIamnot.’
Ididn’tletgoofhisface.Itippedmyforeheadforwardsothatittouchedhis,sothatourbreathmingled,andIsaid,quietly,sothatonlyhecouldhaveheardme,‘Idon’tcarewhatyou…whatyouthinkyoucanandcan’tdo.It’snotblackandwhite.Honestly…I’vetalkedtootherpeopleinthesamesituationand…andtherearethingsthatarepossible.Waysthatwecanbothbehappy…’Ihadbeguntostammeralittle.Ifeltweirdevenhavingthisconversation.Ilookedupandintohiseyes.‘WillTraynor,’Isaid,softly.‘Here’sthething.Ithinkwecando–’
‘No,Clark–’hebegan.
‘Ithinkwecandoallsortsofthings.Iknowthisisn’taconventionallovestory.IknowthereareallsortsofreasonsIshouldn’tevenbesayingwhatIam.ButIloveyou.Ido.IknewitwhenIleftPatrick.AndIthinkyoumightevenlovemealittlebit.’
Hedidn’tspeak.Hiseyessearchedmyown,andtherewasthishugeweightofsadnesswithinthem.Istrokedthehairawayfromhistemples,asifIcouldsomehowlifthissorrow,andhetiltedhisheadtomeetthepalmofmyhand,sothatitrestedthere.
Heswallowed.‘Ihavetotellyousomething.’
‘Iknow,’Iwhispered.‘Iknoweverything.’
Will’smouthclosedonhiswords.Theairseemedtostillaroundus.
‘IknowaboutSwitzerland.Iknow…whyIwasemployedonasix-monthcontract.’
Heliftedhisheadawayfrommyhand.Helookedatme,thengazedupwardsattheskies.Hisshoulderssagged.
‘Iknowitall,Will.I’veknownformonths.And,Will,pleaselistentome…’Itookhisrighthandinmine,andIbroughtitupclosetomychest.‘Iknowwecandothis.Iknowit’snothowyouwouldhavechosenit,butIknowIcanmakeyouhappy.AndallIcansayisthatyoumakeme…youmakemeintosomeoneIcouldn’tevenimagine.Youmakemehappy,evenwhenyou’reawful.Iwouldratherbewithyou–eventheyouthatyouseemtothinkisdiminished–thanwithanyoneelseintheworld.’
Ifelthisfingerstightenafractionaroundmine,anditgavemecourage.
‘Ifyouthinkit’stooweirdwithmebeingemployedbyyou,thenI’llleaveandI’llworksomewhereelse.Iwantedtotellyou–I’veappliedforacollegecourse.I’vedoneloadsofresearchontheinternet,talkingtootherquadsandcarersofquads,andIhavelearntsomuch,somuchabouthowtomakethiswork.SoIcandothat,andjustbewithyou.Yousee?I’vethoughtofeverything,researchedeverything.ThisishowIamnow.Thisisyourfault.Youchangedme.’Iwashalflaughing.‘You’veturnedmeintomysister.Butwithbetterdresssense.’
Hehadclosedhiseyes.Iplacedbothmyhandsaroundhis,liftedhisknucklestomymouth,andIkissedthem.Ifelthisskinagainstmine,andknewasIhadneverknownanythingthatIcouldnotlethimgo.
‘Whatdoyousay?’Iwhispered.
Icouldhavelookedintohiseyesforever.
Hesaiditsoquietly,thatforaminuteIcouldnotbesureIhadheardhimcorrectly.
‘What?’
‘No,Clark.’
‘No?’
‘I’msorry.It’snotenough.’
Iloweredhishand.‘Idon’tunderstand.’
Hewaitedbeforehespoke,asifhewerestruggling,foronce,tofindtherightwords.‘It’snotenoughforme.This–myworld–evenwithyouinit.Andbelieveme,Clark,mywholelifehaschangedforthebettersinceyoucame.Butit’snotenoughforme.It’snotthelifeIwant.’
Nowitwasmyturntopullaway.
‘Thethingis,Igetthatthiscouldbeagoodlife.Igetthatwithyouaround,perhapsitcouldevenbeaverygoodlife.Butit’snotmylife.Iamnotthesameasthesepeopleyouspeakto.It’snothinglikethelifeIwant.Notevenclose.’Hisvoicewashalting,broken.Hisexpressionfrightenedme.
Iswallowed,shakingmyhead.‘You…youoncetoldmethatthenightinthemazedidn’thavetobethethingthatdefinedme.YousaidIcouldchoosewhatitwasthatdefinedme.Well,youdon’thavetoletthat…thatchairdefineyou.’
‘Butitdoesdefineme,Clark.Youdon’tknowme,notreally.Youneversawmebeforethisthing.Ilovedmylife,Clark.Reallylovedit.Ilovedmyjob,mytravels,thethingsIwas.Ilovedbeingaphysicalperson.Ilikedridingmymotorbike,hurlingmyselfoffbuildings.Ilikedcrushingpeopleinbusinessdeals.Ilikedhavingsex.Lotsofsex.Iledabiglife.’Hisvoicehadliftednow.‘Iamnotdesignedtoexistinthisthing–andyetforallintentsandpurposesitisnowthethingthatdefinesme.Itistheonlythingthatdefinesme.’
‘Butyou’renotevengivingitachance,’Iwhispered.Myvoicedidn’tseemtowanttoemergefrommychest.‘You’renotgivingmeachance.’
‘It’snotamatterofgivingyouachance.I’vewatchedyouthesesixmonthsbecomingawholedifferentperson,someonewhoisonlyjustbeginningtoseeherpossibilities.Youhavenoideahowhappythathasmademe.Idon’twantyoutobetiedtome,tomyhospitalappointments,totherestrictionsonmylife.Idon’twantyoutomissoutonallthethingssomeoneelsecouldgiveyou.And,selfishly,Idon’twantyoutolookatmeonedayandfeeleventhetiniestbitofregretorpitythat–’
‘Iwouldneverthinkthat!’
‘Youdon’tknowthat,Clark.Youhavenoideahowthiswouldplayout.Youhavenoideahowyou’regoingtofeelevensixmonthsfromnow.AndIdon’twanttolookatyoueveryday,toseeyounaked,towatchyouwanderingaroundtheannexeinyourcrazydressesandnot…notbeabletodowhatIwantwithyou.Oh,Clark,ifyouhadanyideawhatIwanttodotoyourightnow.AndI…Ican’tlivewiththatknowledge.Ican’t.It’snotwhoIam.Ican’tbethekindofmanwhojust…accepts.’
Heglanceddownathischair,hisvoicebreaking.‘Iwillneveracceptthis.’
Ihadbeguntocry.‘Please,Will.Pleasedon’tsaythis.Justgivemeachance.Giveusachance.’
‘Sshhh.Justlisten.You,ofallpeople.ListentowhatI’msaying.This…tonight…isthemostwonderfulthingyoucouldhavedoneforme.Whatyouhavetoldme,whatyouhavedoneinbringingmehere…knowingthat,somehow,fromthatcompletearseIwasatthestartofthis,youmanagedtosalvagesomethingtoloveisastonishingtome.But–’Ifelthisfingerscloseonmine‘–Ineedittoendhere.Nomorechair.Nomorepneumonia.Nomoreburninglimbs.Nomorepainandtirednessandwakingupeverymorningalreadywishingitwasover.Whenwegetback,IamstillgoingtogotoSwitzerland.Andifyoudoloveme,Clark,asyousayyoudo,thethingthatwouldmakemehappierthananythingisifyouwouldcomewithme.’
Myheadwhippedback.
‘What?’
‘It’snotgoingtogetanybetterthanthis.TheoddsareI’monlygoingtogetincreasinglyunwellandmylife,reducedasitis,isgoingtogetsmaller.Thedoctorshavesaidasmuch.Thereareahostofconditionsencroachingonme.Icanfeelit.Idon’twanttobeinpainanymore,ortrappedinthisthing,ordependentoneveryone,orafraid.SoI’maskingyou–ifyoufeelthethingsyousayyoufeel–thendoit.Bewithme.GivemetheendI’mhopingfor.’
Ilookedathiminhorror,mybloodthumpinginmyears.Icouldbarelytakeitin.
‘Howcanyouaskmethat?’
‘Iknow,it’s–’
‘ItellyouIloveyouandIwanttobuildafuturewithyou,andyouaskmetocomeandwatchyoukillyourself?’
‘I’msorry.Idon’tmeanittosoundblunt.ButIhaven’tgottheluxuryoftime.’
‘Wha–what?Why,areyouactuallybookedin?Istheresomeappointmentyou’reafraidofmissing?’
Icouldseepeopleatthehotelstopping,perhapshearingourraisedvoices,butIdidn’tcare.
‘Yes,’Willsaid,afterapause.‘Yes,thereis.I’vehadtheconsultations.TheclinicagreedthatIamasuitablecaseforthem.AndmyparentsagreedtothethirteenthofAugust.We’reduetoflyoutthedaybefore.’
Myheadhadbeguntospin.Itwaslessthanaweekaway.
‘Idon’tbelievethis.’
‘Louisa–’
‘Ithought…IthoughtIwaschangingyourmind.’
Hetiltedhisheadsidewaysandgazedatme.Hisvoicewassoft,hiseyesgentle.‘Louisa,nothingwasevergoingtochangemymind.Ipromisedmyparentssixmonths,andthat’swhatI’vegiventhem.Youhavemadethattimemorepreciousthanyoucanimagine.Youstoppeditbeinganendurancetest–’
‘Don’t!’
‘What?’
‘Don’tsayanotherword.’Iwaschoking.‘Youaresoselfish,Will.Sostupid.EveniftherewastheremotestpossibilityofmecomingwithyoutoSwitzerland…evenifyouthoughtImight,afterallI’vedoneforyou,besomeonewhocoulddothat,isthatallyoucansaytome?Itoremyheartoutinfrontofyou.Andallyoucansayis,“No,you’renotenoughforme.AndnowIwantyoutocomewatchtheworstthingyoucanpossiblyimagine.”ThethingIhavedreadedeversinceIfirstfoundoutaboutit.Doyouhaveanyideawhatyouareaskingofme?’
Iwasragingnow.Standinginfrontofhim,shoutinglikeamadwoman.‘Fuckyou,WillTraynor.Fuckyou.IwishI’dnevertakenthisstupidjob.IwishI’dnevermetyou.’Iburstintotears,ranupthebeachandbacktomyhotelroom,awayfromhim.
Hisvoice,callingmyname,ranginmyearslongafterIhadclosedthedoor24
Thereisnothingmoredisconcertingtopassers-bythantoseeamaninawheelchairpleadingwithawomanwhoismeanttobelookingafterhim.It’sapparentlynotreallythedonethingtobeangrywithyourdisabledcharge.
Especiallywhenheisplainlyunabletomove,andissaying,gently,‘Clark.Please.Justcomeoverhere.Please.’
ButIcouldn’t.Icouldn’tlookathim.NathanhadpackedupWill’sstuff,andIhadmetthembothinthelobbythefollowingmorning–Nathanstillgroggyfromhishangover–andfromthemomentwehadtobeineachother’scompanyagain,Irefusedtohaveanythingtodowithhim.Iwasfuriousandmiserable.Therewasaninsistent,ragingvoiceinsidemyhead,whichdemandedtobeasfaraspossiblefromWill.Togohome.Toneverseehimagain.
‘Youokay?’Nathansaid,appearingatmyshoulder.
Assoonaswearrivedattheairport,Ihadmarchedawayfromthemtothecheck-indesk.
‘No,’Isaid.‘AndIdon’twanttotalkaboutit.’
‘Hungover?’
‘No.’
Therewasashortsilence.
‘ThismeanwhatIthinkitdoes?’Hewassuddenlysombre.
Icouldn’tspeak.Inodded,andIwatchedNathan’sjawstiffenbriefly.HewasstrongerthanIwas,though.Hewas,afterall,aprofessional.WithinminuteshewasbackwithWill,showinghimsomethinghehadseeninamagazine,wonderingaloudabouttheprospectsforsomefootballteamtheybothknewof.Watchingthem,youwouldknownothingofthemomentousnessofthenewsIhadjustimparted.
Imanagedtomakemyselfbusyfortheentirewaitattheairport.Ifoundathousandsmalltaskstodo–busyingmyselfwithluggagelabels,buyingcoffee,perusingnewspapers,goingtotheloo–allofwhichmeantthatIdidn’thavetolookathim.Ididn’thavetotalktohim.ButeverynowandthenNathanwoulddisappearandwewereleftalone,sittingbesideeachother,theshortdistancebetweenusjanglingwithunspokenrecriminations.
‘Clark–’hewouldbegin.
‘Don’t,’Iwouldcuthimoff.‘Idon’twanttotalktoyou.’
IsurprisedmyselfwithhowcoldIcouldbe.Icertainlysurprisedtheairstewardesses.Isawthemontheflight,mutteringbetweenthemselvesatthewayIturnedrigidlyawayfromWill,pluggingmyearphonesinorresolutelystaringoutofthewindow.
Foronce,hedidn’tgetangry.Thatwasalmosttheworstofit.Hedidn’tgetangry,andhedidn’tgetsarcastic,andhesimplygrewquieteruntilhebarelyspoke.ItwaslefttopoorNathantobouncetheconversationalong,toaskquestionsaboutteaorcoffeeorsparepacketsofdry-roastedpeanutsorwhetheranyonemindedifheclimbedpastustogototheloo.
Itprobablysoundschildishnow,butitwasnotjustamatterofpride.Icouldn’tbearit.Icouldn’tbearthethoughtthatIwouldlosehim,thathewassostubborn,anddeterminednottoseewhatwasgood,whatcouldbegood,thathewouldnotchangehismind.Icouldn’tbelievethathewouldsticktothatonedate,asifitwerecastinstone.Amillionsilentargumentsrattledaroundmyhead.Whyisthisnotenoughforyou?WhyamInotenoughforyou?Whycouldyounothaveconfidedinme?Ifwe’dhadmoretime,wouldthishavebeendifferent?EverynowandthenIwouldcatchmyselfstaringdownathistannedhands,thosesquared-offfingers,justinchesfrommyown,andIwouldrememberhowourfingersfeltentwined–thewarmthofhim,theillusion,eveninstillness,ofakindofstrength–andalumpwouldriseinmythroatuntilIthoughtIcouldbarelybreatheandIhadtoretreat
SoalthoughIlookedchildish–althoughIseemedtothecabinstaff(asIdeclinedtotalktoWill,tolookathim,tofeedhim)asifIwerethemostheartlessofwomen–IknewthatpretendinghewasnottherewasabouttheonlywayIcouldcopewiththesehoursofenforcedproximity.IfIhadbelievedNathancapableofcopingaloneIwouldhonestlyhavechangedmyflight,perhapsevendisappeareduntilIcouldmakesurethattherewasbetweenusawholecontinent,notjustafewimpossibleinches.
Thetwomenslept,anditcameassomethingofarelief–abriefrespitefromthetension.Istaredatthetelevisionscreenand,witheverymilethatweheadedtowardshome,Ifeltmyheartgrowheavier,myanxietygreater.Itbegantooccurtomethenthatmyfailurewasnotjustmyown;Will’sparentsweregoingtobedevastated.Theywouldprobablyblameme.Will’ssisterwouldprobablysueme.AnditwasmyfailureforWilltoo.Ihadfailedtopersuadehim.IhadofferedhimeverythingIcould,includingmyself,andnothingIhadshownhimhadconvincedhimofareasontokeepliving.
Perhaps,Ifoundmyselfthinking,hehaddeservedsomeonebetterthanme.Someonecleverer.SomeonelikeTreenamighthavethoughtofbetterthingstodo.Theymighthavefoundsomerarepieceofmedicalresearchorsomethingthatcouldhavehelpedhim.Theymighthavechangedhismind.ThefactthatIwasgoingtohavetolivewiththisknowledge
‘Wantadrink,Clark?’Will’svoicewouldbreakintomythoughts.
‘No.Thankyou.’
‘Ismyelbowtoofaroveryourarmrest?’
‘No.It’sfine.’
Itwasonlyinthoselastfewhours,inthedark,thatIallowedmyselftolookathim.MygazeslidslowlysidewaysfrommyglowingtelevisionscreenuntilIgazedathimsurreptitiouslyinthedimlightofthelittlecabin.AndasItookinhisface,sotannedandhandsome,sopeacefulinsleep,asolitarytearrolleddownmycheek.PerhapsinsomewayconsciousofmyscrutinyWillstirred,butdidn’twake.Andunseenbythecabinstaff,byNathan,Ipulledhisblanketslowlyuparoundhisneck,tuckingitincarefully,tomakesure,inthechillofthecabinairconditioning,thatWillwouldnotfeelthecold.
TheywerewaitingattheArrivalsGate.Ihadsomehowknowntheywouldbe.IhadfeltthefaintlysicksensationexpandinginsidemeevenaswewheeledWillthroughpassportcontrol,fast-trackedbysomewell-meaningofficialevenasIprayedthatwewouldbeforcedtowait,stuckinaqueuethatlastedhours,preferablydays.Butno,wecrossedthevastexpanseoflinoleum,mepushingthebaggagetrolley,NathanpushingWill,andastheglassdoorsopened,theretheywere,standingatthebarrier,sidebysideinsomeraresemblanceofunity.IsawMrsTraynor’sfacebrieflylightupasshesawWillandIthought,absently,Ofcourse–helookssowell.And,tomyshame,Iputonmysunglasses–nottohidemyexhaustion,butsothatshewouldn’timmediatelyseefrommynakedexpressionwhatitwasIwasgoingtohavetotellher.
‘Lookatyou!’shewasexclaiming.‘Will,youlookwonderful.Reallywonderful.’
Will’sfatherhadstooped,waspattinghisson’schair,hisknee,hisfacewreathedinsmiles.‘Wecouldn’tbelieveitwhenNathantoldusyouweredownonthebeacheveryday.Andswimming!Whatwasthewaterlike,then–lovelyandwarm?It’sbeenrainingcatsanddogshere.TypicalAugust!’
Ofcourse.Nathanwouldhavebeentextingthemorcallingthem.Asiftheywouldhaveletusgoallthattimewithoutsomekindofcontact.
‘It…itwasaprettyamazingplace,’saidNathan.Hehadgrownquiettoo,butnowtriedtosmile,toseemhisnormalself.
Ifeltfrozen,myhandclutchingmypassportlikeIwasabouttogosomewhereelse.Ihadtoremindmyselftobreathe.
‘Well,wethoughtyoumightlikeaspecialdinner,’Will’sfathersaid.‘There’sajollynicerestaurantattheIntercontinental.Champagneonus.Whatdoyouthink?YourmotherandIthoughtitmightbeanicetreat.’
‘Sure,’saidWill.Hewassmilingathismotherandshewaslookingbackathimasifshewantedtobottleit.Howcanyou?Iwantedtoyellathim.Howcanyoulookatherlikethatwhenyoualreadyknowwhatyouaregoingtodotoher?
‘Comeon,then.I’vegotthecarindisabledparking.It’sonlyashortridefromhere.Iwasprettysureyou’dallbeabitjet-lagged.Nathan,doyouwantmetotakeanyofthosebags?’
Myvoicebrokeintotheconversation.‘Actually,’Isaid–Iwasalreadypullingmyluggagefromthetrolley–‘IthinkI’mgoingtoheadoff.Thankyou,anyway.’
Iwasfocusedonmybag,deliberatelynotlookingatthem,butevenabovethehubbuboftheairportIcoulddetectthebriefsilencemywordsprovoked.
MrTraynor’svoicewasthefirsttobreakit.‘Comeon,Louisa.Let’shavealittlecelebration.Wewanttohearallaboutyouradventures.Iwanttoknowallabouttheisland.AndIpromiseyoudon’thavetotelluseverything.’Healmostchuckled.
‘Yes.’MrsTraynor’svoicehadafaintedgetoit.‘Docome,Louisa.’
‘No.’Iswallowed,triedtoraiseablandsmile.Mysunglasseswereashield.‘Thankyou.I’dreallyrathergetback.’
‘Towhere?’saidWill.
Irealizedwhathewassaying.Ididn’treallyhaveanywheretogo.
‘I’llgotomyparents’house.Itwillbefine.’
‘Comewithus,’hesaid.Hisvoicewasgentle.‘Don’tgo,Clark.Please.’
Iwantedtocrythen.ButIknewwithuttercertaintythatIcouldn’tbeanywherenearhim.‘No.Thankyou.Ihopeyouhavealovelymeal.’Ihoistedmybagovermyshoulderand,beforeanyonecouldsayanythingelse,Iwaswalkingawayfromthem,swallowedupbythecrowdsintheterminal.
IwasalmostatthebusstopwhenIheardher.CamillaTraynor,herheelsclippingonthepavement,halfwalked,halfrantowardsme.
‘Stop.Louisa.Pleasestop.’
Iturned,andshewasforcingherwaythroughacoachparty,castingthebackpackingteenagersasidelikeMosespartingthewaves.Theairportlightswerebrightonherhair,turningitakindofcoppercolour.Shewaswearingafinegreypashmina,whichdrapedartisticallyoveroneshoulder.Irememberthinkingabsentlyhowbeautifulshemusthavebeen,onlyafewyearsearlier.
‘Please.Pleasestop.’
Istopped,glancingbehindmeattheroad,wishingthatthebuswouldappearnow,thatitwouldscoopmeupandtakemeaway.Thatanythingwouldhappen.Asmallearthquake,maybe.
‘Louisa?’
‘Hehadagoodtime.’Myvoicesoundedclipped.Oddlylikeherown,Ifoundmyselfthinking.
‘Hedoeslookwell.Verywell.’Shestaredatme,standingthereonthepavement.Shewassuddenlyacutelystill,despitetheseaofpeoplemovingaroundher.
Wedidn’tspeak.
AndthenIsaid,‘MrsTraynor,I’dliketohandinmynotice.Ican’t…Ican’tdotheselastfewdays.I’llforfeitanymoneyowedtome.Infact,Idon’twantthismonth’smoney.Idon’twantanything.Ijust–’
Shewentpalethen.Isawthecolourdrainfromherface,thewaysheswayedalittleinthemorningsunshine.IsawMrTraynorcomingupbehindher,hisstridebrisk,onehandholdinghispanamahatfirmlyonhishead.Hewasmutteringhisapologiesashepushedthroughthecrowds,hiseyesfixedonmeandhiswifeaswestoodrigidlyafewfeetapart.
‘You…yousaidyouthoughthewashappy.Yousaidyouthoughtthismightchangehismind.’Shesoundeddesperate,asifshewerepleadingwithmetosaysomethingelse,togivehersomedifferentresult.
Icouldn’tspeak.Istaredather,andthemostIcouldmanagewasasmallshakeofmyhead.
‘I’msorry,’Iwhispered,soquietlythatshecouldnothaveheardme.
Hewasalmostthereasshefell.Itwasasifherlegsjustgavewayunderher,andMrTraynor’sleftarmshotoutandcaughtherasshewentdown,hermouthagreatO,herbodyslumpedagainsthis.
Hishatfelltothepavement.Heglancedupatme,hisfaceconfused,notyetregisteringwhathadjusttakenplace.
AndIcouldn’tlook.Iturned,numb,andIbegantowalk,onefootinfrontoftheother,mylegsmovingalmostbeforeIknewwhattheyweredoing,awayfromtheairport,notyetevenknowingwhereitwasIwasgoingtogo.25Katrina
Louisadidn’tcomeoutofherroomforawholethirty-sixhoursaftershegotbackfromherholiday.ShearrivedbackfromtheairportlateeveningontheSunday,paleasaghostunderhersuntan–andwecouldn’tworkthatoutforastart,asshehaddefinitelysaidshe’dseeusfirstthingMondaymorning.Ijustneedtosleep,shehadsaid,thenshutherselfinherroomandgonestraighttobed.Wehadthoughtitalittleodd,butwhatdidweknow?Louhasbeenpeculiarsincebirth,afterall.
Mumhadtakenupamugofteainthemorning,andLouhadnotstirred.Bysupper,Mumhadbecomeworriedandshakenher,checkingshewasalive.(Shecanbeabitmelodramatic,Mum–although,tobefair,shehadmadefishpieandsheprobablyjustwantedtomakesureLouwasn’tgoingtomissit.)ButLouwouldn’teat,andshewouldn’ttalkandshewouldn’tcomedownstairs.Ijustwanttostayhereforabit,Mum,shesaid,intoherpillow.Finally,Mumleftheralone.
‘She’snotherself,’saidMum.‘Doyouthinkit’ssomekindofdelayedreactiontothethingwithPatrick?’
‘Shecouldn’tgiveastuffaboutPatrick,’Dadsaid.‘Itoldherherangtotellushecame157thintheVikingthing,andshecouldn’thavelookedlessinterested.’Hesippedhistea.‘Mindyou,tobefaironher,evenIfounditprettyhardtogetexcitedabout157th.’
‘Doyouthinkshe’sill?She’sawfulpaleunderthattan.Andallthatsleeping.It’sjustnotlikeher.Shemighthavesometerribletropicaldisease.’
‘She’sjustjet-lagged,’Isaid.Isaiditwithsomeauthority,knowingthatMumandDadtendedtotreatmeasanexpertonallsortsofmattersthatnoneofusreallyknewanythingabout.
‘Jetlag!Well,ifthat’swhatlong-haultraveldoestoyou,IthinkI’llstickwithTenby.Whatdoyouthink,Josie,love?’
‘Idon’tknow…whowouldhavethoughtaholidaycouldmakeyoulooksoill?’Mumshookherhead.
Iwentupstairsaftersupper.Ididn’tknock.(Itwasstill,strictlyspeaking,myroom,afterall.)Theairwasthickandstale,andIpulledtheblindupandopenedawindow,sothatLouturnedgroggilyfromundertheduvet,shieldinghereyesfromthelight,dustmotesswirlingaroundher.
‘Yougoingtotellmewhathappened?’Iputamugofteaonthebedsidetable.
Sheblinkedatme.
‘Mumthinksyou’vegotEbolavirus.She’sbusywarningalltheneighbourswhohavebookedontotheBingoClubtriptoPortAventura.’
Shedidn’tsayanything.
‘Lou?’
‘Iquit,’shesaid,quietly.
‘Why?’
‘Whydoyouthink?’Shepushedherselfupright,andreachedclumsilyforthemug,takingalongsipoftea.
ForsomeonewhohadjustspentalmosttwoweeksinMauritius,shelookedbloodyawful.Hereyesweretinyandred-rimmed,andherskin,withoutthetan,wouldhavebeenevenblotchier.Herhairstuckupononeside.Shelookedlikeshe’dbeenawakeforseveralyears.Butmostofallshelookedsad.Ihadneverseenmysisterlooksosad.
‘Youthinkhe’sreallygoingtogothroughwithit?’
Shenodded.Thensheswallowed,hard.
‘Shit.Oh,Lou.I’mreallysorry.’
Imotionedtohertoshoveover,andIclimbedintobedbesideher.Shetookanothersipofhertea,andthenleantherheadonmyshoulder.ShewaswearingmyT-shirt.Ididn’tsayanythingaboutit.ThatwashowbadIfeltforher.
‘WhatdoIdo,Treen?’
Hervoicewassmall,likeThomas’s,whenhehurtshimselfandistryingtobereallybrave.Outsidewecouldhearnextdoor’sdogrunningupanddownalongsidethegardenfence,chasingtheneighbourhoodcats.Everynowandthenwecouldhearaburstofmanicbarking;itsheadwouldbepoppingupoverthetoprightnow,itseyesbulgingwithfrustration.
‘I’mnotsurethere’sanythingyoucando.God.Allthatstuffyoufixedupforhim.Allthateffort…’
‘ItoldhimIlovedhim,’shesaid,hervoicedroppingtoawhisper.‘Andhejustsaiditwasn’tenough.’Hereyeswerewideandbleak.‘HowamIsupposedtolivewiththat?’
Iamtheoneinthefamilywhoknowseverything.Ireadmorethananyoneelse.Igotouniversity.Iamtheonewhoissupposedtohavealltheanswers.
ButIlookedatmybigsister,andIshookmyhead.‘Ihaven’tgotaclue,’Isaid.
Shefinallyemergedthefollowingday,showeredandwearingcleanclothes,andItoldMumandDadnottosayaword.Iimplieditwasboyfriendtrouble,andDadraisedhiseyebrowsandmadeafaceasifthatexplainedeverythingandGodonlyknewwhatwehadbeenworkingourselvesintosuchafussover.MumranofftoringtheBingoClubandtellthemshe’dhadsecondthoughtsabouttherisksofairtravel.
Louateapieceoftoast(shedidn’twantlunch)andsheputonabigfloppysunhatandwewalkeduptothecastlewithThomastofeedtheducks.Idon’tthinkshereallywantedtogoout,butMuminsistedthatweallneededsomefreshair.This,inmymother’svocabulary,meantshewasitchingtogetintothebedroomandairitandchangethebedding.Thomasskippedandhoppedaheadofus,clutchingaplasticbagfullofcrusts,andwenegotiatedthemeanderingtouristswithaneasebornofyearsofpractice,duckingoutofthewayofswingingbackpacks,separatingaroundposingcouplesandrejoiningontheotherside.Thecastlebakedinthehighheatofsummer,thegroundcrackedandthegrasswispy,likethelasthairsontheheadofabaldingman.Theflowersinthetubslookeddefeated,asiftheywerealreadyhalfpreparingforautumn
LouandIdidn’tsaymuch.Whatwastheretosay?
AswewalkedpastthetouristcarparkIsawherglanceunderherbrimattheTraynors’house.Itstood,elegantandred-brick,itstallblankwindowsdisguisingwhateverlife-changingdramawasbeingplayedoutinthere,perhapsevenatthismoment
‘Youcouldgoandtalktohim,youknow,’Isaid.‘I’llwaithereforyou.’
Shelookedattheground,foldedherarmsacrossherchest,andwekeptwalking.‘There’snopoint,’shesaid.Iknewtheotherbit,thebitshedidn’tsayaloud.He’sprobablynoteventhere
Wedidaslowcircuitofthecastle,watchingThomasrolldownthesteeppartsofthehill,feedingtheducksthatbythisstageintheseasonweresowellstuffedtheycouldbarelybebotheredtocomeoverformerebread.Iwatchedmysisteraswewalked,seeingherbrownbackexposedbyherhalter-necktop,herstoopedshoulders,andIrealizedthatevenifshedidn’tknowityet,everythinghadchangedforher.Shewouldn’tstayherenow,nomatterwhathappenedwithWillTraynor.Shehadanairabouther,anewairofknowledge,ofthingsseen,placesshehadbeen.Mysisterfinallyhadnewhorizons.
‘Oh,’Isaid,asweheadedbacktowardsthegates,‘yougotaletter.Fromthecollege,whileyouwereaway.Sorry–Iopenedit.Ithoughtitmustbeforme.’
‘Youopenedit?’
Ihadbeenhopingitwasextragrantmoney.
‘Yougotaninterview.’
Sheblinked,asifreceivingnewsfromsomelong-distantpast.
‘Yeah.Andthebignewsis,it’stomorrow,’Isaid.‘SoIthoughtmaybeweshouldgooversomepossiblequestionstonight.’
Sheshookherhead.‘Ican’tgotoaninterviewtomorrow.’
‘Whatelseareyougoingtodo?’
‘Ican’t,Treen,’shesaid,sorrowfully.‘HowamIsupposedtothinkaboutanythingatatimelikethis?’
‘Listen,Lou.Theydon’tgiveinterviewsoutlikebreadforducks,youeejit.Thisisabigdeal.Theyknowyou’reamaturestudent,you’reapplyingatthewrongtimeofyear,andthey’restillgoingtoseeyou.Youcan’tmuckthemaround.’
‘Idon’tcare.Ican’tthinkaboutit.’
‘Butyou–’
‘Justleavemealone,Treen.Okay?Ican’tdoit.’
‘Hey,’Isaid.Isteppedinfrontofhersothatshecouldn’tkeepwalking.Thomaswastalkingtoapigeon,afewpacesupahead.‘Thisisexactlythetimeyouhavetothinkaboutit.Thisisthetimewhen,likeitornot,youfinallyhavetoworkoutwhatyouaregoingtodowiththerestofyourlife.’
Wewereblockingthepath.Nowthetouristshadtoseparatetowalkaroundus–theydidso,headsdownoreyeingwithmildcuriositythearguingsisters
‘Ican’t.’
‘Well,tough.Because,incaseyouforgot,youhavenojobanymore.NoPatricktopickupthepieces.Andifyoumissthisinterview,thenintwodays’timeyouareheadedbackdowntheJobCentretodecidewhetheryouwanttobeachickenprocessororalapdancerorwipesomeotherperson’sbumforaliving.Andbelieveitornot,becauseyouarenowheadedforthirty,that’syourlifeprettywellmappedout.Andallofthis–everythingyou’velearntoverthepastsixmonths–willhavebeenawasteoftime.Allofit.’
Shestaredatme,wearingthatlookofmutefuryshewearswhensheknowsIamrightandshecan’tsayanythingback.Thomasappearedbesideusnowandpulledatmyhand.
‘Mum…yousaidbum.’
Mysisterwasstillglaringatme.ButIcouldseeherthinking.
Iturnedtomyson.‘No,sweetheart,Isaidbun.We’regoingtogohomeforteanow–aren’twe,Lou?–andseeifwecanhavesomebuns.Andthen,whileGrannygivesyouabath,I’mgoingtohelpAuntieLoudoherhomework.’
Iwenttothelibrarythenextday,andMumlookedafterThomas,soIsawLouoffonthebusandknewIwouldn’tseeheragaintillteatime.Ididn’tholdoutalotofhopefortheinterview,butfromthemomentIleftherIdidn’tactuallygiveheranotherthought.
Itmightsoundabitselfish,butIdon’tlikegettingbehindwithmycoursework,anditwasabitofarelieftohaveabreakfromLou’smisery.Beingaroundsomeonethatdepressedisabitofadrain.Youmightfeelsorryforthem,butyoucan’thelpwantingtotellthemtopullthemselvestogethertoo.Ishovedmyfamily,mysister,theepicmessshehadgotherselfinto,intoamentalfile,shutthedrawer,andfocusedmyattentiononVATexemptions.Igotthesecond-highestmarksinmyyearforAccountancy1andtherewasnowayonearthIwasdroppingbackjustbecauseofthevagariesofHMRC’sflatratesystem.
Igothomearoundaquartertosix,putmyfilesonthehallchair,andtheywerealllurkingaroundthekitchentablealready,whileMumbegantoserveup.Thomasjumpedonme,windinghislegsaroundmywaist,andIkissedhim,breathinginhislovelyyeastylittle-boysmell.
‘Sitdown,sitdown,’Mumsaid.‘Dad’sonlyjustin.’
‘How’dyougetonwithyourbooks?’Dadsaid,hanginghisjacketonthebackofthechair.Healwaysreferredtothemas‘mybooks’.Liketheyhadalifeoftheirownandhadtobewrangledintoorder.
‘Good,thanks.I’mthree-quartersofthewaythroughmyAccountancy2module.AndthentomorrowI’moncorporatelaw.’IpeeledThomasfrommeandputhimdownonthechairnexttome,onehandrestinginhissofthair.
‘Hearthat,Josie?Corporatelaw.’DadstoleapotatofromthedishandstuffeditintohismouthbeforeMumcouldsee.Hesaiditlikeherelishedthesoundofit.Isupposeheprobablydid.Wechattedforabitaboutthekindsofthingsmymoduleinvolved.ThenwetalkedaboutDad’sjob–mostlyabouthowthetouristsbrokeeverything.Youwouldn’tbelievethemaintenance,apparently.Eventhewoodenpostsatthecarparkgatewayneededreplacingeveryfewweeksbecausetheeejitscouldn’tdriveacarthroughatwelve-footgap.Personally,Iwouldhaveputasurchargeontheticketpricetocoverit–butthat’sjustme.
Mumfinishedservingup,andfinallysatdown.Thomasatewithhisfingerswhilehethoughtnobodynoticedandsaidbumunderhisbreathwithasecretsmile,andGranddadatewithhisgazetiltedupwards,asifhewereactuallythinkingaboutsomethingelseentirely.IglancedoveratLou.Shewasgazingatherplate,pushingtheroastchickenaroundasiftryingtodisguiseit.Uh-oh,Ithought.
‘Younothungry,love?’saidMum,followingthelineofmygaze.
‘Notvery,’shesaid.
‘Itisverywarmforchicken,’Mumconceded.‘Ijustthoughtyouneededperkingupabit.’
‘So…yougoingtotellushowyougotonatthisinterview?’Dad’sforkstoppedhalfwaytohismouth.
‘Oh,that.’Shelookeddistracted,asifhehadjustdredgedupsomethingshedidfiveyearsago.
‘Yes,that.’
Shespearedatinypieceofchicken.‘Itwasokay.’
Dadglancedatme.
Igaveatinyshrug.‘Justokay?Theymusthavegivenyousomeideahowyoudid.’
‘Igotit.’
‘What?’
Shewasstilllookingdownatherplate.Istoppedchewing.
‘TheysaidIwasexactlythekindofapplicanttheywerelookingfor.I’vegottodosomekindoffoundationcourse,whichtakesayear,andthenIcanconvertit.’
Dadsatbackinhischair.‘That’sfantasticnews.’
Mumreachedoverandpattedhershoulder.‘Oh,welldone,love.That’sbrilliant.’
‘Notreally.Idon’tthinkIcanaffordfouryearsofstudy.’
‘Don’tyouworryaboutthatjustnow.Really.LookhowwellTreena’smanaging.Hey–’henudgedher‘–we’llfindaway.Wealwaysfindaway,don’twe?’Dadbeamedatusboth.‘Ithinkeverything’sturningaroundforus,now,girls.Ithinkthisisgoingtobeagoodtimeforthisfamily.’
Andthen,outofnowhere,sheburstintotears.Realtears.ShecriedlikeThomascries,wailing,allsnotandtearsandnotcaringwhohears,hersobsbreakingthroughthesilenceofthelittleroomlikeaknife.
Thomasstaredather,open-mouthed,sothatIhadtohaulhimontomylapanddistracthimsothathedidn’tgetupsettoo.AndwhileIfiddledwithbitsofpotatoandtalkingpeasandmadesillyvoices,shetoldthem.
Shetoldthemeverything–aboutWillandthesix-monthcontractandwhathadhappenedwhentheywenttoMauritius.Asshespoke,Mum’shandswenttohermouth.Granddadlookedsolemn.Thechickengrewcold,thegravycongealinginitsboat.
Dadshookhisheadindisbelief.Andthen,asmysisterdetailedherflighthomefromtheIndianOcean,hervoicedroppingtoawhisperasshespokeofherlastwordstoMrsTraynor,hepushedhischairbackandstoodup.Hewalkedslowlyaroundthetableandhetookherinhisarms,likehehadwhenwewerelittle.Hestoodthereandheldherreally,reallytightlytohim.
‘OhJesusChrist,thepoorfella.Andpooryou.OhJesus.’
I’mnotsureIeversawDadlooksoshocked.
‘Whatabloodymess.’
‘Youwentthroughallthis?Withoutsayinganything?Andallwegotwasapostcardaboutscubadiving?’Mymotherwasincredulous.‘Wethoughtyouwerehavingtheholidayofalifetime.’
‘Iwasn’talone.Treenaknew,’shesaid,lookingatme.‘Treenawasgreat.’
‘Ididn’tdoanything,’Isaid,huggingThomas.HehadlostinterestintheconversationnowthatMumhadputanopentinofCelebrationsinfrontofhim.‘Iwasjustanear.Youdidthelot.Youcameupwithalltheideas.’
‘Andsomeideastheyturnedouttobe.’SheleantagainstDad,soundingbereft.
Dadtiltedherchinsothatshehadtolookathim.‘Butyoudideverythingyoucould.’
‘AndIfailed.’
‘Whosaysyoufailed?’Dadstrokedherhairbackfromherface.Hisexpressionwastender.‘I’mjustthinkingofwhatIknowaboutWillTraynor,whatIknowaboutmenlikehim.AndI’llsayonethingtoyou.I’mnotsureanyoneintheworldwasevergoingtopersuadethatmanoncehe’dsethismindtosomething.He’swhoheis.Youcan’tmakepeoplechangewhotheyare.’
‘Buthisparents!Theycan’tlethimkillhimself,’saidMum.‘Whatkindofpeoplearethey?’
‘They’renormalpeople,Mum.MrsTraynorjustdoesn’tknowwhatelseshecando.’
‘Well,notbloodytakinghimtothisclinicwouldbeastart.’Mumwasangry.Twopointsofcolourhadrisentohercheekbones.‘Iwouldfightforyoutwo,forThomas,untilmydyingbreath.’
‘Evenifhe’dalreadytriedtokillhimself?’Isaid.‘Inreallygrimways?’
‘He’sill,Katrina.He’sdepressed.Peoplewhoarevulnerableshouldnotbegiventhechancetodosomethingthatthey’ll…’Shetailedoffinmutefuryanddabbedathereyeswithanapkin.‘Thatwomanmustbeheartless.Heartless.AndtothinktheygotLouisainvolvedinallthis.She’samagistrate,forgoodness’sake.You’dthinkamagistratewouldknowwhatwasrightorwrong.Ofallpeople.I’veagoodmindtoheaddowntherenowandbringhimbackhere.’
‘It’scomplicated,Mum.’
‘No.It’snot.He’svulnerableandthereisnowayonearthsheshouldentertainthethoughtofit.I’mshocked.Thatpoorman.Thatpoorman.’Shegotupfromthetable,takingtheremainsofthechickenwithher,andstalkedouttothekitchen.
Louisawatchedhergo,herexpressionalittlestunned.Mumwasneverangry.Ithinkthelasttimeweheardherraisehervoicewas1993.
Dadshookhishead,hismindapparentlyelsewhere.‘I’vejustthought–nowonderIhaven’tseenMrTraynor.Iwonderedwherehewas.Iassumedtheywerealloffonsomefamilyholiday.’
‘They’ve…they’vegone?’
‘He’snotbeenintheselasttwodays.’
Lousatbackdownandslumpedinherchair.
‘Ohshit,’Isaid,andthenclampedmyhandsaroundThomas’sears.
‘It’stomorrow.’
Loulookedatme,andIglancedupatthecalendaronthewall.
‘ThethirteenthofAugust.It’stomorrow.’
Loudidnothingthatlastday.Shewasupbeforeme,staringoutofthekitchenwindow.Itrained,andthenitcleared,andthenitrainedagain.ShelayonthesofawithGranddad,andshedranktheteathatMummadeher,andeveryhalfanhourorsoIwatchedhergazeslidesilentlytowardsthemantelpieceandchecktheclock.Itwasawfultowatch.ItookThomasswimmingandItriedtomakehercomewithus.IsaidMumwouldmindhimifshewantedtogototheshopswithmelater.IsaidI’dtakehertothepub,justthetwoofus,butsherefusedeveryoffer.
‘WhatifImadeamistake,Treen?’shesaid,soquietlythatonlyIcouldhearit.
IglancedupatGranddad,buthehadeyesonlyfortheracing.IthinkDadwasstillputtingonasneakybeteachwayforhim,eventhoughhedeniedittoMum.
‘Whatdoyoumean?’
‘WhatifIshouldhavegonewithhim?’
‘But…yousaidyoucouldn’t.’
Outside,theskiesweregrey.Shestaredthroughourimmaculatewindowsatthemiserabledaybeyond.
‘IknowwhatIsaid.ButIjustcan’tbearnotknowingwhat’shappening.’Herfacecrumpledalittle.‘Ican’tbearnotknowinghowhe’sfeeling.Ican’tbearthefactthatIneverevengottosaygoodbye.’
‘Couldn’tyougonow?Maybetryandgetaflight?’
‘It’stoolate,’shesaid.Andthensheclosedhereyes.‘I’dnevergetthereintime.There’sonlytwohoursleftuntil…untilitstopsfortheday.Ilookeditup.Ontheinternet.’
Iwaited.
‘Theydon’t…do…it…afterfivethirty.’Sheshookherheadinbemusement.‘SomethingtodowiththeSwissofficialswhohavetobethere.Theydon’tlike…certifying…thingsoutsideofficehours.’
Ialmostlaughed.ButIdidn’tknowwhattosaytoher.Icouldn’timaginehavingtowait,asshewaswaiting,knowingwhatmightbehappeninginsomefar-offplace.IhadneverlovedamanlikesheseemedtoloveWill.Ihadlikedmen,sure,andwantedtosleepwiththem,butsometimesIwonderedifIwasmissingsomesensitivitychip.Icouldn’timaginecryingoveranyoneI’dbeenwith.TheonlyequivalentwasifIthoughtaboutThomas,waitingtodieinsomestrangecountry,andassoonasthatthoughtcametominditmadesomethinginsidemeactuallyflipover,itwassohideous.SoIstuckthatinthebackofmymentalfilingcabinettoo,underthedrawerlabelled:Unthinkable
IsatdownbesidemysisteronthesofaandwestaredinsilenceatthethreethirtyMaidenStakes,thenthefouro’clockhandicapstakes,andthefourracesthatfollowedit,withthefixedintensityofpeoplewhomightactuallyhaveallthemoneyintheworldonthewinner.
Andthenthedoorbellrang.
Louisawasoffthesofaandinthehallwayinseconds.Sheopenedthedoorandthewayshewrencheditopenmadeevenmyheartstop.
Butitwasn’tWillthereonthedoorstep.Itwasayoungwoman,hermake-upthickandperfectlyapplied,herhaircutinaneatbobaroundherchin.Shefoldedherumbrellaandsmiled,reachingroundtowardsthelargebagshehadoverhershoulder.IwonderedbrieflyifthiswasWillTraynor’ssister.
‘LouisaClark?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’mfromTheGlobe.IwonderedifIcouldhaveaquickword?’
‘TheGlobe?’
IcouldheartheconfusioninLou’svoice.
‘Thenewspaper?’Isteppedbehindmysister.Isawthenthenotepadinthewoman’shand.
‘CanIcomein?I’djustliketohavealittlechatwithyouaboutWilliamTraynor.YoudoworkforWilliamTraynor,don’tyou?’
‘Nocomment,’Isaid.Andbeforethewomanhadachancetosayanythingelse,Islammedthedoorinherface.
Mysisterstoodstunnedinthehallway.Sheflinchedasthedoorbellrangagain.
‘Don’tanswerit,’Ihissed.
‘Buthow–?’
Ibegantopushherupthestairs.God,shewasimpossiblyslow.Itwaslikeshewashalfasleep.‘Granddad,don’tanswerthedoor!’Iyelled.‘Whohaveyoutold?’Isaid,whenwereachedthelanding.‘Someonemusthavetoldthem.Whoknows?’
‘MissClark,’thewoman’svoicecamethroughtheletterbox.‘Ifyoujustgivemetenminutes…wedounderstandthisisaverysensitiveissue.We’dlikeyoutoputyoursideofthestory…’
‘Doesthismeanhe’sdead?’Hereyeshadfilledwithtears.
‘No,itjustmeanssomearseistryingtocashin.’Ithoughtforaminute
‘Whowasthat,girls?’Mum’svoicecameupthestairwell.
‘Noone,Mum.Justdon’tanswerthedoor.’
Ipeeredoverthebanister.Mumwasholdingateatowelinherhandsandgazingattheshadowyfigurevisiblethroughtheglasspanelsofthefrontdoor.
‘Don’tanswerthedoor?’
Itookmysister’selbow.‘Lou…youdidn’tsayanythingtoPatrick,didyou?’
Shedidn’tneedtosayanything.Herstrickenfacesaiditall.
‘Okay.Don’thaveababy.Justdon’tgonearthedoor.Don’tanswerthephone.Don’tsayawordtothem,okay?’
Mumwasnotamused.Shewasevenlessamusedafterthephonestartedringing.Afterthefifthcallweputallcallsthroughtotheanswerphone,butwestillhadtolistentothem,theirvoicesinvadingourlittlehallway.Therewerefourorfiveofthem,allthesame.AllofferingLouthechancetoputhersideof‘thestory’,astheycalledit.LikeWillTraynorwasnowsomecommoditythattheywereallscrabblingover.Thetelephonerangandthedoorbellrang.Wesatwiththecurtainsclosed,listeningtothereportersonthepavementjustoutsideourgate,chattingtoeachotherandspeakingontheirmobilephones.
Itwaslikebeingundersiege.Mumwrungherhandsandshoutedthroughtheletterboxforthemtogetthehelloutofourfrontgarden,wheneveroneofthemventuredpastthegate.Thomasgazedoutoftheupstairsbathroomwindowandwantedtoknowwhytherewerepeopleinourgarden.Fourofourneighboursrang,wantingtoknowwhatwasgoingon.
Then,afterI’dthoughtabitlonger,IrangPatrickandaskedhimhowmuchhehadgotforhissordidlittletip.TheslightdelaybeforehedeniedeverythingtoldmeallIneededtoknow.
‘Youshitbag,’Iyelled.‘I’mgoingtokickyourstupidmarathon-runningshinssohardyou’regoingtothink157thwasactuallyagoodresult.’
Loujustsatinthekitchenandcried.Notpropersobbing,justsilenttearsthatrandownherfaceandwhichshewipedawaywiththepalmofherhand.Icouldn’tthinkwhattosaytoher.
Whichwasfine.Ihadplentytosaytoeveryoneelse.
Allbutoneofthereportersclearedoffbyhalfpastseven.Ididn’tknowiftheyhadgivenup,orifThomas’shabitofpostingbitsofLegooutoftheletterboxeverytimetheypassedanothernotethroughhadbecomeboring.ItoldLouisatobathThomasforme,mainlybecauseIwantedhertogetoutofthekitchen,butalsobecausethatwayIcouldgothroughallthemessagesonouranswerphoneanddeletethenewspaperoneswhileshecouldn’thearme.Twenty-six.Twenty-sixofthebuggers.Andallsoundingsonice,sounderstanding.Someofthemevenofferedhermoney.
Ipresseddeleteoneveryone.Eventhoseofferingmoney,althoughIadmitIwasateenybittemptedtoseehowmuchtheywereoffering.Allthewhile,IheardLoutalkingtoThomasinthebathroom,thewhineandsplashofhimdive-bombinghissixinchesofsoapsudswiththeBatmobile.That’sthethingyoudon’tknowaboutchildrenunlessyouhavethem–bathtime,Legoandfishfingersdon’tallowyoutodwellontragedyfortoolong.AndthenIhitthelastmessage.
‘Louisa?It’sCamillaTraynor.Willyoucallme?Assoonaspossible?’
Istaredattheanswerphone.Irewoundandreplayedit.ThenIranupstairsandwhippedThomasoutofthebathsofastmyboydidn’tevenknowwhathithim.Hewasstandingthere,thetowelwrappedtightlyaroundhimlikeacompressionbandage,andLou,stumblingandconfused,wasalreadyhalfwaydownthestairs,mepushingherbytheshoulder.
‘Whatifshehatesme?’
‘Shedidn’tsoundlikeshehatedyou.’
‘Butwhatifthepressaresurroundingthemthere?Whatiftheythinkit’sallmyfault?’Hereyeswerewideandterrified.‘Whatifshe’sringingtotellmehe’sdoneit?’
‘Oh,forChrist’ssake,Lou.Foronceinyourlife,justgetagrip.Youwon’tknowanythingunlessyoucall.Callher.Justcall.Youdon’thaveabloodychoice.’
Iranbackintothebathroom,tosetThomasfree.Ishovedhimintohispyjamas,toldhimthatGrannyhadabiscuitforhimifherantothekitchensuperfast.AndthenIpeeredoutofthebathroomdoor,topeekatmysisteronthephonedowninthehallway.
Shewasturnedawayfromme,onehandsmoothingthehairatthebackofherhead.Shereachedoutahandtosteadyherself.
‘Yes,’shewassaying.‘Isee.’Andthen,‘Okay.’
Andafterapause,‘Yes.’
Shelookeddownatherfeetforagoodminuteaftershe’dputthephonedown.
‘Well?’Isaid.
Shelookedupasifshe’donlyjustseenmethere,andshookherhead.
‘Itwasnothingaboutthenewspapers,’shesaid,hervoicestillnumbwithshock.‘Sheaskedme–beggedme–tocometoSwitzerland.Andshe’sbookedmeontothelastflightoutthisevening.’26
InothercircumstancesIsupposeitmighthaveseemedstrangethatI,LouClark,agirlwhohadrarelybeenmorethanabusridefromherhometownintwentyyears,wasnowflyingtoherthirdcountryinlessthanaweek.ButIpackedanovernightcasewiththeswiftefficiencyofanairstewardess,rejectingallbutthebarestnecessities.TreenaranaroundsilentlyfetchinganyotherthingsshethoughtImightneed,andthenweheadeddownstairs.Westoppedhalfwaydown.MumandDadwerealreadyinthehall,standingsidebysideintheominouswaytheyusedtodowhenwesneakedbacklatefromanightout.
‘What’sgoingon?’Mumwasstaringatmycase.
Treenahadstoppedinfrontofme.
‘Lou’sgoingtoSwitzerland,’shesaid.‘Andsheneedstoleavenow.There’sonlyoneflightlefttoday.’
WewereabouttomovewhenMumsteppedforward.
‘No.’Hermouthwassetintoanunfamiliarline,herarmsfoldedawkwardlyinfrontofher.‘Really.Idon’twantyouinvolved.IfthisiswhatIthinkitis,thenno.’
‘But–’Treenabegan,glancingbehindatme.
‘No,’saidMum,andhervoiceheldanunusuallysteelyquality.‘Nobuts.I’vebeenthinkingaboutthis,abouteverythingyoutoldus.It’swrong.Morallywrong.Andifyougetembroiledinitandyou’reseentobehelpingamankillhimself,thenyoucouldendupinallsortsoftrouble.’
‘Yourmum’sright,’Dadsaid.
‘We’veseenitinthenews.Thiscouldaffectyourwholelife,Lou.Thiscollegeinterview,everything.Ifyougetacriminalrecord,youwillnevergetacollegedegreeoragoodjoboranything–’
‘He’saskedforhertocome.Shecan’tjustignorehim,’Treenainterrupted.
‘Yes.Yes,shecan.She’sgivensixmonthsofherlifetothisfamily.Andafatlotofgoodit’sbroughther,judgingbythestateofthings.Afatlotofgoodit’sbroughtthisfamily,withpeoplebangingonthedoorandalltheneighboursthinkingwe’vebeendoneforbenefitfraudorsomesuch.No,she’sfinallygotthechancetomakesomethingofherself,andnowtheywanthertogotothatdreadfulplaceinSwitzerlandandgetinvolvedinGodknowswhat.Well,Isayno.No,Louisa.’
‘Butshehastogo,’Treenasaid.
‘No,shedoesn’t.She’sdoneenough.Shesaidherselflastnight,she’sdoneeverythingshecould.’Mumshookherhead.‘WhatevermesstheTraynorsaregoingtomakeoftheirlivesgoingtothis…this…whateverthey’regoingtodototheirownson,Idon’twantLouisainvolved.Idon’twantherruiningherwholelife.’
‘IthinkIcanmakemyownmindup,’Isaid.
‘I’mnotsureyoucan.Thisisyourfriend,Louisa.Thisisayoungmanwithhiswholelifeaheadofhim.Youcannotbepartofthis.I’m…I’mshockedthatyoucouldevenconsiderit.’Mum’svoicehadanew,hardedge.‘Ididn’tbringyouuptohelpsomeoneendhislife!WouldyouendGranddad’slife?DoyouthinkweshouldshovehimofftoDignitastoo?’
‘Granddadisdifferent.’
‘No,heisn’t.Hecan’tdowhatheusedto.Buthislifeisprecious.JustasWill’sisprecious.’
‘It’snotmydecision,Mum.It’sWill’s.ThewholepointofthisistosupportWill.’
‘SupportWill?I’veneverheardsuchrubbish.Youareachild,Louisa.You’veseennothing,donenothing.Andyouhavenoideawhatthisisgoingtodotoyou.HowinGod’snamewillyoueverbeabletosleepatnightifyouhelphimtogothroughwithit?You’dbehelpingamantodie.Doyoureallyunderstandthat?You’dbehelpingWill,thatlovely,cleveryoungman,todie.’
‘I’dsleepatnightbecauseItrustWilltoknowwhatisrightforhim,andbecausewhathasbeentheworstthingforhimhasbeenlosingtheabilitytomakeasingledecision,todoasinglethingforhimself…’Ilookedatmyparents,tryingtomakethemunderstand.‘I’mnotachild.Ilovehim.Ilovehim,andIshouldn’thavelefthimalone,andIcan’tbearnotbeingthereandnotknowingwhat…whathe’s…’Iswallowed.‘Soyes.I’mgoing.Idon’tneedyoutolookoutformeorunderstand.I’lldealwithit.ButI’mgoingtoSwitzerland–whatevereitherofyousays.’
Thelittlehallwaygrewsilent.MumstaredatmelikeshehadnoideawhoIwas.Itookastepclosertoher,tryingtomakeherunderstand.ButasIdid,shetookastepback.
‘Mum?IoweWill.Ioweittohimtogo.Whodoyouthinkgotmetoapplytocollege?Whodoyouthinkencouragedmetomakesomethingofmyself,totravelplaces,tohaveambitions?WhochangedthewayIthinkabouteverything?Aboutmyselfeven?Willdid.I’vedonemore,livedmore,inthelastsixmonthsthaninthelasttwenty-sevenyearsofmylife.SoifhewantsmetogotoSwitzerland,thenyes,I’mgoingtogo.Whatevertheoutcome.’
Therewasabriefsilence.
‘She’slikeAuntLily,’Dadsaid,quietly.
Weallstood,staringateachother.DadandTreenawereshootingglancesateachother,asifeachofthemwerewaitingfortheothertosaysomething.
ButMumbrokethesilence.‘Ifyougo,Louisa,youneedn’tcomeback.’
Thewordsfelloutofhermouthlikepebbles.Ilookedatmymotherinshock.Hergazewasunyielding.Ittensedasshewatchedformyreaction.ItwasasifawallIhadneverknownwastherehadsprungupbetweenus.
‘Mum?’
‘Imeanit.Thisisnobetterthanmurder.’
‘Josie…’
‘That’sthetruth,Bernard.Ican’tbepartofthis.’
Irememberthinking,asifatadistance,thatIhadneverseenKatrinalooksouncertainasshedidnow.IsawDad’shandreachouttoMum’sarm,whetherinreproachorcomfortIcouldn’ttell.Mymindwentbrieflyblank.ThenalmostwithoutknowingwhatIwasdoing,Iwalkedslowlydownthestairsandpastmyparentstothefrontdoor.Andafterasecond,mysisterfollowedme.
ThecornersofDad’smouthturneddown,asifhewerestrugglingtocontainallsortsofthings.ThenheturnedtoMum,andplacedonehandonhershoulder.Hereyessearchedhisfaceanditwasasifshealreadyknewwhathewasgoingtosay.
AndthenhethrewTreenahiskeys.Shecaughtthemone-handed.
‘Here,’hesaid.‘Gooutthebackdoor,throughMrsDoherty’sgarden,andtakethevan.Theywon’tseeyouinthevan.Ifyougonowandthetraffic’snottoobadyoumightjustmakeit.’
‘Youhaveanyideawherethisisallheaded?’Katrinasaid.
Sheglancedsidewaysatmeaswespeddownthemotorway.
‘Nope.’
Icouldn’tlookatherforlong–Iwasriflingthroughmyhandbag,tryingtoworkoutwhatIhadforgotten.IkepthearingthesoundofMrsTraynor’svoicedowntheline.Louisa?Pleasewillyoucome?Iknowwe’vehadourdifferences,butplease…It’svitalthatyoucomenow.
‘Shit.I’veneverseenMumlikethat,’Treenacontinued.
Passport,wallet,doorkeys.Doorkeys?Forwhat?Inolongerhadahome.
Katrinaglancedsidewaysatme.‘Imean,she’smadnow,butshe’sinshock.Youknowshe’llbeallrightintheend,right?Imean,whenIcamehomeandtoldherIwasuptheduffIthoughtshewasnevergoingtospeaktomeagain.Butitonlytookher–what?–twodays,tocomeround.’
Icouldhearherbabblingawaybesideme,butIwasn’treallypayingattention.Icouldbarelyfocusonanything.Mynerveendingsseemedtohavecomealive;theyalmostjangledwithanticipation.IwasgoingtoseeWill.Whateverelse,Ihadthat.Icouldalmostfeelthemilesbetweenusshrinking,asifwewereattwoendsofsomeinvisibleelasticthread.
‘Treen?’
‘Yes?’
Iswallowed.‘Don’tletmemissthisflight.’
Mysisterisnothingifnotdetermined.Wequeue-jumped,speduptheinsidelane,brokethespeedlimitandscannedtheradioforthetrafficreports,andfinallytheairportcameintoview.ShescreechedtoahaltandIwashalfwayoutofthecarbeforeIheardher.
‘Hey!Lou!’
‘Sorry.’Iturnedbackandranthefewstepstoher.
Shehuggedme,reallytightly.‘You’redoingtherightthing,’shesaid.Shelookedalmostclosetotears.‘Nowfuckoff.Ifyoumissthebloodyplaneontopofmegettingsixpointsonmylicence,I’mnevertalkingtoyouagain.’
Ididn’tlookback.IranallthewaytotheSwissAirdeskandittookmethreegoestosaymynameclearlyenoughtorequestmytickets.
IarrivedinZurichshortlybeforemidnight.Giventhelatehour,MrsTraynorhad,aspromised,bookedmeintoahotelattheairportandsaidshewouldsendacarformeatninethefollowingmorning.IhadthoughtIwouldn’tsleep,butIdid–anodd,heavyanddisjointedtrawlthroughthehours–wakingupatseventhenextmorningwithnoideawhereIwas.
Istaredgroggilyaroundtheunfamiliarroom,attheheavyburgundydrapes,designedtoblockoutlight,atthelargeflat-screentelevision,atmyovernightbag,whichIhadn’tevenbotheredtounpack.Icheckedtheclock,whichsaiditwasshortlyaftersevenSwisstime.AndasIrealizedwhereIwas,Isuddenlyfeltmystomachclenchwithfear.
Iscrambledoutofbedjustintimetobesickinthelittlebathroom.Isankdownonthetiledfloor,myhairstickingtomyforehead,mycheekpressedagainstthecoldporcelain.Iheardmymother’svoice,herprotests,andIfeltadarkfearcreepingoverme.Iwasn’tuptothis.Ididn’twanttofailagain.Ididn’twanttohavetowatchWilldie.Withanaudiblegroan,Iscrambleduptobesickagain.
Icouldn’teat.Imanagedtoswallowdownacupofblackcoffeeandshoweredanddressed,andthattookmeto8am.Istaredatthepale-greendressIhadthrowninlastnightandwonderedifitwasappropriateforwhereIwasgoing.Wouldeveryonewearblack?ShouldIhavewornsomethingmorevibrantandalive,likethereddressIknewWillliked?WhyhadMrsTraynorcalledmehere?Icheckedmymobilephone,wonderingwhetherIcouldcallKatrina.Itwouldbeseveninthemorningtherenow.ButshewouldprobablybedressingThomas,andthethoughtoftalkingtoMumwastoomuch.Iputonsomemake-upandthensatdownbythewindow,andtheminutestickedslowlypast.
Idon’tthinkIhadeverfeltlonelierinmylife.
WhenIcouldn’tbearbeinginthelittleroomanylonger,Ithrewthelastofmythingsintomybagandleft.Iwouldbuyanewspaper,andwaitinthelobby.Itcouldn’tbeworsethansittinginmyroomwiththesilenceorthesatellitenewschannelandthesuffocatingdarknessofthecurtains.ItwasasIwaspassingreceptionthatIsawthecomputerterminal,discreetlyplacedinacorner.Itwasmarked:ForUseOfGuests.PleaseAskAtReception
‘CanIusethis?’Isaidtothereceptionist.
Shenodded,andIboughtanhour’stoken.IknewsuddenlyveryclearlywhoIwantedtospeakto.IknewinmygutthathewasoneofthefewpeopleIcouldrelyontobeonlineatthistime.Iloggedontothechatroomandtypedonthemessageboard:
Ritchie.Areyouthere?
Morning,Bee.You’reearlytoday?
Ihesitatedforjustamomentbeforetyping:
Iamabouttobeginthestrangestdayofmylife.IaminSwitzerland.
Heknewwhatitmeant.Theyallknewwhatitmeant.Theclinichadbeenthesubjectofmanyheateddebates.Ityped:
I’mfrightened.
Thenwhyareyouthere?
BecauseIcan’tnotbehere.Heaskedme.Aminhotelwaitingtogoseehim.
Ihesitated,thentyped:
Ihavenoideahowthisdayisgoingtoend.
Oh,Bee.
WhatdoIsaytohim?HowdoIchangehismind?
Therewasadelaybeforehetypedagain.Hiswordsappearedonthescreenmoreslowlythanusual,asifheweretakinggreatcare.
Ifhe’sinSwitzerland,Bee,I’mnotsurehe’sgoingtochangehismind
Ifeltahugelumpinmythroat,andswallowedit.Ritchiewasstilltyping.
It’snotmychoice.It’snotthechoiceofmostofusonthisboard.Ilovemylife,evenifIwishitwasdifferent.ButIunderstandwhyyourfriendmightwellhavehadenough.It’stiring,leadingthislife,tiringinawaytheABcannevertrulyunderstand.Ifheisdetermined,ifhereallycan’tseeawayofthingsbeingbetterforhim,thenIguessthebestthingyoucandoisjustbethere.Youdon’thavetothinkhe’sright.Butyoudohavetobethere.
IrealizedIwasholdingmybreath.
Goodluck,Bee.Andcomeseemeafter.Thingsmaygetalittlebumpyforyouafterwards.Eitherway,Icoulddowithafriendlikeyou.
Myfingersstilledonthekeyboard.Ityped:
Iwill.
Andthenthereceptionisttoldmethatmycarhadarrivedoutside.
Idon’tknowwhatIexpected–maybesomewhitebuildingnexttoalake,orsnow-cappedmountains.Perhapssomemedical-lookingmarblefrontagewithagold-platedplaqueonthewall.WhatIdidn’texpectwastobedriventhroughanindustrialestateuntilIarrivedatwhatlookedremarkablylikeanordinaryhouse,surroundedbyfactoriesand,weirdly,afootballpitch.Iwalkedacrossdecking,pastagoldfishpond,andthenIwasin.
ThewomanwhoopenedthedoorknewimmediatelywhoIwaslookingfor.‘Heishere.Wouldyoulikemetoshowyou?’
Istalledthen.Istaredatthecloseddoor,oddlysimilartotheoneIhadstoodoutsideinWill’sannexeallthosemonthsago,andItookabreath.Andnodded.
IsawthebedbeforeIsawhim;itdominatedtheroomwithitsmahoganywood,itsquaintlyfloweredquiltandpillowsweirdlyoutofplaceinthatsetting.MrTraynorsatononesideofit,MrsTraynorontheother.
Shelookedghostlypale,andstoodupwhenshesawme.‘Louisa.’
Georginawasseatedonawoodenchairinthecorner,bentoverherknees,herhandspressedtogetherasifinprayer.SheliftedhergazeasIwalkedin,revealingshadowedeyes,reddenedwithgrief,andIfeltabriefspasmofsympathyforher.
WhatwouldIhavedoneifKatrinahadinsistedonherrighttodothesame?
Theroomitselfwaslightandairy,likeanupmarketholidayhome.Therewasatiledfloorandexpensiverugs,andasofaattheendthatlookedoutontoalittlegarden.Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Itwassucharidiculous,mundanesight,thethreeofthemsittingthere,asiftheywereafamilytryingtoworkoutwheretogosightseeingthatday.
Iturnedtowardsthebed.‘So,’Isaid,mybagovermyshoulder,‘I’mguessingtheroomserviceisn’tuptomuch?’
Will’seyeslockedontomineanddespiteeverything,despiteallmyfears,thefactthatIhadthrownuptwice,thatIfeltlikeIhadn’tsleptforayear,IwassuddenlygladIhadcome.Notglad,relieved.LikeIhadexcisedsomepainful,naggingpartofmyself,andgivenitover.
Andthenhesmiled.Itwaslovely,hissmile–aslowthing,fullofrecognition.
Weirdly,Ifoundmyselfsmilingback.‘Niceroom,’Isaid,andimmediatelyrealizedtheidiocyoftheremark.IsawGeorginaTraynorclosehereyes,andIblushed.
Willturnedtowardshismother.‘IwanttotalktoLou.Isthatokay?’
Shetriedtosmile.Isawamillionthingsinthewayshelookedatmethen–relief,gratitude,afaintresentmentatbeingshutoutofthesefewminutes,perhapsevenadistanthopethatmyappearancemeantsomething,thatthisfatemightyetbetwistedfromitstracks.
‘Ofcourse.’
Shemovedpastmeintothecorridor,andasIstoodbackfromthedoorwaytoletherpass,shereachedoutahandandtouchedmyupperarm,justlightly.Oureyesmet,andherssoftened,sothatbrieflyshelookedlikesomeoneelseentirely,andthensheturnedawayfromme.
‘Come,Georgina,’shesaid,whenherdaughtermadenoattempttomove.
Georginastoodslowlyandwalkedoutsilently,herverybackbroadcastingherreluctance.
Andthenitwasjustus.
Willwashalfproppedupinthebed,abletoseeoutofthewindowtohisleft,wherethewaterfeatureinthelittlegardenmerrilytrickledathinstreamofclearwaterbelowthedecking.Onthewallwasabadlyframedprintpictureofdahlias.Irememberthinkingthatwasareallycrummyprinttohavetolookatinyourlasthours.
‘So…’
‘You’renotgoingto–’
‘I’mnotgoingtotryandchangeyourmind.’
‘Ifyou’rehere,youacceptit’smychoice.ThisisthefirstthingI’vebeenincontrolofsincetheaccident.’
‘Iknow.’
Andthereitwas.Heknewit,andIknewit.Therewasnothingleftformetodo.
Doyouknowhowharditistosaynothing?Wheneveryatomofyoustrainstodotheopposite?Ihadpractisednotsayinganythingthewholewayfromtheairport,anditwasstillnearlykillingme.Inodded.WhenIfinallyspoke,myvoicewasasmall,brokenthing.WhatemergedwastheonlythingIcouldsafelysay.
‘Imissedyou.’
Heseemedtorelaxthen.‘Comeoverhere.’Andthen,whenIhesitated.‘Please.Comeon.Righthere,onthebed.Rightnexttome.’
Irealizedthenthattherewasactualreliefinhisexpression.Thathewaspleasedtoseemeinawayhewasn’tactuallygoingtobeabletosay.AndItoldmyselfthatitwasgoingtohavetobeenough.Iwoulddothethinghehadaskedfor.Thatwouldhavetobeenough.
IlaydownonthebedbesidehimandIplacedmyarmacrosshim.Irestedmyheadonhischest,lettingmybodyabsorbthegentleriseandfallofit.IcouldfeelthefaintpressureofWill’sfingertipsonmyback,hiswarmbreathinmyhair.Iclosedmyeyes,breathinginthescentofhim,stillthesameexpensivecedar-woodsmell,despitetheblandfreshnessoftheroom,theslightlydisturbingscentofdisinfectantunderneath.Itriednottothinkofanythingatall.Ijusttriedtobe,triedtoabsorbthemanIlovedthroughosmosis,triedtoimprintwhatIhadleftofhimonmyself.Ididnotspeak.AndthenIheardhisvoice.Iwassoclosetohimthatwhenhespokeitseemedtovibrategentlythroughme.
‘Hey,Clark,’hesaid.‘Tellmesomethinggood.’
Istaredoutofthewindowatthebright-blueSwissskyandItoldhimastoryoftwopeople.Twopeoplewhoshouldn’thavemet,andwhodidn’tlikeeachothermuchwhentheydid,butwhofoundtheyweretheonlytwopeopleintheworldwhocouldpossiblyhaveunderstoodeachother.AndItoldhimoftheadventurestheyhad,theplacestheyhadgone,andthethingsIhadseenthatIhadneverexpectedto.Iconjuredforhimelectricskiesandiridescentseasandeveningsfulloflaughterandsillyjokes.Idrewaworldforhim,aworldfarfromaSwissindustrialestate,aworldinwhichhewasstillsomehowthepersonhehadwantedtobe.Idrewtheworldhehadcreatedforme,fullofwonderandpossibility.Ilethimknowahurthadbeenmendedinawaythathecouldn’thaveknown,andforthatalonetherewouldalwaysbeapieceofmeindebtedtohim.AndasIspokeIknewthesewouldbethemostimportantwordsIwouldeversayandthatitwasimportantthattheyweretherightwords,thattheywerenotpropaganda,anattempttochangehismind,butrespectfulofwhatWillhadsaid.
Itoldhimsomethinggood.
Timeslowed,andstilled.Itwasjustthetwoofus,memurmuringintheempty,sunlitroom.Willdidn’tsaymuch.Hedidn’tanswerback,oraddadrycomment,orscoff.Henoddedoccasionally,hisheadpressedagainstmine,andmurmured,orletoutasmallsoundthatcouldhavebeensatisfactionatanothergoodmemory.
‘Ithasbeen,’Itoldhim,‘thebestsixmonthsofmyentirelife.’
Therewasalongsilence.
‘Funnilyenough,Clark,minetoo.’
Andthen,justlikethat,myheartbroke.Myfacecrumpled,mycomposurewentandIheldhimtightlyandIstoppedcaringthathecouldfeeltheshudderofmysobbingbodybecausegriefswampedme.Itoverwhelmedmeandtoreatmyheartandmystomachandmyheadanditpulledmeunder,andIcouldn’tbearit.IhonestlythoughtIcouldn’tbearit.
‘Don’t,Clark,’hemurmured.Ifelthislipsonmyhair.‘Oh,please.Don’t.Lookatme.’
Iscrewedmyeyesshutandshookmyhead.
‘Lookatme.Please.’
Icouldn’t.
‘You’reangry.Please.Idon’twanttohurtyouormakeyou–’
‘No…’Ishookmyheadagain.‘It’snotthat.Idon’twant…’Mycheekwaspressedtohischest.‘Idon’twantthelastthingyouseetobemymiserable,blotchyface.’
‘Youstilldon’tgetit,Clark,doyou?’Icouldhearthesmileinhisvoice.‘It’snotyourchoice.’
Ittooksometimetoregainmycomposure.Iblewmynose,tookalongdeepbreath.Finally,Iraisedmyselfonmyelbow,andIlookedbackathim.Hiseyes,solongstrainedandunhappy,lookedoddlyclearandrelaxed.
‘Youlookabsolutelybeautiful.’
‘Funny.’
‘Comehere,’hesaid.‘Rightupclosetome.’
Ilaydownagain,facinghim.Isawtheclockabovethedoorandhadasuddensenseoftimerunningout.Itookhisarmandwrappedittightlyaroundme,threadingmyownarmsandlegsaroundhimsothatweweretightlyentwined.Itookhishand–thegoodone–andwrappedmyfingersinhis,kissingtheknucklesasIfelthimsqueezemine.Hisbodywassofamiliartomenow.IknewitinawayIhadneverknownPatrick’s–itsstrengthsandvulnerabilities,itsscarsandscents.Iplacedmyfacesoclosetohisthathisfeaturesbecameindistinct,andIbegantolosemyselfinthem.Istrokedhishair,hisskin,hisbrow,withmyfingertips,tearsslidinguncheckeddownmycheeks,mynoseagainsthis,andallthetimehewatchedmesilently,studyingmeintentlyasifhewerestoringeachmoleculeofmeaway.Hewasalreadyretreating,withdrawingtosomewhereIcouldn’treachhim.
Ikissedhim,tryingtobringhimback.Ikissedhimandletmylipsrestagainsthissothatourbreathmingledandthetearsfrommyeyesbecamesaltonhisskin,andItoldmyselfthat,somewhere,tinyparticlesofhimwouldbecometinyparticlesofme,ingested,swallowed,alive,perpetual.Iwantedtopresseverybitofmeagainsthim.Iwantedtowillsomethingintohim.IwantedtogivehimeverybitoflifeIfeltandforcehimtolive.
IrealizedIwasafraidoflivingwithouthim.Howisityouhavetherighttodestroymylife,Iwantedtodemandofhim,butI’mnotallowedasayinyours?
ButIhadpromised.
SoIheldhim,WillTraynor,ex-Citywhizkid,ex-stuntdiver,sportsman,traveller,lover.Iheldhimcloseandsaidnothing,allthewhiletellinghimsilentlythathewasloved.Oh,buthewasloved.
Icouldn’tsayhowlongwestayedlikethat.Iwasdimlyawareofsoftconversationoutside,oftheshuffleofshoes,adistantchurchbellringinginsomefar-offplace.Finally,Ifelthimloosenagreatbreath,almostashudder,andhedrewhisheadbackjustaninchsothatwecouldseeeachotherclearly.
Iblinkedathim.
Hegavemeasmallsmile,almostanapology.
‘Clark,’hesaid,quietly.‘Canyoucallmyparentsin?’27
CROWNPROSECUTIONSERVICE
FAO:DirectorofPublicProsecutions
ConfidentialAdvisory
Re:WilliamJohnTraynor
4.9.2009
Detectiveshavenowinterviewedeveryoneinvolvedintheabovecase,andIattachfilescontainingallrelateddocumentsaccordingly.
ThesubjectatthecentreoftheinvestigationisMrWilliamTraynor,a35-year-oldformerpartnerinthefirmMadingleyLewins,basedintheCityofLondon.MrTraynorsufferedaspinalinjuryinaroadaccidentin2007andhadbeendiagnosedC5/6quadriplegicwithverylimitedmovementinonearmonly,requiring24-hourcare.Hismedicalhistory
ThepapersshowthatMrTraynorhadbeenatpainstoregularizehislegalaffairssometimebeforehistriptoSwitzerland.Wehavebeenforwardedasignedandwitnessedstatementofintentbyhislawyer,MrMichaelLawler,aswellascopiesofallrelevantdocumentationrelatingtohisconsultationswiththeclinicbeforehand.
MrTraynor’sfamilyandfriendshadallexpressedtheiroppositiontohisstateddesiretoendhislifeprematurelybutgivenhismedicalhistoryandpreviousattemptsonhisownlife(detailedinhisattachedhospitalrecords),hisintellectandstrengthofcharacter,theywereapparentlyunabletodissuadehim,evenduringanextendedsix-monthperiodwhichwasnegotiatedwithhimspecificallyforthispurpose.
ItwillbenotedthatoneofthebeneficiariesofMrTraynor’swillishispaidfemalecarer,MissLouisaClark.GiventhelimitedlengthofherassociationwithMrTraynorsomequestionsmaybeaskedabouttheextentofhisgenerositytowardsher,butallpartiessaytheydonotwishtocontestMrTraynor’sstatedwishes,whicharelegallydocumented.ShehasbeeninterviewedatlengthseveraltimesandpolicearesatisfiedthatshemadeeveryefforttodeterMrTraynorfromhisintention(pleaseseeher‘calendarofadventures’includedintheevidence).
ItshouldalsobenotedthatMrsCamillaTraynor,hismother,whohasbeenarespectedJPformanyyears,hastenderedherresignationinlightofthepublicitysurroundingthecase.ItisunderstoodthatsheandMrTraynorseparatedsoonaftertheirson’sdeath.
WhiletheuseofassistedsuicideatforeignclinicsisnotsomethingtheCPScanbeseentoencourage,judgingbytheevidencegathered,itisevidentthattheactionsofMrTraynor’sfamilyandcarersfallwellwithincurrentguidelinesaslaidoutrelatingtoassistedsuicideandthepossibleprosecutionofthoseclosetothedeceased.
MrTraynorwasdeemedcompetentandhada‘voluntary,clear,settledandinformed’wishtomakesuchadecision.
Thereisnoevidenceofmentalillness,orofcoerciononanypart.
MrTraynorhadindicatedunequivocallythathewishedtocommitsuicide.
MrTraynor’sdisabilitywassevereandincurable.
TheactionsofthoseaccompanyingMrTraynorwereofonlyminorassistanceorinfluence.
TheactionsofthoseaccompanyingMrTraynormaybecharacterizedasreluctantassistanceinthefaceofadeterminedwishonthepartofthevictim
Allpartiesinvolvedhaveofferedeveryassistancetothepoliceinvestigatingthiscase.
Giventhesefactsasoutlined,thepreviousgoodcharacterofallparties,andtheevidenceenclosed,Iwouldadvisethatitdoesnotservethepublicinteresttopursueaprosecutioninthiscase.
Isuggestthatifandwhenanypublicstatementismadetothiseffect,theDirectorofPublicProsecutionsmakesitclearthattheTraynorcasesetsnokindofprecedent,andthattheCPSwillcontinuetojudgeeachcaseonitsindividualmeritsandcircumstances.
Withbestwishes
SheilaghMackinnon
CrownProsecutionServiceEpilogue
Iwasjustfollowinginstructions.
Isatintheshadowofthedark-greencafeawning,staringdownthelengthoftheRuedesFrancsBourgeois,thetepidsunofaParisianautumnwarmingthesideofmyface.Infrontofmethewaiterhad,withGallicefficiency,depositedaplateofcroissantsandalargecupoffiltercoffee.Ahundredyardsdownthestreettwocyclistsstoppednearthetrafficlightsandstruckupaconversation.Oneworeabluebackpackfromwhichtwolargebaguettespokedatoddangles.Theair,stillandmuggy,heldthescentsofcoffeeandpatisserieandtheacridtangofsomeone’scigarettes.
IfinishedTreena’sletter(shewouldhavecalled,shesaid,butshecouldn’taffordtheoverseascharges).ShehadcometopofheryearinAccountancy2andhadanewboyfriend,Sundeep,whowastryingtoworkoutwhethertoworkforhisdad’simport-exportbusinessoutsideHeathrowandhadevenworsetasteinmusicthanshedid.Thomaswasdeadexcitedaboutmovingupaclassatschool.Dadwasstillgoinggreatgunsathisjob,andsenthislove.ShewasprettyconfidentthatMumwouldforgivemesoon.Shedefinitelygotyourletter,shesaid.Iknowshereadit.Givehertime
Itookasipofmycoffee,brieflytransportedtoRenfrewRoad,andahomethatseemedamillionmilesaway.Isatandsquintedalittleagainstthelowsun,watchingawomaninsunglassesadjustherhairinthemirrorofashopwindow.Shepursedherlipsatherreflection,straightenedupalittle,andthencontinuedherpathdowntheroad
Iputdownthecup,tookadeepbreath,andthenpickeduptheotherletter,theletterthatIhadcarriedaroundwithmeforalmostsixweeksnow.
Onthefrontoftheenvelope,intypedcapitals,itsaid,undermyname:
ONLYTOBEREADINTHECAFEMARQUIS,RUEDESFRANCSBOURGEOIS,ACCOMPANIEDBYCROISSANTSANDALARGECAFéCRèME
Ihadlaughed,evenasIwept,onfirstreadingtheenvelope–typicalWill,bossytothelast.
Thewaiter–atall,briskmanwithadozenbitsofpaperstickingoutofthetopofhisapron–turnedbackandcaughtmyeye.Allokay?hisraisedeyebrowssaid.
‘Yes,’Isaid.Andthen,alittleself-consciously,‘Oui.’
Theletterwastypewritten.Irecognizedthefontfromacardhehadsentmelongago.Isettledbackinmychair,andIbegantoread.
Clark,
Afewweekswillhavepassedbythetimeyoureadthis(evengivenyournewfoundorganizationalskills,IdoubtyouwillhavemadeittoParisbeforeearlySeptember).Ihopethecoffeeisgoodandstrongandthecroissantsfreshandthattheweatherisstillsunnyenoughtositoutsideononeofthosemetallicchairsthatneversitquitelevelonthepavement.It’snotbad,theMarquis.Thesteakisalsogood,ifyoufancycomingbackforlunch.AndifyoulookdowntheroadtoyourleftyouwillhopefullyseeL’ArtisanParfumeurwhere,afteryoureadthis,youshouldgoandtrythescentcalledsomethinglikePapillonsExtrême(can’tquiteremember).Ialwaysdidthinkitwouldsmellgreatonyou.
Okay,instructionsover.ThereareafewthingsIwantedtosayandwouldhavetoldyouinperson,buta)youwouldhavegotallemotionalandb)youwouldn’thaveletmesayallthisoutloud.Youalwaysdidtalktoomuch.
Sohereitis:thechequeyougotintheinitialenvelopefromMichaelLawlerwasnotthefullamount,butjustasmallgift,tohelpyouthroughyourfirstweeksofunemployment,andtogetyoutoParis.
WhenyougetbacktoEngland,takethislettertoMichaelinhisLondonofficeandhewillgiveyoutherelevantdocumentssoyoucanaccessanaccounthehassetupformeinyourname.Thisaccountcontainsenoughforyoutobuysomewherenicetoliveandtopayforyourdegreecourseandyourlivingexpenseswhileyouareinfull-timeeducation.
Myparentswillhavebeentoldallaboutit.Ihopethatthis,andMichaelLawler’slegalwork,willensurethereisaslittlefussaspossible.
Clark,Icanpracticallyhearyoustartingtohyperventilatefromhere.Don’tstartpanicking,ortryingtogiveitaway–it’snotenoughforyoutositonyourarsefortherestofyourlife.Butitshouldbuyyouyourfreedom,bothfromthatclaustrophobiclittletownwebothcallhome,andfromthekindofchoicesyouhavesofarfeltyouhadtomake.
I’mnotgivingthemoneytoyoubecauseIwantyoutofeelwistful,orindebtedtome,ortofeelthatit’ssomekindofbloodymemorial.
I’mgivingyouthisbecausethereisnotmuchthatmakesmehappyanymore,butyoudo.
Iamconsciousthatknowingmehascausedyoupain,andgrief,andIhopethatonedaywhenyouarelessangrywithmeandlessupsetyouwillseenotjustthatIcouldonlyhavedonethethingthatIdid,butalsothatthiswillhelpyouliveareallygoodlife,abetterlife,thanifyouhadn’tmetme.
You’regoingtofeeluncomfortableinyournewworldforabit.Italwaysdoesfeelstrangetobeknockedoutofyourcomfortzone.ButIhopeyoufeelabitexhilaratedtoo.Yourfacewhenyoucamebackfromdivingthattimetoldmeeverything;thereisahungerinyou,Clark.Afearlessness.Youjustburiedit,likemostpeopledo.
I’mnotreallytellingyoutojumpofftallbuildings,orswimwithwhalesoranything(althoughIwouldsecretlylovetothinkyouwere),buttoliveboldly.Pushyourself.Don’tsettle.Wearthosestripylegswithpride.Andifyouinsistonsettlingdownwithsomeridiculousbloke,makesuresomeofthisissquirrelledawaysomewhere.Knowingyoustillhavepossibilitiesisaluxury.KnowingImighthavegiventhemtoyouhasalleviatedsomethingforme.
Sothisisit.Youarescoredonmyheart,Clark.Youwerefromthefirstdayyouwalkedin,withyourridiculousclothesandyourbadjokesandyourcompleteinabilitytoeverhideasinglethingyoufelt.Youchangedmylifesomuchmorethanthismoneywilleverchangeyours.
Don’tthinkofmetoooften.Idon’twanttothinkofyougettingallmaudlin.Justlivewell.
Justlive
Love,
Will
Atearhadploppedontothericketytableinfrontofme.Iwipedatmycheekwithmypalm,andputtheletterdownonthetable.Ittookmesomeminutestoseeclearlyagain.
‘Anothercoffee?’saidthewaiter,whohadreappearedinfrontofme.
Iblinkedathim.HewasyoungerthanIhadthought,andhaddroppedhisfaintairofhaughtiness.PerhapsParisianwaitersweretrainedtobekindtoweepingwomenintheircafes.
‘Maybe…acognac?’Heglancedattheletterandsmiled,withsomethingresemblingunderstanding.
‘No,’Isaid,smilingback.‘Thankyou.I’ve…I’vegotthingstodo.’
Ipaidthebill,andtuckedthelettercarefullyintomypocket.
Andsteppingoutfrombehindthetable,IstraightenedmybagonmyshoulderandsetoffdownthestreettowardstheparfumerieandthewholeofParisbeyond.Acknowledgements
Thankyoutomyagent,SheilaCrowleyatCurtisBrown,andtomyeditor,MariEvansatPenguin,bothofwhomimmediatelysawthisbookforwhatitis–alovestory.
SpecialthankstoMaddyWickham,whoencouragedmeatapointwhenIwasnotsurewhetherIcould,orshould,actuallywriteit.
ThankstothewonderfulteamatCurtisBrown,especiallyJonnyGeller,TallyGarner,KatieMcGowan,AliceLutyensandSarahLewis,forenthusiasmandfineagenting.
AtPenguin,IwouldalsoparticularlyliketothankLouiseMoore,ClareLedinghamandShanMorleyJones.
HugegratitudetoallontheWritersblockboard–myownprivateFightClub.MinustheFightybit.
SimilarlytoIndiaKnight,SamBaker,EmmaBeddington,TrishDeseine,AlexHeminsley,JessRuston,SaliHughes,TaraManningandFannyBlake.
ThankstoLizzieandBrianSanders,andtoJim,BeaandClemmieMoyes.Butmostofall,asever,toCharles,Saskia,HarryandLockie.Q&AwithJojo
1.Tellusalittleaboutwhereyourideasforyourcharactersandtheirstoriescomefrom.
Theycomefromallovertheplace.It’softenasnippetofconversationoranewsstorythatjustlodgesinmyheadandwon’tgoaway.SometimesIgetanideaforacharactertoo,andthenunconsciouslystartknittingthemtogether.MeBeforeYouisthemost‘highconcept’bookI’veeverwritten–inthatIcoulddescribeitintwosentences.Butmostofthemarealotmoreorganic,andjustcontainlotsofideasandthingsthatI’vepulledtogether.WiththisbookIthinktheissueofqualityoflifewasprobablytothefrontofmymindasIhavehadtworelativeswhowerefacinglifeincarehomes,andIknowthatinonecaseshewouldprobablyhavechosenanyalternativetothatexistence.
2.WhichofthecharactersinMeBeforeYoudoyouidentifywiththemost?
Well,there’sdefinitelyabitofLouinthere.IdidhaveapairofstripytightsthatIlovedasachild!Ithinkyouhavetoidentifywithallyourcharacterstosomeextent,ortheyjustdon’tcomeoffthepageproperly.ButIalsoidentifywithCamillaabit.AsamotherIcan’timaginethechoiceshehastomake,andIcouldimagineinthosecircumstancesyouwouldjustshutdownabitemotionally.
3.WhatmadeyouchoosetosetMeBeforeYouinasmallhistoricaltownwithacastleatitscentre?
Itriedallsortsofsettingsforthisbook.IdrovealloverScotlandtryingtofindacastleandasmalltownthatwould‘fit’.ItwasessentialthatLoucamefromasmalltown,ratherthanacity,becauseIliveinonemyselfandI’mfascinatedbythewaythatgrowingupinonecanbethegreatestcomfort–andalsoincrediblystifling.Iwantedacastlebecauseitwasthepurestexampleofoldmoneyrubbingupagainstordinarypeople.Britainisstillincrediblyhide-boundbyclass,andweonlyreallynoticeitwhenwegosomewherethatitdoesn’texistinthesameway,liketheUSorAustralia.IneededtheclassdifferencebetweenWillandLoutobeclear.
4.MeBeforeYoudealswithaverysensitivesubjectmatter–aperson’srighttodie.Didyoufindthisdifficulttowriteabout?Whatmadeyoudecidetowriteaboutthissubject?
Afewyearsago,IheardaboutthecaseofDanielJames,ayoungrugbyplayerwhowasparalysedandpersuadedhisparentstolethimgotoDignitas.Iwashorrifiedbythiscaseinitially–whatmothercoulddothat?–butthemoreIreadaboutitIrealizedthattheseissuesarenotblackandwhite.Whoistosaywhatyourqualityoflifeshouldmean?Howdoyoufacelivingalifethatissofarfromwhatyouhadchosen?Whatdoyoudoasaparentifyourchildisreallydeterminedtodie?Andlivingasaquadriplegicisnotjustamatterofsittinginachair–it’saconstantbattleagainstpainandinfection,aswellasthementalchallenges.Sotheseissuesrefusedtogoaway.AndIdobelieveyouhavetowritethebookthatisburninginsideyou,evenifit’snotthemostobviousbookforthemarket.
Infact,IwroteMeBeforeYouwithoutapublishingcontract–andIwasn’tentirelyconvinceditwouldfindapublisher,giventhecontroversialsubjectmatter.ItwasjustsomethingIneededtowrite.Butdoingitjustformyselfwasstrangelyliberating.Andluckilyseveralpublishersbidforitwhenitwasfinished,soIwasveryhappytomovewithittoPenguin.
5.Yourbooksalwayshaveanincrediblymovinglovestoryattheheartofthem.Whatisitabouttheemotionalsubjectoflovethatmakesyouwanttowriteaboutit?
Ihavenoidea!I’mnotveryromanticinreallife.Iguessloveisthethingthatmakesusdothemostextraordinarythings–theemotionthatcanbringushighestorlowest,orbethemosttransformative–andextremesofemotionarealwaysinterestingtowriteabout.PlusI’mtoowimpytowritehorror…
6.Haveyouevercriedwhilewritingasceneinanyofyourbooks?
Always.IfIdon’tcrywhilewritingakeyemotionalscene,mygutfeelingisit’sfailed.Iwantthereadertofeelsomethingwhilereading–andmakingmyselfcryhasbecomemylitmustestastowhetherthat’sworking.It’sanoddwaytoearnaliving.1StPeronne
October1916
Iwasdreamingoffood.Greatsticksofcrispwhitebaguettes,thecrumbofthebreadavirginalwhite,stillsteamingfromtheoven;warm,ripecheese,itsborderscreepingtowardstheedgeoftheplate.Grapesandplums,stackedhighinbowls,duskyandfragrant,theirscentfillingtheair.Iwasabouttoreachoutandtakeone,whenmysisterstoppedme.‘Getoff,’Imurmured.‘I’mhungry.’
‘Sophie.Wakeup.’
Icouldtastethatcheese.IwasgoingtohaveamouthfuloftheReblochon,smearitontoahunkofthatwarmbread,thenpopagrapeintomymouth.Icouldalreadytastetheintensesweetnessagainstitsricharoma.
Butthereitwas,mysister’shandonmywrist,stoppingme.Theplateswerefading,theirscentsdisappearing.Ireachedouttothembuttheybegantopop,likesoapbubbles.
‘Sophie.’
‘What?’
‘TheyhaveAurélien!’
Iturnedontomysideandblinked.Mysisterwaswearingacottonbonnet,asIwas,tokeepwarm.Herface,eveninthefeeblelightofhercandle,wasleachedofcolour,hereyeswidewithshock.‘TheyhaveAurélien.Downstairs.’
Istaredather.Mymindbegantoclear.Frombelowuscamethesoundofmenshouting,theirvoicesbouncingoffthestonecourtyard,thehens,woken,shriekingintheircoop.Inthethickdark,theairvibratedwithsometerriblepurpose.Isatuprightinbed,draggingmygownaroundme,strugglingtolightthecandleonmybedsidetable.
Istumbledpasthertothewindowandglanceddownintothecourtyard.Thesoldiers,illuminatedbytheheadlightsoftheirvehicle;myyoungerbrother,hisarmswrappedaroundhishead,tryingtoavoidtheriflebuttsthatlandedblowsuponhim.
‘What’shappening?’
‘Thepig.Theyknowaboutthepig.’
‘What?’
‘MonsieurSuelmusthaveinformedonus.Iheardthemshoutingfrommyroom.Theysaythey’lltakeAurélienifhedoesn’ttellthemwhereitis.’
‘Hewillsaynothing,’Isaid.
Westaredateachother,flinchingasweheardourbrothercryout.Idon’tthinkyouwouldhaverecognizedmysisterthen:shelookedtwentyyearsolderthanhertwenty-four.Iknewherfearwasmirroredinmyownface.Thiswaswhatwehaddreaded.
‘TheyhaveaKommandantwiththem.Iftheyfindit,’Hélènewhispered,hervoicecrackingwithpanic,‘they’llarrestusall.YouknowwhattookplaceinArras.They’llmakeanexampleofus.Whatwillhappentothechildren?’
Mymindraced,fearthatmybrothermightspeakoutmakingmestupid.Iwrappedashawlaroundmyshouldersandtiptoedtothewindow,peeringoutatthecourtyard.ThepresenceofaKommandantsuggestedthesewerenotjustdrunkensoldierslookingtotakeouttheirfrustrationswithafewthreatsandknocks–wewereintrouble.Hispresencemeantwewereacrimetobetakenseriously.
‘Theywillfindit,Sophie.Itwilltakethemminutes.Andthen…’Hélène’svoicerose,liftedbypanic.
Foramomentmythoughtsturnedblack.Tryingtogatherthem,Iclosedmyeyes.AndthenIopenedthem.‘Godownstairs,’Isaid.‘Pleadignorance.AskhimwhatAurélienhasdonewrong.Talktohim,distracthim.Justgivemesometimebeforetheycomeintothehouse.’
‘What?Whatareyougoingtodo?’
Iwavedheraway.Igrippedmysister’sarm.‘Go.Buttellthemnothing,youunderstand?Denyeverything.’
Mysisterhesitated,thenrantowardsthecorridor,hernightgownbillowingbehindher.I’mnotsureIeverfeltasaloneasIdidinthosefewseconds,feargrippingmythroatandtheweightofmyfamily’sfateuponme.IranintoFather’sstudyandscrabbledinthedrawersofthegreatdesk,hurlingitscontents–oldpens,scrapsofpaper,piecesofbrokenclocksandancientbills–ontothefloor,thankingGodwhenIfinallyfoundwhatIwassearchingfor.ThenIrandownstairs,openedthecellardoorandskippeddownthecoldstonestairs,sosure-footednowinthedarkthatIbarelyneededtheflutteringglowofthecandle.Iliftedtheheavylatchtothebackcellarsilently,theonethathadoncebeenstackedtotheroofwithbeerkegsandgoodwine,slidoneoftheemptybarrelstoonesideandopenedthedooroftheoldcast-ironbreadoven.
Thepiglet,stillonlyhalfgrown,blinkedsleepily.Itlifteditselftoitsfeet,peeredoutatmefromitsbedofstrawandgrunted.SurelyI’vetoldyouaboutthepig?WeliberateditduringtherequisitionofMonsieurGirard’sfarm.LikeagiftfromGod,ithadstrayedinthechaos,meanderingawayfromthosepigletsbeingloadedintothebackofaGermantruckandwasswiftlyswallowedbythethickskirtsofGrandmaPoilane.We’vebeenfatteningitonacornsandscrapsforweeks,inthehopeofraisingittoasizegreatenoughforusalltohavesomemeat.Thethoughtofthatcrispskin,thatmoistpork,haskepttheinhabitantsofLeCoqRougegoingforthepastmonth.
OutsideIheardmybrotheryelpagain,thenmysister’svoice,rapidandurgent,cutshortbytheharshtonesofaGermanofficer.Thepiglookedatmewithintelligent,understandingeyes,asifitalreadyknewitsfate.
‘I’msosorry,monpetit,’Iwhispered,‘butthisreallyistheonlyway.’AndIbroughtdownmyhand.
Iwasoutsideinamatterofmoments.IhadwokenMimi,tellingheronlythatshemustcomebuttostaysilent–thechildhasseensomuchtheselastmonthsthatshesimplyobeyswithoutquestion.Sheglancedupatmeholdingherbabybrother,slidoutofbedandplacedahandinmine.
Theairwassharpwiththeapproachofwinter,thesmellofwoodsmokelingeringintheairfromourbrieffireearlierintheevening.IsawtheKommandantthroughthestonearchwayofthebackdoorandhesitated.ItwasnotHerrBecker,whomweknewanddespised.Thiswasaslimmerman,clean-shaven,impassive.EveninthedarkIcouldseeintelligence,notbrutishignorance,inhisface,whichmademeafraid.
ThisnewKommandantwasgazingspeculativelyupatourwindows,perhapsconsideringwhetherthisbuildingmightprovideamoresuitablebilletthantheFourrierfarm,whereseniorGermanofficersslept.EveninthedarkIsuspectheknewthatourelevatedaspectwouldgivehimavantage-pointacrossthetown.Therewerestablesforhorsesandtenbedrooms,fromthedayswhenourhomewasthetown’sthrivinghotel.
Hélènewasonthecobbles,shieldingAurélienwithherarms.
Oneofhismenhadraisedhisrifle,buttheKommandantliftedhishand,tellinghimtostop.‘Standup,’heorderedthem.Hélènescrambledbackwards,awayfromhim.Iglimpsedherface,tautwithfear.
IfeltMimi’shandtightenroundmineasshesawhermother,andIgavehersasqueeze,eventhoughmyownheartwasinmymouth.AndIstrodeout.‘WhatinGod’snameisgoingon?’Myvoicerangoutintheyard.
TheKommandantglancedtowardsme,surprisedbymytone:ayoungwomanwalkingthroughthearchedentrancetothefarmyard,athumb-suckingchildatherskirts,anotherswaddledandclutchedtoherchest.Mynightbonnetsatslightlyaskew,mywhitecottonnightgownsowornnowthatitbarelyregisteredasfabricagainstmyskin.Iprayedthathecouldnothearthealmostaudiblethumpingofmyheart.
Iaddressedhimdirectly:‘Andforwhatsupposedmisdemeanourhaveyourmencometopunishusnow?’
Iguessedhehadnotheardawomanspeaktohiminthiswaysincehislastleavehome.Thesilencethatfelluponthecourtyardwassteepedinshock.Mybrotherandsister,ontheground,twistedround,thebettertoseeme,onlytooawareofwheresuchinsubordinationmightleaveusall.
‘Youare?’
‘MadameLefèvre.’
Icouldseehewascheckingforthepresenceofmyweddingring.Heneedn’thavebothered:likemostwomeninourarea,Ihadlongsincesolditforfood
‘Madame.Wehaveinformationthatyouareharbouringillegallivestock.’HisFrenchwaspassable,suggestingpreviouspostingsintheoccupiedterritory,hisvoicecalm.Thiswasnotamanwhofeltthreatenedbytheunexpected.
‘Livestock?’
‘Areliablesourcetellsusthatyouarekeepingapigonthepremises.Youwillbeawarethatunderthedirectivethepenaltyforwithholdinglivestockfromtheadministrationisimprisonment.’
Iheldhisgaze.‘AndIknowexactlywhowouldinformyouofsuchathing.It’sMonsieurSuel,non?’Mycheekswereflushedwithcolour;myhair,twistedintoalongplaitthathungovermyshoulder,feltelectrified.Itprickledatthenapeofmyneck.
TheKommandantturnedtooneofhisminions.Theman’sglancesidewaystoldhimthiswastrue.
‘MonsieurSuel,HerrKommandant,comeshereatleasttwiceamonthattemptingtopersuadeusthatintheabsenceofourhusbandsweareinneedofhisparticularbrandofcomfort.Becausewehavechosennottoavailourselvesofhissupposedkindness,herepaysuswithrumoursandathreattoourlives.’
‘Theauthoritieswouldnotactunlessthesourcewerecredible.’
‘Iwouldargue,HerrKommandant,thatthisvisitsuggestsotherwise.’
Thelookhegavemewasimpenetrable.Heturnedonhisheelandwalkedtowardsthehousedoor.Ifollowedhim,halftrippingovermyskirtsinmyattempttokeepup.Iknewthemereactofspeakingsoboldlytohimmightbeconsideredacrime.Andyet,atthatmoment,Iwasnolongerafraid.
‘Lookatus,Kommandant.Dowelookasthoughwearefeastingonbeef,onroastlamb,onfilletofpork?’Heturned,hiseyesflickingtowardsmybonywrists,justvisibleatthesleevesofmygown.Ihadlosttwoinchesfrommywaistinthelastyearalone.‘Arewegrotesquelyplumpwiththebountyofourhotel?Wehavethreehensleftoftwodozen.Threehensthatwehavethepleasureofkeepingandfeedingsothatyourmenmighttaketheeggs.We,meanwhile,liveonwhattheGermanauthoritiesdeemtobeadiet–decreasingrationsofmeatandflour,andbreadmadefromgritandbransopoorwewouldnotuseittofeedlivestock.’
Hewasinthebackhallway,hisheelsechoingontheflagstones.Hehesitatedforamoment,thenwalkedthroughtothebar.Hebarkedanorder.Asoldierappearedfromnowhereandhandedhimalamp.
‘Wehavenomilktofeedourbabies,ourchildrenweepwithhunger,wegrowillfromlackofnutrition.Andstillyoucomehereinthemiddleofthenighttoterrifytwowomenandbrutalizeaninnocentboy,tobeatusandthreatenus,becauseyouheardarumourfromanimmoralmanthatwewerefeasting?’
Myhandswereshaking.Hesawthebabysquirm,andIrealizedIwassotensethatIwasholdingittootightly.Isteppedback,adjustedtheshawl,croonedtoit.ThenIliftedmyhead.Icouldnothidethebitternessandangerinmyvoice.
‘Searchourhome,then,Kommandant.Turnitupsidedownanddestroywhatlittlehasnotalreadybeendestroyed.Searchalltheoutbuildingstoo,thosethatyourmenhavenotalreadystrippedfortheirownwants.Whenyoufindthismythicalpig,Ihopeyourmendinewellonit.’
Iheldhisgazeforjustamomentlongerthanhemighthaveexpected.ThroughthewindowIcouldmakeoutmysisterwipingAurélien’swoundswithherskirts,tryingtostemtheblood.ThreeGermansoldiersstoodoverthem.
Myeyeswereusedtothedarknow,andIsawthattheKommandantwaswrong-footed.Hismen,theireyesuncertain,werewaitingforhimtogivetheorders.Heknewhecouldinstructthemtostripourhousetothebeamsandarrestusalltopayformyextraordinaryoutburst.ButIknewhewasthinkingofSuel,whetherhemighthavebeenmisled.Hedidnotlookthekindofmantorelishthepossibilityofbeingseentobewrong.
Doyourememberwhenweusedtoplaypoker?HowyoulaughedandsaidIwasanimpossibleopponentasmyfaceneverrevealedmytruefeelings?Itoldmyselftorememberyourwordsnow.IknewthiswasthemostimportantgameIwouldeverplay.Westaredateachother,theKommandantandI.Ifelt,briefly,thewholeworldstillaroundus,thedistantrumbleofthegunsattheFront,mysister’scoughing,thescrabblingofourpoor,scrawnyhensdisturbedintheircoop.ItfadeduntiljustheandIfacedoneanother,eachgamblingonthetruth.IswearIcouldhearmyveryheartbeating.
‘Whatisthis?’
‘What?’
Heheldupthelamp,andthereitwas,dimlyilluminatedinpalegoldlight:theportraityoupaintedofmewhenwewerefirstmarried.ThereIwas,inthatfirstyear,myhairthickandlustrousaroundmyshoulders,myskinclearandblooming,gazingoutwiththeself-possessionoftheadored.Ihadbroughtitdownfromitshidingplaceseveralweeksbefore,tellingmysisterIwasdamnediftheGermanswoulddecidewhatIshouldlookatinmyownhome.
Heliftedthelampalittlehighersothathecouldseeitmoreclearly.DonotputitthereSophie,Hélènehadwarned.Itwillinvitetrouble.
Whenhefinallyturnedtome,itwasasifhehadhadtotearhiseyesfromit.Helookedatmyface,thenbackatthepainting.‘Myhusbandpaintedit.’Idon’tknowwhyIfelttheneedtotellhimthat.
Perhapsitwasthecertaintyofmyrighteousindignation.Perhapsitwastheobviousdifferencebetweenthegirlinthepictureandthegirlwhostoodbeforehim.Perhapsitwastheweepingblondechildwhostoodatmyfeet.ItispossiblethatevenKommandants,twoyearsintothisoccupation,havebecomewearyofharassingusforpettymisdemeanours.
Helookedatthepaintingamomentlonger,thenathisfeet.
‘Ithinkwehavemadeourselvesclear,Madame.Ourconversationisnotfinished.ButIwillnotdisturbyoufurthertonight.’
Hecaughttheflashofsurpriseonmyface,barelysuppressed,andIsawthatitsatisfiedsomethinginhim.ItwasperhapsenoughforhimtoknowIhadbelievedmyselfdoomed.Hewassmart,thisman,andsubtle.Iwouldhavetobewary.
‘Men.’
Hissoldiersturned,blindlyobedientasever,andwalkedouttowardstheirvehicle,theiruniformssilhouettedagainsttheheadlights.Ifollowedhimandstoodjustoutsidethedoorway.ThelastIheardofhisvoicewastheordertothedrivertomakeforthetown.
Wewaitedasthemilitaryvehicletravelledbackdowntheroad,itsheadlightsfeelingtheirwayalongthepittedsurface.Hélènehadbeguntoshake.Shescrambledtoherfeet,herhandwhite-knuckledatherbrow,hereyestightlyshut.Aurélienstoodawkwardlybesideme,holdingMimi’shand,embarrassedbyhischildishtears.Iwaitedforthelastsoundsoftheenginetodieaway.Itwhinedoverthehill,asifit,too,wereactingunderprotest.
‘Areyouhurt,Aurélien?’Itouchedhishead.Fleshwounds.Andbruises.Whatkindofmenattackedanunarmedboy?
Heflinched.‘Itdidn’thurt,’hesaid.‘Theydidn’tfrightenme.’
Hélènestaredattheground.‘Ithoughthewouldarrestyou.Ithoughthewouldarrestusall.’Iwasafraidwhenmysisterlookedlikethat,asifshewereteeteringontheedgeofsomevastabyss.Shewipedhereyesandforcedasmileasshecrouchedtohugherdaughter.‘SillyGermans.Theygaveusallafright,didn’tthey?SillyMamanforbeingfrightened.’
Thechildwatchedhermother,silentandsolemn.SometimesIwonderedifIwouldeverseeMimilaughagain.
‘I’msorry.I’mfine,’shewenton.‘Let’sallgoinside.Mimi,wehavealittlemilkIwillwarmforyou.’Shewipedherhandsonherbloodiedgown,andheldherhandstowardsmeforthebaby.‘YouwantmetotakeJean?’
Ihadstartedtotrembleconvulsively,asifIhadonlyjustrealizedhowafraidIshouldhavebeen.Mylegsfeltwatery,theirstrengthseepingintothecobblestones.Ifeltadesperateurgetositdown.‘Yes,’Isaid.‘Isupposeyoushould.’
Mysisterreachedout,thengaveasmallcry.Nestlingintheblankets,swaddledneatlysothatitwasbarelyexposedtothenightair,wasthepink,hairysnoutofthepiglet.
‘Jeanisasleepupstairs,’Isaid.Ithrustahandatthewalltokeepmyselfupright.
Aurélienlookedoverhershoulder.Theyallstaredatit.
‘MonDieu.’
‘Isitdead?’
‘Chloroformed.IrememberedPapahadabottleinhisstudy,fromhisbutterfly-collectingdays.Ithinkitwillwakeup.Butwe’regoingtohavetofindsomewhereelsetokeepitforwhentheyreturn.Andyouknowtheywillreturn.’
Auréliensmiledthen,arare,slowsmileofdelight.HélènestoopedtoshowMimithelittlepinkcomatosepig,andtheybothgrinned.Hélènekepttouchingitssnout,clampingahandoverherface,asifshecouldn’tbelievewhatshewasholding.
‘Youheldthepigbeforethem?Theycamehereandyouhelditoutinfrontoftheirnoses?Andthenyoutoldthemoffforcominghere?’Hervoicewasincredulous.
‘Infrontoftheirsnouts,’saidAurélien,whoseemedsuddenlytohaverecoveredsomeofhisswagger.‘Hah!Youhelditinfrontoftheirsnouts!’
Isatdownonthecobblesandbegantolaugh.IlaugheduntilmyskingrewchilledandIdidn’tknowwhetherIwaslaughingorweeping.Mybrother,perhapsafraidthatIwasbecominghysterical,tookmyhandandrestedagainstme.Hewasfourteen,sometimesbristlinglikeaman,sometimeschildlikeinhisneedforreassurance.
Hélènewasstilldeepinthought.‘IfIhadknown…’shesaid.‘IfIhadknown…Howdidyoubecomethisbrave,Sophie?Mylittlesister!Whodidthistoyou?Youwereamousewhenwewerechildren.Amouse!’
Iwasn’tsureIknewtheanswertothat.
Andthen,aswefinallywalkedbackintothehouse,asHélènebusiedherselfwiththemilkpanandAurélienbegantowashhispoor,batteredface,Istoodbeforetheportrait.
Thatgirl,thegirlyoumarried,lookedbackwithanexpressionInolongerrecognized.Yousawitinmelongbeforeanyoneelsedid:itspeaksofknowledge,thatsmile,ofsatisfactiongainedandgiven.Itspeaksofpride.WhenyourParisianfriendsfoundyourloveofme–ashopgirl–inexplicable,youjustsmiledbecauseyoucouldalreadyseethisinme.
Ineverknewifyouunderstoodthatitwasonlytherebecauseofyou.
Istoodandgazedatherand,forafewseconds,Irememberedhowithadfelttobethatgirl,freeofhunger,offear,consumedonlybyidlethoughtsofwhatprivatemomentsImightspendwithyou,édouard.Youremindedmethatthe