me before you, 10

10

They looked a bit surprised. Actually, that’s an understatement. Mrs Traynor
looked stunned, and then a bit disconcerted, and then her whole face closed off.
Her daughter, curled up next to her on the sofa, just glowered - the kind of face
Mum used to warn me would stick in place if the wind changed. It wasn’t quite
the enthusiastic response I’d been hoping for.
‘But what is it you actually want to do?’
‘I don’t know yet. My sister is good at researching stuff. She’s trying to find
out what’s possible for quadriplegics. But I really wanted to find out from you
whether you would be willing to go with it.’
We were in their drawing room. It was the same room I had been interviewed
in, except this time Mrs Traynor and her daughter were perched on the sofa, their
slobbery old dog between them. Mr Traynor was standing by the fire. I was
wearing my French peasant’s jacket in indigo denim, a minidress and a pair of
army boots. With hindsight, I realized, I could have picked a more professional¬
looking uniform in which to outline my plan.
‘Let me get this straight.’ Camilla Traynor leant forward. ‘You want to take
Will away from this house.’
‘Yes.’
‘And take him on a series of “adventures”.’ She said it like I was suggesting
performing amateur keyhole surgery on him.
‘Yes. Like I said, I’m not sure what’s possible yet. But it’s about just getting
him out and about, widening his horizons. There may be some local things we
could do at first, and then hopefully something further afield before too long.’
‘Are you talking about going abroad?’
‘Abroad ... ?’ I blinked. ‘I was thinking more about maybe getting him to the
pub. Or to a show, just for starters.’

‘Will has barely left this house in two years, apart from hospital
appointments.’
‘Well, yes ... I thought I’d try and persuade him otherwise.’
‘And you would, of course, go on all these adventures with him,’ Georgina
Traynor said.
‘Look. It’s nothing extraordinary. I’m really talking about just getting him out
of the house, to start with. A walk around the castle, or a visit to the pub. If we
end up swimming with dolphins in Florida, then that’s lovely. But really I just
wanted to get him out of the house and thinking about something else.’ I didn’t
add that the mere thought of driving to the hospital in sole charge of Will was
still enough to bring me out in a cold sweat. The thought of taking him abroad
felt as likely as me running a marathon.
‘I think it’s a splendid idea,’ Mr Traynor said. ‘I think it would be marvellous
to get Will out and about. You know it can’t have been good for him staring at
the four walls day in and day out.’
‘We have tried to get him out, Steven,’ Mrs Traynor said. ‘It’s not as if we’ve
left him in there to rot. I’ve tried again and again.’
‘I know that, darling, but we haven’t been terribly successful, have we? If
Louisa here can think up things that Will is prepared to try, then that can only be
a good thing, surely?’
‘Yes, well, “prepared to try” being the operative phrase.’
‘It’s just an idea,’ I said. I felt suddenly irritated. I could see what she was
thinking. ‘If you don’t want me to do it... ’
‘ ... you’ll leave?’ She looked straight at me.
I didn’t look away. She didn’t frighten me any more. Because I knew now she
was no better than me. She was a woman who could sit back and let her son die
right in front of her.
‘Yes, I probably will.’
‘So it’s blackmail.’
‘Georgina!’
‘Well, let’s not beat around the bush here, Daddy.’
I sat up a little straighten ‘No. Not blackmail. It’s about what I’m prepared to
be part of. I can’t sit by and just quietly wait out the time
until... Will ... well ... ’ My voice tailed off.

We all stared at our cups of tea.
'Like I said/ Mr Traynor said firmly. ‘I think it’s a very good idea. If you can
get Will to agree to it, I can’t see that there’s any harm at all. I’d love the idea of
him going on holiday. Just ... just let us know what you need us to do.’
‘I’ve got an idea.’ Mrs Traynor put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
'Perhaps you could go on holiday with them, Georgina.’
'Fine by me,’ I said. It was. Because my chances of getting Will away on
holiday were about the same as me competing on Mastermind.
Georgina Traynor shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘I can’t. You know I start
my new job in two weeks. I won’t be able to come over to England again for a
bit once I’ve started.’
‘You’re going back to Australia?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. I did tell you this was just a visit.’
‘I just thought that... given ... given recent events, you might want to stay
here a bit longer.’ Camilla Traynor stared at her daughter in a way she never
stared at Will, no matter how rude he was to her.
‘It’s a really good job, Mummy. It’s the one I’ve been working towards for the
last two years.’ She glanced over at her father. ‘I can’t put my whole life on hold
just because of Will’s mental state.’
There was a long silence.
‘This isn’t fair. If it was me in the chair, would you have asked Will to put all
his plans on hold?’
Mrs Traynor didn’t look at her daughter. I glanced down at my list, reading
and rereading the first paragraph.
‘I have a life too, you know.’ It came out like a protest.
‘Let’s discuss this some other time.’ Mr Traynor’s hand landed on his
daughter’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.
‘Yes, let’s.’ Mrs Traynor began to shuffle the papers in front of her. ‘Right,
then. I propose we do it like this. I want to know everything you are planning,’
she said, looking up at me. ‘I want to do the costings and, if possible, I’d like a
schedule so that I can try and plan some time off to come along with you. I have
some unused holiday entitlement left that I can -’
‘No.’

We all turned to look at Mr Traynor. He was stroking the dog’s head and his
expression was gentle, but his voice was firm. ‘No. I don’t think you should go,
Camilla. Will should be allowed to do this by himself.’
‘Will can’t do it by himself, Steven. There is an awful lot that needs to be
considered when Will goes anywhere. It’s complicated. I don’t think we can
really leave it to -’
‘No, darling,’ he repeated. ‘Nathan can help, and Louisa can manage just
fine.’
‘But -’
‘Will needs to be allowed to feel like a man. That is not going to be possible if
his mother - or his sister, for that matter - is always on hand.’
I felt briefly sorry for Mrs Traynor then. She still wore that haughty look of
hers, but I could see underneath that she seemed a little lost, as if she couldn’t
quite understand what her husband was doing. Her hand went to her necklace.
‘I will make sure he’s safe,’ I said. ‘And I will let you know everything we’re
planning on doing, well in advance.’
Her jaw was so rigid that a little muscle was visible just underneath her
cheekbone. I wondered if she actually hated me then.
‘I want Will to want to live too,’ I said, finally.
‘We do understand that,’ Mr Traynor said. ‘And we do appreciate your
determination. And discretion.’ I wondered whether that word was in relation to
Will, or something else entirely, and then he stood up and I realized that it was
my signal to leave. Georgina and her mother still sat on the sofa, saying nothing.
I got the feeling there was going to be a whole lot more conversation once I was
out of the room.
‘Right, then,’ I said. ‘I’ll draw you up the paperwork as soon as I’ve worked it
all out in my head. It will be soon. We haven’t much ... ’
Mr Traynor patted my shoulder.
‘I know. Just let us know what you come up with,’ he said.
Treena was blowing on her hands, her feet moving involuntarily up and down, as
if marching on the spot. She was wearing my dark-green beret, which,
annoyingly, looked much better on her than it did on me. She leant over and
pointed at the list she had just pulled from her pocket, and handed it to me.

‘You’re probably going to have to scratch number three, or at least put that off
until it gets warmer.’
I checked the list. ‘Quadriplegic basketball? I’m not even sure if he likes
basketball.’
‘That’s not the point. Bloody hell, it’s cold up here.’ She pulled the beret lower
over her ears. ‘The point is, it will give him a chance to see what’s possible. He
can see that there are other people just as badly off as him who are doing sports
and things.’
‘I’m not sure. He can’t even lift a cup. I think these people must be paraplegic.
I can’t see that you could throw a ball without the use of your arms.’
‘You’re missing the point. He doesn’t have to actually do anything, but it’s
about widening his horizons, right? We’re letting him see what other
handicapped people are doing.’
‘If you say so.’
A low murmur rose in the crowd. The runners had been sighted, some distance
away. If I went on to tiptoes, I could just make them out, probably two miles
away, down in the valley, a small block of bobbing white dots forcing their way
through the cold along a damp, grey road. I glanced at my watch. We had been
standing here on the brow of the aptly named Windy Hill for almost forty
minutes, and I could no longer feel my feet.
‘I’ve looked up what’s local and, if you didn’t want to drive too far, there’s a
match at the sports centre in a couple of weeks. He could even have a bet on the
result.’
‘Betting?’
‘That way he could get a bit involved without even having to play. Oh look,
there they are. How long do you think they’ll take to get to us?’
We stood by the finish. Above our heads a tarpaulin banner announcing the
‘Spring Triathlon Finish Line’ flapped wanly in the stiff breeze.
‘Dunno. Twenty minutes? Longer? I’ve got an emergency Mars Bar if you
want to share.’ I reached into my pocket. It was impossible to stop the list
flapping with only one hand. ‘So what else did you come up with?’
‘You said you wanted to go further afield, right?’ She pointed at my fingers.
‘You’ve given yourself the bigger bit.’
‘Take this bit then. I think the family think I’m free-loading.’

‘What, because you want to take him on a few crummy days out? Jesus. They
should be grateful someone’s making the effort. It’s not like they are.’
Treena took the other piece of Mars Bar. ‘Anyway. Number five, I think it is.
There’s a computer course that he could do. They put a thing on their head with,
like, a stick on it, and they nod their head to touch the keyboard. There are loads
of quadriplegic groups online. He could make lots of new friends that way. It
would mean he doesn’t always have to actually leave the house. I even spoke to
a couple on the chatrooms. They seemed nice. Quite -’ she shrugged ‘- normal.’
We ate our Mars Bar halves in silence, watching as the group of miserable-
looking runners drew closer. I couldn’t see Patrick. I never could. He had the
kind of face that became instantly invisible in crowds.
She pointed at the bit of paper.
‘Anyway, head for the cultural section. There’s a concert specially for people
with disabilities here. You said he’s cultured, right? Well, he could just sit there
and be transported by the music. That’s meant to take you out of yourself, right?
Derek with the moustache, at work, told me about it. He said it can get noisy
because of the really disabled people who yell a bit, but I’m sure he’d still enjoy
it.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘I don’t know, Treen -’
‘You’re just frightened because I said “culture”. You only have to sit there
with him. And not rustle your crisp packet. Or, if you fancied something a bit
saucier ... ’ She grinned at me. ‘There’s a strip club. You could take him to
London for that.’
‘Take my employer to watch a stripper?’
‘Well, you say you do everything else for him - all the cleaning and feeding
and stuff. I can’t see why you wouldn’t just sit by him while he gets a stiffy. ’
‘Treena!’
‘Well, he must miss it. You could even buy him a lap dance.’
Several people around us in the crowd swivelled their heads. My sister was
laughing. She could talk about sex like that. Like it was some kind of
recreational activity. Like it didn’t matter.
‘And then on the other side, there are the bigger trips. Don’t know what you
fancied, but you could do wine tasting in the Loire ... that’s not too far for
starters.’

‘Can quadriplegics get drunk?’
‘I don’t know. Ask him.’
I frowned at the list. ‘So ... I’ll go back and tell the Traynors that I’m going to
get their suicidal quadriplegic son drunk, spend their money on strippers and lap
dancers, and then trundle him off to the Disability Olympics -’
Treena snatched the list back from me. ‘Well, I don’t see you coming up with
anything more bloody inspirational.’
‘I just thought... I don’t know.’ I rubbed at my nose. ‘I’m feeling a bit
daunted, to be honest. I have trouble even persuading him to go into the garden.’
‘Well, that’s hardly the attitude, is it? Oh, look. Here they come. We’d better
smile.’
We pushed our way through to the front of the crowd and began to cheer. It
was quite hard coming up with the required amount of motivating noise when
you could barely move your lips with cold.
I saw Patrick then, his head down in a sea of straining bodies, his face
glistening with sweat, every sinew of his neck stretched and his face anguished
as if he were enduring some kind of torture. That same face would be completely
illuminated as soon as he crossed the finish, as if it were only by plumbing some
personal depths that he could achieve a high. He didn’t see me.
‘Go, Patrick!’ I yelled, weakly.
And he flashed by, towards the finishing line.
Treena didn’t talk to me for two days after I failed to show the required
enthusiasm for her ‘To Do’ list. My parents didn’t notice; they were just
overjoyed to hear that I had decided not to leave my job. Management had called
a series of meetings at the furniture factory for the end of that week, and Dad
was convinced that he would be among those made redundant. Nobody had yet
survived the cull over the age of forty.
‘We’re very grateful for your housekeeping, love,’ Mum said, so often that it
made me feel a bit uncomfortable.
It was a funny week. Treena began packing for her course, and each day I had
to sneak upstairs to go through the bags she had already packed to see which of
my possessions she planned to take with her. Most of my clothes were safe, but
so far I had recovered a hairdryer, my fake Prada sunglasses and my favourite

washbag with the lemons on it. If I confronted her over any of it, she would just
shrug and say, ‘Well, you never use it,’ as if that were entirely the point.
That was Treena all over. She felt entitled. Even though Thomas had come
along, she had never quite lost that sense of being the baby of the family - the
deep-rooted feeling that the whole world actually did revolve around her. When
we had been little and she had thrown a huge strop because she wanted
something of mine, Mum would plead with me to ‘just let her have it’, if only for
some peace in the house. Nearly twenty years on, nothing had really changed.
We had to babysit Thomas so that Treena could still go out, feed him so that
Treena didn’t have to worry, buy her extra-nice presents at birthdays and
Christmas ‘because Thomas means she often goes without’. Well, she could go
without my bloody lemons washbag. I stuck a note on my door which read: ‘My
stuff is MINE. GO AWAY.’ Treena ripped it off and told Mum I was the biggest
child she had ever met and that Thomas had more maturity in his little finger
than I did.
But it got me thinking. One evening, after Treena had gone out to her night
class, I sat in the kitchen while Mum sorted Dad’s shirts ready for ironing.
‘Mum
‘Yes, love.’
‘Do you think I could move into Treena’s room once she’s gone?’
Mum paused, a half-folded shirt pressed to her chest. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t
really thought about it.’
‘I mean, if she and Thomas are not going to be here, it’s only fair that I should
be allowed a proper-sized bedroom. It seems silly, it sitting empty, if they’re
going off to college.’
Mum nodded, and placed the shirt carefully in the laundry basket. ‘I suppose
you’re right.’
‘And by rights, that room should have been mine, what with me being the
elder and all. It’s only because she had Thomas that she got it at all.’
She could see the sense in it. ‘That’s true. I’ll talk to Treena about it,’ she said.
I suppose with hindsight it would have been a good idea to mention it to my
sister first.
Three hours later she came bursting into the living room with a face like
thunder.

‘Would you jump in my grave so quickly?’
Granddad jerked awake in his chair, his hand reflexively clasped to his chest.
I looked up from the television. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Where are me and Thomas supposed to go at weekends? We can’t both fit in
the box room. There’s not even enough room in there for two beds.’
‘Exactly. And I’ve been stuck in there for five years.’ The knowledge that I
was ever so slightly in the wrong made me sound pricklier than I had intended.
‘You can’t take my room. It’s not fair.’
‘You’re not even going to be in it!’
‘But I need it! There’s no way me and Thomas can fit in the box room. Dad,
tell her!’
Dad’s chin descended to somewhere deep in his collar, his arms folded across
his chest. He hated it when we fought, and tended to leave it to Mum to sort out.
‘Turn it down a bit, girls,’ he said.
Granddad shook his head, as if we were all incomprehensible to him.
Granddad shook his head at an awful lot these days.
‘I don’t believe you. No wonder you were so keen to help me leave.’
‘What? So you begging me to keep my job so that I can help you out
financially is now part of my sinister plan, is it?’
‘You’re so two-faced.’
‘Katrina, calm down.’ Mum appeared in the doorway, her rubber gloves
dripping foamy water on to the living-room carpet. ‘We can talk about this
calmly. I don’t want you getting Granddad all wound up.’
Katrina’s face had gone blotchy, the way it did when she was small and she
didn’t get what she wanted. ‘She actually wants me to go. That’s what this is.
She can’t wait for me to go, because she’s jealous that I’m actually doing
something with my life. So she just wants to make it difficult for me to come
home again.’
‘There’s no guarantee you’re even going to be coming home at the weekends,’
I yelled, stung. ‘I need a bedroom, not a cupboard, and you’ve had the best room
the whole time, just because you were dumb enough to get yourself up the duff.’
‘Louisa!’ said Mum.
‘Yes, well, if you weren’t so thick that you can’t even get a proper job, you
could have got your own bloody place. You’re old enough. Or what’s the matter?

You’ve finally figured out that Patrick is never going to ask you?’
‘That’s it!’ Dad’s roar broke into the silence. ‘I’ve heard enough! Treena, go
into the kitchen. Lou, sit down and shut up. I’ve got enough stress in my life
without having to listen to you caterwauling at each other.’
‘If you think I’m helping you now with your stupid list, you’ve got another
thing coming,’ Treena hissed at me, as Mum manhandled her out of the door.
‘Good. I didn’t want your help anyway, freeloader ,’ I said, and then ducked as
Dad threw a copy of the Radio Times at my head.
On Saturday morning I went to the library. I think I probably hadn’t been in
there since I was at school - quite possibly out of fear that they would remember
the Judy Blume I had lost in Year 7, and that a clammy, official hand would
reach out as I passed through its Victorian pillared doors, demanding £3,853 in
fines.
It wasn’t what I remembered. Half the books seemed to have been replaced by
CDs and DVDs, great bookshelves full of audiobooks, and even stands of
greetings cards. And it was not silent. The sound of singing and clapping filtered
through from the children’s book corner, where some kind of mother and baby
group was in full swing. People read magazines and chatted quietly. The section
where old men used to fall asleep over the free newspapers had disappeared,
replaced by a large oval table with computers dotted around the perimeter. I sat
down gingerly at one of these, hoping that nobody was watching. Computers,
like books, are my sister’s thing. Luckily, they seemed to have anticipated the
sheer terror felt by people like me. A librarian stopped by my table, and handed
me a card and a laminated sheet with instructions on it. She didn’t stand over my
shoulder, just murmured that she would be at the desk if I needed any further
help, and then it was just me and a chair with a wonky castor and the blank
screen.
The only computer I have had any contact with in years is Patrick’s. He only
really uses it to download fitness plans, or to order sports technique books from
Amazon. If there is other stuff he does on there, I don’t really want to know
about it. But I followed the librarian’s instructions, double-checking every stage
as I completed it. And, astonishingly, it worked. It didn’t just work, but it was
easy.

Four hours later I had the beginnings of my list.
And nobody mentioned the Judy Blume. Mind you, that was probably because
I had used my sister’s library card.
On the way home I nipped in to the stationer’s and bought a calendar. It
wasn’t one of the month-to-view kind, the ones you flip over to reveal a fresh
picture of Justin Timberlake or mountain ponies. It was a wall calendar - the sort
you might find in an office, with staff holiday entitlement marked on it in
permanent pen. I bought it with the brisk efficiency of someone who liked
nothing better than to immerse herself in administrative tasks.
In my little room at home, I opened it out, pinned it carefully to the back of
my door and marked the date when I had started at the Traynors’, way back at
the beginning of February. Then I counted forward, and marked the date - 12
August - now barely four months ahead. I took a step back and stared at it for a
while, trying to make the little black ring bear some of the weight of what it
heralded. And as I stared, I began to realize what I was taking on.
I would have to fill those little white rectangles with a lifetime of things that
could generate happiness, contentment, satisfaction or pleasure. I would have to
fill them with every good experience I could summon up for a man whose
powerless arms and legs meant he could no longer make them happen by
himself. I had just under four months’ worth of printed rectangles to pack out
with days out, trips away, visitors, lunches and concerts. I had to come up with
all the practical ways to make them happen, and do enough research to make
sure that they didn’t fail.
And then I had to convince Will to actually do them.
I stared at my calendar, the pen stilled in my hand. This little patch of
laminated paper suddenly bore a whole heap of responsibility.
I had a hundred and seventeen days in which to convince Will Traynor that he
had a reason to live.