me before you, 13

13


Patrick stood on the edge of the track, jogging on the spot, his new Nike T-shirt
and shorts sticking slightly to his damp limbs. I had stopped by to say hello and
to tell him that I wouldn’t be at the Triathlon Terrors meeting at the pub that
evening. Nathan was off, and I had stepped in to take over the evening routine.

‘That’s three meetings you’ve missed.’

‘Is it?’ I counted back on my fingers. ‘I suppose it is.’

‘You’ll have to come next week. It’s all the travel plans for the Xtreme Viking.
And you haven’t told me what you want to do for your birthday.’ He began to do
his stretches, lifting his leg high and pressing his chest to his knee. ‘I thought
maybe the cinema? I don’t want to do a big meal, not while I’m training.’

‘Ah. Mum and Dad are planning a special dinner.’

He grabbed at his heel, pointing his knee to the ground.

I couldn’t help but notice that his leg was becoming weirdly sinewy.

‘It’s not exactly a night out, is it?’

‘Well, nor is the multiplex. Anyway, I feel like I should, Patrick. Mum’s been
a bit down.’

Treena had moved out the previous weekend (minus my lemons washbag - I
retrieved that the night before she went). Mum was devastated; it was actually
worse than when Treena had gone to university the first time around. She missed
Thomas like an amputated limb. His toys, which had littered the living-room
floor since babyhood, were boxed up and put away. There were no chocolate
fingers or small cartons of drink in the cupboard. She no longer had a reason to
walk to the school at 3.15pm, nobody to chat to on the short walk home. It had
been the only time Mum ever really spent outside the house. Now she went
nowhere at all, apart from the weekly supermarket shop with Dad.



She floated around the house looking a bit lost for three days, then she began
spring cleaning with a vigour that frightened even Granddad. He would mouth
gummy protests at her as she tried to vacuum under the chair that he was still
sitting in, or flick at his shoulders with her duster. Treena had said she wouldn’t
come home for the first few weeks, just to give Thomas a chance to settle. When
she rang each evening, Mum would speak to them and then cry for a full half-
hour in her bedroom afterwards.

‘You’re always working late these days. I feel like I hardly see you.’

‘Well, you’re always training. Anyway, it’s good money, Patrick. I’m hardly
going to say no to the overtime.’

He couldn’t argue with that.

I was earning more than I had ever earned in my life. I doubled the amount I
gave my parents, put some aside into a savings account every month, and I was
still left with more than I could spend. Part of it was, I worked so many hours
that I was never away from Granta House when the shops were open. The other
was, simply, that I didn’t really have an appetite for spending. The spare hours I
did have I had started to spend in the library, looking things up on the internet.

There was a whole world available to me from that PC, layer upon layer of it,
and it had begun to exert a siren call.

It had started with the thank-you letter. A couple of days after the concert, I
told Will I thought we should write and thank his friend, the violinist.

‘I bought a nice card on the way in,’ I said. ‘You tell me what you want to say,
and I’ll write it. I’ve even brought in my good pen.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Will said.

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You don’t think so? That man gave us front of house seats. You said yourself
it was fantastic. The least you could do is thank him.’

Will’s jaw was fixed, immovable.

I put down my pen. ‘Or are you just so used to people giving you stuff that
you don’t feel you have to?’

‘You have no idea, Clark, how frustrating it is to rely on someone else to put
your words down for you. The phrase “written on behalf of” is ... humiliating.’



‘Yeah? Well it’s still better than a great big fat nothing,’ I grumbled. ‘I’m
going to thank him, anyway. I won’t mention your name, if you really want to be
an arse about it.’

I wrote the card, and posted it. I said nothing more about it. But that evening,
Will’s words still echoing around my head, I found myself diverting into the
library and, spying an unused computer, I logged on to the internet. I looked up
whether there were any devices that Will could use to do his own writing. Within
an hour, I had come up with three - a piece of voice recognition software,
another type of software which relied on the blinking of an eye, and, as my sister
had mentioned, a tapping device that Will could wear on his head.

He was predictably sniffy about the head device, but he conceded that the
voice recognition software might be useful, and within a week we managed, with
Nathan’s help, to install it on his computer, setting Will up so that with the
computer tray fixed to his chair, he no longer needed someone else to type for
him. He was a bit self-conscious about it initially, but after I instructed him to
begin everything with, ‘Take a letter, Miss Clark,’ he got over it.

Even Mrs Traynor couldn’t find anything to complain about. ‘If there is any
other equipment that you think might be useful,’ she said, her lips still pursed as
if she couldn’t quite believe this might have been a straightforwardly good thing,
‘do let us know.’ She eyed Will nervously, as if he might actually be about to
wrench it off with his jaw.

Three days later, just as I set off for work, the postman handed me a letter. I
opened it on the bus, thinking it might be an early birthday card from some
distant cousin. It read, in computerized text:

Dear Clark,

This is to show you that I am not an entirely selfish arse. And I do appreciate your efforts.

Thank you.

Will

I laughed so hard the bus driver asked me if my lottery numbers had come up.

After years spent in that box room, my clothes perched on a rail in the hallway
outside, Treena’s bedroom felt palatial. The first night I spent in it I spun round
with my arms outstretched, just luxuriating in the fact that I couldn’t touch both
walls simultaneously. I went to the DIY store and bought paint and new blinds,



as well as a new bedside light and some shelves, which I assembled myself. It’s
not that I’m good at that stuff; I guess I just wanted to see if I could do it.

I set about redecorating, painting for an hour a night after I came home from
work, and at the end of the week even Dad had to admit I’d done a really good
job. He stared for a bit at my cutting in, fingered the blinds that I had put up
myself, and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘This job has been the making of you,
Lou.’

I bought a new duvet cover, a rug and some oversized cushions - just in case
anyone ever stopped by, and fancied lounging. Not that anyone did. The calendar
went on the back of the new door. Nobody saw it except for me. Nobody else
would have known what it meant, anyway.

I did feel a bit bad about the fact that once we had put Thomas’s camp bed up
next to Treena’s in the box room, there wasn’t actually any floor space left, but
then I rationalized - they didn’t even really live here any more. And the box
room was somewhere they were only going to sleep. There was no point in the
larger room being empty for weeks on end.

I went to work each day, thinking about other places I could take Will. I didn’t
have any overall plan, I just focused each day on getting him out and about and
trying to keep him happy. There were some days - days when his limbs burnt, or
when infection claimed him and he lay miserable and feverish in bed - that were
harder than others. But on the good days I had managed several times to get him
out into the spring sunshine. I knew now that one of the things Will hated most
was the pity of strangers, so I drove him to local beauty spots, where for an hour
or so it could be just the two of us. I made picnics and we sat out on the edges of
fields, just enjoying the breeze and being away from the annexe.

‘My boyfriend wants to meet you,’ I told him one afternoon, breaking off
pieces of cheese and pickle sandwich for him.

I had driven several miles out of town, up on to a hill, and we could see the
castle, across the valley opposite, separated from us by fields of lambs.

‘Why?’

‘He wants to know who I’m spending all these late nights with.’

Oddly, I could see he found this quite cheering.

‘Running Man.’

‘I think my parents do too.’



‘I get nervous when a girl says she wants me to meet her parents. How is your
mum, anyway?’

The same.’

‘Your dad’s job? Any news?’

‘No. Next week, they’re telling him now. Anyway, they said did I want to
invite you to my birthday dinner on Friday? All very relaxed. Just family, really.
But it’s fine ... I said you wouldn’t want to.’

‘Who says I wouldn’t want to?’

‘You hate strangers. You don’t like eating in front of people. And you don’t
like the sound of my boyfriend. It seems like a no-brainer to me.’

I had worked him out now. The best way to get Will to do anything was to tell
him you knew he wouldn’t want to. Some obstinate, contrary part of him still
couldn’t bear it.

Will chewed for a minute. ‘No. I’ll come to your birthday. It’ll give your
mother something to focus on, if nothing else.’

‘Really? Oh God, if I tell her she’ll start polishing and dusting this evening.’

‘Are you sure she’s your biological mother? Isn’t there supposed to be some
kind of genetic similarity there? Sandwich please, Clark. And more pickle on the
next bit.’

I had been only half joking. Mum went into a complete tailspin at the thought
of hosting a quadriplegic. Her hands flew to her face, and then she started
rearranging stuff on the dresser, as if he were going to arrive within minutes of
me telling her.

‘But what if he needs to go to the loo? We don’t have a downstairs bathroom.

I don’t think Daddy would be able to carry him upstairs. I could help ... but I’d
feel a bit worried about where to put my hands. Would Patrick do it?’

‘You don’t need to worry about that side of things. Really.’

‘And what about his food? Will he need his pureed? Is there anything he can’t
eat?’

‘No, he just needs help picking it up.’

‘Who’s going to do that?’

‘I will. Relax, Mum. He’s nice. You’ll like him.’

And so it was arranged. Nathan would pick Will up and drive him over, and
would come by two hours later to take him home again and run through the



night-time routine. I had offered, but they both insisted I should 'let my hair
down’ on my birthday. They plainly hadn’t met my parents.

At half past seven on the dot, I opened the door to find Will and Nathan in the
front porch. Will was wearing his smart shirt and jacket. I didn’t know whether
to be pleased that he had made the effort, or worried that my mum would now
spend the first two hours of the night worrying that she hadn’t dressed smartly
enough.

‘Hey, you.’

My dad emerged into the hallway behind me. ‘Aha. Was the ramp okay, lads?’
He had spent all afternoon making the particle-board ramp for the outside steps.

Nathan carefully negotiated Will’s chair up and into our narrow hallway.
‘Nice,’ Nathan said, as I closed the door behind him. ‘Very nice. I’ve seen worse
in hospitals.’

‘Bernard Clark.’ Dad reached out and shook Nathan’s hand. He held it out
towards Will, before snatching it away again with a sudden flush of
embarrassment. ‘Bernard. Sorry, um ... I don’t know how to greet a ... I can’t
shake your -’ He began to stutter.

‘A curtsy will be fine.’

Dad stared at him and then, when he realized Will was joking, he let out a
great laugh of relief. ‘Hah!’ he said, and clapped Will on the shoulder. ‘Yes.
Curtsy. Nice one. Hah!

It broke the ice. Nathan left with a wave and a wink, and I wheeled Will
through to the kitchen. Mum, luckily, was holding a casserole dish, which
absolved her of the same anxiety.

‘Mum, this is Will. Will, Josephine.’

‘Josie, please.’ She beamed at him, her oven gloves up to her elbows. ‘Lovely
to meet you finally, Will.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘Don’t let me interrupt.’

She put down the dish and her hand went to her hair, always a good sign with
my mother. It was a shame she hadn’t remembered to take an oven glove off
first.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Roast dinner. It’s all in the timing, you know.’

‘Not really,’ Will said. ‘I’m not a cook. But I love good food. It’s why I have
been looking forward to tonight.’



‘So ... 5 Dad opened the fridge. ‘How do we do this? Do you have a special
beer ... cup, Will?’

If it was Dad, I told Will, he would have had an adapted beer cup before he
had a wheelchair.

‘Got to get your priorities right,’ Dad said. I rummaged in Will’s bag until I
found his beaker.

‘Beer will be fine. Thank you.’

He took a sip and I stood in the kitchen, suddenly conscious of our tiny,
shabby house with its 1980s wallpaper and dented kitchen cupboards. Will’s
home was elegantly furnished, its things sparse and beautiful. Our house looked
as if 90 per cent of its contents came from the local pound shop. Thomas’s dog¬
eared paintings covered every spare surface of wall. But if he had noticed, Will
said nothing. He and Dad had quickly found a shared point of reference, which
turned out to be my general uselessness. I didn’t mind. It kept them both happy.

‘Did you know, she once drove backwards into a bollard and swore it was the
bollard’s fault... ’

‘You want to see her lowering my ramp. It’s like Ski Sunday coming out of
that car sometimes ... ’

Dad burst out laughing.

I left them to it. Mum followed me out, fretting. She put a tray of glasses on to
the dining table, then glanced up at the clock. ‘Where’s Patrick?’

‘He was coming straight from training,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he’s been held up.’

‘He couldn’t put it off just for your birthday? This chicken is going to be
spoilt if he’s much longer.’

‘Mum, it will be fine.’

I waited until she had put the tray down, and then I slid my arms around her
and gave her a hug. She was rigid with anxiety. I felt a sudden wave of sympathy
for her. It couldn’t be easy being my mother.

‘Really. It will be fine.’

She let go of me, kissed the top of my head, and brushed her hands down her
apron. ‘I wish your sister was here. It seems wrong to have a celebration without
her.’

Not to me it didn’t. Just for once, I was quite enjoying being the focus of
attention. It might sound childish, but it was true. I loved having Will and Dad



laughing about me. I loved the fact that every element of supper - from roast
chicken to chocolate mousse - was my favourite. I liked the fact that I could be
who I wanted to be without my sister’s voice reminding me of who I had been.

The doorbell rang, and Mum flapped her hands. There he is. Lou, why don’t
you start serving?’

Patrick was still flushed from his exertions at the track. ‘Happy birthday,
babe,’ he said, stooping to kiss me. He smelt of aftershave and deodorant and
warm, recently showered skin.

‘Best go straight through.’ I nodded towards the living room. ‘Mum’s having a
timing meltdown.’

‘Oh.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘Sorry. Must have lost track of time.’

‘Not your time, though, eh?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

Dad had moved the big gateleg table into the living room. He had also, on my
instruction, moved one of the sofas to the other wall so that Will would be able
to enter the room unobstructed. He manoeuvred his wheelchair to the placing I
pointed to, and then elevated himself a little so that he would be the same height
as everyone else. I sat on his left, and Patrick sat opposite. He and Will and
Granddad nodded their hellos. I had already warned Patrick not to try to shake
his hand. Even as I sat down I could feel Will studying Patrick, and I wondered,
briefly, whether he would be as charming to my boyfriend as he had been to my
parents.

Will inclined his head towards me. ‘If you look in the back of the chair, there’s
a little something for the dinner.’

I leant back and reached my hand downwards into his bag. I pulled it up
again, retrieving a bottle of Laurent-Perrier champagne.

‘You should always have champagne on your birthday,’ he said.

‘Oh, look at that,’ Mum said, bringing in the plates. ‘How lovely! But we have
no champagne glasses.’

‘These will be fine,’ Will said.

‘I’ll open it.’ Patrick reached for it, unwound the wire, and placed his thumbs
under the cork. He kept glancing over at Will, as if he were not what he had
expected at all.



‘If you do that,’ Will observed, ‘it’s going to go everywhere.’ He lifted his arm
an inch or so, gesturing vaguely. ‘I find that holding the cork and turning the
bottle tends to be a safer bet.’

‘There’s a man who knows his champagne,’ Dad said. ‘There you go, Patrick.
Turning the bottle, you say? Well, who knew?’

‘I knew,’ Patrick said. ‘That’s how I was going to do it.’

The champagne was safely popped and poured, and my birthday was toasted.

Granddad called out something that may well have been, ‘Hear, hear.’

I stood up and bowed. I was wearing a 1960s yellow A-line minidress I had
got from the charity shop. The woman had thought it might be Biba, although
someone had cut the label out.

‘May this be the year our Lou finally grows up,’ Dad said. ‘I was going to say
“does something with her life” but it seems like she finally is. I have to say, Will,
since she’s had the job with you she’s - well, she’s really come out of herself.’

‘We’re very proud,’ Mum said. ‘And grateful. To you. For employing her, I
mean.’

‘Gratitude’s all mine,’ Will said. He glanced sideways at me.

‘To Lou,’ Dad said. ‘And her continued success.’

‘And to absent family members,’ Mum said.

‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘I should have a birthday more often. Most days you all just
hurl abuse at me.’

They began to talk, Dad telling some other story against me that made him
and Mum laugh out loud. It was good to see them laughing. Dad had looked so
worn down these last weeks, and Mum had been hollow-eyed and distracted, as
if her real self were always elsewhere. I wanted to savour these moments, of
them briefly forgetting their troubles, in shared jokes and familial fondness. Just
for a moment, I realized I wouldn’t have minded if Thomas was there. Or
Treena, for that matter.

I was so lost in my thoughts that it took a minute to register Patrick’s
expression. I was feeding Will as I said something to Granddad, folding a piece
of smoked salmon in my fingers and placing it to Will’s lips. It was such an
unthinking part of my daily life now that the intimacy of the gesture only struck
me when I saw the shock on Patrick’s face.



Will said something to Dad and I stared at Patrick, willing him to stop. On his
left, Granddad was picking at his plate with greedy delight, letting out what we
called his 'food noises’ - little grunts and murmurs of pleasure.

‘Delicious salmon,’ Will said, to my mother. ‘Really lovely flavour.

‘Well, it’s not something we would have every day,’ she said, smiling. ‘But we
did want to make today special.’

Stop staring, I told Patrick silently.

Finally, he caught my eye and looked away. He looked furious.

I fed Will another piece, and then some bread when I saw him glance at it. I
had, I realized in that moment, become so attuned to Will’s needs that I barely
needed to look at him to work out what he wanted. Patrick, opposite, ate with his
head down, cutting the smoked salmon into small pieces and spearing them with
his fork. He left his bread.

‘So, Patrick,’ Will said, perhaps sensing my discomfort. ‘Louisa tells me
you’re a personal trainer. What does that involve?’

I so wished he hadn’t asked. Patrick launched into his sales spiel, all about
personal motivation and how a fit body made for a healthy mind. Then he
segued into his training schedule for the Xtreme Viking - the temperatures of the
North Sea, the body fat ratios needed for marathon running, his best times in
each discipline. I normally tuned out at this point, but all I could think of now,
with Will beside me, was how inappropriate it was. Why couldn’t he have just
said something vague and left it at that?

‘In fact, when Lou said you were coming, I thought I’d take a look at my
books and see if there was any physio I could recommend.’

I choked on my champagne. ‘It’s quite specialist, Patrick. I’m not sure you’d
really be the person.’

‘I can do specialist. I do sports injuries. I have medical training.’

‘This is not a sprained ankle, Pat. Really.’

‘There’s a man I worked with a couple of years ago had a client who was
paraplegic. He’s almost fully recovered now, he says. Does triathlons and
everything.’

‘Fancy,’ said my mother.

‘He pointed me to this new research in Canada that says muscles can be
trained to remember former activity. If you get them working enough, every day,



it’s like a brain synapse - it can come back. I bet you if we hooked you up with a
really good regime, you could see a difference in your muscle memory. After all,
Lou tells me you were quite the action man before.’

‘Patrick,’ I said loudly. ‘You know nothing about it.’

‘I was just trying to -’

‘Well don’t. Really.’

The table fell silent. Dad coughed, and excused himself for it. Granddad
peered around the table in wary silence.

Mum made as if to offer everyone more bread, and then seemed to change her
mind.

When Patrick spoke again, there was a faint air of martyrdom in his tone. ‘It’s
just research that I thought might be helpful. But I’ll say no more about it.’

Will looked up and smiled, his face blank, polite. ‘I’ll certainly bear it in
mind.’

I got up to clear the plates, wanting to escape the table. But Mum scolded me,
telling me to sit down.

‘You’re the birthday girl,’ she said - as if she ever let anyone else do anything,
anyway. ‘Bernard. Why don’t you go and get the chicken?’

‘Ha-ha. Let’s hope it’s stopped flapping around now, eh?’ Dad smiled, his
teeth bared in a kind of grimace.

The rest of the meal passed off without incident. My parents, I could see, were
completely charmed by Will. Patrick, less so. He and Will barely exchanged
another word. Somewhere around the point where Mum served up the roast
potatoes - Dad doing his usual thing of trying to steal extras - I stopped
worrying. Dad was asking Will all sorts, about his life before, even about the
accident, and he seemed comfortable enough to answer him directly. In fact, I
learnt a fair bit that he’d never told me. His job, for example, sounded pretty
important, even if he played it down. He bought and sold companies and made
sure he turned a profit while doing so. It took Dad a few attempts to prise out of
him that his idea of profit ran into six or seven figures. I found myself staring at
Will, trying to reconcile the man I knew with this ruthless City suit that he now
described. Dad told him about the company that was about to take over the
furniture factory, and when he said the name Will nodded almost apologetically,



and said that yes, he knew of them. Yes, he would probably have gone for it too.
The way he said it didn’t sound promising for Dad’s job.

Mum just cooed at Will, and made a huge fuss of him. I realized, watching her
smile, that at some stage during the meal he had just become a smart young man
at her table. No wonder Patrick was pissed off.

‘Birthday cake?’ Granddad said, as she began to clear the dishes.

It was so distinct, so surprising, that Dad and I stared at each other in shock.
The whole table went quiet.

‘No,’ I walked around the table and kissed him. ‘No, Granddad. Sorry. But it
is chocolate mousse. You like that.’

He nodded in approval. My mother was beaming. I don’t think any of us could
have had a better present.

The mousse arrived on the table, and with it a large, square present, about the
size of a telephone directory, wrapped in tissue.

‘Presents, is it?’ Patrick said. ‘Here. Here’s mine.’ He smiled at me as he
placed it in the middle of the table.

I raised a smile back. This was no time to argue, after all.

‘Go on,’ said Dad. ‘Open it.’

I opened theirs first, peeling the paper carefully away so that I didn’t tear it. It
was a photograph album, and on every page there was a picture from a year in
my life. Me as a baby; me and Treena as solemn, chubby-faced girls; me on my
first day at secondary school, all hairclips and oversized skirt. More recently,
there was a picture of me and Patrick, the one where I was actually telling him to
piss off. And me, dressed in a grey skirt, my first day in my new job. In between
the pages were pictures of our family by Thomas, letters that Mum had kept
from school trips, my childish handwriting telling of days on the beach, lost ice
creams and thieving gulls. I flicked through, and only hesitated briefly when I
saw the girl with the long, dark flicked-back hair. I turned the page.

‘Can I see?’ Will said.

‘It’s not been ... the best year,’ Mum told him, as I flicked through the pages
in front of him. ‘I mean, we’re fine and everything. But, you know, things being
what they are. And then Granddad saw something on the daytime telly about
making your own presents, and I thought that was something that would ... you
know ... really mean something.’



‘It does, Mum.’ My eyes had filled with tears. ‘I love it. Thank you.’

‘Granddad picked out some of the pictures,’ she said.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Will.

‘I love it,’ I said again.

The look of utter relief she and Dad exchanged was the saddest thing I have
ever seen.

‘Mine next.’ Patrick pushed the little box across the table. I opened it slowly,
feeling vaguely panicked for a moment that it might be an engagement ring. I
wasn’t ready. I had barely got my head around having my own bedroom. I
opened the little box, and there, against the dark-blue velvet, was a thin gold
chain with a little star pendant. It was sweet, delicate, and not remotely me. I
didn’t wear that kind of jewellery, never had.

I let my eyes rest on it while I worked out what to say. ‘It’s lovely,’ I said, as
he leant across the table and fastened it around my neck.

‘Glad you like it,’ Patrick said, and kissed me on the mouth. I swear he’d
never kissed me like that in front of my parents before.

Will watched me, his face impassive.

‘Well, I think we should eat pudding now,’ Dad said. ‘Before it gets too hot.’
He laughed out loud at his own joke. The champagne had boosted his spirits
immeasurably.

‘There’s something in my bag for you too,’ Will said, quietly. ‘The one on the
back of my chair. It’s in orange wrapping.’

I pulled the present from Will’s backpack.

My mother paused, the serving spoon in her hand. ‘You got Lou a present,
Will? That’s ever so kind of you. Isn’t that kind of him, Bernard?’

‘It certainly is.’

The wrapping paper had brightly coloured Chinese kimonos on it. I didn’t
have to look at it to know I would save it. Perhaps even create something to wear
based on it. I removed the ribbon, putting it to one side for later. I opened the
paper, and then the tissue paper within it, and there, staring at me was a strangely
familiar black and yellow stripe.

I pulled the fabric from the parcel, and in my hands were two pairs of black
and yellow tights. Adult-sized, opaque, in a wool so soft that they almost slid
through my fingers.



‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. I had started to laugh - a joyous, unexpected thing.
‘Oh my God! Where did you get these?’

‘I had them made. You’ll be happy to know I instructed the woman via my
brand-new voice recognition software.’

‘Tights?’ Dad and Patrick said in unison.

‘Only the best pair of tights ever.’

My mother peered at them. ‘You know, Louisa, I’m pretty sure you had a pair
just like that when you were very little.’

Will and I exchanged a look.

I couldn’t stop beaming. ‘I want to put them on now,’ I said.

‘Jesus Christ, she’ll look like Max Wall in a beehive,’ my father said, shaking
his head.

‘Ah Bernard, it’s her birthday. Sure, she can wear what she wants.’

I ran outside and pulled on a pair in the hallway. I pointed a toe, admiring the
silliness of them. I don’t think a present had ever made me so happy in my life.

I walked back in. Will let out a small cheer. Granddad banged his hands on the
table. Mum and Dad burst out laughing. Patrick just stared.

‘I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love these,’ I said. ‘Thank you.
Thank you.’ I reached out a hand and touched the back of his shoulder. ‘Really.’

‘There’s a card in there too,’ he said. ‘Open it some other time.’

My parents made a huge fuss of Will when he left.

Dad, who was drunk, kept thanking him for employing me, and made him
promise to come back. ‘If I lose my job, maybe I’ll come over and watch the
footie with you one day,’ he said.

‘I’d like that,’ said Will, even though I’d never seen him watch a football
match.

My mum pressed some leftover mousse on him, wrapping it in a Tupperware
container, ‘Seeing as you liked it so much.’

What a gentleman, they would say, for a good hour after he had gone. A real
gentleman.

Patrick came out to the hallway, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, as if
perhaps to stop the urge to shake Will’s own. That was my more generous
conclusion.



‘Good to meet you, Patrick/ Will said. ‘And thank you for the ... advice/

‘Oh, just trying to help my girlfriend get the best out of her job/ he said.
‘That’s all/ There was a definite emphasis on the word my.

‘Well, you’re a lucky man,’ Will said, as Nathan began to steer him out. ‘She
certainly gives a good bed bath.’ He said it so quickly that the door was closed
before Patrick even realized what he had said.

‘You never told me you were giving him bed baths.’

We had gone back to Patrick’s house, a new-build flat on the edge of town. It
had been marketed as ‘loft living’, even though it overlooked the retail park, and
was no more than three floors high.

‘What does that mean - you wash his dick?’

‘I don’t wash his dick.’ I picked up the cleanser that was one of the few things
I was allowed to keep at Patrick’s place, and began to clean off my make-up with
sweeping strokes.

‘He just said you did.’

‘He’s teasing you. And after you going on and on about how he used to be an
action man, I don’t blame him.’

‘So what is it you do for him? You’ve obviously not been giving me the full
story.’

‘I do wash him, sometimes, but only down to his underwear.’

Patrick’s stare spoke volumes. Finally, he looked away from me, pulled off his
socks and hurled them into the laundry basket. ‘Your job isn’t meant to be about
this. No medical stuff, it said. No intimate stuff. It wasn’t part of your job
description.’ A sudden thought occurred to him. ‘You could sue. Constructive
dismissal, I think it is, when they change the terms of your job?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. And I do it because Nathan can’t always be there, and
it’s horrible for Will to have some complete stranger from an agency handling
him. And besides, I’m used to it now. It really doesn’t bother me.’

How could I explain to him - how a body can become so familiar to you? I
could change Will’s tubes with a deft professionalism, sponge bathe his naked
top half without a break in our conversation. I didn’t even balk at Will’s scars
now. For a while, all I had been able to see was a potential suicide. Now he was
just Will - maddening, mercurial, clever, funny Will - who patronized me and



liked to play Professor Higgins to my Eliza Doolittle. His body was just part of
the whole package, a thing to be dealt with, at intervals, before we got back to
the talking. It had become, I supposed, the least interesting part of him.

‘I just can’t believe ... after all we went through ... how long it took you to let
me come anywhere near you ... and here’s some stranger who you’re quite
happy to get up close and personal with -’

‘Can we not talk about this tonight, Patrick? It’s my birthday.’

‘I wasn’t the one who started it, with talk of bed baths and whatnot.’

‘Is it because he’s good looking?’ I demanded. ‘Is that it? Would it all be so
much easier for you if he looked like - you know - a proper vegetable?’

‘So you do think he’s good looking.’

I pulled my dress over my head, and began peeling my tights carefully from
my legs, the dregs of my good mood finally evaporating. ‘I can’t believe you’re
doing this. I can’t believe you’re jealous of him.’

‘I’m not jealous of him.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘How could I be jealous of
a cripple?’

Patrick made love to me that night. Perhaps ‘made love’ is stretching it a bit.
We had sex, a marathon session in which he seemed determined to show off his
athleticism, his strength and vigour. It lasted for hours. If he could have swung
me from a chandelier I think he would have done so. It was nice to feel so
wanted, to find myself the focus of Patrick’s attention after months of semi¬
detachment. But a little part of me stayed aloof during the whole thing. I
suspected it wasn’t for me, after all. I had worked that out pretty quickly. This
little show was for Will’s benefit.

‘How was that, eh?’ He wrapped himself around me afterwards, our skin
sticking slightly with perspiration, and kissed my forehead.

‘Great,’ I said.

‘I love you, babe.’

And, satisfied, he rolled off, threw an arm back over his head, and was asleep
within minutes.

When sleep still didn’t come, I got out of bed and went downstairs to my bag.

I rifled through it, looking for the book of Flannery O’Connor short stories. It
was as I pulled them from my bag that the envelope fell out.



I stared at it. Will’s card. I hadn’t opened it at the table. I did so now, feeling
an unlikely sponginess at its centre. I slid the card carefully from its envelope,
and opened it. Inside were ten crisp £50 notes. I counted them twice, unable to
believe what I was seeing. Inside, it read:

Birthday bonus. Don’t fuss. It’s a legal requirement. W.