Me Before You(12)
Author: Jojo Moyes

There were no cafes at this end of town, now that The Buttered Bun was closed. The castle was deserted. The nearest eating place was a gastropub, the kind of place where I doubted I could afford a drink, let alone a quick lunch. All the cars in the car park were huge and expensive with recent number plates.

I stood in the castle car park, making sure I was out of view of Granta House, and dialled my sister’s number. ‘Hey.’

‘You know I can’t talk at work. You haven’t walked out, have you?’

‘No. I just needed to hear a friendly voice.’

‘Is he that bad?’

‘Treen, he hates me. He looks at me like I’m something the cat dragged in. And he doesn’t even drink tea. I’m hiding from him.’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘What?’

‘Just talk to him, for crying out loud. Of course he’s miserable. He’s stuck in a bloody wheelchair. And you’re probably being useless. Just talk to him. Get to know him. What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘I don’t know … I don’t know if I can stick it.’

‘I’m not telling Mum you’re giving up your job after half a day. They won’t give you any benefits, Lou. You can’t do this. We can’t afford for you to do this.’

She was right. I realized I hated my sister.

There was a brief silence. Treen’s voice turned uncharacteristically conciliatory. This was really worrying. It meant she knew I did actually have the worst job in the world. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘It’s just six months. Just do the six months, have something useful on your CV and you can get a job you actually like. And hey – look at it this way, at least it’s not working nights at the chicken factory, right?’

‘Nights at the chicken factory would feel like a holiday compared with –’

‘I’m going now, Lou. I’ll see you later.’

‘So would you like to go somewhere this afternoon? We could drive somewhere if you like.’

Nathan had been gone for almost half an hour. I had spun out the washing of the tea mugs as long as humanly possible, and I thought that if I spent one more hour in this silent house my head might explode.

He turned his head towards me. ‘Where did you have in mind?’

‘I don’t know. Just a drive in the country?’ I was doing this thing I sometimes do of pretending I’m Treena. She is one of those people who are completely calm and competent, and as a result no one ever messes with her. I sounded, to my own ears, professional and upbeat.

‘The country,’ he said, as if considering it. ‘And what would we see. Some trees? Some sky?’

‘I don’t know. What do you normally do?’

‘I don’t do anything, Miss Clark. I can’t do anything any more. I sit. I just about exist.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I was told that you have a car that’s adapted for wheelchair use?’

‘And you’re worried that it will stop working if it doesn’t get used every day?’

‘No, but I –’

‘Are you telling me I should go out?’

‘I just thought –’

‘You thought a little drive would be good for me? A breath of fresh air?’

‘I’m just trying to –’

‘Miss Clark, my life is not going to be significantly improved by a drive around Stortfold’s country lanes.’ He turned away.

His head had sunk into his shoulders and I wondered whether he was comfortable. It didn’t seem to be the time to ask him. We sat in silence.

‘Do you want me to bring you your computer?’

‘Why, have you thought of a good quadriplegic support group I could join? Quads R Us? The Tin Wheel Club?’

I took a deep breath, trying to make my voice sound confident. ‘Okay … well … seeing as we’re going to spend all this time in each other’s company perhaps we could get to know something about each other –’

There was something about his face then that made me falter. He was staring straight ahead at the wall, a tic moving in his jaw.

‘It’s just … it’s quite a long time to spend with someone. All day,’ I continued. ‘Perhaps if you could tell me a little of what you want to do, what you like, then I can … make sure things are as you like them?’

This time the silence was painful. I heard my voice slowly swallowed by it, and couldn’t work out what to do with my hands. Treena and her competent manner had evaporated.

Finally, the wheelchair hummed and he turned slowly to face me.

‘Here’s what I know about you, Miss Clark. My mother says you’re chatty.’ He said it like it was an affliction. ‘Can we strike a deal? Whereby you are very un-chatty around me?’

I swallowed, feeling my face flame.

‘Fine,’ I said, when I could speak again. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen. If you want anything just call me.’

‘You can’t give up already.’

I was lying sideways on my bed with my legs stretched up the wall, like I did when I was a teenager. I had been up here since supper, which was unusual for me. Since Thomas was born, he and Treena had moved into the bigger room, and I was in the box room, which was small enough to make you feel claustrophobic should you sit in it for more than half an hour at a time.

But I didn’t want to sit downstairs with Mum and Granddad because Mum kept looking at me anxiously and saying things like ‘It will get better, love’ and ‘No job is great on the first day’ – as if she’d had a ruddy job in the last twenty years. It was making me feel guilty. And I hadn’t even done anything.

‘I didn’t say I was giving up.’

Treena had barged in without knocking, as she did every day, even though I always had to knock quietly on her room, in case Thomas was sleeping.

‘And I could have been naked. You could at least shout first.’

‘I’ve seen worse. Mum thinks you’re going to hand in your notice.’

I slid my legs sideways down the wall and pushed myself up to a seated position.

‘Oh God, Treen. It’s worse than I thought. He is so miserable.’

‘He can’t move. Of course he’s miserable.’

‘No, but he’s sarcastic and mean with it. Every time I say something or suggest something he looks at me like I’m stupid, or says something that makes me feel about two years old.’