Me Before You(9)
Author: Jojo Moyes

Outside, the rain beat on the windowpanes, just audible over the clatter of plates and cutlery.

‘It’s good money, Bernard. Better than working nights at the chicken factory, anyway.’

There was a general murmur of agreement around the table.

‘Well, it comes to something when the best you can all say about my new career is that it’s better than hauling chicken carcasses around the inside of an aircraft hangar,’ I said.

‘Well, you could always get fit in the meantime and go and do some of your personal training stuff with Patrick here.’

‘Get fit. Thanks, Dad.’ I had been about to reach for another potato, and now changed my mind.

‘Well, why not?’ Mum looked as if she might actually sit down – everyone paused briefly, but no, she was up again, helping Granddad to some gravy. ‘It might be worth bearing in mind for the future. You’ve certainly got the gift of the gab.’

‘She has the gift of the flab.’ Dad snorted.

‘I’ve just got myself a job,’ I said. ‘Paying more than the last one too, if you don’t mind.’

‘But it is only temporary,’ Patrick interjected. ‘Your Dad’s right. You might want to start getting in shape while you do it. You could be a good personal trainer, if you put in a bit of effort.’

‘I don’t want to be a personal trainer. I don’t fancy … all that … bouncing.’ I mouthed an insult at Patrick, who grinned.

‘What Lou wants is a job where she can put her feet up and watch daytime telly while feeding old Ironside there through a straw,’ said Treena.

‘Yes. Because rearranging limp dahlias into buckets of water requires so much physical and mental effort, doesn’t it, Treen?’

‘We’re teasing you, love.’ Dad raised his mug of tea. ‘It’s great that you’ve got a job. We’re proud of you already. And I bet you, once you slide those feet of yours under the table at the big house those buggers won’t want to get rid of you.’

‘Bugger,’ said Thomas.

‘Not me,’ said Dad, chewing, before Mum could say a thing.

3

‘This is the annexe. It used to be stables, but we realized it would suit Will rather better than the house as it’s all on one floor. This is the spare room so that Nathan can stay over if necessary. We needed someone quite often in the early days.’

Mrs Traynor walked briskly down the corridor, gesturing from one doorway to the other, without looking back, her high heels clacking on the flagstones. There seemed to be an expectation that I would keep up.

‘The keys to the car are here. I’ve put you on our insurance. I’m trusting the details you gave me were correct. Nathan should be able to show you how the ramp works. All you have to do is help Will position properly and the vehicle will do the rest. Although … he’s not desperately keen to go anywhere at the moment.’

‘It is a bit chilly out,’ I said.

Mrs Traynor didn’t seem to hear me.

‘You can make yourself tea and coffee in the kitchen. I keep the cupboards stocked. The bathroom is through here –’

She opened the door and I stared at the white metal and plastic hoist that crouched over the bath. There was an open wet area under the shower, with a folded wheelchair beside it. In the corner a glass-fronted cabinet revealed neat stacks of shrink-wrapped bales. I couldn’t see what they were from here, but it all gave off a faint scent of disinfectant.

Mrs Traynor closed the door, and turned briefly to face me. ‘I should reiterate, it is very important that Will has someone with him all the time. A previous carer disappeared for several hours once to get her car fixed, and Will … injured himself in her absence.’ She swallowed, as if still traumatized by the memory.

‘I won’t go anywhere.’

‘Of course you will need … comfort breaks. I just want to make it clear that he can’t be left for periods longer than, say, ten or fifteen minutes. If something unavoidable comes up either ring the intercom, as my husband, Steven, may be home, or call my mobile number. If you do need to take any time off, I would appreciate as much notice as possible. It is not always easy finding cover.’

‘No.’

Mrs Traynor opened the hall cupboard. She spoke like someone reciting a well-rehearsed speech.

I wondered briefly how many carers there had been before me.

‘If Will is occupied, then it would be helpful if you could do some basic housekeeping. Wash bedding, run a vacuum cleaner around, that sort of thing. The cleaning equipment is under the sink. He may not want you around him all the time. You and he will have to work out your level of interaction for yourselves.’

Mrs Traynor looked at my clothes, as if for the first time. I was wearing the very shaggy waistcoat thing that Dad says makes me look like an emu. I tried to smile. It seemed like an effort.

‘Obviously I would hope that you could … get on with each other. It would be nice if he could think of you as a friend rather than a paid professional.’

‘Right. What does he … um … like to do?’

‘He watches films. Sometimes he listens to the radio, or to music. He has one of those digital things. If you position it near his hand, he can usually manipulate it himself. He has some movement in his fingers, although he finds it hard to grip.’

I felt myself brightening. If he liked music and films, surely we could find some common ground? I had a sudden picture of myself and this man laughing at some Hollywood comedy, me running the Hoover around the bedroom while he listened to his music. Perhaps this was going to be okay. Perhaps we might end up as friends. I had never had a disabled friend before – only Treen’s friend David, who was deaf, but would put you in a headlock if you suggested that meant disabled.

‘Do you have any questions?’

‘No.’

‘Then let’s go and introduce you.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Nathan should have finished dressing him now.’

We hesitated outside the door and Mrs Traynor knocked. ‘Are you in there? I have Miss Clark to meet you, Will.’

There was no answer.

‘Will? Nathan?’

A broad New Zealand accent. ‘He’s decent, Mrs T.’

She pushed open the door. The annexe’s living room was deceptively large, and one wall consisted entirely of glass doors that looked out over open countryside. A wood burner glowed quietly in the corner, and a low beige sofa faced a huge flat-screen television, its seats covered by a wool throw. The mood of the room was tasteful, and peaceful – a Scandinavian bachelor pad.