Me Before You: A Novel

seemed to prefer to believe that it had been an accident.) She made me feel like a first-class eejit, and consequently I became a first-class eejit around her. She always arrived just when I had dropped something on the floor, or was struggling with the cooker dial, or she would be standing in the hallway looking mildly irritated as I stepped back in from collecting logs outside, as if I had been gone much longer than I actually had.
    Weirdly, her attitude got to me more than Will’s rudeness. A couple of times I had even been tempted to ask her outright whether there was something wrong.
You said that you were hiring me for my attitude rather than my professional skills
, I wanted to say.
Well, here I am, being cheery every ruddy day. Being robust, just as you wanted. So what’s your problem?
    But Camilla Traynor was not the kind of woman you could have said that to. And besides, I got the feeling nobody in that house ever said anything direct to anyone else.
    ‘Lily, our last girl, had rather a clever habit of using that pan for two vegetables at once,’ meant
You’re making too much mess
.
    ‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea, Will,’ actually meant
I have no idea what to say to you
.
    ‘I think I’ve got some paperwork that needs sorting out,’ meant
You’re being rude, and I’m going to leave the room
.
    All pronounced with that slightly pained expression, and the slender fingers running up and down the chain with the crucifix. She was so held in, so restrained. She made my own mother look like Amy Winehouse. I smiled politely, pretended I hadn’t noticed, and did the job I was paid to do.
    Or at least, I tried.
    ‘Why the hell are you trying to sneak carrots on to my fork?’
    I glanced down at the plate. I had been watching the female television presenter and wondering what my hair would look like dyed the same colour.
    ‘Uh? I didn’t.’
    ‘You did. You mashed them up and tried to hide them in the gravy. I saw you.’
    I blushed. He was right. I was sitting feeding Will, while both of us vaguely watched the lunchtime news. The meal was roast beef with mashed potato. His mother had told me to put three sorts of vegetables on the plate, even though he had said quite clearly that he didn’t want vegetables that day. I don’t think there was a meal that I was instructed to prepare that wasn’t nutritionally balanced to within an inch of its life.
    ‘Why are you trying to sneak carrots into me?’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘So there are no carrots on that?’
    I gazed at the tiny pieces of orange. ‘Well … okay … ’
    He was waiting, eyebrows raised.
    ‘Um … I suppose I thought vegetables would be good for you?’
    It was part deference to Mrs Traynor, part force of habit. I was so used to feeding Thomas, whose vegetables had to be mashed to a paste and hidden under mounds of potato, or secreted in bits of pasta. Every fragment we got past him felt like a little victory.
    ‘Let me get this straight. You think a teaspoon of carrot would improve my quality of life?’
    It
was
pretty stupid when he put it like that. But I had learnt it was important not to look cowed by anything Will said or did.
    ‘I take your point,’ I said evenly. ‘I won’t do it again.’
    And then, out of nowhere, Will Traynor laughed. It exploded out of him in a gasp, as if it were entirely unexpected.
    ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he shook his head.
    I stared at him.
    ‘What the hell else have you been sneaking into my food? You’ll be telling me to open the tunnel so that Mr Train can deliver some mushy Brussel sprouts to the red bloody station next.’
    I considered this for a minute. ‘No,’ I said, straight-faced. ‘I deal only with Mr Fork. Mr Fork does not look like a train.’
    Thomas had told me so, very firmly, some months previously.
    ‘Did my mother put you up to this?’
    ‘No. Look, Will, I’m sorry. I just … wasn’t thinking.’
    ‘Like that’s unusual.’
    ‘All right, all right. I’ll take the bloody carrots off, if they really upset you so much.’
    ‘It’s not the bloody carrots that upset me. It’s having them sneaked into my food by a madwoman who addresses the cutlery as Mr and Mrs Fork.’
    ‘It was a joke. Look, let me take the carrots and –’
    He turned away from me. ‘I don’t want anything else. Just do me a cup of tea.’ He called out after me as I left the room, ‘And don’t try and sneak a bloody courgette into it.’
    Nathan walked in as I was