Me Before You: A Novel

he would not be able to turn over by himself. His hair stuck up on one side, and a duvet was tucked neatly around him. The smell of warm, unwashed male filled the room – not unpleasant, but still a little startling as part of a working day.
    ‘What can I do? Do you want your drink?’
    ‘I need to change position.’
    I put the drink down on a chest of drawers, and walked over to the bed. ‘What … what do you want me to do?’
    He swallowed carefully, as if it were painful. ‘Lift and turn me, then raise the back of the bed. Here … ’ He nodded for me to come closer. ‘Put your arms under mine, link your hands behind my back and then pull back. Keep your backside on the bed and that way you shouldn’t strain your lower back.’
    I couldn’t pretend this wasn’t a bit weird. I reached around him, the scent of him filling my nostrils, his skin warm against mine. I could not have been in any closer unless I had begun nibbling on his ear. The thought made me mildly hysterical, and I struggled to keep myself together.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Nothing.’ I took a breath, linked my hands, andadjusted my position until I felt I had him securely. He was broader than I had expected, somehow heavier. And then, on a count of three, I pulled back.
    ‘Jesus,’ he exclaimed, into my shoulder.
    ‘What?’ I nearly dropped him.
    ‘Your hands are bloody freezing.’
    ‘Yes. Well, if you bothered to get out of bed, you’d know that it’s actually snowing outside.’
    I was half joking, but now I realized his skin was hot under his T-shirt – an intense heat that seemed to come from deep within him. He groaned slightly as I adjusted him against the pillow, and I tried to make my movements as slow and gentle as possible. He pointed out the remote control device that would bring his head and shoulders up. ‘Not too much, though,’ he murmured. ‘A bit dizzy.’
    I turned on the bedside light, ignoring his vague protest, so that I could see his face. ‘Will – are you okay?’ I had to say it twice before he answered me.
    ‘Not my best day.’
    ‘Do you need painkillers?’
    ‘Yes … strong ones.’
    ‘Maybe some paracetamol?’
    He lay back against the cool pillow with a sigh.
    I gave him the beaker, watched him swallow.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said afterwards, and I felt suddenly uneasy.
    Will never thanked me for anything.
    He closed his eyes, and for a while I just stood in the doorway and watched him, his chest rising and falling under his T-shirt, his mouth slightly open. His breathing was shallow, and perhaps a little more laboured than onother days. But I had never seen him out of his chair, and I wasn’t sure whether it was something to do with the pressure of lying down.
    ‘Go,’ he muttered.
    I left.
    I read my magazine, lifting my head only to watch the snow settle thickly around the house, creeping up the window sills in powdery landscapes. Mum sent me a text message at 12.30pm, telling me that my father couldn’t get the car down the road. ‘Don’t set out for home without ringing us first,’ she instructed. I wasn’t sure what she thought she was going to do – send Dad out with a sledge and a St Bernard?
    I listened to the local news on the radio, the motorway snarl-ups, train stoppages and temporary school closures that the unexpected blizzard had brought with it. I went back into Will’s room, and looked at him again. I didn’t like his colour. He was pale, high points of something bright on each cheek.
    ‘Will?’ I said softly.
    He didn’t stir.
    ‘Will?’
    I began to feel the faint stirrings of panic. I said his name twice more, loudly. There was no response. Finally, I leant over him. There was no obvious movement in his face, nothing I could see in his chest. His breath. I should be able to feel his breath. I put my face down close to his, trying to detect an out breath. When I couldn’t, I reached out a hand and touched his face gently.
    He flinched, his eyes snapping open, just inches from my own.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, jumping back.
    He blinked, glancing around the room, as if he had been somewhere far from home.
    ‘It’s Lou,’ I said, when I wasn’t sure if he had recognized me.
    His expression was one of mild exasperation. ‘I know.’
    ‘Do you want some soup?’
    ‘No. Thank you.’ He closed his eyes.
    ‘More painkillers?’
    There was a faint sheen of sweat on his cheekbone. I put my hand out, his duvet felt vaguely hot and sweaty. It made me