Me Before You: A Novel

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 hislimbs 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 ofpeople. 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 anddrive 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.