Me Before You: A Novel

and I had no idea how to get him to go further.
    ‘In your own little world, eh, Louisa?’
    ‘Oh. Hi, Deirdre.’ I scooched over on the seat to make room for her.
    Deirdre had been friends with Mum since they were girls. She owned a soft-furnishings shop and had been divorced three times. She possessed hair thick enough to be a wig, and a fleshy, sad face that looked like she was still dreaming wistfully of the white knight who would come and sweep her away.
    ‘I don’t normally get the bus but my car’s in for a service. How are you? Your mum told me all about your job. Sounds
very
interesting.’
    This is the thing about growing up in a small town. Every part of your life is up for grabs. Nothing is secret – not the time I was caught smoking at the out-of-town supermarket car park when I was fourteen, nor the fact that my father had re-tiled the downstairs loo. The minutiae of everyday lives were currency for women like Deirdre.
    ‘It’s good, yes.’
    ‘And well paid.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I was so relieved for you after the whole Buttered Bun thing. Such a shame they shut the cafe. We’re losing all the useful shops in this town. I remember when we had a grocer, a baker and a butcher on the high street. All we needed was a candlestick maker!’
    ‘Mmm.’ I saw her glance at my list and closed my notepad. ‘Still. At least we do have somewhere to buy curtains. How’s the shop?’
    ‘Oh, fine … yes … What’s that, then? Something to do with work?’
    ‘I’m just working on things that Will might like to do.’
    ‘Is that your disabled man?’
    ‘Yes. My boss.’
    ‘Your boss. That’s a nice way of putting it.’ She nudged me. ‘And how’s your clever old sister getting on at university?’
    ‘She’s good. And Thomas.’
    ‘She’ll end up running the country, that one. I have to say, though, Louisa, I was always surprised you didn’t leave before her. We always thought you were such a bright little thing. Not that we still don’t, of course.’
    I raised a polite smile. I wasn’t sure what else I could do.
    ‘But still. Someone’s got to do it, eh? And it’s nice for your mum that one of you is happy to stay so close to home.’
    I wanted to contradict her, and then I realized that nothing I had done in the last seven years suggested I had either any ambition or any desire to move further than the end of my street. I sat there, as the bus’s tired old engine snarled and juddered beneath us, and had a sudden sense of time racing, of losing whole chunks of it in my small journeys backwards and forwards along the same stretch. Round and round the castle. Watching Patrick go round and round the track. The same petty concerns. The same routines.
    ‘Oh, well. Here’s my stop.’ Deirdre rose heavily besideme, hoisting her patent handbag over her shoulder. ‘Give your mum my love. Tell her I’ll be round tomorrow.’
    I looked up, blinking. ‘I got a tattoo,’ I said suddenly. ‘Of a bee.’
    She hesitated, holding on to the side of the seat.
    ‘It’s on my hip. An actual tattoo. It’s permanent,’ I added.
    Deirdre glanced towards the door of the bus. She looked a bit puzzled, and then gave me what I think she thought was a reassuring smile.
    ‘Well, that’s very nice, Louisa. As I said, tell your mum I’ll be round tomorrow.’
    Every day, while he was watching television, or otherwise engaged, I sat in front of Will’s computer and worked on coming up with the magic event that might Make Will Happy. But as time went on, I found that my list of things we couldn’t do, places we couldn’t go to, had begun to exceed my ideas for those we could by a significant factor. When the one figure first exceeded the other, I went back on to the chatroom sites, and asked their advice.
    Ha!
said Ritchie.
Welcome to our world, Bee
.
    From the ensuing conversations I learnt that getting drunk in a wheelchair came with its own hazards, including catheter disasters, falling down kerbs, and being steered to the wrong home by other drunks. I learnt that there was no single place where non-quads were more or less helpful than anywhere else, but that Paris was singled out as the least wheelchair-friendly place on earth. This was disappointing, as some small, optimistic part of me had still hoped we might make it there.
    I began to compile a new list – things you cannot do with a quadriplegic.
Go on a tube train (most underground stations don’t have listpfts), which pretty much