She didn’t seem to want to wait for me to speak. She ducked her head, her slim fingers reaching for the chain around her neck. ‘Yes. Well, I’d better go in. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know what he says.’
I didn’t go back to Patrick’s that evening. I had meant to, but something led me away from the industrial park and, instead, I crossed the road and boarded the bus that led towards home. I walked the 180 steps to our house, and let myself in. It was a warm evening, and all the windows were open in an attempt to catch the breeze. Mum was cooking, singing away in the kitchen. Dad was on the sofa with a mug of tea, Granddad napping in his chair, his head lolling to one side. Thomas was carefully drawing in black felt tip on his shoes. I said hello and walked past them, wondering how it could feel so swiftly as if I didn’t quite belong here any more.
Treena was working in my room. I knocked on the door, and walked in to find her at the desk, hunched over a pile of textbooks, glasses that I didn’t recognize perched on her nose. It was strange to see her surrounded by the things I had chosen for myself, with Thomas’s pictures already obscuring the walls I had painted so carefully, his pen drawing still scrawled over the corner of my blind. I had to gather my thoughts so that I didn’t feel instinctively resentful.
She glanced over her shoulder at me. ‘Does Mum want me?’ she said. She glanced up at the clock. ‘I thought she was going to do Thomas’s tea.’
‘She is. He’s having fish fingers.’
She looked at me, then removed the glasses. ‘You okay? You look like shit.’
‘So do you.’
‘I know. I went on this stupid detox diet. It’s given me hives.’ She reached a hand up to her chin.
‘You don’t need to diet.’
‘Yeah. Well … there’s this bloke I like in Accountancy 2. I thought I might start making the effort. Huge hives all over your face is always a good look, right?’
I sat down on the bed. It was my duvet cover. I had known Patrick would hate it, with its crazy geometric pattern. I was surprised Katrina didn’t.
She closed her book, and leant back in her chair. ‘So what’s going on?’
I bit my lip, until she asked me again.
‘Treen, do you think I could retrain?’
‘Retrain? As what?’
‘I don’t know. Something to do with fashion. Design. Or maybe just tailoring.’
‘Well … there are definitely courses. I’m pretty sure my uni has one. I could look it up, if you want.’
‘But would they take people like me? People who don’t have qualifications?’
She threw her pen up in the air and caught it. ‘Oh, they love mature students. Especially mature students with a proven work ethic. You might have to do a conversion course, but I don’t see why not. Why? What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just something Will said a while back. About … about what I should do with my life.’
‘And?’
‘And I keep thinking … maybe it’s time I did what you’re doing. Now that Dad can support himself again, maybe you’re not the only one capable of making something of herself?’
‘You’d have to pay.’
‘I know. I’ve been saving.’
‘I think it’s probably a bit more than you’ve managed to save.’
‘I could apply for a grant. Or maybe a loan. And I’ve got enough to see me through for a bit. I met this MP woman who said she has links to some agency that could help me. She gave me her card.’
‘Hang on,’ Katrina said, swivelling on her chair, ‘I >don’t really get this. I thought you wanted to stay with Will. I thought the whole point of this was that you wanted to keep him alive and keep working with him.’
‘I do, but … ’ I stared up at the ceiling.
‘But what?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘So’s quantitive easing. But I still get that it means printing money.’
She rose from her chair and walked over to shut the bedroom door. She lowered her voice so that nobody outside could possibly hear.
‘You think you’re going to lose? You think he’s going to … ?’
‘No,’ I said hurriedly. ‘Well, I hope not. I’ve got plans. Big plans. I’ll show you in a bit.’
‘But … ’
I stretched my arms above me, twisting my fingers together. ‘But, I like Will. A lot.’
She studied me. She was wearing her thinking face. There is nothing more terrifying than my sister’s thinking face when it is trained directly on you.
‘Oh, shit.’
‘Don’t … ’
‘So this is interesting,’ she said.
‘I know.’ I dropped my arms.
‘You want a job. So that … ’
‘It’s what the other quads tell me. The ones who I talk to on the message boards. You can’t be both. You can’t be carer and … ’ I lifted my hands to cover my face.
I could feel her eyes on me.
‘Does he know?’
‘No. I’m not sure I know. I just … ’ I threw myself down on her bed, face first. It smelt of Thomas. Underlaid with a faint hint of Marmite. ‘I don’t know what I think. All I know is that most of the time I would rather be with him than anyone else I know.’
‘Including Patrick.’
And there it was, out there. The truth that I could barely admit to myself.
I felt my cheeks flood with colour. ‘Yes,’ I said into the duvet. ‘Sometimes, yes.’
‘Fuck,’ she said, after a minute. ‘And I thought I liked to make my life complicated.’
She lay down beside me on the bed, and we stared up at the ceiling. Downstairs we could hear Granddad whistling tunelessly, accompanied by the whine and clunk of Thomas driving some remote-control vehicle backwards and forwards into a piece of skirting. For some unexplained reason my eyes filled with tears. After a minute, I felt my sister’s arm snake around me.
‘You fucking madwoman,’ she said, and we both began to laugh.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, wiping at my face. ‘I’m not going to do anything stupid.’
‘Good. Because the more I think about this, the more I think it’s about the intensity of the situation. It’s not real, it’s about the drama.’
‘What?’
‘Well, this is actual life or death, after all, and you’re locked into this man’s life every day, locked into his weird secret. That’s got to create a kind of false intimacy. Either that or you’re getting some weird Florence Nightingale complex.’
‘Believe me, that is definitely not it.’
We lay there, staring at the ceiling.
‘But it is a bit mad, thinking about loving someone who can’t … you know, love you back. Maybe this is just a panic reaction to the fact that you and Patrick have finally moved in together.’
‘I know. You’re right.’
‘And you two have been together a long time. You’re bound to get crushes on other people.’
‘Especially while Patrick is obsessed with being Marathon Man.’
‘And you might go off Will again. I mean, I remember when you thought he was an arse.’
‘I still do sometimes.’
My sister reached for a tissue and dabbed at my eyes. Then she thumbed at something on my cheek.
‘All that said, the college idea is good. Because – let’s be blunt – whether it all goes tits up with Will, or whether it doesn’t, you’re still going to need a proper job. You’re not going to want to be a carer forever.’
‘It’s not going to go “tits up”, as you call it, with Will. He’s … he’s going to be okay.’
‘Sure he is.’
Mum was calling Thomas. We could hear her, singing it beneath us in the kitchen. ‘Thomas. Tomtomtomtom Thomas … ’
Treena sighed and rubbed at her eyes. ‘You going back to Patrick’s tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want to grab a quick drink at the Spotted Dog and show me these plans, then? I’ll see if Mum will put Thomas to bed for me. Come on, you can treat me, seeing as you’re now loaded enough to go to college.’
It was a quarter to ten by the time I got back to Patrick’s.
My holiday plans, astonishingly, had met with Katrina’s complete approval. She hadn’t even done her usual thing of adding, ‘Yes, but it would be even better if you … ’ There had been a point where I wondered if she was doing it just to be nice, because I was obviously going a bit nuts. But she kept saying things like, ‘Wow, I can’t believe you found this! You’ve got to take lots of pictures of him bungee jumping.’ And, ‘Imagine his face when you tell him about the skydiving! It’s going to be brilliant.’
Anyone watching us at the pub might have thought that we were two friends who actually really quite liked each other.
Still mulling this over, I let myself in quietly. The flat was dark from outside and I wondered if Patrick was having an early night as part of his intensive training. I dropped my bag on the floor in the hall and pushed at the living-room door, thinking as I did so that it was nice of him to have left a light on for me.
And then I saw him. He was sitting at a table laid with two places, a candle flickering between them. As I closed the door behind me, he stood up. The candle was burnt halfway down to the base.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
I stared at him.
‘I was an idiot. You’re right. This job of yours is only for six months, and I have been behaving like a child. I should be proud that you’re doing something so worthwhile, and taking it all so seriously. I was just a bit … thrown. So I’m sorry. Really.’
He held out a hand. I took it.
‘It’s good that you’re trying to help him. It’s admirable.’
‘Thank you.’ I squeezed his hand.
When he spoke again, it was after a short breath, as if he had successfully managed some pre-rehearsed speech. ‘I’ve made supper. I’m afraid it’s salad again.’ He reached past me into the fridge, and pulled out two plates. ‘I promise we’ll go somewhere for a blowout meal once the Viking is over. Or maybe once I’m on to carb loading. I just … ’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘I guess I haven’t been able to think about much else lately. I guess that’s been part of the problem. And you’re right. There’s no reason you should follow me about. It’s my thing. You have every right to work instead.’
‘Patrick … ’ I said.
‘I don’t want to argue with you, Lou. Forgive me?’
His eyes were anxious and he smelt of cologne. Those two facts descended upon me slowly like a weight.
‘Sit down, anyway,’ he said. ‘Let’s eat, and then … I don’t know. Enjoy ourselves. Talk about something else. Not running.’ He forced a laugh.
I sat down and looked at the table.
Then I smiled. ‘This is really nice,’ I said.
Patrick really could do 101 things with turkey breast.
We ate the green salad, the pasta salad and seafood salad and an exotic fruit salad that he had prepared for pudding, and I drank wine while he stuck to mineral water. It took us a while, but we did begin to relax. There, in front of me, was a Patrick I hadn’t seen for some time. He was funny, attentive. He policed himself rigidly so that he didn’t say anything about running or marathons, and laughed whenever he caught the conversation veering in that direction. I felt his feet meet mine under the table and our legs entwine, and slowly I felt something that had felt tight and uncomfortable begin to ease in my chest.
My sister was right. My life had become strange and disconnected from everyone I knew – Will’s plight and his secrets had swamped me. I had to make sure that I didn’t lose sight of the rest of me.
I began to feel guilty about the conversation I had had earlier with my sister. Patrick wouldn’t let me get up, not even to help him clear the dishes. At a quarter past eleven he rose and moved the plates and bowls to the kitchenette and began to load the dishwasher. I sat, listening to him as he talked to me through the little doorway. I was rubbing at the point where my neck met my shoulder, trying to release some of the knots that seemed to be firmly embedded there. I closed my eyes, trying to relax into it, so that it was a few minutes before I realized the conversation had stopped.
I opened my eyes. Patrick was standing in the doorway, holding my holiday folder. He held up several pieces of paper. ‘What’s all this?’
‘It’s … the trip. The one I told you about.’
I watched him flick through the paperwork I had shown my sister, taking in the itinerary, the pictures, the Californian beach.
‘I thought … ’ His voice, when it emerged, sounded strangely strangled. ‘I thought you were talking about Lourdes.’
‘What?’
‘Or … I don’t know … Stoke Mandeville … or somewhere. I thought, when you said you couldn’t come because you had to help him, it was actual work. Physio, or faith healing, or something. This looks like … ’ He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘This looks like the holiday of a lifetime.’
‘Well … it kind of is. But not for me. For him.’
Patrick grimaced. ‘No … ’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You wouldn’t enjoy this at all. Hot tubs under the stars, swimming with dolphins … Oh, look, “five-star luxury” and “twenty-four-hour room service”.’ He looked up at me. ‘This isn’t a work trip. This is a bloody honeymoon.’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘But this is? You … you really expect me to just sit here while you swan off with another man on a holiday like this?’
‘His carer is coming too.’
‘Oh. Oh yes, Nathan. That makes it all right, then.’
‘Patrick, come on – it’s complicated.’
‘So explain it to me.’ He thrust the papers towards me. ‘Explain this to me, Lou. Explain it in a way that I can possibly understand.’
‘It matters to me that Will wants to live, that he sees good things in his future.’
‘And those good things would include you?’
‘That’s not fair. Look, have I ever asked you to stop doing the job you love?’
‘My job doesn’t involve hot tubs with strange men.’
‘Well, I don’t mind if it does. You can have hot tubs with strange men! As often as you like! There!’ I tried to smile, hoping he would too.
But he wasn’t having any of it. ‘How would you feel, Lou? How would you feel if I said I was going on some keep-fit convention with – I don’t know – Leanne from the Terrors because she needed cheering up?’
‘Cheering up?’ I thought of Leanne, with her flicky blonde hair and her perfect legs, and I wondered absently why he had thought of her name first.
‘And then how would you feel if I said she and I were going to eat out together all the time, and maybe sit in a hot tub or go on days out together. In some destination six thousand miles away, just because she had been a bit down. That really wouldn’t bother you?’
‘He’s not “a bit down”, Pat. He wants to kill himself. He wants to take himself off to Dignitas, and end his own bloody life.’ I could hear my blood thumping in my ears. ‘And you can’t turn it around like this. You were the one who called Will a cripple. You were the one who made out he couldn’t possibly be a threat to you. “The perfect boss,” you said. Someone not even worth worrying about.’
He put the folder back down on the worktop.
‘Well, Lou … I’m worrying now.’
I sank my face into my hands and let it rest there for a minute. Out in the corridor I heard a fire door swing, and the voices of people swallowed up as a door was unlocked and closed behind them.
Patrick slid his hand slowly backwards and forwards along the edge of the kitchen cabinets. A little muscle worked in his jaw. ‘You know how this feels, Lou? It feels like I might be running, but I feel like I’m permanently just a little bit behind the rest of the field. I feel like … ’ He took a deep breath, as if he were trying to compose himself. ‘I feel like there’s something bad on the bend around the corner, and everyone else seems to know what it is except me.’
He lifted his eyes to mine. ‘I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. But I don’t want you to go. I don’t care if you don’t want to do the Viking, but I don’t want you to go on this … this holiday. With him.’
‘But I –’
‘Nearly seven years, we’ve been together. And you’ve known this man, had this job, for five months. Five months. If you go with him now, you’re telling me something about our relationship. About how you feel about us.’
‘That’s not fair. It doesn’t have to say anything about us,’ I protested.
‘It does if I can say all this and you’re still going to go.’
The little flat seemed so still around us. He was looking at me with an expression I had never seen before.
When my voice emerged, it did so as a whisper. ‘But he needs me.’
I realized almost as soon as I said it, heard the words and how they twisted and regrouped in the air, knew already how I would have felt if he had said the same to me.
He swallowed, shook his head a little as if he were having trouble taking in what I said. His hand came to rest on the side of the worktop, and then he looked up at me.
‘Whatever I say isn’t going to make a difference, is it?’
That was the thing about Patrick. He always was smarter than I gave him credit for.
‘Patrick, I –’
He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and then he turned and walked out of the living room, leaving the last of the empty dishes on the sideboard.
21
Steven
The girl moved in at the weekend. Will didn’t say anything to Camilla or me, but I walked into the annexe on Saturday morning still in my pyjamas to see if Will needed any help, as Nathan was delayed, and there she was, walking up the hallway with a bowlful of cereal in one hand and the newspaper in the other. She blushed when she saw me. I don’t know why – I was wearing my dressing gown, all perfectly decent. I remember thinking afterwards that there had been a time when it had been perfectly normal to find pretty young things creeping out of Will’s bedroom in the morning.
‘Just bringing Will his post,’ I said, waving it.
‘He’s not up yet. Do you want me to give him a shout?’ Her hand went to her chest, shielding herself with the newspaper. She was wearing a Minnie Mouse T-shirt and the kind of embroidered trousers you used to see Chinese women wearing in Hong Kong.
‘No, no. Not if he’s sleeping. Let him rest.’
When I told Camilla, I thought she’d be pleased. She had been so wretchedly cross about the girl moving in with her boyfriend, after all. But she just looked a bit surprised, and then adopted that tense expression which meant she was already imagining all sorts of possible and undesirable consequences. She didn’t say as much, but I was pretty sure she was not keen on Louisa Clark. That said, I didn’t know who it was Camilla approved of these days. Her default setting seemed to be stuck on Disapprove.
We never got to the bottom of what had prompted Louisa to stay – Will just