Patrick had lost interest. ‘Hey, Jim … Jim, did you take a look at that new lightweight bike? Any good?’
I let him change the subject, thinking about what Alicia had said. I could well imagine Will pushing her away. But surely if you loved someone it was your job to stick with them? To help them through the depression? In sickness and in health, and all that?
‘Another drink?’
‘Vodka tonic. Slimline tonic,’ I said, as he raised an eyebrow.
Patrick shrugged and headed to the bar.
I had started to feel a little guilty about the way we were discussing my employer. Especially when I realized that he probably endured it all the time. It was almost impossible not to speculate about the more intimate aspects of his life. I tuned out. There was talk of a training weekend in Spain. I was only listening with half an ear, until Patrick reappeared at my side and nudged me.
‘Fancy it?’
‘What?’
‘Weekend in Spain. Instead of the Greek holiday. You could put your feet up by the pool if you don’t fancy the forty-mile bike ride. We could get cheap flights. Six weeks’ time. Now you’re rolling in it … ’
I thought of Mrs Traynor. ‘I don’t know … I’m not sure they’re going to be keen on me taking time off so soon.’
‘You mind if I go, then? I really fancy getting some altitude training in. I’m thinking about doing the big one.’
‘The big what?’
‘Triathlon. The Xtreme Viking. Sixty miles on a bike, thirty miles on foot, and a nice long swim in sub-zero Nordic seas.’
The Viking was spoken about with reverence, those who had competed bearing their injuries like veterans of some distant and particularly brutal war. He was almost smacking his lips with anticipation. I looked at my boyfriend and wondered if he was actually an alien. I thought briefly that I had preferred him when he worked in telesales and couldn’t pass a petrol station without stocking up on Mars Bars.
‘You’re going to do it?’
‘Why not? I’ve never been fitter.’
I thought of all that extra training – the endless conversations about weight and distance, fitness and endurance. It was hard enough getting Patrick’s attention these days at the best of times.
‘You could do it with me,’ he said, although we both knew he didn’t believe it.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I said. ‘Sure. Go for it,’ I said.
And I ordered the cheesecake.
If I had thought the events of the previous day would create a thaw back at Granta House, I was wrong.
I greeted Will with a broad smile and a cheery hello, and he didn’t even bother to look round from the window.
‘Not a good day,’ Nathan murmured, as he shouldered his way into his coat.
It was a filthy, low-cloud sort of a morning, where the rain spat meanly against the windows and it was hard to imagine the sun coming out ever again. Even I felt glum on a day like this. It wasn’t really a surprise that Will should be worse. I began to work my way through the morning’s chores, telling myself all the while that it didn’t matter. You didn’t have to like your employer anyway, did you? Lots of people didn’t. I thought of Treena’s boss, a taut-faced serial divorcee who monitored how many times my sister went to the loo and had been known to make barbed comments if she considered her to have exceeded reasonable bladder activity. And besides, I had already done two weeks here. That meant there were only five months and thirteen working days to go.
The photographs were stacked carefully in the bottom drawer, where I had placed them the previous day, and now, crouched on the floor, I began laying them out and sorting through them, assessing which frames I might be able to fix. I am quite good at fixing things. Besides, I thought it might be quite a useful way of killing time.
I had been doing this for about ten minutes when the discreet hum of the motorized wheelchair alerted me to Will’s arrival.
He sat there in the doorway, looking at me. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Sometimes, Nathan told me, he barely slept at all. I didn’t want to think how it would feel, to lie trapped in a bed you couldn’t get out of with only dark thoughts to keep you company through the small hours.
‘I thought I’d see if I could fix any of these frames,’ I said, holding one up. It was the picture of him bungee jumping. I tried to look cheerful. He needs someone upbeat, someone positive.
‘Why?’
I blinked. ‘Well … I think some of these can be saved. I brought some wood glue with me, if you’re happy for me to have a go at them. Or if you want to replace them I can pop into town during my lunch break and see if I can find some more. Or we could both go, if you fancied a trip out … ’
‘Who told you to start fixing them?’
His stare was unflinching.
Uh-oh, I thought. ‘I … I was just trying to help.’
‘You wanted to fix what I did yesterday.’
‘I –’
‘Do you know what, Louisa? It would be nice – just for once – if someone paid attention to what I wanted. Me smashing those photographs was not an accident. It was not an attempt at radical interior design. It was because I actually don’t want to look at them.’
I got to my feet. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think that –’
‘You thought you knew best. Everyone thinks they know what I need. Let’s put the bloody photos back together. Give the poor invalid something to look at. I don’t want to have those bloody pictures staring at me every time I’m stuck in my bed until someone comes and bloody well gets me out again. Okay? Do you think you can get your head around that?’
I let him change the subject, thinking about what Alicia had said. I could well imagine Will pushing her away. But surely if you loved someone it was your job to stick with them? To help them through the depression? In sickness and in health, and all that?
‘Another drink?’
‘Vodka tonic. Slimline tonic,’ I said, as he raised an eyebrow.
Patrick shrugged and headed to the bar.
I had started to feel a little guilty about the way we were discussing my employer. Especially when I realized that he probably endured it all the time. It was almost impossible not to speculate about the more intimate aspects of his life. I tuned out. There was talk of a training weekend in Spain. I was only listening with half an ear, until Patrick reappeared at my side and nudged me.
‘Fancy it?’
‘What?’
‘Weekend in Spain. Instead of the Greek holiday. You could put your feet up by the pool if you don’t fancy the forty-mile bike ride. We could get cheap flights. Six weeks’ time. Now you’re rolling in it … ’
I thought of Mrs Traynor. ‘I don’t know … I’m not sure they’re going to be keen on me taking time off so soon.’
‘You mind if I go, then? I really fancy getting some altitude training in. I’m thinking about doing the big one.’
‘The big what?’
‘Triathlon. The Xtreme Viking. Sixty miles on a bike, thirty miles on foot, and a nice long swim in sub-zero Nordic seas.’
The Viking was spoken about with reverence, those who had competed bearing their injuries like veterans of some distant and particularly brutal war. He was almost smacking his lips with anticipation. I looked at my boyfriend and wondered if he was actually an alien. I thought briefly that I had preferred him when he worked in telesales and couldn’t pass a petrol station without stocking up on Mars Bars.
‘You’re going to do it?’
‘Why not? I’ve never been fitter.’
I thought of all that extra training – the endless conversations about weight and distance, fitness and endurance. It was hard enough getting Patrick’s attention these days at the best of times.
‘You could do it with me,’ he said, although we both knew he didn’t believe it.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I said. ‘Sure. Go for it,’ I said.
And I ordered the cheesecake.
If I had thought the events of the previous day would create a thaw back at Granta House, I was wrong.
I greeted Will with a broad smile and a cheery hello, and he didn’t even bother to look round from the window.
‘Not a good day,’ Nathan murmured, as he shouldered his way into his coat.
It was a filthy, low-cloud sort of a morning, where the rain spat meanly against the windows and it was hard to imagine the sun coming out ever again. Even I felt glum on a day like this. It wasn’t really a surprise that Will should be worse. I began to work my way through the morning’s chores, telling myself all the while that it didn’t matter. You didn’t have to like your employer anyway, did you? Lots of people didn’t. I thought of Treena’s boss, a taut-faced serial divorcee who monitored how many times my sister went to the loo and had been known to make barbed comments if she considered her to have exceeded reasonable bladder activity. And besides, I had already done two weeks here. That meant there were only five months and thirteen working days to go.
The photographs were stacked carefully in the bottom drawer, where I had placed them the previous day, and now, crouched on the floor, I began laying them out and sorting through them, assessing which frames I might be able to fix. I am quite good at fixing things. Besides, I thought it might be quite a useful way of killing time.
I had been doing this for about ten minutes when the discreet hum of the motorized wheelchair alerted me to Will’s arrival.
He sat there in the doorway, looking at me. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Sometimes, Nathan told me, he barely slept at all. I didn’t want to think how it would feel, to lie trapped in a bed you couldn’t get out of with only dark thoughts to keep you company through the small hours.
‘I thought I’d see if I could fix any of these frames,’ I said, holding one up. It was the picture of him bungee jumping. I tried to look cheerful. He needs someone upbeat, someone positive.
‘Why?’
I blinked. ‘Well … I think some of these can be saved. I brought some wood glue with me, if you’re happy for me to have a go at them. Or if you want to replace them I can pop into town during my lunch break and see if I can find some more. Or we could both go, if you fancied a trip out … ’
‘Who told you to start fixing them?’
His stare was unflinching.
Uh-oh, I thought. ‘I … I was just trying to help.’
‘You wanted to fix what I did yesterday.’
‘I –’
‘Do you know what, Louisa? It would be nice – just for once – if someone paid attention to what I wanted. Me smashing those photographs was not an accident. It was not an attempt at radical interior design. It was because I actually don’t want to look at them.’
I got to my feet. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think that –’
‘You thought you knew best. Everyone thinks they know what I need. Let’s put the bloody photos back together. Give the poor invalid something to look at. I don’t want to have those bloody pictures staring at me every time I’m stuck in my bed until someone comes and bloody well gets me out again. Okay? Do you think you can get your head around that?’
