But on other days we tolerated each other quite well. He didn’t seem mortally offended when I talked to him, as he had at the start. Today appeared to be a pain-free day. When Mrs Traynor came out to tell us that the cleaners would be another twenty minutes, I made us both another drink and we took a slow stroll around the garden, Will sticking to the path and me watching my satin pumps darken in the damp grass.
‘Interesting choice of footwear,’ Will said.
They were emerald green. I had found them in a charity shop. Patrick said they made me look like a leprechaun drag queen.
‘You know, you don’t dress like someone from round here. I quite look forward to seeing what insane combination you’re going to turn up in next.’
‘So how should “someone from round here” dress?’
He steered a little to the left to avoid a bit of branch on the path. ‘Fleece. Or, if you’re my mother’s set, something from Jaeger or Whistles.’ He looked at me. ‘So where did you pick up your exotic tastes? Where else have you lived?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘What, you’ve only ever lived here? Where have you worked?’
‘Only here.’ I turned and looked at him, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. ‘So? What’s so weird about that?’
‘It’s such a small town. So limiting. And it’s all about the castle.’ We paused on the path and stared at it, rising up in the distance on its weird, dome-like hill, as perfect as if it had been drawn by a child. ‘I always think this is the kind of place that people come back to. When they’ve got tired of everything else. Or when they don’t have enough imagination to go anywhere else.’
‘Thanks.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it per se. But … Christ. It’s not exactly dynamic, is it? Not exactly full of ideas or interesting people or opportunities. Round here they think it’s subversive if the tourist shop starts selling place mats with a different view of the miniature railway.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. There had been an article in the local newspaper the previous week on exactly that topic.
‘You’re twenty-six years old, Clark. You should be out there, claiming the world as your own, getting in trouble in bars, showing off your strange wardrobe to dodgy men … ’
‘I’m happy here,’ I said.
‘Well, you shouldn’t be.’
‘You like telling people what they should be doing, don’t you?’
‘Only when I know I’m right,’ he said. ‘Can you adjust my drink? I can’t quite reach it.’
I twisted his straw round so that he could reach it more easily and waited while he took a drink. The faint cold had turned the tips of his ears pink.
He grimaced. ‘Jesus, for a girl who made tea for a living you make a terrible cup.’
‘You’re just used to lesbian tea,’ I said. ‘All that lapsang souchong herbal stuff.’
‘Lesbian tea!’ He almost choked. ‘Well, it’s better than this stair varnish. Christ. You could stand a spoon up in that.’
‘So even my tea is wrong.’ I sat down on the bench in front of him. ‘So how is it okay for you to offer an opinion on every single thing I say or do, and yet nobody else gets to say anything at all?’
‘Go on, then, Louisa Clark. Give me your opinions.’
‘On you?’
He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘You could cut your hair. It makes you look like some kind of vagrant.’
‘Now you sound like my mother.’
‘Well, you do look bloody awful. You could shave, at least. Isn’t all that facial hair starting to get itchy?’
He gave me a sideways look.
‘It is, isn’t it? I knew it. Okay – this afternoon I am going to take it all off.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Yes. You asked me for my opinion. This is my answer. You don’t have to do anything.’
‘What if I say no?’
‘I might do it anyway. If it gets any longer I’ll be picking bits of food out of it. And, frankly, if that happens I’ll have to sue you for undue distress in the workplace.’
He smiled then, as if I had amused him. It might sound a bit sad, but Will’s smiles were so rare that prompting one made me feel a bit light-headed with pride.
‘Here, Clark,’ he said. ‘Do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Scratch my ear for me, will you? It’s driving me nuts.’
‘If I do you’ll let me cut your hair? Just a bit of a trim?’
‘Don’t push your luck.’
‘Shush. Don’t make me nervous. I’m not great with scissors.’
I found the razors and some shaving foam in the bathroom cabinet, tucked well back behind the packets of wipes and cotton wool, as if they hadn’t been used in some time. I made him come into the bathroom, filled a sink with warm water, got him to tilt his headrest back a little and then placed a hot flannel over his chin.
‘What is this? You’re going to be a barbershop? What’s the flannel for?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘It’s what they do in the films. It’s like the hot water and towels when someone has a baby.’
I couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes creased with faint mirth. I wanted to keep them like that. I wanted him to be happy – for his face to lose that haunted, watchful look. I gabbled. I told jokes. I started to hum. Anything to prolong the moment before he looked grim again.
‘Interesting choice of footwear,’ Will said.
They were emerald green. I had found them in a charity shop. Patrick said they made me look like a leprechaun drag queen.
‘You know, you don’t dress like someone from round here. I quite look forward to seeing what insane combination you’re going to turn up in next.’
‘So how should “someone from round here” dress?’
He steered a little to the left to avoid a bit of branch on the path. ‘Fleece. Or, if you’re my mother’s set, something from Jaeger or Whistles.’ He looked at me. ‘So where did you pick up your exotic tastes? Where else have you lived?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘What, you’ve only ever lived here? Where have you worked?’
‘Only here.’ I turned and looked at him, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. ‘So? What’s so weird about that?’
‘It’s such a small town. So limiting. And it’s all about the castle.’ We paused on the path and stared at it, rising up in the distance on its weird, dome-like hill, as perfect as if it had been drawn by a child. ‘I always think this is the kind of place that people come back to. When they’ve got tired of everything else. Or when they don’t have enough imagination to go anywhere else.’
‘Thanks.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it per se. But … Christ. It’s not exactly dynamic, is it? Not exactly full of ideas or interesting people or opportunities. Round here they think it’s subversive if the tourist shop starts selling place mats with a different view of the miniature railway.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. There had been an article in the local newspaper the previous week on exactly that topic.
‘You’re twenty-six years old, Clark. You should be out there, claiming the world as your own, getting in trouble in bars, showing off your strange wardrobe to dodgy men … ’
‘I’m happy here,’ I said.
‘Well, you shouldn’t be.’
‘You like telling people what they should be doing, don’t you?’
‘Only when I know I’m right,’ he said. ‘Can you adjust my drink? I can’t quite reach it.’
I twisted his straw round so that he could reach it more easily and waited while he took a drink. The faint cold had turned the tips of his ears pink.
He grimaced. ‘Jesus, for a girl who made tea for a living you make a terrible cup.’
‘You’re just used to lesbian tea,’ I said. ‘All that lapsang souchong herbal stuff.’
‘Lesbian tea!’ He almost choked. ‘Well, it’s better than this stair varnish. Christ. You could stand a spoon up in that.’
‘So even my tea is wrong.’ I sat down on the bench in front of him. ‘So how is it okay for you to offer an opinion on every single thing I say or do, and yet nobody else gets to say anything at all?’
‘Go on, then, Louisa Clark. Give me your opinions.’
‘On you?’
He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘You could cut your hair. It makes you look like some kind of vagrant.’
‘Now you sound like my mother.’
‘Well, you do look bloody awful. You could shave, at least. Isn’t all that facial hair starting to get itchy?’
He gave me a sideways look.
‘It is, isn’t it? I knew it. Okay – this afternoon I am going to take it all off.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Yes. You asked me for my opinion. This is my answer. You don’t have to do anything.’
‘What if I say no?’
‘I might do it anyway. If it gets any longer I’ll be picking bits of food out of it. And, frankly, if that happens I’ll have to sue you for undue distress in the workplace.’
He smiled then, as if I had amused him. It might sound a bit sad, but Will’s smiles were so rare that prompting one made me feel a bit light-headed with pride.
‘Here, Clark,’ he said. ‘Do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Scratch my ear for me, will you? It’s driving me nuts.’
‘If I do you’ll let me cut your hair? Just a bit of a trim?’
‘Don’t push your luck.’
‘Shush. Don’t make me nervous. I’m not great with scissors.’
I found the razors and some shaving foam in the bathroom cabinet, tucked well back behind the packets of wipes and cotton wool, as if they hadn’t been used in some time. I made him come into the bathroom, filled a sink with warm water, got him to tilt his headrest back a little and then placed a hot flannel over his chin.
‘What is this? You’re going to be a barbershop? What’s the flannel for?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘It’s what they do in the films. It’s like the hot water and towels when someone has a baby.’
I couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes creased with faint mirth. I wanted to keep them like that. I wanted him to be happy – for his face to lose that haunted, watchful look. I gabbled. I told jokes. I started to hum. Anything to prolong the moment before he looked grim again.
