‘Go on. Open your mind.’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d be uncomfortable. I feel like … I feel like they’d know.’
‘Who? Know what?’
‘Everyone else would know, that I didn’t belong.’
‘How do you think I feel?’
We looked at each other.
‘Clark, every single place I go to now people look at me like I don’t belong.’
We sat in silence as the music started. Will’s father was on the telephone in his hall, and the sound of muffled laughter carried through it into the annexe, as if from a long way away. The disabled entrance is over there, the woman at the racecourse had said. As if he were a different species.
I stared at the CD cover. ‘I’ll go if you come with me.’
‘But you won’t go on your own.’
‘Not a chance.’
We sat there, while he digested this. ‘Jesus, you’re a pain in the arse.’
‘So you keep telling me.’
I made no plans this time. I expected nothing. I was just quietly hopeful that, after the racing debacle, Will was still prepared to leave the annexe. His friend, the violinist, sent us the promised free tickets, with an information leaflet on the venue attached. It was forty minutes’ drive away. I did my homework, checked the location of the disabled parking, rang the venue beforehand to assess the best way to get Will’s chair to his seat. They would seat us at the front, with me on a folding chair beside Will.
‘It’s actually the best place to be,’ the woman in the box office said, cheerfully. ‘You somehow get more of an impact when you’re right in the pit near the orchestra. I’ve often been tempted to sit there myself.’
She even asked if I would like someone to meet us in the car park, to help us to our seats. Afraid that Will would feel too conspicuous, I thanked her and said no.
As the evening approached, I don’t know who grew more nervous about it, Will or me. I felt the failure of our last outing keenly, and Mrs Traynor didn’t help, coming in and out of the annexe fourteen times to confirm where and when it would be taking place and what exactly we would be doing.
Will’s evening routine took some time, she said. She needed to ensure someone was there to help. Nathan had other plans. Mr Traynor was apparently out for the evening. ‘It’s an hour and a half minimum,’ she said.
‘And it’s incredibly tedious,’ Will said.
I realized he was looking for an excuse not to go. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘If Will tells me what to do. I don’t mind staying to help.’ I said it almost before I realized what I was agreeing to.
‘Well, that’s something for us both to look forward to,’ Will said grumpily, after his mother had left. ‘You get a good view of my backside, and I get a bed bath from someone who falls over at the sight of naked flesh.’
‘I do not fall over at the sight of naked flesh.’
‘Clark, I’ve never seen anyone more uncomfortable with a human body than you. You act like it’s something radioactive.’
‘Let your mum do it, then,’ I snapped back.
‘Yes, because that makes the whole idea of going out so much more attractive.’
And then there was the wardrobe problem. I didn’t know what to wear.
I had worn the wrong thing to the races. How could I be sure I wouldn’t do so again? I asked Will what would be best, and he looked at me as if I were mad. ‘The lights will be down,’ he explained. ‘Nobody will be looking at you. They’ll be focused on the music.’
‘You know nothing about women,’ I said.
I brought four different outfits to work with me in the end, hauling them all on to the bus in my Dad’s ancient suit carrier. It was the only way I could convince myself to go at all.
Nathan arrived for the teatime shift at 5.30pm, and while he saw to Will I disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. First I put on what I thought of as my ‘artistic’ outfit, a green smock dress with huge amber beads stitched into it. I imagined the kind of people who went to concerts might be quite arty and flamboyant. Will and Nathan both stared at me as I entered the living room.
‘No,’ said Will, flatly.
‘That looks like something my mum would wear,’ said Nathan.
‘You never told me your mum was Nana Mouskouri,’ Will said.
I could hear them both chuckling as I disappeared back into the bathroom.
The second outfit was a very severe black dress, cut on the bias and stitched with white collar and cuffs, which I had made myself. It looked, I thought, both chic and Parisian.
‘You look like you’re about to serve the ice creams,’ Will said.
‘Aw, mate, but you’d make a great maid,’ Nathan said, approvingly. ‘Feel free to wear that one in the daytime. Really.’
‘You’ll be asking her to dust the skirting next.’
‘It is a bit dusty, now you mention it.’
‘You,’ I said, ‘are both going to get Mr Muscle in your tea tomorrow.’
I discarded outfit number three – a pair of yellow wide-legged trousers – already anticipating Will’s Rupert Bear references, and instead put on my fourth option, a vintage dress in dark-red satin. It was made for a more frugal generation and I always had to say a secret prayer that the zip would make it up past my waist, but it gave me the outline of a 1950s starlet, and it was a ‘results’ dress, one of those outfits you couldn’t help but feel good in. I put a silver bolero over my shoulders, tied a grey silk scarf around my neck, to cover up my cle**age, applied some matching lipstick, and then stepped into the living room.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d be uncomfortable. I feel like … I feel like they’d know.’
‘Who? Know what?’
‘Everyone else would know, that I didn’t belong.’
‘How do you think I feel?’
We looked at each other.
‘Clark, every single place I go to now people look at me like I don’t belong.’
We sat in silence as the music started. Will’s father was on the telephone in his hall, and the sound of muffled laughter carried through it into the annexe, as if from a long way away. The disabled entrance is over there, the woman at the racecourse had said. As if he were a different species.
I stared at the CD cover. ‘I’ll go if you come with me.’
‘But you won’t go on your own.’
‘Not a chance.’
We sat there, while he digested this. ‘Jesus, you’re a pain in the arse.’
‘So you keep telling me.’
I made no plans this time. I expected nothing. I was just quietly hopeful that, after the racing debacle, Will was still prepared to leave the annexe. His friend, the violinist, sent us the promised free tickets, with an information leaflet on the venue attached. It was forty minutes’ drive away. I did my homework, checked the location of the disabled parking, rang the venue beforehand to assess the best way to get Will’s chair to his seat. They would seat us at the front, with me on a folding chair beside Will.
‘It’s actually the best place to be,’ the woman in the box office said, cheerfully. ‘You somehow get more of an impact when you’re right in the pit near the orchestra. I’ve often been tempted to sit there myself.’
She even asked if I would like someone to meet us in the car park, to help us to our seats. Afraid that Will would feel too conspicuous, I thanked her and said no.
As the evening approached, I don’t know who grew more nervous about it, Will or me. I felt the failure of our last outing keenly, and Mrs Traynor didn’t help, coming in and out of the annexe fourteen times to confirm where and when it would be taking place and what exactly we would be doing.
Will’s evening routine took some time, she said. She needed to ensure someone was there to help. Nathan had other plans. Mr Traynor was apparently out for the evening. ‘It’s an hour and a half minimum,’ she said.
‘And it’s incredibly tedious,’ Will said.
I realized he was looking for an excuse not to go. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘If Will tells me what to do. I don’t mind staying to help.’ I said it almost before I realized what I was agreeing to.
‘Well, that’s something for us both to look forward to,’ Will said grumpily, after his mother had left. ‘You get a good view of my backside, and I get a bed bath from someone who falls over at the sight of naked flesh.’
‘I do not fall over at the sight of naked flesh.’
‘Clark, I’ve never seen anyone more uncomfortable with a human body than you. You act like it’s something radioactive.’
‘Let your mum do it, then,’ I snapped back.
‘Yes, because that makes the whole idea of going out so much more attractive.’
And then there was the wardrobe problem. I didn’t know what to wear.
I had worn the wrong thing to the races. How could I be sure I wouldn’t do so again? I asked Will what would be best, and he looked at me as if I were mad. ‘The lights will be down,’ he explained. ‘Nobody will be looking at you. They’ll be focused on the music.’
‘You know nothing about women,’ I said.
I brought four different outfits to work with me in the end, hauling them all on to the bus in my Dad’s ancient suit carrier. It was the only way I could convince myself to go at all.
Nathan arrived for the teatime shift at 5.30pm, and while he saw to Will I disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. First I put on what I thought of as my ‘artistic’ outfit, a green smock dress with huge amber beads stitched into it. I imagined the kind of people who went to concerts might be quite arty and flamboyant. Will and Nathan both stared at me as I entered the living room.
‘No,’ said Will, flatly.
‘That looks like something my mum would wear,’ said Nathan.
‘You never told me your mum was Nana Mouskouri,’ Will said.
I could hear them both chuckling as I disappeared back into the bathroom.
The second outfit was a very severe black dress, cut on the bias and stitched with white collar and cuffs, which I had made myself. It looked, I thought, both chic and Parisian.
‘You look like you’re about to serve the ice creams,’ Will said.
‘Aw, mate, but you’d make a great maid,’ Nathan said, approvingly. ‘Feel free to wear that one in the daytime. Really.’
‘You’ll be asking her to dust the skirting next.’
‘It is a bit dusty, now you mention it.’
‘You,’ I said, ‘are both going to get Mr Muscle in your tea tomorrow.’
I discarded outfit number three – a pair of yellow wide-legged trousers – already anticipating Will’s Rupert Bear references, and instead put on my fourth option, a vintage dress in dark-red satin. It was made for a more frugal generation and I always had to say a secret prayer that the zip would make it up past my waist, but it gave me the outline of a 1950s starlet, and it was a ‘results’ dress, one of those outfits you couldn’t help but feel good in. I put a silver bolero over my shoulders, tied a grey silk scarf around my neck, to cover up my cle**age, applied some matching lipstick, and then stepped into the living room.
