I told him he would have the weekend to recover, but after that I had a series of outings planned. I told him I was taking his advice and trying new things, and he would have to come with me. It was a subtle change in emphasis, but I knew that was the only way I could get him to accompany me.
In fact, I had devised a detailed schedule for the next couple of weeks. Each event was carefully marked on my calendar in black, with red pen outlining the precautions I should take, and green for the accessories I would need. Every time I looked at the back of my door I felt a little glimmer of excitement, both that I had been so organized, but also that one of these events might actually be the thing that changed Will’s view of the world.
As my Dad always says, my sister is the brains of our family.
The art gallery trip lasted a shade under twenty minutes. And that included driving round the block three times in search of a suitable parking space. We got there, and almost before I had closed the door behind him he said all the work was terrible. I asked him why and he said if I couldn’t see it he couldn’t explain it. The cinema had to be abandoned after the staff told us, apologetically, that their lift was out of order. Others, such as the failed attempt to go swimming, required more time and organization – the ringing of the swimming pool beforehand, the booking of Nathan for overtime, and then, when we got there, the flask of hot chocolate drunk in silence in the leisure centre car park when Will resolutely refused to go in.
The following Wednesday evening, we went to hear a singer he had once seen live in New York. That was a good trip. When he listened to music he wore an expression of intense concentration. Most of the time, it was as if Will were not wholly present, as if there were some part of him struggling with pain, or memories, or dark thoughts. But with music it was different.
And then the following day I took him to a wine tasting, part of a promotional event held by a vineyard in a specialist wine shop. I had to promise Nathan I wouldn’t get him drunk. I held up each glass for Will to sniff, and he knew what it was even before he’d tasted it. I tried quite hard not to snort when Will spat it into the beaker (it did look really funny), and he looked at me from under his brows and said I was a complete child. The shop owner went from being weirdly disconcerted by having a man in a wheelchair in his shop to quite impressed. As the afternoon went on, he sat down and started opening other bottles, discussing region and grape with Will, while I wandered up and down looking at the labels, becoming, frankly, a little bored.
‘Come on, Clark. Get an education,’ he said, nodding at me to sit down beside him.
‘I can’t. My mum told me it was rude to spit.’
The two men looked at each other as if I were the mad one. And yet he didn’t spit every time. I watched him. And he was suspiciously talkative for the rest of the afternoon – swift to laugh, and even more combative than usual.
And then, on the way home, we were driving through a town we didn’t normally go to and, as we sat, motionless, in traffic, I glanced over and saw the Tattoo and Piercing Parlour.
‘I always quite fancied a tattoo,’ I said.
I should have known afterwards that you couldn’t just say stuff like that in Will’s presence. He didn’t do small talk, or shooting the breeze. He immediately wanted to know why I hadn’t had one.
‘Oh … I don’t know. The thought of what everyone would say, I guess.’
‘Why? What would they say?’
‘My dad hates them.’
‘How old are you again?’
‘Patrick hates them too.’
‘And he never does anything that you might not like.’
‘I might get claustrophobic. I might change my mind once it was done.’
‘Then you get it removed by laser, surely?’
I looked at him in my rear-view mirror. His eyes were merry.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘What would you have?’
I realized I was smiling. ‘I don’t know. Not a snake. Or anyone’s name.’
‘I wasn’t expecting a heart with a banner saying “mother”.’
‘You promise not to laugh?’
‘You know I can’t do that. Oh God, you’re not going to have some Indian Sanskrit proverb or something, are you? What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’
‘No. I’d have a bee. A little black and yellow bee. I love them.’
He nodded, as if that were a perfectly reasonable thing to want. ‘And where would you have it? Or daren’t I ask?’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno. My shoulder? Lower hip?’
‘Pull over,’ he said.
‘Why, are you okay?’
‘Just pull over. There’s a space there. Look, on your left.’
I pulled the car into the kerb and glanced back at him. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘We’ve got nothing else on today.’
‘Go on where?’
‘To the tattoo parlour.’
I started to laugh. ‘Yeah. Right.’
‘Why not?’
‘You have been swallowing instead of spitting.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
I turned in my seat. He was serious.
‘I can’t just go and get a tattoo. Just like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … ’
‘Because your boyfriend says no. Because you still have to be a good girl, even at twenty-seven. Because it’s too scary. C’mon, Clark. Live a little. What’s stopping you?’
In fact, I had devised a detailed schedule for the next couple of weeks. Each event was carefully marked on my calendar in black, with red pen outlining the precautions I should take, and green for the accessories I would need. Every time I looked at the back of my door I felt a little glimmer of excitement, both that I had been so organized, but also that one of these events might actually be the thing that changed Will’s view of the world.
As my Dad always says, my sister is the brains of our family.
The art gallery trip lasted a shade under twenty minutes. And that included driving round the block three times in search of a suitable parking space. We got there, and almost before I had closed the door behind him he said all the work was terrible. I asked him why and he said if I couldn’t see it he couldn’t explain it. The cinema had to be abandoned after the staff told us, apologetically, that their lift was out of order. Others, such as the failed attempt to go swimming, required more time and organization – the ringing of the swimming pool beforehand, the booking of Nathan for overtime, and then, when we got there, the flask of hot chocolate drunk in silence in the leisure centre car park when Will resolutely refused to go in.
The following Wednesday evening, we went to hear a singer he had once seen live in New York. That was a good trip. When he listened to music he wore an expression of intense concentration. Most of the time, it was as if Will were not wholly present, as if there were some part of him struggling with pain, or memories, or dark thoughts. But with music it was different.
And then the following day I took him to a wine tasting, part of a promotional event held by a vineyard in a specialist wine shop. I had to promise Nathan I wouldn’t get him drunk. I held up each glass for Will to sniff, and he knew what it was even before he’d tasted it. I tried quite hard not to snort when Will spat it into the beaker (it did look really funny), and he looked at me from under his brows and said I was a complete child. The shop owner went from being weirdly disconcerted by having a man in a wheelchair in his shop to quite impressed. As the afternoon went on, he sat down and started opening other bottles, discussing region and grape with Will, while I wandered up and down looking at the labels, becoming, frankly, a little bored.
‘Come on, Clark. Get an education,’ he said, nodding at me to sit down beside him.
‘I can’t. My mum told me it was rude to spit.’
The two men looked at each other as if I were the mad one. And yet he didn’t spit every time. I watched him. And he was suspiciously talkative for the rest of the afternoon – swift to laugh, and even more combative than usual.
And then, on the way home, we were driving through a town we didn’t normally go to and, as we sat, motionless, in traffic, I glanced over and saw the Tattoo and Piercing Parlour.
‘I always quite fancied a tattoo,’ I said.
I should have known afterwards that you couldn’t just say stuff like that in Will’s presence. He didn’t do small talk, or shooting the breeze. He immediately wanted to know why I hadn’t had one.
‘Oh … I don’t know. The thought of what everyone would say, I guess.’
‘Why? What would they say?’
‘My dad hates them.’
‘How old are you again?’
‘Patrick hates them too.’
‘And he never does anything that you might not like.’
‘I might get claustrophobic. I might change my mind once it was done.’
‘Then you get it removed by laser, surely?’
I looked at him in my rear-view mirror. His eyes were merry.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘What would you have?’
I realized I was smiling. ‘I don’t know. Not a snake. Or anyone’s name.’
‘I wasn’t expecting a heart with a banner saying “mother”.’
‘You promise not to laugh?’
‘You know I can’t do that. Oh God, you’re not going to have some Indian Sanskrit proverb or something, are you? What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’
‘No. I’d have a bee. A little black and yellow bee. I love them.’
He nodded, as if that were a perfectly reasonable thing to want. ‘And where would you have it? Or daren’t I ask?’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno. My shoulder? Lower hip?’
‘Pull over,’ he said.
‘Why, are you okay?’
‘Just pull over. There’s a space there. Look, on your left.’
I pulled the car into the kerb and glanced back at him. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘We’ve got nothing else on today.’
‘Go on where?’
‘To the tattoo parlour.’
I started to laugh. ‘Yeah. Right.’
‘Why not?’
‘You have been swallowing instead of spitting.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
I turned in my seat. He was serious.
‘I can’t just go and get a tattoo. Just like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … ’
‘Because your boyfriend says no. Because you still have to be a good girl, even at twenty-seven. Because it’s too scary. C’mon, Clark. Live a little. What’s stopping you?’
