‘All right.’ I screwed the tissue into a ball in my hands, waiting.
He took a deep breath.
‘I get really, really scared of how this is going to go.’ He let that settle in the air between us, and then, in a low, calm voice, he carried on. ‘I know most people think living like me is about the worst thing that could happen. But it could get worse. I could end up not being able to breathe by myself, not being able to talk. I could get circulatory problems that mean my limbs have to be amputated. I could be hospitalized indefinitely. This isn’t much of a life, Clark. But when I think about how much worse it could get – some nights I lie in my bed and I can’t actually breathe.’
He swallowed. ‘And you know what? Nobody wants to hear that stuff. Nobody wants you to talk about being afraid, or in pain, or being scared of dying through some stupid, random infection. Nobody wants to know how it feels to know you will never have sex again, never eat food you’ve made with your own hands again, never hold your own child. Nobody wants to know that sometimes I feel so claustrophobic, being in this chair, I just want to scream like a madman at the thought of spending another day in it. My mother is hanging on by a thread and can’t forgive me for still loving my father. My sister resents me for the fact that yet again I have overshadowed her – and because my injuries mean she can’t properly hate me, like she has since we were children. My father just wants it all to go away. Ultimately, they want to look on the bright side. They need me to look on the bright side.’
He paused. ‘They need to believe there is a bright side.’
I blinked into the darkness. ‘Do I do that?’ I said, quietly.
‘You, Clark,’ he looked down at his hands, ‘are the only person I have felt able to talk to since I ended up in this bloody thing.’
And so I told him.
I reached for his hand, the same one that had led me out of the maze, and I looked straight down at my feet and I took a breath and I told him about the whole night, and how they had laughed at me and made fun of how drunk and stoned I was, and how I had passed out and later my sister had said it might actually be a good thing, the not remembering all of what they had done, but how that half-hour of not knowing had haunted me ever since. I filled it, you see. I filled it with their laughter, their bodies and their words. I filled it with my own humiliation. I told him how I saw their faces every time I went anywhere beyond the town, and how Patrick and Mum and Dad and my small life had been just fine for me, with all their problems and limitations. They had let me feel safe.
By the time we finished talking the sky had grown dark, and there were fourteen messages on my mobile phone wondering where we were.
‘You don’t need me to tell you it wasn’t your fault,’ he said, quietly.
Above us the sky had become endless and infinite.
I twisted the handkerchief in my hand. ‘Yes. Well. I still feel … responsible. I drank too much to show off. I was a terrible flirt. I was –’
‘No. They were responsible.’
Nobody had ever said those words aloud to me. Even Treena’s look of sympathy had held some mute accusation. Well, if you will get drunk and silly with men you don’t know …
His fingers squeezed mine. A faint movement, but there it was.
‘Louisa. It wasn’t your fault.’
I cried then. Not sobbing, this time. The tears left me silently, and told me something else was leaving me. Guilt. Fear. A few other things I hadn’t yet found words for. I leant my head gently on his shoulder and he tilted his head until it rested against mine.
‘Right. Are you listening to me?’
I murmured a yes.
‘Then I’ll tell you something good,’ he said, and then he waited, as if he wanted to be sure he had my attention. ‘Some mistakes … just have greater consequences than others. But you don’t have to let that night be the thing that defines you.’
I felt his head tilt against mine.
‘You, Clark, have the choice not to let that happen.’
The sigh that left me then was long, and shuddering. We sat there in silence, letting his words sink in. I could have stayed there all night, above the rest of the world, the warmth of Will’s hand in mine, feeling the worst of myself slowly begin to ebb away.
‘We’d better get back,’ he said, eventually. ‘Before they call out a search party.’
I released his hand and stood, a little reluctantly, feeling the cool breezes on my skin. And then, almost luxuriously, I stretched my arms high above my head. I let my fingers straighten in the evening air, the tension of weeks, months, perhaps years, easing a little, and let out a deep breath.
Below me the lights of the town winked, a circle of light amid the black countryside below us. I turned back towards him. ‘Will?’
‘Yes?’
I could barely see him in the dim light, but I knew he was watching me. ‘Thank you. Thank you for coming to get me.’
He shook his head, and turned his chair back towards the path.
18
‘Disneyland is good.’
‘I told you, no theme parks.’
‘I know you said that, but it’s not just roller coasters and whirling teacups. At Florida you’ve got the film studios and the science centre. It’s actually quite educational.’
‘I don’t think a 35-year-old former company head needs educating.’
‘There are disabled loos on every corner. And the members of staff are incredibly caring. Nothing is too much trouble.’
He took a deep breath.
‘I get really, really scared of how this is going to go.’ He let that settle in the air between us, and then, in a low, calm voice, he carried on. ‘I know most people think living like me is about the worst thing that could happen. But it could get worse. I could end up not being able to breathe by myself, not being able to talk. I could get circulatory problems that mean my limbs have to be amputated. I could be hospitalized indefinitely. This isn’t much of a life, Clark. But when I think about how much worse it could get – some nights I lie in my bed and I can’t actually breathe.’
He swallowed. ‘And you know what? Nobody wants to hear that stuff. Nobody wants you to talk about being afraid, or in pain, or being scared of dying through some stupid, random infection. Nobody wants to know how it feels to know you will never have sex again, never eat food you’ve made with your own hands again, never hold your own child. Nobody wants to know that sometimes I feel so claustrophobic, being in this chair, I just want to scream like a madman at the thought of spending another day in it. My mother is hanging on by a thread and can’t forgive me for still loving my father. My sister resents me for the fact that yet again I have overshadowed her – and because my injuries mean she can’t properly hate me, like she has since we were children. My father just wants it all to go away. Ultimately, they want to look on the bright side. They need me to look on the bright side.’
He paused. ‘They need to believe there is a bright side.’
I blinked into the darkness. ‘Do I do that?’ I said, quietly.
‘You, Clark,’ he looked down at his hands, ‘are the only person I have felt able to talk to since I ended up in this bloody thing.’
And so I told him.
I reached for his hand, the same one that had led me out of the maze, and I looked straight down at my feet and I took a breath and I told him about the whole night, and how they had laughed at me and made fun of how drunk and stoned I was, and how I had passed out and later my sister had said it might actually be a good thing, the not remembering all of what they had done, but how that half-hour of not knowing had haunted me ever since. I filled it, you see. I filled it with their laughter, their bodies and their words. I filled it with my own humiliation. I told him how I saw their faces every time I went anywhere beyond the town, and how Patrick and Mum and Dad and my small life had been just fine for me, with all their problems and limitations. They had let me feel safe.
By the time we finished talking the sky had grown dark, and there were fourteen messages on my mobile phone wondering where we were.
‘You don’t need me to tell you it wasn’t your fault,’ he said, quietly.
Above us the sky had become endless and infinite.
I twisted the handkerchief in my hand. ‘Yes. Well. I still feel … responsible. I drank too much to show off. I was a terrible flirt. I was –’
‘No. They were responsible.’
Nobody had ever said those words aloud to me. Even Treena’s look of sympathy had held some mute accusation. Well, if you will get drunk and silly with men you don’t know …
His fingers squeezed mine. A faint movement, but there it was.
‘Louisa. It wasn’t your fault.’
I cried then. Not sobbing, this time. The tears left me silently, and told me something else was leaving me. Guilt. Fear. A few other things I hadn’t yet found words for. I leant my head gently on his shoulder and he tilted his head until it rested against mine.
‘Right. Are you listening to me?’
I murmured a yes.
‘Then I’ll tell you something good,’ he said, and then he waited, as if he wanted to be sure he had my attention. ‘Some mistakes … just have greater consequences than others. But you don’t have to let that night be the thing that defines you.’
I felt his head tilt against mine.
‘You, Clark, have the choice not to let that happen.’
The sigh that left me then was long, and shuddering. We sat there in silence, letting his words sink in. I could have stayed there all night, above the rest of the world, the warmth of Will’s hand in mine, feeling the worst of myself slowly begin to ebb away.
‘We’d better get back,’ he said, eventually. ‘Before they call out a search party.’
I released his hand and stood, a little reluctantly, feeling the cool breezes on my skin. And then, almost luxuriously, I stretched my arms high above my head. I let my fingers straighten in the evening air, the tension of weeks, months, perhaps years, easing a little, and let out a deep breath.
Below me the lights of the town winked, a circle of light amid the black countryside below us. I turned back towards him. ‘Will?’
‘Yes?’
I could barely see him in the dim light, but I knew he was watching me. ‘Thank you. Thank you for coming to get me.’
He shook his head, and turned his chair back towards the path.
18
‘Disneyland is good.’
‘I told you, no theme parks.’
‘I know you said that, but it’s not just roller coasters and whirling teacups. At Florida you’ve got the film studios and the science centre. It’s actually quite educational.’
‘I don’t think a 35-year-old former company head needs educating.’
‘There are disabled loos on every corner. And the members of staff are incredibly caring. Nothing is too much trouble.’
