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Non-necessary Non-necessary. Get the Pdf eBook of this romantic novel, which follows the emotional and heartbreaking story of Will Traynor and Lou Clark. After its publication in , it got immense popularity and became New York Times Bestseller book.
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She made my own mother look like Amy Winehouse. Or at least, I tried. I had been watching the female television presenter and wondering what my hair would look like dyed the same colour. You mashed them up and tried to hide them in the gravy.
I saw you. He was right. I was sitting feeding Will, while both of us vaguely watched the lunchtime news. The meal was roast beef with mashed potato. I was so used to feeding Thomas, whose vegetables had to be mashed to a paste and hidden under mounds of potato, or secreted in bits of pasta.
Every fragment we got past him felt like a little victory. You think a teaspoon of carrot would improve my quality of life? It exploded out of him in a gasp, as if it were entirely unexpected. I stared at him. Mr Fork does not look like a train. Just do me a cup of tea. But he said it — you know — in a good way.
Will and I seemed to have found an easier way of being around each other. It revolved mainly around him being rude to me, and me occasionally being rude back. He told me I did something badly, and I told him if it really mattered to him then he could ask me nicely. He swore at me, or called me a pain in the backside, and I told him he should try being without this particular pain in the backside and see how far it got him. It was a bit forced but it seemed to work for both of us.
Sometimes it even seemed like a relief to him that there was someone prepared to be rude to him, to contradict him or tell him he was being horrible. I got the feeling that everyone had tiptoed around him since his accident — apart from perhaps Nathan, who Will seemed to treat with an automatic respect, and who was probably impervious to any of his sharper comments anyway.
Nathan was like an armoured vehicle in human form. But my parents tended to stake ownership of the remote control in the evenings, and Patrick would be about as likely to watch a foreign film as he would be to suggest we take night classes in crochet. In fact, I order you to watch this film. You sit there. Never watched a foreign film. I spent the first twenty minutes feeling a bit fidgety, irritated by the subtitles and wondering if Will was going to get shirty if I told him I needed the loo.
And then something happened. By the time Hunchback Man died, I was sobbing silently, snot running into my sleeve. He glanced at me slyly. I glanced down at the tissue and realized I had no mascara left.
So come on, tell me about yourself. I was waiting for the pay-off. I watch a bit of telly. I go and watch my boyfriend when he does his running. Nothing unusual. Places you like to go? I tried to think. I read a bit. I like clothes. I work and then I go home. Renfrew Road. Of course he did. There was little human traffic between the two sides of the castle.
Or Tenby. My aunt lives in Tenby. Get married? Pop out some ankle biters? Dream career? Travel the world? I think I knew my answer would disappoint him even before I said the words aloud. Yes, I took the relevant exam and passed.
The thought of loading Will and his chair into the adapted minivan and carting him safely to and from the next town filled me with utter terror. For weeks I had wished that my working day involved some escape from that house. Now I would have done anything just to stay indoors.
A little bit of me was hoping that Will had been wrong. I had thought she would want to oversee every aspect of his treatment. I had been so nervous that I had dropped some of his lunch down his lap and was now trying in vain to mop it up, so that a good patch of his trousers was sopping wet.
I had spent much of that morning — time I usually spent cleaning — reading and rereading the instruction manual for the chairlift but I was still dreading the moment when I was solely responsible for lifting him two feet into the air. I just … I just thought it would be easier first time if there was someone else there who knew the ropes. If he had been spoiling for a fight, he appeared to change his mind.
I had got the pasta sauce off, but he was soaked. As the hot air blasted on to his trousers he raised his eyebrows. I heard his voice over the roar of the hairdryer. It was the closest Will had come to actually trying to make me feel better. The car looked like a normal people carrier from outside, but when the rear passenger door was unlocked a ramp descended from the side and lowered to the ground.
Nathan slid into the other passenger seat, belted him and secured the wheels. Trying to stop my hands from trembling, I released the handbrake and drove slowly down the drive towards the hospital. Away from home, Will appeared to shrink a little. It was chilly outside, and Nathan and I had bundled him up into his scarf and thick coat, but still he grew quieter, his jaw set, somehow diminished by the greater space of his surroundings.
Every time I looked into my rear-view mirror which was often — I was terrified even with Nathan there that somehow the chair would break loose from its moorings he was gazing out of the window, his expression impenetrable. Even when I stalled or braked too hard, which I did several times, he just winced a little and waited while I sorted myself out.
By the time we reached the hospital I had actually broken out into a fine sweat. I drove around the hospital car park three times, too afraid to reverse into any but the largest of spaces, until I could sense that the two men were beginning to lose patience. One is how rubbish most pavements are, pockmarked with badly patched holes, or just plain uneven.
Walking slowly next to Will as he wheeled himself along, I noticed how every uneven slab caused him to jolt painfully, or how often he had to steer carefully round some potential obstacle. Nathan pretended not to notice, but I saw him watching too. Will just looked grim-faced and resolute. The other thing is how inconsiderate most drivers are. They park up against the cutouts on the pavement, or so close together that there is no way for a wheelchair to actually cross the road.
I was shocked, a couple of times even tempted to leave some rude note tucked into a windscreen wiper, but Nathan and Will seemed used to it. Nathan pointed out a suitable crossing place and, each of us flanking Will, we finally crossed.
Will had not said a single word since leaving the house. The hospital itself was a gleaming low-rise building, the immaculate reception area more like that of some modernistic hotel, perhaps testament to private insurance. I held back as Will told the receptionist his name, and then followed him and Nathan down a long corridor. Nathan was carrying a huge backpack that contained anything that Will might be likely to need during his short visit, from beakers to spare clothes.
He had packed it in front of me that morning, detailing every possible eventuality. There was no hospital smell, and there were fresh flowers in a vase on the windowsill. Not just any old flowers, either.
Nathan looked up from his book. That only happens in Hollywood movies. The physio stuff? When I first came, he was pretty determined. I mean … somewhere like this … they must be working on stuff all the time. He said these appointments could go on for some time, and that he would hold the fort until I got back.
When I got there, the coffee cooling in my hand, the corridor was empty. I had done it again. Probably Monday. They should be able to give you some more of those too. I knocked, and someone called for me to come in. Two sets of eyes swivelled towards me. Will was braced forward in his chair as Nathan pulled down his shirt. Muttering my apologies I backed out, my face burning. I trudged up the drive, my footsteps muffled and my toes already numb, shivering under my too-thin Chinese silk coat.
A whirl of thick white flakes emerged from an iron-grey infinity, almost obscuring Granta House, blotting out sound, and slowing the world to an unnatural pace. Beyond the neatly trimmed hedge cars drove past with a newfound caution, pedestrians slipped and squealed on the pavements. I pulled my scarf up over my nose and wished I had worn something more suitable than ballet pumps and a velvet minidress. I was just wondering whether to call the doctor. Of course, it would be today. Bloody agency nurse came and went in six seconds flat.
They looked comically large on me but it was heaven to have warm, dry feet. In the dim light I could just make out the shape under the duvet. He was fast asleep. My mother seemed to glean an almost physical satisfaction from a well-ordered house. But on a day like today, when Will was confined to bed, and the world seemed to have stilled outside, I could also see there was a kind of meditative pleasure in working my way from one end of the annexe to the other.
I filled the log basket, noting that several inches of snow had now settled. I made Will a fresh drink, and then knocked. When I knocked again, I did so loudly. Am I okay to come in? I walked in, letting my eyes adjust to the light. Will was on one side, one arm bent in front of him as if to prop himself up, as he had been before when I looked in.
Sometimes it was easy to forget he would not be able to turn over by himself. His hair stuck up on one side, and a duvet was tucked neatly around him. The smell of warm, unwashed male filled the room — not unpleasant, but still a little startling as part of a working day. Do you want your drink?
I reached around him, the scent of him filling my nostrils, his skin warm against mine. I could not have been in any closer unless I had begun nibbling on his ear. The thought made me mildly hysterical, and I struggled to keep myself together. He was broader than I had expected, somehow heavier. And then, on a count of three, I pulled back. He groaned slightly as I adjusted him against the pillow, and I tried to make my movements as slow and gentle as possible. He pointed out the remote control device that would bring his head and shoulders up.
I gave him the beaker, watched him swallow. Will never thanked me for anything. He closed his eyes, and for a while I just stood in the doorway and watched him, his chest rising and falling under his T-shirt, his mouth slightly open. His breathing was shallow, and perhaps a little more laboured than on other days.
I left. I read my magazine, lifting my head only to watch the snow settle thickly around the house, creeping up the window sills in powdery landscapes. Mum sent me a text message at I listened to the local news on the radio, the motorway snarl-ups, train stoppages and temporary school closures that the unexpected blizzard had brought with it.
He was pale, high points of something bright on each cheek. I said his name twice more, loudly. There was no response. Finally, I leant over him. There was no obvious movement in his face, nothing I could see in his chest. His breath.
I should be able to feel his breath. I put my face down close to his, trying to detect an out breath. He flinched, his eyes snapping open, just inches from my own. He blinked, glancing around the room, as if he had been somewhere far from home. His expression was one of mild exasperation. I put my hand out, his duvet felt vaguely hot and sweaty.
It made me nervous. I went through the folder, trying to work out if I was missing something. I opened the medical cabinet, the boxes of rubber gloves and gauze dressings, and realized I had no idea at all what I should do with any of it.
I could hear it echoing beyond the annexe door. I was about to ring Mrs Traynor when the back door opened, and Nathan stepped in, wrapped in layers of bulky clothing, a woollen scarf and hat almost obscuring his head. He brought with him a whoosh of cold air and a light flurry of snow. It felt like the house had suddenly woken from a dreamlike state. The buses have stopped running. He reappeared before the kettle had even finished boiling.
I did think he was hot, but he said he just wanted to sleep. All morning? The strong ones. I hovered behind him. Nobody said. It means if he gets a slight chill his temperature gauge goes haywire. Go find the fan. And a damp towel, to put around the back of his neck. Bloody agency nurse. They should have picked this up in the morning. He was no longer really even talking to me. I ran for the fan. While we waited for the extra-strong fever medication to take effect, I placed a towel over his forehead and another around his neck, as Nathan instructed.
We stripped him down, covered his chest with a fine cotton sheet, and set the fan to play over it. Without sleeves, the scars on his arms were clearly exposed. I realized, now I could see him in the light, that he looked really, properly ill and I felt terrible for having failed to grasp it.
I said sorry until Nathan told me it had become irritating. Finally, an hour later, Will lay dozing, lying on fresh cotton sheets and looking, if not exactly well, then not scarily ill. But wake him after a couple of hours and make sure you get the best part of a beaker of fluids into him.
More fever meds at five, okay? His temperature will probably shoot up again in the last hour, but nothing more before five. I was afraid of getting anything wrong. Any problems, you just call me. I was too afraid not to. It was strangely peaceful in that room. Through the crack in the curtains I could see the outside world, blanketed in white, still and beautiful. Inside it was warm and silent, only the odd tick and hiss of the central heating to interrupt my thoughts.
I read, and occasionally I glanced up and checked Will sleeping peacefully and I realized that there had never been a point in my life before where I had just sat in silence and done nothing. During the rare moments that the television was off, Dad would put on his old Elvis records and play them at full blast.
A cafe too is a constant buzz of noise and clatter. Here, I could hear my thoughts. I could almost hear my heartbeat. I realized, to my surprise, that I quite liked it. At five, my mobile phone signalled a text message. Will stirred, and I leapt out of the chair, anxious to get it before it disturbed him. No trains. Is there any chance you could stay over tonight? Publication Date: December 31, Genres: Fiction, Romance.
Hardcover: pages. Publisher: Pamela Dorman Books. Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Ein ganzes halbes Jahr by Jojo Moyes. Still Me by Jojo Moyes.
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