Me Before You: After You Part 15

'We're not really meant to ask patients out on dates.' He held out the spare helmet. 'But I figure you're not my patient any more.'

I took it. 'And this isn't really a date.'

'It isn't?' He gave a small, philosophical nod as I climbed aboard. 'Okay.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

That week, when I arrived at the Moving On Circle Jake wasn't there. As Daphne discussed her inability to open jars without a man in her kitchen, and Sunil talked of the problems of dividing up his brother's few belongings among his remaining siblings, I found myself waiting for the heavy red doors to open at the end of the church hall. I told myself it was his welfare I was concerned about, that he needed to be able to express his discomfort at his father's behaviour in a safe place. I told myself firmly that it was not Sam I was hoping to see, leaning against his bike.

'What are the small things that trip you up, Louisa?'

Perhaps Jake had finished with the group, I thought. Perhaps he had decided he didn't need it any more.

People did drop out, everyone said. And that would be it. I would never see either of them again.

'Louisa? The daily things? There must be something.'

I kept thinking about that field, the neat confines of the railway carriage, the way Sam had strolled down the field with a hen under one arm, as if he was carrying a precious parcel. The feathers on her chest had been as soft as a whisper.

Daphne nudged me.

'We were discussing the small things in day-to-day life that force you to contemplate loss,' said Marc.

'I miss s.e.x,' said Natasha.

'That's not a small thing,' replied William.

'You didn't know my husband,' said Natasha, and snorted a laugh. 'Not really. That's a terrible joke to make. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me.'

'It's good to joke,' said Marc, encouragingly.

'Olaf was perfectly well endowed. Very well endowed, in fact.' Natasha's eyes flickered around us.

When n.o.body spoke she held up her hands, a foot apart, and nodded emphatically. 'We were very happy.'

There was a short silence.

'Good,' said Marc. 'That's nice to hear.'

'I don't want anyone thinking ... I mean, that's not what I want people thinking when they think of my husband. That he had a tiny '

'I'm sure n.o.body thinks that about your husband.'

'I will, if you keep going on about it,' said William.

'I don't want you thinking about my husband's p.e.n.i.s,' said Natasha. 'In fact, I forbid you to think about my husband's p.e.n.i.s.'

'Stop going on about it then!' said William.

'Can we not talk about p.e.n.i.ses?' said Daphne. 'It makes me go a bit peculiar. The nuns used to smack us with rulers if we even used the word "undercarriage".'

Marc's voice was now tinged with desperation. 'Can we steer the conversation away from back to symbols of loss. Louisa, you were about to tell us which small things brought your loss home to you.'

I sat there, trying to ignore Natasha holding up her hands again, silently measuring some unlikely invisible length.'I think I miss having someone to discuss things with,' I said carefully.

There was a murmur of agreement.

'I mean, I'm not one of those people who has a ma.s.sive circle of friends. I was with my last boyfriend for ages and we ... we didn't really go out much. And then there was ... Bill. We just used to talk all the time. About music, and people, and things we'd done and wanted to do, and I never worried about whether I was going to say the wrong thing or offend someone because he just "got" me, you know? And now I've moved to London and I'm sort of on my own, apart from my family, and talking to them is always ... tricky.'

'Word,' said Sunil.

'And now there's something going on that I'd really like to chat to him about. I talk to him in my head, but it isn't the same. I miss having that ... ability to just go, "Hey, what do you think of this?" And knowing that whatever he said was probably going to be the right thing.'

The group was silent for a minute.

'You can talk to us, Louisa,' said Marc.

'It's ... complicated.'

'It's always complicated,' said Leanne.

I looked at their faces, kind and expectant, and completely unlikely to understand anything I told them.

Not really understand it.

Daphne adjusted her silk scarf. 'What Louisa needs is another young man to talk to. Of course she does.

You're young and pretty. You'll find someone else,' she said. 'And you, Natasha. Get back out there. It's too late for me, but you two shouldn't be sitting in this dingy old hall Sorry, Marc, but they shouldn't.

You should be out dancing, having a laugh.'

Natasha and I exchanged a look. Clearly, she wanted to go out dancing about as much as I did.

I had a sudden memory of Ambulance Sam and pushed the thought away.

'And if you ever do want another p.e.n.i.s,' William said, 'I'm sure I could pencil in a '

'Okay, everyone. Let's move on to wills,' said Marc. 'Anyone surprised by what turned up?'

I got home, exhausted, at a quarter past nine, to find Lily lying on the sofa in front of the television in her pyjamas. I dropped my bag. 'How long have you been here?'

'Since breakfast.'

'Are you okay?'

'Mm.'

Her face held a pallor that spoke of either illness or exhaustion.

'Not feeling well?'

She was eating popcorn out of a bowl and lazily scooped her fingers around the bottom of the bowl for crumbs. 'I just didn't feel like doing anything today.'

Lily's phone beeped. She stared listlessly at the message that came through, then pushed it away from her under a sofa cus.h.i.+on.

'Everything really okay?' I asked, after a minute.

'Fine.'

She didn't look fine.

'Anything I can help with?''I said I was fine.'

She didn't look at me as she spoke.

Lily spent that night at the flat. The following day, as I was leaving for work, Mr Traynor rang and asked to speak to her. She was stretched across the sofa and looked blankly up at me when I told her who was on the phone, then finally, reluctantly, held out a hand for the receiver. I stood there as she listened to him.

I couldn't hear his words, but I could hear his tone: kind, rea.s.suring, emollient. When he finished, she left a short pause, then said, 'Okay. Fine.'

'Are you going to see him again?' I said, as she handed back the phone.

'He wants to come to London to see me.'

'Well, that's nice.'

'But he can't be too far away from her just now in case she goes into labour.'

'Do you want me to take you back there to see him?'

'No.'

She tucked her knees underneath her chin, reached out the remote control and flicked through the channels.

'Do you want to talk about it?' I said, after a minute.

She didn't respond, and after a minute or two, I realized the conversation was over.

On Thursday, I went into my bedroom, closed the door and called my sister. We were speaking several times a week. It was easier now that my estrangement from our parents no longer hung between us, like a conversational minefield.

'Do you think it's normal?'

'Dad told me I once didn't speak to him for two whole weeks when I was sixteen. Only grunts. And I was actually quite happy.'

'She's not even grunting. She just looks miserable.'

'All teenagers do. It's their default setting. It's the cheerful ones you want to worry about they're probably hiding some ma.s.sive eating disorder or stealing lipsticks from Boots.'

'She's spent the last three days just lying on the sofa.'

'And your point is?'

'I think something's wrong.'

'She's sixteen years old. Her dad never knew she existed, and popped his clogs before she could meet him. Her mother married someone she calls f.u.c.kface, she has two little brothers who sound like trainee Reggie and Ronnie Kray, and they changed the locks to the family home. I would probably lie on a sofa for a year if I was her.' Treena took a noisy slurp of her tea. 'Plus she's living with someone who wears glittery green Spandex to a bar job and calls it a career.'

'Lurex. It's Lurex.'

'Whatever. So when are you going to find yourself a decent job?'

'Soon. I just need to get this situation sorted first.'

'This situation.'

'She's really down. I feel bad for her.''You know what makes me feel down? The way you keep promising to live some kind of a life, then sacrifice yourself to every waif and stray who comes across your path.'

'Will was not a waif and stray.'

'But Lily is. You don't even know this girl, Lou. You should be focusing on moving forward. You should be sending off your CV , talking to contacts, working out where your strengths are, not finding yet another excuse to put your own life on hold.'

I stared outside at the city sky. In the next room, I could hear the television burbling away, then Lily getting up, walking to the fridge and flopping down again. I lowered my voice: 'So what would you do, Treen? The child of the man you loved turns up on your doorstep, and everyone else seems to have pretty much handed over responsibility for her. You'd walk away too, would you?'

My sister fell briefly silent. This was a rare occurrence and I felt obliged to keep talking. 'So if Thom, in eight years' time, had fallen out with you, for whatever reason say he was pretty much on his own, and was going off the rails you'd think it was great if the one person he asked for help decided it was altogether too much of a pain in the a.r.s.e, would you? That they should just b.u.g.g.e.r off and suit themselves?' I rested my head against the wall. 'I'm trying to do the right thing here, Treen. Just cut me a break, okay?'

Nothing.

'It makes me feel better. Okay? It makes me feel better knowing I'm helping.'

My sister was silent for so long I wondered whether she had hung up. 'Treen?'

'Okay. Well, I do remember reading a thing in social psychology about how teenagers find too much face-to-face contact exhausting.'

'You want me to talk to her through a door?' One day I would have a telephone conversation with my sister that didn't involve the weary sigh of someone explaining something to a halfwit.

'No, doofus. What it means is that if you're going to get her to talk you need to be doing something together, side by side.'

On my way home on Friday evening I stopped off at the DIY superstore. Back at my block, I lugged the bags up the four flights of stairs, and let myself in. Lily was exactly where I was expecting to find her: stretched out in front of the television. 'What's that?' she asked.

'Paint. This flat's a bit tired. You keep telling me I need to brighten it up. I thought we could get rid of this boring old magnolia.'

She couldn't help herself. I pretended to be busy making myself a drink, watching out of the corner of my eye as she stretched, then walked over and examined the paint cans. 'That's hardly any less boring. It's basically pale grey.'

'I was told grey was the in thing. I'll take it back if you think it won't work.'

She peered at it. 'No. It's okay.'