Me Before You
Page 98
‘It’s not a normal job. You know that.’
‘But Will Traynor seems to take priority over everything these days.’
‘Oh, and this doesn’t?’ I took my hand off the handlebars, and gestured towards his shifting feet.
‘That’s different. He calls, you come running.’
‘And you go running, I come running.’ I tried to smile.
‘Very funny.’ He turned away.
‘It’s six months, Pat. Six months. You were the one who thought I should take this job, after all. You can’t have a go at me for taking it seriously.’
‘I don’t think … I don’t think it’s about the job … I just … I think there’s something you’re not telling me.’
I hesitated, just a moment too long. ‘That’s not true.’
‘But you won’t come to the Viking.’
‘I’ve told you, I –’
He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t hear me properly. Then he began to run down the road, away from me. I could see from the set of his back how angry he was.
‘Oh, come on, Patrick. Can’t we just stop for a minute and discuss this?’
His tone was mulish. ‘No. It will throw out my time.’
‘Then let’s stop the clock. Just for five minutes.’
‘No. I have to do it in real conditions.’
He began to run faster, as if he had gained a new momentum.
‘Patrick?’ I said, struggling suddenly to keep up with him. My feet slipped on the pedals, and I cursed, kicking a pedal back to try and set off again. ‘Patrick? Patrick!’
I stared at the back of his head and the words were out of my mouth almost before I knew what I was saying. ‘Okay. Will wants to die. He wants to commit suicide. And this trip is my last attempt to change his mind.’
Patrick’s stride shortened and then slowed. He stopped on the road ahead, his back straight, still facing away from me. He turned slowly. He had finally stopped jogging.
‘Say that again.’
‘He wants to go to Dignitas. In August. I’m trying to change his mind. This is the last chance I have.’
He was staring at me like he didn’t know quite whether to believe me.
‘I know it sounds mad. But I have to change his mind. So … so I can’t come to the Viking.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I had to promise his family I wouldn’t tell anyone. It would be awful for them if it got out. Awful. Look, even he doesn’t know I know. It’s all been … tricky. I’m sorry.’ I reached out a hand to him. ‘I would have told you if I could.’
He didn’t answer. He looked crushed, as if I had done something terrible. There was a faint frown on his face, and he swallowed twice, hard.
‘Pat –’
‘No. Just … I just need to run now, Lou. By myself.’ He ran a hand across his hair. ‘Okay?’
I swallowed. ‘Okay.’
He looked for a moment as if he had forgotten why we were even out there. Then he struck off again, and I watched him disappear on the road ahead of me, his head facing resolutely ahead, his legs eating up the road beneath him.
I had put the request out on the day after we returned from the wedding.
Can anyone tell me a good place to go where quadriplegics can have adventures? I am looking for things that an able-bodied person might be able to do, things that might make my depressed friend forget for a while that his life is a bit limited. I don’t really know what I’m hoping for, but all suggestions gratefully received. This is quite urgent. Busy Bee.
As I logged on I found myself staring at the screen in disbelief. There were eighty-nine responses. I scrolled up and down the screen, unsure at first whether they could all possibly be in response to my request. Then I glanced around me at the other computer users in the library, desperate for one of them to look at me so that I could tell them. Eighty-nine responses! To a single question!
There were tales of bungee jumping for quadriplegics, of swimming, canoeing, even horse riding, with the aid of a special frame. (When I watched the online video this linked to, I was a little disappointed that Will had said he really couldn’t stand horses. It looked ace.)
There was swimming with dolphins, and scuba diving with supporters. There were floating chairs that would enable him to go fishing, and adapted quad bikes that would allow him to off-road. Some of them had posted photographs or videos of themselves taking part in these activities. A few of them, including Ritchie, had remembered my previous posts, and wanted to know how he was doing.
This all sounds like good news. Is he feeling better?
I typed a quick response:
Maybe. But I’m hoping this trip will really make a difference.
Ritchie responded:
Attagirl! If you’ve got the funds to sort it all out, the sky’s the limit!
Scootagirl wrote:
Make sure you post up some pics of him in the bungee harness. Love the look on guys’ faces when they’re upside down!
I loved them – these quads and their carers – for their courage and their generosity and their imaginations. I spent two hours that evening writing down their suggestions, following their links to related websites they had tried and tested, even talking to a few in the chat rooms. By the time I left I had a destination; we would head to California, to The Four Winds Ranch, a specialist centre which offered experienced help ‘in a way that will make you forget you ever needed help’, according to its website. The ranch itself, a low-slung timber building set into a forest clearing near Yosemite, had been set up by a former stuntman who refused to let his spinal injury limit the things he could do, and the online visitors book was full of happy and grateful holidaymakers who swore that he had changed the way they felt about their disability – and themselves. At least six of the chat-room users had been there, and all said it had turned their lives around.
‘But Will Traynor seems to take priority over everything these days.’
‘Oh, and this doesn’t?’ I took my hand off the handlebars, and gestured towards his shifting feet.
‘That’s different. He calls, you come running.’
‘And you go running, I come running.’ I tried to smile.
‘Very funny.’ He turned away.
‘It’s six months, Pat. Six months. You were the one who thought I should take this job, after all. You can’t have a go at me for taking it seriously.’
‘I don’t think … I don’t think it’s about the job … I just … I think there’s something you’re not telling me.’
I hesitated, just a moment too long. ‘That’s not true.’
‘But you won’t come to the Viking.’
‘I’ve told you, I –’
He shook his head slightly, as if he couldn’t hear me properly. Then he began to run down the road, away from me. I could see from the set of his back how angry he was.
‘Oh, come on, Patrick. Can’t we just stop for a minute and discuss this?’
His tone was mulish. ‘No. It will throw out my time.’
‘Then let’s stop the clock. Just for five minutes.’
‘No. I have to do it in real conditions.’
He began to run faster, as if he had gained a new momentum.
‘Patrick?’ I said, struggling suddenly to keep up with him. My feet slipped on the pedals, and I cursed, kicking a pedal back to try and set off again. ‘Patrick? Patrick!’
I stared at the back of his head and the words were out of my mouth almost before I knew what I was saying. ‘Okay. Will wants to die. He wants to commit suicide. And this trip is my last attempt to change his mind.’
Patrick’s stride shortened and then slowed. He stopped on the road ahead, his back straight, still facing away from me. He turned slowly. He had finally stopped jogging.
‘Say that again.’
‘He wants to go to Dignitas. In August. I’m trying to change his mind. This is the last chance I have.’
He was staring at me like he didn’t know quite whether to believe me.
‘I know it sounds mad. But I have to change his mind. So … so I can’t come to the Viking.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I had to promise his family I wouldn’t tell anyone. It would be awful for them if it got out. Awful. Look, even he doesn’t know I know. It’s all been … tricky. I’m sorry.’ I reached out a hand to him. ‘I would have told you if I could.’
He didn’t answer. He looked crushed, as if I had done something terrible. There was a faint frown on his face, and he swallowed twice, hard.
‘Pat –’
‘No. Just … I just need to run now, Lou. By myself.’ He ran a hand across his hair. ‘Okay?’
I swallowed. ‘Okay.’
He looked for a moment as if he had forgotten why we were even out there. Then he struck off again, and I watched him disappear on the road ahead of me, his head facing resolutely ahead, his legs eating up the road beneath him.
I had put the request out on the day after we returned from the wedding.
Can anyone tell me a good place to go where quadriplegics can have adventures? I am looking for things that an able-bodied person might be able to do, things that might make my depressed friend forget for a while that his life is a bit limited. I don’t really know what I’m hoping for, but all suggestions gratefully received. This is quite urgent. Busy Bee.
As I logged on I found myself staring at the screen in disbelief. There were eighty-nine responses. I scrolled up and down the screen, unsure at first whether they could all possibly be in response to my request. Then I glanced around me at the other computer users in the library, desperate for one of them to look at me so that I could tell them. Eighty-nine responses! To a single question!
There were tales of bungee jumping for quadriplegics, of swimming, canoeing, even horse riding, with the aid of a special frame. (When I watched the online video this linked to, I was a little disappointed that Will had said he really couldn’t stand horses. It looked ace.)
There was swimming with dolphins, and scuba diving with supporters. There were floating chairs that would enable him to go fishing, and adapted quad bikes that would allow him to off-road. Some of them had posted photographs or videos of themselves taking part in these activities. A few of them, including Ritchie, had remembered my previous posts, and wanted to know how he was doing.
This all sounds like good news. Is he feeling better?
I typed a quick response:
Maybe. But I’m hoping this trip will really make a difference.
Ritchie responded:
Attagirl! If you’ve got the funds to sort it all out, the sky’s the limit!
Scootagirl wrote:
Make sure you post up some pics of him in the bungee harness. Love the look on guys’ faces when they’re upside down!
I loved them – these quads and their carers – for their courage and their generosity and their imaginations. I spent two hours that evening writing down their suggestions, following their links to related websites they had tried and tested, even talking to a few in the chat rooms. By the time I left I had a destination; we would head to California, to The Four Winds Ranch, a specialist centre which offered experienced help ‘in a way that will make you forget you ever needed help’, according to its website. The ranch itself, a low-slung timber building set into a forest clearing near Yosemite, had been set up by a former stuntman who refused to let his spinal injury limit the things he could do, and the online visitors book was full of happy and grateful holidaymakers who swore that he had changed the way they felt about their disability – and themselves. At least six of the chat-room users had been there, and all said it had turned their lives around.
