‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I can assure you I’m not sitting on your bed singing the “Molahonkey Song” because I’m trying to get my leg over. And when I was three, I just really, really liked having stripy legs.’
I realized that the anxiety that had held me in its grip all day was slowly ebbing away with every one of Will’s comments. I was no longer in sole charge of a poorly quadriplegic. It was just me, sitting next to a particularly sarcastic bloke, having a chat.
‘So come on, then, what happened to these gorgeous glittery wellies?’
‘She had to throw them away. I got terrible athlete’s foot.’
‘Delightful.’
‘And she threw the tights away too.’
‘Why?’
‘I never found out. But it broke my heart. I have never found a pair of tights I loved like that again. They don’t do them any more. Or if they do, they don’t make them for grown women.’
‘Strange, that.’
‘Oh, you can mock. Didn’t you ever love anything that much?’
I could barely see him now, the room shrouded in the near dark. I could have turned the overhead light on, but something stopped me. And almost as soon as I realized what I had said, I wished I hadn’t.
‘Yes,’ he said, quietly. ‘Yes, I did.’
We talked a bit longer, and then Will nodded off. I lay there, watching him breathe, and occasionally wondering what he would say if he woke up and found me staring at him, at his too-long hair and tired eyes and scraggy beginnings of a beard. But I couldn’t move. The hours had become surreal, an island out of time. I was the only other person in the house, and I was still afraid to leave him.
Shortly after eleven, I saw he had begun to sweat again, his breathing becoming shallower, and I woke him and made him take some fever medication. He didn’t talk, except to murmur his thanks. I changed his top sheet and his pillowcase, and then, when he finally slept again, I lay down a foot away from him and, a long time later, I slept too.
I woke to the sound of my name. I was in a classroom, asleep on my desk, and the teacher was rapping a blackboard, repeating my name again and again. I knew I should be paying attention, knew that the teacher would see this slumber as an act of subversion, but I could not raise my head from the desk.
‘Louisa.’
‘Mmmhghh.’
‘Louisa.’
The desk was awfully soft. I opened my eyes. The words were being spoken over my head, hissed, but with great emphasis. Louisa.
I was in bed. I blinked, letting my eyes focus, then looked up to find Camilla Traynor standing over me. She wore a heavy wool coat and her handbag was slung over her shoulder.
‘Louisa.’
I pushed myself upright with a start. Beside me, Will was asleep under the covers, his mouth slightly open, his elbow bent at right angles in front of him. Light seeped in through the window; telling of a cold, bright morning.
‘Uh.’
‘What are you doing?’
I felt as if I had been caught doing something awful. I rubbed at my face, trying to gather my thoughts. Why was I in here? What could I tell her?
‘What are you doing in Will’s bed?’
‘Will … ’ I said, quietly. ‘Will wasn’t well … I just thought I should keep an eye –’
‘What do you mean, he wasn’t well? Look, come out into the hall.’ She strode out of the room, evidently waiting for me to catch her up.
I followed, trying to straighten my clothes. I had a horrible feeling my make-up was smeared all over my face.
She closed Will’s bedroom door behind me.
I stood in front of her, trying to smooth my hair as I gathered my thoughts. ‘Will had a temperature. Nathan got it down when he came, but I didn’t know about this regulating thing and I wanted to keep an eye on him … he said I should keep an eye on him … ’ My voice sounded thick, unformed. I wasn’t entirely sure I was making coherent sentences.
‘Why didn’t you call me? If he was ill you should have called me immediately. Or Mr Traynor.’
It was as if my synapses had suddenly snapped together. Mr Traynor. Oh Lord. I glanced up at the clock. It was a quarter to eight.
‘I didn’t … Nathan seemed to … ’
‘Look, Louisa. It’s really not rocket science. If Will was ill enough for you to sleep in his room then that is something you should have contacted me about.’
‘Yes.’
I blinked, staring at the ground.
‘I don’t understand why you didn’t call. Did you attempt to call Mr Traynor?’
Nathan said not to say anything.
‘I –’
At that moment the door to the annexe opened, and Mr Traynor stood there, a newspaper folded under his arm. ‘You made it back!’ he said to his wife, brushing snowflakes from his shoulders. ‘I’ve just fought my way up the road to get a newspaper and some milk. Roads are absolutely treacherous. I had to go the long way to Hansford Corner, to avoid the ice patches.’
She looked at him and I wondered for a moment whether she was registering the fact that he was wearing the same shirt and jumper as the previous day.
‘Did you know Will had been ill in the night?’
He looked straight at me. I dropped my gaze to my feet. I wasn’t sure I had ever felt more uncomfortable.
‘Did you try to call me, Louisa? I’m sorry – I didn’t hear a thing. I suspect that intercom’s on the blink. There have been a few occasions lately where I’ve missed it. And I wasn’t feeling too good myself last night. Out like a light.’
I was still wearing Will’s socks. I stared at them, wondering if Mrs Traynor was going to judge me for that too.
But she seemed distracted. ‘It’s been a long journey home. I think … I’ll leave you to it. But if anything like this happens again, you call me immediately. Do you understand?’
I didn’t want to look at Mr Traynor. ‘Yes,’ I said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
7
Spring arrived overnight, as if winter, like some unwanted guest, had abruptly shrugged its way into its coat and vanished, without saying goodbye. Everything became greener, the roads bathed in watery sunshine, the air suddenly balmy. There were hints of something floral and welcoming in the air, birdsong the gentle backdrop to the day.
I didn’t notice any of it. I had stayed at Patrick’s house the evening before. It was the first time I had seen him for almost a week due to his enhanced training schedule, but having spent forty minutes in the bath with half a pack of bath salts, he was so exhausted he could barely talk to me. I had begun stroking his back, in a rare attempt at seduction, and he had murmured that he was really too tired, his hand flicking as if he were swatting me away. I was still awake and staring at his ceiling discontentedly four hours later.