Me Before You: a novel

It’s not so bad, it’s not so bad, I found myself murmuring under
my breath. It’s just a load of old hedges. I took a right turn, then a left
through a break in the hedge. I took another right, a left, and as I
went I rehearsed in my head the reverse of where I had been. Right.
Left. Break. Right. Left.
My heart rate began to rise a little, so that I could hear the blood
pumping in my ears. I forced myself to think about Will on the other
side of the hedge, glancing down at his watch. It was just a silly test.
I was no longer that naive young woman. I was twenty-seven. I lived
with my boyfriend. I had a responsible job. I was a different person.
I turned, went straight on, and turned again.
And then, almost from nowhere, the panic rose within me like
bile. I thought I saw a man darting at the end of the hedge. Even
though I told myself it was just my imagination, the act of reassuring
myself made me forget my reversed instructions. Right. Left. Break.
Right. Right? Had I got that the wrong way around? My breath
caught in my throat. I forced myself onward, only to realize that I had
completely lost my bearings. I stopped and glanced around me at
the direction of the shadows, trying to work out which direction was
west.

---

And as I stood there, it dawned on me that I couldn’t do it. I
couldn’t stay in there. I whipped around, and began to walk in what I
thought was a southerly direction. I would get out. I was twenty-
seven years old. It was fine. But then I heard their voices, the
catcalling, the mocking laughter. I saw them, darting in and out of the
gaps in the hedge, felt my own feet sway drunkenly under my high
heels, the unforgiving prickle of the hedge as I fell against it, trying to
steady myself.
“I want to get out now,” I had told them, my voice slurring and
unsteady. “I’ve had enough, guys.”
And they had all vanished. The maze was silent, just the distant
whispers that might have been them on the other side of the hedge
—or might have been the wind dislodging the leaves.
“I want to go out now,” I had said, my voice sounding uncertain
even to me. I had gazed up at the sky, briefly unbalanced by the
vast, studded black of the space above me. And then I jumped as
someone caught me around my waist—the dark-haired one. The one
who had been to Africa.
“You can’t go yet,” he said. “You’ll spoil the game.”
I had known then, just from the feel of his hands on my waist. I
had realized that some balance had shifted, that some restraint on
behavior had begun to evaporate. And I had laughed, pushed at his
hands as if they were a joke, unwilling to let him know that I knew. I
heard him shout for his friends. And I broke away from him, running
suddenly, trying to fight my way to the exit, my feet sinking into the
damp grass. I heard them all around me, their raised voices, their
bodies unseen, and felt my throat constrict in panic. I was too
disorientated to work out where I was. The tall hedges kept swaying,
pitching toward me. I kept going, pushing my way around corners,
stumbling, ducking into openings, trying to get away from their
voices. But the exit never came. Everywhere I turned there was just
another expanse of hedge, another mocking voice.
I stumbled into an opening, briefly exultant that I was near
freedom. But then I saw I was back at the center again, back where I
had started. I reeled as I saw them all standing there, as if they had
simply been waiting for me.

---

“There you go,” one of them said, as his hand grabbed my arm. “I
told you she was up for it. Come on, Lou-lou, give me a kiss and I’ll
show you the way out.” His voice was soft and drawling.
“Give us all a kiss and we’ll all show you the way out.”
Their faces were a blur.
“I just…I just want you to—”
“Come on, Lou. You like me, don’t you? You’ve been sitting on
my lap all evening. One kiss. How hard is that?”
I heard a snigger.
“And you’ll show me how to get out?” My voice sounded pathetic,
even to me.
“Just one.” He moved closer.
I felt his mouth on mine, a hand squeezing my thigh.
He broke away, and I heard the tenor of his breathing change.
“And now Jake’s turn.”
I don’t know what I said then. Someone had my arm. I heard the
laughter, felt a hand in my hair, another mouth on mine, insistent,
invasive, and then—
“Will…”
I was sobbing now, crouched over myself. “Will…” I was saying
his name, over and over again, my voice ragged, emerging
somewhere from my chest. I heard him somewhere far off, beyond
the hedge.
“Louisa? Louisa, where are you? What’s the matter?”
I was in the corner, as far under the hedge as I could get. Tears
blurred my eyes, my arms wrapped tightly around me. I couldn’t get
out. I would be stuck here forever. Nobody would find me.
“Will…”
“Where are—”
And there he was, in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up, my face contorted. “I’m sorry. I
can’t…do it.”
He lifted his arm a couple of inches—the maximum he could
manage. “Oh Jesus, what the—? Come here, Clark.” He moved

---

forward, then glanced down at his arm in frustration. “Bloody useless
thing…It’s okay. Just breathe. Come here. Just breathe. Slowly.”
I wiped my eyes. At the sight of him, the panic had begun to
subside. I stood up, unsteadily, and tried to straighten my face. “I’m
sorry. I…don’t know what happened.”
“Are you claustrophobic?” His face, inches from mine, was
etched with worry. “I could see you didn’t want to go in. I just…I just
thought you were being—”
I shut my eyes. “I just want to go now.”
“Hold on to my hand. We’ll go out.”
He had me out of there within minutes. He knew the maze
backward, he told me as we walked, his voice calm, reassuring. It
had been a challenge for him as a boy to learn his way through. I
entwined my fingers with his and felt the warmth of his hand as
something comforting. I felt foolish when I realized how close to the
entrance I had been all along.
We stopped at a bench just outside, and I rummaged in the back
of his chair for a tissue. We sat there in silence, me on the end of the
bench beside him, both of us waiting for my hiccoughing to subside.
He sat, sneaking sideways glances at me.
“So…?” he said, finally, when I must have looked as if I could
speak without falling apart again. “You want to tell me what’s going
on?”
I twisted the tissue in my hands. “I can’t.”
He closed his mouth.
I swallowed. “It’s not you,” I said, hurriedly. “I haven’t talked to
anyone about…It’s…it’s stupid. And a long time ago. I didn’t think…I
would…”
I felt his eyes on me, and wished he wouldn’t look. My hands
wouldn’t stop trembling, and my stomach felt as if it were made of a
million knots.
I shook my head, trying to tell him that there were things I
couldn’t say. I wanted to reach for his hand again, but I didn’t feel I
could. I was conscious of his gaze, could almost hear his unspoken
questions.

---

Below us, two cars had pulled up near the gates. Two figures got
out—from here it was impossible to see who—and embraced. They
stood there for a few minutes, perhaps talking, and then got back
into their cars and drove off in the opposite direction. I watched them
but I couldn’t think. My mind felt frozen. I didn’t know what to say
about anything anymore.
“Okay. Here’s the thing,” he said, finally. I turned around, but he
wasn’t looking at me. “I’ll tell you something that I never tell anyone.
All right?”
“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 tissue 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