Me Before You: a novel

Law, TakeOver, directories of names I did not recognize.
“And there was no way you could carry on with your job?”
“No. Nor the apartment, the holidays, the life…I believe you met
my ex-girlfriend.” The break in his voice couldn’t disguise the
bitterness. “But I should apparently be grateful, as for some time
they didn’t think I was going to live at all.”
“Do you hate it? Living here, I mean?”
“Yes.”

---

“Is there any way you might be able to live in London again?”
“Not like this, no.”
“But you might improve. I mean, there are loads of advances in
this kind of injury.”
Will closed his eyes again.
I waited, and then I adjusted the pillow behind his head and the
duvet around his chest. “Sorry,” I said, sitting upright. “If I ask too
many questions. Do you want me to leave?”
“No. Stay for a bit. Talk to me.” He swallowed. His eyes opened
again and his gaze slid up to mine. He looked unbearably tired. “Tell
me something good.”
I hesitated a moment, then I leaned back against the pillows
beside him. We sat there in the near dark, watching the briefly
illuminated flakes of snow disappear into the black night.
“You know…I used to say that to my dad,” I said, finally. “But if I
told you what he used to say back, you’d think I was insane.”
“More than I do?”
“When I had a nightmare or was sad or frightened about
something, he used to sing…” I started to laugh. “Oh…I can’t.”
“Go on.”
“He used to sing me the ‘Molahonkey Song.’”
“The what?”
“The ‘Molahonkey Song.’ I used to think everyone knew it.”
“Trust me, Clark,” he murmured, “I am a Molahonkey virgin.”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and began to sing.
I wi-li-lished I li-li-lived in Molahonkey la-la-land
The la-la-land where I-li-li was bo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lorn
So I-li-li could play-la-lay my o-lo-lold banjo-lo-lo
My o-lo-lold ban-jo-lo-lo won’t go-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo.
“Jesus Christ.”
I took another breath.
I too-lo-look it to-lo-lo the me-le-lender’s sho-lo-lop to
See-lee-lee what they-le-ley could do-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo
They sai-lai-laid to me-le-le your stri-li-lings are sho-lo-lot
They’re no-lo-lo more u-lu-luse to you-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-loo.

---

There was a short silence.
“You are insane. Your whole family is insane.”
“But it worked.”
“And you are a God-awful singer. I hope your dad was better.”
“I think what you meant to say was, ‘Thank you, Miss Clark, for
attempting to entertain me.’”
“I suppose it makes about as much sense as most of the
psychotherapeutic help I’ve received. Okay, Clark,” he said, “tell me
something else. Something that doesn’t involve singing.”
I thought for a bit.
“Um…okay, well…you were looking at my shoes the other day.”
“Hard not to.”
“Well, my mum can date my unusual shoe thing back to when I
was three. She bought me a pair of bright turquoise glittery wellies;
they were quite unusual back then—kids used to just have those
green ones, or maybe red if you were lucky. And she said from the
day she brought them home I refused to take them off. I wore them
to bed, in the bath, to nursery school, all through the summer. My
favorite outfit was those glitter boots and my bumblebee tights.”
“Bumblebee tights?”
“Black and yellow stripes.”
“Gorgeous.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“Well, it’s true. They sound revolting.”
“They might sound revolting to you, but astonishingly, Will
Traynor, not all girls get dressed just to please men.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Everything women do is with men in mind. Everything anyone
does is with sex in mind. Haven’t you read The Red Queen?”
“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 anymore. 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 on the overhead light, 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 scraggly 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 a right
angle 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
up.
I followed, trying to straighten my clothes. I had a horrible feeling
my makeup 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.