Me Before You: a novel

already know what you are going to do to her?
“Come on, then. I’ve got the car in disabled parking. It’s only a
short ride from here. I was pretty sure you’d all be a bit jet-lagged.
Nathan, do you want me to take any of those bags?”
My voice broke into the conversation. “Actually,” I said—I was
already pulling my luggage from the trolley—“I think I’m going to
head off. Thank you, anyway.”
I was focused on my bag, deliberately not looking at them, but
even above the hubbub of the airport I could detect the brief silence
my words provoked.
Mr. Traynor’s voice was the first to break it. “Come on, Louisa.
Let’s have a little celebration. We want to hear all about your
adventures. I want to know all about the island. And I promise you
don’t have to tell us everything.” He almost chuckled.
“Yes.” Mrs. Traynor’s voice had a faint edge to it. “Do come,
Louisa.”
“No.” I swallowed, tried to raise a bland smile. My sunglasses
were a shield. “Thank you. I’d really rather get back.”
“To where?” said Will.
I realized what he was saying. I didn’t really have anywhere to
go.
“I’ll go to my parents’ house. It will be fine.”
“Come with us,” he said. His voice was gentle. “Don’t go, Clark.
Please.”
I wanted to cry then. But I knew with utter certainty that I couldn’t
be anywhere near him. “No. Thank you. I hope you have a lovely
meal.” I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and, before anyone could
say anything else, I was walking away from them, swallowed up by
the crowds in the terminal.
I was almost at the bus stop when I heard her. Camilla Traynor, her
heels clipping on the pavement, half walked, half ran toward me.
“Stop. Louisa. Please stop.”

---

I turned, and she was forcing her way through a coach party,
casting the backpacking teenagers aside like Moses parting the
waves. The airport lights were bright on her hair, turning it a kind of
copper color. She was wearing a fine gray pashmina, which draped
artistically over one shoulder. I remember thinking absently how
beautiful she must have been only a few years earlier.
“Please. Please stop.”
I stopped, glancing behind me at the road, wishing that the bus
would appear now, that it would scoop me up and take me away.
That anything would happen. A small earthquake, maybe.
“Louisa?”
“He had a good time.” My voice sounded clipped. Oddly like her
own, I found myself thinking.
“He does look well. Very well.” She stared at me, standing there
on the pavement. She was suddenly acutely still, despite the sea of
people moving around her.
We didn’t speak.
And then I said, “Mrs. Traynor, I’d like to hand in my notice. I
can’t…I can’t do these last few days. I’ll forfeit any money owed to
me. In fact, I don’t want this month’s money. I don’t want anything. I
just—”
She went pale then. I saw the color drain from her face, the way
she swayed a little in the morning sunshine. I saw Mr. Traynor
coming up behind her, his stride brisk, one hand holding his Panama
hat firmly on his head. He was muttering his apologies as he pushed
through the crowds, his eyes fixed on me and his wife as we stood
rigidly a few feet apart.
“You…you said you thought he was happy. You said you thought
this might change his mind.” She sounded desperate, as if she were
pleading with me to say something else, to give her some different
result.
I couldn’t speak. I stared at her, and the most I could manage
was a small shake of my head.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, so quietly that she could not have heard
me.

---

He was almost there as she fell. It was as if her legs just gave
way under her, and Mr. Traynor’s left arm shot out and caught her as
she went down, her mouth a great O, her body slumped against his.
His hat fell to the pavement. He glanced up at me, his face
confused, not yet registering what had just taken place.
And I couldn’t look. I turned, numb, and I began to walk, one foot
in front of the other, my legs moving almost before I knew what they
were doing, away from the airport, not yet even knowing where it
was I was going to go.

---

25
KATRINA
Louisa didn’t come out of her room for a whole thirty-six hours after
she got back from her holiday. She arrived back from the airport late
Sunday evening, pale as a ghost under her suntan—and we couldn’t
work that out, for a start, as she had definitely said she’d see us first
thing Monday morning. I just need to sleep, she had said, then shut
herself in her room and gone straight to bed. We had thought it a
little odd, but what did we know? Lou has been peculiar since birth,
after all.
Mum had taken up a mug of tea in the morning, and Lou had not
stirred. By supper, Mum had become worried and shaken her,
checking that she was alive. (She can be a bit melodramatic, Mum—
although, to be fair, she had made fish pie and she probably just
wanted to make sure Lou wasn’t going to miss it.) But Lou wouldn’t
eat, and she wouldn’t talk and she wouldn’t come downstairs. I just