Me Before You

I couldn’t say I enjoyed the Triathlon Terrors’ gatherings, but what with my increased hours and Patrick’s training timetable it was one of the few times I could be guaranteed to see him. He sat beside me, muscular thighs clad in shorts despite the extreme cold outside. It was a badge of honour among the members of the club to wear as few clothes as possible. The men were wiry, brandishing obscure and expensive sports layers that boasted extra ‘wicking’ properties, or lighter-than-air bodyweights. They were called Scud or Trig, and flexed bits of body at each other, displaying injuries or alleged muscle growth. The girls wore no make-up, and had the ruddy complexions of those who thought nothing of jogging for miles through icy conditions. They looked at me with faint distaste – or perhaps even incomprehension – no doubt weighing up my fat to muscle ratio and finding it wanting.

‘It was awful,’ I told Patrick, wondering whether I could order cheesecake without them all giving me the Death Stare. ‘His girlfriend and his best friend.’

‘You can’t blame her,’ he said. ‘Are you really telling me you’d stick around if I was paralysed from the neck down?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t expect you to.’

‘Well, I would.’

‘But I wouldn’t want you there. I wouldn’t want someone staying with me out of pity.’

‘Who says it would be pity? You’d still be the same person underneath.’

‘No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be anything like the same person.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I wouldn’t want to live. Relying on other people for every little thing. Having strangers wipe your arse –’

A man with a shaved head thrust his head between us. ‘Pat,’ he said, ‘have you tried that new gel drink? Had one explode in my backpack last week. Never seen anything like it.’

‘Can’t say I have, Trig. Give me a banana and a Lucozade any day.’

‘Dazzer had a Diet Coke when he was doing Norseman. Sicked it all up at three thousand feet. God, we laughed.’

I raised a weak smile.

Shaven-headed man disappeared and Patrick turned back to me, apparently still pondering Will’s fate. ‘Jesus. Think of all the things you couldn’t do … ’ He shook his head. ‘No more running, no more cycling.’ He looked at me as if it had just occurred to him. ‘No more sex.’

‘Of course you could have sex. It’s just that the woman would have to get on top.’

‘We’d be stuffed, then.’

‘Funny.’

‘Besides, if you’re paralysed from the neck down I’m guessing the … um … equipment doesn’t work as it should.’

I thought of Alicia. I did try, she said.I really tried. For months.

‘I’m sure it does with some people. Anyway, there must be a way around these things if you … think imaginatively.’

‘Hah.’ Patrick took a sip of his water. ‘You’ll have to ask him tomorrow. Look, you said he’s horrible. Perhaps he was horrible before his accident. Perhaps that’s the real reason she dumped him. Have you thought of that?’

‘I don’t know … ’ I thought of the photograph. ‘They looked like they were really happy together.’ Then again, what did a photograph prove? I had a framed photograph at home where I was beaming at Patrick like he had just pulled me from a burning building, yet in reality I had just called him an ‘utter dick’ and he had responded with a hearty, ‘Oh, piss off!’

Patrick had lost interest. ‘Hey, Jim … Jim, did you take a look at that new lightweight bike? Any good?’

I let him change the subject, thinking about what Alicia had said. I could well imagine Will pushing her away. But surely if you loved someone it was your job to stick with them? To help them through the depression? In sickness and in health, and all that?

‘Another drink?’

‘Vodka tonic. Slimline tonic,’ I said, as he raised an eyebrow.

Patrick shrugged and headed to the bar.

I had started to feel a little guilty about the way we were discussing my employer. Especially when I realized that he probably endured it all the time. It was almost impossible not to speculate about the more intimate aspects of his life. I tuned out. There was talk of a training weekend in Spain. I was only listening with half an ear, until Patrick reappeared at my side and nudged me.

‘Fancy it?’

‘What?’

‘Weekend in Spain. Instead of the Greek holiday. You could put your feet up by the pool if you don’t fancy the forty-mile bike ride. We could get cheap flights. Six weeks’ time. Now you’re rolling in it … ’

I thought of Mrs Traynor. ‘I don’t know … I’m not sure they’re going to be keen on me taking time off so soon.’

‘You mind if I go, then? I really fancy getting some altitude training in. I’m thinking about doing the big one.’

‘The big what?’

‘Triathlon. The Xtreme Viking. Sixty miles on a bike, thirty miles on foot, and a nice long swim in sub-zero Nordic seas.’