Me Before You: After You Part 4

There was a brief silence. 'Oh, my G.o.d.'

'Bernard, don't take the Lord's name in vain.'

'He's turned me b.l.o.o.d.y blue, Josie. I think I'm ent.i.tled to take the Lord's name to Butlins in a flipping wheelbarrow. Is this permanent pen? THOMMO? IS THIS PERMANENT PEN?'

'We'll get it off, Dad.' My sister closed the door to the garden behind her. Beyond it you could just make out Thomas's wailing.'I'm meant to be overseeing the new fencing at the castle tomorrow. I have contractors coming. How the h.e.l.l am I meant to deal with contractors if I'm blue?' Dad spat on his hand and started to rub at his face. The faintest smudging appeared, but mostly seemed to spread onto his palm. 'It's not coming off.

Josie, it' s not coming off!'

Mum s.h.i.+fted her attention from Granddad and set about Dad with the scouring pad. 'Just stay still, Bernard. I'm doing what I can.'

Treena went for her laptop bag. 'I'll go on the internet. I'm sure there's something. Toothpaste or nail- polish remover or bleach or '

'You are not putting bleach on my ruddy face!' Dad roared. Granddad, with his new pirate moustache, sat giggling in the corner of the room.

I began to edge past them.

Mum was holding Dad's face with her left hand as she scrubbed. She turned, as if she'd only just seen me. 'Lou! I didn't ask are you okay, love? Did you have a nice walk?' Everyone stopped abruptly to smile at me; a smile that said, Everything' s okay here, Lou. Y ou don't have to worry. I hated that smile.

'Fine.'

It was the answer they all wanted. Mum turned to Dad. 'That's grand. Isn't it grand, Bernard?'

'It is. Great news.'

'If you sort out your whites, love, I'll pop them in the wash with Daddy's later.'

'Actually,' I said, 'don't bother. I've been thinking. It's time for me to go home.'

n.o.body spoke. Mum glanced at Dad. Granddad let out another little giggle and clamped his hand over his mouth.

'Fair enough,' said Dad, with as much dignity as a middle-aged, blueberry-coloured man could muster.

'But if you go back to that flat, Louisa, you go on one condition ...'

CHAPTER FOUR.

'My name is Natasha and I lost my husband to cancer three years ago.'

On a humid Monday night, the members of the Moving On Circle sat in a ring of orange office chairs in the Pentecostal Church Hall, alongside Marc, the leader, a tall, moustachioed man, whose whole being exuded a kind of exhausted melancholy, and one empty chair.

'I'm Fred. My wife, Jilly, died in September. She was seventy-four.'

'Sunil. My twin brother died of leukaemia two years ago.'

'William. Dead father, six months ago. All a bit ridiculous, frankly, as we never really got on when he was alive. I keep asking myself why I'm here.'

There was a peculiar scent to grief. It smelt of damp, imperfectly ventilated church halls and poor- quality teabags. It smelt of meals for one and stale cigarettes, smoked hunched against the cold. It smelt of spritzed hair and armpits, little practical victories against a mora.s.s of despair. That smell alone told me I did not belong there, whatever I had promised Dad.

I felt like a fraud. Plus they all looked so ... sad.

I s.h.i.+fted uneasily in my seat, and Marc caught me. He gave me a rea.s.suring smile. We know, it said.

We've been here before.

I bet you haven't, I responded silently.

'Sorry. Sorry I'm late.' The door opened, letting in a blast of warm air, and the empty chair was taken by a mop-headed teenager, who folded his limbs into place as if they were always somehow too long for the s.p.a.ce they were in.

'Jake. You missed last week. Everything okay?'

'Sorry. Dad messed up at work and he couldn't get me here.'

'Don't worry. It's good you made it. You know where the drinks are.'

The boy glanced around the room from under his long fringe, hesitating slightly when his gaze landed on my glittery green skirt. I pulled my bag onto my lap in an attempt to hide it and he looked away.

'h.e.l.lo, dear. I'm Daphne. My husband took his own life. I don't think it was the nagging!' The woman's half-laugh seemed to leak pain. She patted her carefully set hair and peered down awkwardly at her knees. 'We were happy. We were.'

The boy's hands were tucked under his thighs. 'Jake. Mum. Two years ago. I've been coming here for the past year because my dad can't deal with it, and I needed someone to talk to.'

'How is your dad this week, Jake?' said Marc.

'Not bad. I mean, he brought a woman home last Friday night but, like, he didn't sit on the sofa and cry afterwards. So that's something.'

'Jake's father is handling his own grief in his own way,' Marc said in my direction.

's.h.a.gging,' said Jake. 'Mostly s.h.a.gging.'

'I wish I was younger,' said Fred, wistfully. He was wearing a collar and tie, the kind of man who considers himself undressed without one. 'I think that would have been a marvellous way to handle Jilly dying.''My cousin picked up a man at my aunt's funeral,' said a woman in the corner who might have been called Leanne; I couldn't remember. She was small and round and had a thick fringe of chocolate- coloured hair.

'Actually during the funeral?'

'She said they went to a Travelodge after the sandwiches.' She shrugged. 'It's the heightened emotions, apparently.'

I was in the wrong place. I could see that now. Surrept.i.tiously, I gathered my belongings, wondering whether I should announce my leaving or whether it would be simpler just to run.

Then Marc turned to me expectantly.

I stared blankly at him.

He raised his eyebrows.

'Oh. Me? Actually, I was just leaving. I think I've ... I mean, I don't think I'm '

'Oh, everyone wants to leave on their first day, dear.'

'I wanted to leave on my second and third too.'

'That's the biscuits. I keep telling Marc we should have better ones.'

'Just tell us the bare bones of it, if you like. Don't worry. You're among friends.'

They were all waiting. I couldn't run. I hunched back into my seat. 'Um. Okay. Well, my name's Louisa and the man I ... I loved ... died at thirty-five.'

There were a few nods of sympathy.

'Too young. When did this happen, Louisa?'

'Twenty months ago. And a week. And two days.'

'Three years, two weeks and two days.' Natasha smiled at me from across the room.

There was a low murmur of commiseration. Daphne, beside me, reached out a plump, beringed hand and patted my leg.

'We've had many discussions in this room about the particular difficulties when someone dies young,'

said Marc. 'How long were you together?'

'Uh. We ... well ... a little less than six months.'

A few barely hidden looks of surprise.

'That's quite brief,' a voice said.

'I'm sure Louisa's pain is just as valid,' said Marc, smoothly. 'And how did he pa.s.s, Louisa?'

'Pa.s.s what?'

'Die,' said Fred, helpfully.

'Oh. He uh he took his own life.'

'That must have been a great shock.'

'Not really. I knew he was planning it.'

There is a peculiar sort of silence, it turns out, when you tell a room full of people who think they know everything there is to know about the death of a loved one that they don't.

I took a breath. 'He knew he wanted to do it before I met him. I tried to change his mind and I couldn't.

So I went along with it, because I loved him, and it seemed to make sense at the time. And now it makes a lot less sense. Which is why I'm here.'

'Death never makes sense,' said Daphne.'Unless you're Buddhist,' said Natasha. 'I keep trying to think Buddhist thoughts but I'm worried that Olaf is going to come back as a mouse or something and I'm going to poison him.' She sighed. 'I have to put poison down. We have a terrible mouse problem in our block.'

'You'll never get rid of them. They're like fleas,' said Sunil. 'For every one you see, there are hundreds of them behind the scenes.'

'You might want to think about what you're doing, Natasha, love,' said Daphne. 'There could be hundreds of little Olafs running around. My Alan could be one of them. You could actually be poisoning the both of them.'

'Well,' said Fred, 'if it's Buddhist, he'd just come back as something else, wouldn't he?'

'But what if it's a fly or something and Natasha kills that too?'

'I'd hate to come back as a fly,' said William. 'Horrible black hairy things.' He shuddered.

'I'm not, like, some ma.s.s murderer,' said Natasha. 'You're making it sound like I'm out there slaughtering everyone's reincarnated husbands.'

'Well, that mouse might be someone's husband. Even if it isn't Olaf.'

'I think we should try to steer this session back on track,' said Marc, rubbing his temple. 'Louisa, it's brave of you to come and tell your story. Why don't you tell us a bit more about how you and what was his name? how you met. You're in a circle of trust. We've all pledged that our stories go no further than these walls.'

It was at this point that I happened to catch Jake's eye. He glanced at Daphne, then at me, and shook his head subtly.

'I met him at work,' I said. 'And his name was ... Bill.'

Despite what I had promised Dad, I wasn't planning to attend the Moving On Circle. But my return to work had been so awful that by the time the day ended I hadn't been able to face going home to an empty flat.

'You're back!' Carly had placed the cup of coffee on the bar, taken the businessman's change, and hugged me, all while dropping the coins into the correct sections of the till drawer, in one fluid motion.

'What the h.e.l.l happened? Tim just told us you had an accident. And then he left so I wasn't even sure you were coming back.'

'Long story.' I stared at her. 'Uh ... what are you wearing?'

Nine o'clock on Monday morning and the airport had been a blue-grey blur of men charging laptops, staring into iPhones, reading the City pages or talking discreetly into handsets about market share. Carly caught the eye of someone on the other side of the till. 'Yeah. Well, things have changed since you've been gone.'

I turned to see a businessman standing on the wrong side of the bar. I blinked at him and put my bag down. 'Um if you'd like to wait there, I'll serve you '

'You must be Louise.' His handshake was emphatic and without warmth. 'I'm the new bar manager.

Richard Percival.' I took in his slick hair, his suit, his pale blue s.h.i.+rt, and wondered what kind of bars he had actually managed.

'Nice to meet you.'

'You're the one who's been off for two months.'

'Well. Yes. I 'He walked along the optics, scanning each bottle. 'I just want you to know that I'm not a fan of people taking endless sick leave.'

My neck s.h.i.+fted a few centimetres back in my collar.

'I'm just laying down a marker, Louise. I'm not one of those managers who turn a blind eye. I know that in many companies time off is pretty much considered a staff perk. But not in companies where I work.'

'Believe me, I've not thought of the last nine weeks as a perk.'

He examined the underside of a tap, and rubbed at it meditatively with his thumb.