Me before you by jojo moyes

JOJOMOYES
MeBeforeYou

PENGUINBOOKS


TableofContents
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21

Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Q&AwithJojo


PENGUINBOOKS

MeBeforeYou

JojoMoyeswasbornin1969andbroughtupinLondon.Ajournalistandwriter,
sheworkedforTheIndependentnewspaperuntil2001.ShelivesinEastAnglia
withherhusbandandthreechildren.Sheistheauthorofninenovels,twoof
which,TheLastLetterFromYourLover(2010)andForeignFruit(2003),have
wontheRNANoveloftheYearaward.

www.jojomoyes.com
www.twitter.com/jojomoyes


ToCharles,withlove


PROLOGUE

2007

Whenheemergesfromthebathroomsheisawake,proppedupagainstthe
pillowsandflickingthroughthetravelbrochuresthatwerebesidehisbed.Sheis
wearingoneofhisT-shirts,andherlonghairistousledinawaythatprompts
reflexivethoughtsofthepreviousnight.Hestandsthere,enjoyingthebrief
flashback,rubbingthewaterfromhishairwithatowel.
Shelooksupfromabrochureandpouts.Sheisprobablyslightlytoooldto
pout,butthey’vebeengoingoutashortenoughtimeforitstilltobecute.
‘Dowereallyhavetodosomethingthatinvolvestrekkingupmountains,or
hangingoverravines?It’sourfirstproperholidaytogether,andthereisliterally
notonesingletripinthesethatdoesn’tinvolveeitherthrowingyourselfoff
somethingor–’shepretendstoshudder‘–wearingfleece.’
Shethrowsthemdownonthebed,stretcheshercaramel-colouredarmsabove
herhead.Hervoiceishusky,testamenttotheirmissedhoursofsleep.‘How
aboutaluxuryspainBali?Wecouldliearoundonthesand…spendhours
beingpampered…longrelaxingnights…’
‘Ican’tdothosesortsofholidays.Ineedtobedoingsomething.’
‘Likethrowingyourselfoutofaeroplanes.’
‘Don’tknockittillyou’vetriedit.’
Shepullsaface.‘Ifit’sallthesametoyou,IthinkI’llstickwithknockingit.’
Hisshirtisfaintlydampagainsthisskin.Herunsacombthroughhishairand
switchesonhismobilephone,wincingatthelistofmessagesthatimmediately
pushesitswaythroughontothelittlescreen.


‘Right,’hesays.‘Gottogo.Helpyourselftobreakfast.’Heleansoverthebed
tokissher.Shesmellswarmandperfumedanddeeplysexy.Heinhalesthescent
fromthebackofherhair,andbrieflyloseshistrainofthoughtasshewrapsher
armsaroundhisneck,pullinghimdowntowardsthebed.
‘Arewestillgoingawaythisweekend?’
Heextricateshimselfreluctantly.‘Dependswhathappensonthisdeal.It’sall

abitupintheairatthemoment.There’sstillapossibilityImighthavetobein
NewYork.NicedinnersomewhereThursday,eitherway?Yourchoiceof
restaurant.’Hismotorbikeleathersareonthebackofthedoor,andhereaches
forthem.
Shenarrowshereyes.‘Dinner.WithorwithoutMrBlackBerry?’
‘What?’
‘MrBlackBerrymakesmefeellikeMissGooseberry.’Thepoutagain.‘Ifeel
likethere’salwaysathirdpersonvyingforyourattention.’
‘I’llturnitontosilent.’
‘WillTraynor!’shescolds.‘Youmusthavesometimewhenyoucanswitch
off.’
‘Iturneditofflastnight,didn’tI?’
‘Onlyunderextremeduress.’
Hegrins.‘Isthatwhatwe’recallingitnow?’Hepullsonhisleathers.And
Lissa’sholdonhisimaginationisfinallybroken.Hethrowshismotorbikejacket
overhisarm,andblowsherakissasheleaves.
Therearetwenty-twomessagesonhisBlackBerry,thefirstofwhichcamein
fromNewYorkat3.42am.Somelegalproblem.Hetakestheliftdowntothe
undergroundcarpark,tryingtoupdatehimselfwiththenight’sevents.
‘Morning,MrTraynor.’
Thesecurityguardstepsoutofhiscubicle.It’sweatherproof,eventhough
downherethereisnoweathertobeprotectedfrom.Willsometimeswonders
whathedoesdownhereinthesmallhours,staringattheclosed-circuit
televisionandtheglossybumpersof£60,000carsthatnevergetdirty.
Heshouldershiswayintohisleatherjacket.‘What’sitlikeoutthere,Mick?’
‘Terrible.Rainingcatsanddogs.’
Willstops.‘Really?Notweatherforthebike?’


Mickshakeshishead.‘No,sir.Notunlessyou’vegotaninflatableattachment.

Oradeathwish.’
Willstaresathisbike,thenpeelshimselfoutofhisleathers.Nomatterwhat
Lissathinks,heisnotamanwhobelievesintakingunnecessaryrisks.He
unlocksthetopboxofhisbikeandplacestheleathersinside,lockingitand
throwingthekeysatMick,whocatchesthemneatlywithonehand.‘Stickthose
throughmydoor,willyou?’
‘Noproblem.Youwantmetocallataxiforyou?’
‘No.Nopointbothofusgettingwet.’
MickpressesthebuttontoopentheautomaticgrilleandWillstepsout,lifting
ahandinthanks.Theearlymorningisdarkandthunderousaroundhim,the
CentralLondontrafficalreadydenseandslowdespitethefactthatitisbarely
halfpastseven.Hepullshiscollaruparoundhisneckandstridesdownthestreet
towardsthejunction,fromwhereheismostlikelytohailataxi.Theroadsare
slickwithwater,thegreylightshiningonthemirroredpavement.
Hecursesinwardlyashespiestheothersuitedpeoplestandingontheedgeof
thekerb.SincewhendidthewholeofLondonbegingettingupsoearly?
Everyonehashadthesameidea.
Heiswonderingwherebesttopositionhimselfwhenhisphonerings.Itis
Rupert.
‘I’monmywayin.Justtryingtogetacab.’Hecatchessightofataxiwithan
orangelightapproachingontheothersideoftheroad,andbeginstostride
towardsit,hopingnobodyelsehasseen.Abusroarspast,followedbyalorry
whosebrakessqueal,deafeninghimtoRupert’swords.‘Can’thearyou,Rupe,’
heyellsagainstthenoiseofthetraffic.‘You’llhavetosaythatagain.’Briefly
maroonedontheisland,thetrafficflowingpasthimlikeacurrent,hecanseethe
orangelightglowing,holdsuphisfreehand,hopingthatthedrivercanseehim
throughtheheavyrain.
‘YouneedtocallJeffinNewYork.He’sstillup,waitingforyou.Wewere
tryingtogetyoulastnight.’
‘What’stheproblem?’

‘Legalhitch.Twoclausesthey’restallingonunder
section…signature…papers…’Hisvoiceisdrownedoutbyapassingcar,its
tyreshissinginthewet.


‘Ididn’tcatchthat.’
Thetaxihasseenhim.Itisslowing,sendingafinesprayofwaterasitslows
ontheoppositesideoftheroad.Hespiesthemanfurtheralongwhosebrief
sprintslowsindisappointmentasheseesWillmustgettherebeforehim.He
feelsasneakingsenseoftriumph.‘Look,getCallytohavethepaperworkonmy
desk,’heyells.‘I’llbethereintenminutes.’
Heglancesbothwaysthenduckshisheadasherunsthelastfewstepsacross
theroadtowardsthecab,theword‘Blackfriars’alreadyonhislips.Therainis
seepingdownthegapbetweenhiscollarandhisshirt.Hewillbesoakedbythe
timehereachestheoffice,evenwalkingthisshortdistance.Hemayhavetosend
hissecretaryoutforanothershirt.
‘AndweneedtogetthisduediligencethingworkedoutbeforeMartingetsin
–’
Heglancesupatthescreechingsound,therudeblareofahorn.Heseesthe
sideoftheglossyblacktaxiinfrontofhim,thedriveralreadywindingdownhis
window,andattheedgeofhisfieldofvisionsomethinghecan’tquitemakeout,
somethingcomingtowardshimatanimpossiblespeed.
Heturnstowardsit,andinthatsplitsecondherealizesthatheisinitspath,
thatthereisnowayheisgoingtobeabletogetoutofitsway.Hishandopensin
surprise,lettingtheBlackBerryfalltotheground.Hehearsashout,whichmay
behisown.Thelastthingheseesisaleatherglove,afaceunderahelmet,the
shockintheman’seyesmirroringhisown.Thereisanexplosionaseverything
fragments.
Andthenthereisnothing.

1

2009
Thereare158footstepsbetweenthebusstopandhome,butitcanstretchto180
ifyouaren’tinahurry,likemaybeifyou’rewearingplatformshoes.Orshoes
youboughtfromacharityshopthathavebutterfliesonthetoesbutneverquite
griptheheelattheback,therebyexplainingwhytheywereaknock-down£1.99.
Iturnedthecornerintoourstreet(68steps),andcouldjustseethehouse–a
four-bedroomedsemiinarowofotherthree-andfour-bedroomedsemis.Dad’s
carwasoutside,whichmeanthehadnotyetleftforwork.
Behindme,thesunwassettingbehindStortfoldCastle,itsdarkshadow
slidingdownthehilllikemeltingwaxtoovertakeme.WhenIwasachildwe
usedtomakeourelongatedshadowshavegunbattles,ourstreettheO.K.
Corral.Onadifferentsortofday,Icouldhavetoldyouallthethingsthathad
happenedtomeonthisroute:whereDadtaughtmetorideabikewithout
stabilizers;whereMrsDohertywiththelopsidedwigusedtomakeusWelsh
cakes;whereTreenastuckherhandintoahedgewhenshewaselevenand
disturbedawasp’snestandweranscreamingallthewaybacktothecastle.
Thomas’stricyclewasupturnedonthepathand,closingthegatebehindme,I
draggeditundertheporchandopenedthedoor.Thewarmthhitmewiththe
forceofanairbag;Mumisamartyrtothecoldandkeepstheheatingonallyear
round.Dadisalwaysopeningwindows,complainingthatshe’dbankruptthelot
ofus.HesaysourheatingbillsarelargerthantheGDPofasmallAfrican
country.
‘Thatyou,love?’


‘Yup.’Ihungmyjacketonthepeg,whereitfoughtforspaceamongstthe
others.

‘Whichyou?Lou?Treena?’
‘Lou.’
Ipeeredroundtheliving-roomdoor.Dadwasfacedownonthesofa,hisarm
thrustdeepbetweenthecushions,asiftheyhadswallowedhislimbwhole.
Thomas,myfive-year-oldnephew,wasonhishaunches,watchinghimintently.
‘Lego.’Dadturnedhisfacetowardsme,pucefromexertion.‘Whytheyhave
tomakethedamnedpiecessosmallIdon’tknow.HaveyouseenObi-Wan
Kenobi’sleftarm?’
‘ItwasontopoftheDVDplayer.IthinkheswappedObi’sarmswithIndiana
Jones’s.’
‘Well,apparentlynowObican’tpossiblyhavebeigearms.Wehavetohave
theblackarms.’
‘Iwouldn’tworry.Doesn’tDarthVaderchophisarmoffinepisodetwo?’I
pointedatmycheeksothatThomaswouldkissit.‘Where’sMum?’
‘Upstairs.Howaboutthat?Atwo-poundpiece!’
Ilookedup,justabletohearthefamiliarcreakoftheironingboard.Josie
Clark,mymother,neversatdown.Itwasapointofhonour.Shehadbeenknown
tostandonanoutsideladderpaintingthewindows,occasionallypausingto
wave,whiletherestofusatearoastdinner.
‘Willyouhaveagoatfindingthisbloodyarmforme?He’shadmelooking
forhalfanhourandI’vegottogetreadyforwork.’
‘Areyouonnights?’
‘Yeah.It’shalffive.’
Iglancedattheclock.‘Actually,it’shalffour.’
Heextractedhisarmfromthecushionsandsquintedathiswatch.‘Thenwhat
areyoudoinghomesoearly?’
Ishookmyheadvaguely,asifImighthavemisunderstoodthequestion,and
walkedintothekitchen.
Granddadwassittinginhischairbythekitchenwindow,studyingasudoku.
Thehealthvisitorhadtoldusitwouldbegoodforhisconcentration,helphis

focusafterthestrokes.IsuspectedIwastheonlyonetonoticehesimplyfilled
outalltheboxeswithwhatevernumbercametomind.


‘Hey,Granddad.’
Helookedupandsmiled.
‘Youwantacupoftea?’
Heshookhishead,andpartiallyopenedhismouth.
‘Colddrink?’
Henodded.
Iopenedthefridgedoor.‘There’snoapplejuice.’Applejuice,Iremembered
now,wastooexpensive.‘Ribena?’
Heshookhishead.
‘Water?’
Henodded,murmuredsomethingthatcouldhavebeenathankyouasI
handedhimtheglass.
Mymotherwalkedintotheroom,bearingahugebasketofneatlyfolded
laundry.‘Aretheseyours?’Shebrandishedapairofsocks.
‘Treena’s,Ithink.’
‘Ithoughtso.Oddcolour.IthinktheymusthavegotinwithDaddy’splum
pyjamas.You’rebackearly.Areyougoingsomewhere?’
‘No.’Ifilledaglasswithtapwateranddrankit.
‘IsPatrickcomingroundlater?Heranghereearlier.Didyouhaveyour
mobileoff?’
‘Mm.’
‘Hesaidhe’safterbookingyourholiday.Yourfathersayshesawsomething
onthetelevisionaboutit.Whereisityouliked?Ipsos?Kalypsos?’
‘Skiathos.’
‘That’stheone.Youwanttocheckyourhotelverycarefully.Doitonthe
internet.HeandDaddywatchedsomethingonthenewsatlunchtime.

Apparentlythey’rebuildingsites,halfofthosebudgetdeals,andyouwouldn’t
knowuntilyougotthere.Daddy,wouldyoulikeacupoftea?DidLounotoffer
youone?’Sheputthekettleonthenglancedupatme.It’spossibleshehad
finallynoticedIwasn’tsayinganything.‘Areyouallright,love?Youlook
awfullypale.’
Shereachedoutahandandfeltmyforehead,asifIweremuchyoungerthan
twenty-six.
‘Idon’tthinkwe’regoingonholiday.’


Mymother’shandstilled.HergazehadthatX-raythingthatithadheldsince
Iwasakid.‘AreyouandPathavingsomeproblems?’
‘Mum,I–’
‘I’mnottryingtointerfere.It’sjust,you’vebeentogetheranawfullongtime.
It’sonlynaturalifthingsgetabitstickyeverynowandthen.Imean,meand
yourfatherwe–’
‘Ilostmyjob.’
Myvoicecutintothesilence.Thewordshungthere,searingthemselveson
thelittleroomlongafterthesoundhaddiedaway.
‘Youwhat?’
‘Frank’sshuttingdownthecafe.Fromtomorrow.’Iheldoutahandwiththe
slightlydampenvelopeIhadgrippedinshocktheentirejourneyhome.All180
stepsfromthebusstop.‘He’sgivenmemythreemonths’money.’
Thedayhadstartedlikeanyotherday.EveryoneIknewhatedMonday
mornings,butInevermindedthem.IlikedarrivingearlyatTheButteredBun,
firingupthehugeteaurninthecorner,bringinginthecratesofmilkandbread
fromthebackyardandchattingtoFrankaswepreparedtoopen.
Ilikedthefuggybacon-scentedwarmthofthecafe,thelittleburstsofcoolair
asthedooropenedandclosed,thelowmurmurofconversationand,whenquiet,
Frank’sradiosingingtinnilytoitselfinthecorner.Itwasn’tafashionableplace

–itswallswerecoveredinscenesfromthecastleuponthehill,thetablesstill
sportedFormicatops,andthemenuhadn’talteredsinceIstarted,apartfroma
fewchangestothechocolatebarselectionandtheadditionofchocolate
browniesandmuffinstotheicedbuntray.
ButmostofallIlikedthecustomers.IlikedKevandAngelo,theplumbers,
whocameinmostmorningsandteasedFrankaboutwherehismeatmighthave
comefrom.IlikedtheDandelionLady,nicknamedforhershockofwhitehair,
whoateoneeggandchipsfromMondaytoThursdayandsatreadingthe
complimentarynewspapersanddrinkingherwaythroughtwocupsoftea.I
alwaysmadeanefforttochatwithher.Isuspecteditmightbetheonly
conversationtheoldwomangotallday.
Ilikedthetourists,whostoppedontheirwalkupanddownfromthecastle,
theshriekingschoolchildren,whostoppedbyafterschool,theregularsfromthe


officesacrosstheroad,andNinaandCherie,thehairdressers,whoknewthe
caloriecountofeverysingleitemTheButteredBunhadtooffer.Eventhe
annoyingcustomers,likethered-hairedwomanwhoranthetoyshopand
disputedherchangeatleastonceaweek,didn’ttroubleme.
Iwatchedrelationshipsbeginandendacrossthosetables,childrentransferred
betweendivorcees,theguiltyreliefofthoseparentswhocouldn’tfacecooking,
andthesecretpleasureofpensionersatafriedbreakfast.Allhumanlifecame
through,andmostofthemsharedafewwordswithme,tradingjokesor
commentsoverthemugsofsteamingtea.Dadalwayssaidheneverknewwhat
wasgoingtocomeoutofmymouthnext,butinthecafeitdidn’tmatter.
Franklikedme.Hewasquietbynature,andsaidhavingmetherekeptthe
placelively.Itwasabitlikebeingabarmaid,butwithoutthehassleofdrunks.
Andthenthatafternoon,afterthelunchtimerushhadended,andwiththe
placebrieflyempty,Frank,wipinghishandsonhisapron,hadcomeoutfrom
behindthehotplateandturnedthelittleClosedsigntofacethestreet.

‘Nownow,Frank,I’vetoldyoubefore.Extrasarenotincludedinthe
minimumwage.’Frankwas,asDadputit,asqueerasabluegnu.Ilookedup.
Hewasn’tsmiling.
‘Uh-oh.Ididn’tputsaltinthesugarcellarsagain,didI?’
Hewastwistingateatowelbetweenhistwohandsandlookedmore
uncomfortablethanIhadeverseenhim.Iwondered,briefly,whethersomeone
hadcomplainedaboutme.Andthenhemotionedtometositdown.
‘Sorry,Louisa,’hesaid,afterhehadtoldme.‘ButI’mgoingbackto
Australia.MyDad’snottoogood,anditlookslikethecastleisdefinitelygoing
tostartdoingitsownrefreshments.Thewriting’sonthewall.’
IthinkIsattherewithmymouthactuallyhangingopen.AndthenFrankhad
handedmetheenvelope,andansweredmynextquestionbeforeitleftmylips.‘I
knowweneverhad,youknow,aformalcontractoranything,butIwantedto
lookafteryou.There’sthreemonths’moneyinthere.Weclosetomorrow.’
‘Threemonths!’Dadexploded,asmymotherthrustacupofsweetteaintomy
hands.‘Well,that’sbigofhim,givenshe’sworkedlikearuddyTrojaninthat
placeforthelastsixyears.’


‘Bernard.’Mumshothimawarninglook,noddingtowardsThomas.My
parentsmindedhimafterschooleverydayuntilTreenafinishedwork.
‘Whatthehellisshesupposedtodonow?Hecouldhavegivenhermorethan
aday’sbloodynotice.’
‘Well…she’lljusthavetogetanotherjob.’
‘Therearenobloodyjobs,Josie.YouknowthataswellasIdo.We’reinthe
middleofabloodyrecession.’
Mumshuthereyesforamoment,asifcomposingherselfbeforeshespoke.
‘She’sabrightgirl.She’llfindherselfsomething.She’sgotasolidemployment
record,hasn’tshe?Frankwillgiveheragoodreference.’
‘Oh,feckingmarvellous…“LouisaClarkisverygoodatbutteringtoast,and

adabhandwiththeoldteapot.”’
‘Thanksforthevoteofconfidence,Dad.’
‘I’mjustsaying.’
IknewtherealreasonforDad’sanxiety.Theyreliedonmywages.Treena
earnednexttonothingattheflowershop.Mumcouldn’twork,asshehadto
lookafterGranddad,andGranddad’spensionamountedtoalmostnothing.Dad
livedinaconstantstateofanxietyabouthisjobatthefurniturefactory.Hisboss
hadbeenmutteringaboutpossibleredundanciesformonths.Therewere
murmuringsathomeaboutdebtsandthejugglingofcreditcards.Dadhadhad
hiscarwrittenoffbyanuninsureddrivertwoyearspreviously,andsomehow
thishadbeenenoughforthewholeteeteringedificethatwasmyparents’
financestofinallycollapse.Mymodestwageshadbeenalittlebedrockof
housekeepingmoney,enoughtohelpseethefamilythroughfromweektoweek.
‘Let’snotgetaheadofourselves.ShecanheaddowntotheJobCentre
tomorrowandseewhat’sonoffer.She’sgotenoughtogetbyfornow.’They
spokeasifIweren’tthere.‘Andshe’ssmart.You’resmart,aren’tyou,love?
Perhapsshecoulddoatypingcourse.Gointoofficework.’
Isatthere,asmyparentsdiscussedwhatotherjobsmylimitedqualifications
mightentitlemeto.Factorywork,machinist,rollbutterer.Forthefirsttimethat
afternoonIwantedtocry.Thomaswatchedmewithbig,roundeyes,andsilently
handedmehalfasoggybiscuit.
‘Thanks,Tommo,’Imouthedsilently,andateit.


Hewasdownattheathleticsclub,asIhadknownhewouldbe.Mondaysto
Thursdays,regularasastationtimetable,Patrickwasthereinthegymor
runningincirclesaroundthefloodlittrack.Imademywaydownthesteps,
huggingmyselfagainstthecold,andwalkedslowlyoutontothetrack,waving
ashecamecloseenoughtoseewhoitwas.
‘Runwithme,’hepuffed,ashegotcloser.Hisbreathcameinpaleclouds.

‘I’vegotfourlapstogo.’
Ihesitatedjustamoment,andthenbegantorunalongsidehim.Itwasthe
onlywayIwasgoingtogetanykindofconversationoutofhim.Iwaswearing
mypinktrainerswiththeturquoiselaces,theonlyshoesIcouldpossiblyrunin.
Ihadspentthedayathome,tryingtobeuseful.I’mguessingitwasaboutan
hourbeforeIstartedtogetundermymother’sfeet.MumandGranddadhad
theirroutines,andhavingmethereinterruptedthem.Dadwasasleep,ashewas
onnightsthismonth,andnottobedisturbed.Itidiedmyroom,thensatand
watchedtelevisionwiththesounddownandwhenIremembered,periodically,
whyIwasathomeinthemiddleofthedayIhadfeltanactualbriefpaininmy
chest.
‘Iwasn’texpectingyou.’
‘Igotfedupathome.Ithoughtmaybewecoulddosomething.’
Helookedsidewaysatme.Therewasafinefilmofsweatonhisface.‘The
sooneryougetanotherjob,babe,thebetter.’
‘It’salloftwenty-fourhourssinceIlostthelastone.AmIallowedtojustbea
bitmiserableandfloppy?Youknow,justfortoday?’
‘Butyou’vegottolookatthepositiveside.Youknewyoucouldn’tstayat
thatplaceforever.Youwanttomoveupwards,onwards.’Patrickhadbeen
namedStortfoldYoungEntrepreneuroftheYeartwoyearspreviously,andhad
notyetquiterecoveredfromthehonour.Hehadsinceacquiredabusiness
partner,GingerPete,offeringpersonaltrainingtoclientsovera40-milearea,
andtwoliveriedvansontheHP.Healsohadawhiteboardinhisoffice,on
whichhelikedtoscrawlhisprojectedturnoverwiththickblackmarkers,
workingandreworkingthefiguresuntiltheymetwithhissatisfaction.Iwas
neverentirelysurethattheyboreanyresemblancetoreallife.
‘Beingmaderedundantcanchangepeople’slives,Lou.’Heglancedathis
watch,checkinghislaptime.‘Whatdoyouwanttodo?Youcouldretrain.I’m

suretheydoagrantforpeoplelikeyou.’
‘Peoplelikeme?’
‘Peoplelookingforanewopportunity.Whatdoyouwanttobe?Youcouldbe
abeautician.You’reprettyenough.’Henudgedmeasweran,asifIshouldbe
gratefulforthecompliment.
‘Youknowmybeautyroutine.Soap,water,theoddpaperbag.’
Patrickwasbeginningtolookexasperated.
Iwasstartingtolagbehind.Ihaterunning.Ihatedhimfornotslowingdown.
‘Look…shopassistant.Secretary.Estateagent.Idon’tknow…theremust
besomethingyouwanttodo.’
Buttherewasn’t.Ihadlikeditinthecafe.Ilikedknowingeverythingthere
wastoknowaboutTheButteredBun,andhearingaboutthelivesofthepeople
whocamethroughit.Ihadfeltcomfortablethere.
‘Youcan’tmopearound,babe.Gottogetoverit.Allthebestentrepreneurs
fighttheirwaybackfromrockbottom.JeffreyArcherdidit.SodidRichard
Branson.’Hetappedmyarm,tryingtogetmetokeepup.
‘IdoubtifJeffreyArcherevergotmaderedundantfromtoastingteacakes.’I
wasoutofbreath.AndIwaswearingthewrongbra.Islowed,droppedmy
handsdownontomyknees.
Heturned,runningbackwards,hisvoicecarryingonthestill,coldair.‘Butif
hehad…I’mjustsaying.Sleeponit,putonasmartsuitandheaddowntothe
JobCentre.OrI’lltrainyouuptoworkwithme,ifyoulike.Youknowthere’s
moneyinit.Anddon’tworryabouttheholiday.I’llpay.’
Ismiledathim.
Heblewakissandhisvoiceechoedacrosstheemptystadium.‘Youcanpay
mebackwhenyou’rebackonyourfeet.’
ImademyfirstclaimforJobseeker’sAllowance.Iattendeda45-minute
interview,andagroupinterview,whereIsatwithagroupoftwentyorso
mismatchedmenandwomen,halfofwhomworethesameslightlystunned
expressionIsuspectedIdid,andtheotherhalftheblank,uninterestedfacesof

peoplewhohadbeenheretoomanytimesbefore.IworewhatmyDaddeemed
my‘civilian’clothes.


Asaresultoftheseefforts,Ihadenduredabriefstintfillinginonanightshift
atachickenprocessingfactory(ithadgivenmenightmaresforweeks),andtwo
daysatatrainingsessionasaHomeEnergyAdviser.Ihadrealizedpretty
quicklythatIwasessentiallybeinginstructedtobefuddleoldpeopleinto
switchingenergysuppliers,andtoldSyed,mypersonal‘adviser’thatIcouldn’t
doit.HehadbeeninsistentthatIcontinue,soIhadlistedsomeofthepractices
thattheyhadaskedmetoemploy,atwhichpointhehadgoneabitquietand
suggestedwe(itwasalways‘we’eventhoughitwasprettyobviousthatoneof
ushadajob)trysomethingelse.
Ididtwoweeksatafastfoodchain.Thehourswereokay,Icouldcopewith
thefactthattheuniformmademyhairstatic,butIfounditimpossibletostickto
the‘appropriateresponses’script,withits‘HowcanIhelpyoutoday?’andits
‘Wouldyoulikelargefrieswiththat?’Ihadbeenletgoafteroneofthedoughnut
girlscaughtmedebatingthevaryingmeritsofthefreetoyswithafour-year-old.
WhatcanIsay?Shewasasmartfour-year-old.IalsothoughttheSleeping
Beautiesweresappy.
NowIsatatmyfourthinterviewasSyedscannedthroughthetouchscreenfor
furtheremployment‘opportunities’.EvenSyed,whoworethegrimlycheerful
demeanourofsomeonewhohadshoehornedthemostunlikelycandidatesintoa
job,wasstartingtosoundalittleweary.
‘Um…Haveyoueverconsideredjoiningtheentertainmentindustry?’
‘What,asinpantomimedame?’
‘Actually,no.Butthereisanopeningforapoledancer.Several,infact.’
Iraisedaneyebrow.‘Pleasetellmeyouarekidding.’
‘It’sthirtyhoursaweekonaself-employedbasis.Ibelievethetipsaregood.’
‘Please,pleasetellmeyouhavenotjustadvisedmetogetajobthatinvolves

paradingaroundinfrontofstrangersinmyunderwear.’
‘Yousaidyouweregoodwithpeople.Andyouseemto
like…theatrical…clothing.’Heglancedatmytights,whichweregreenand
glittery.Ihadthoughttheywouldcheermeup.Thomashadhummedthetheme
tunefromTheLittleMermaidatmeforalmostthewholeofbreakfast.
Syedtappedsomethingintohiskeyboard.‘Howabout“adultchatline
supervisor”?’
Istaredathim.


Heshrugged.‘Yousaidyoulikedtalkingtopeople.’
‘No.Andnotosemi-nudebarstaff.Ormasseuse.Orwebcamoperator.Come
on,Syed.TheremustbesomethingIcandothatwouldn’tactuallygivemydada
heartattack.’
Thisappearedtostumphim.‘There’snotmuchleftoutsideflexi-hourretail
opportunities.’
‘Night-timeshelfstacking?’Ihadbeenhereenoughtimesnowtospeaktheir
language.
‘There’sawaitinglist.Parentstendtogoforit,becauseitsuitstheschool
hours,’hesaidapologetically.Hestudiedthescreenagain.‘Sowe’rereallyleft
withcareassistant.’
‘Wipingoldpeople’sbottoms.’
‘I’mafraid,Louisa,you’renotqualifiedformuchelse.Ifyouwantedto
retrain,I’dbehappytopointyouintherightdirection.Thereareplentyof
coursesattheadulteducationcentre.’
‘Butwe’vebeenthroughthis,Syed.IfIdothat,IlosemyJobseekermoney,
right?’
‘Ifyou’renotavailableforwork,yes.’
Wesatthereinsilenceforamoment.Igazedatthedoors,wheretwoburly
securitymenstood.IwonderediftheyhadgotthejobthroughtheJobCentre.

‘I’mnotgoodwitholdpeople,Syed.Mygranddadlivesathomesincehehad
hisstrokes,andIcan’tcopewithhim.’
‘Ah.Soyouhavesomeexperienceofcaring.’
‘Notreally.Mymumdoeseverythingforhim.’
‘Wouldyourmumlikeajob?’
‘Funny.’
‘I’mnotbeingfunny.’
‘Andleavemelookingaftermygranddad?Nothanks.That’sfromhim,as
wellasme,bytheway.Haven’tyougotanythinginanycafes?’
‘Idon’tthinkthereareenoughcafeslefttoguaranteeyouemployment,
Louisa.WecouldtryKentuckyFriedChicken.Youmightgetonbetterthere.’
‘BecauseI’dgetsomuchmoreoutofofferingaBargainBucketthana
ChickenMcNugget?Idon’tthinkso.’
‘Well,thenperhapswe’llhavetolookfurtherafield.’


‘Thereareonlyfourbusestoandfromourtown.Youknowthat.AndIknow
yousaidIshouldlookintothetouristbus,butIrangthestationanditstopsat
5pm.Plusit’stwiceasexpensiveasthenormalbus.’
Syedsatbackinhisseat.‘Atthispointinproceedings,Louisa,Ireallyneedto
makethepointthatasafitandableperson,inordertocontinuequalifyingfor
yourallowance,youneed–’
‘–toshowthatI’mtryingtogetajob.Iknow.’
HowcouldIexplaintothismanhowmuchIwantedtowork?Didhehavethe
slightestideahowmuchImissedmyoldjob?Unemploymenthadbeena
concept,somethingdroninglyreferredtoonthenewsinrelationtoshipyardsor
carfactories.Ihadneverconsideredthatyoumightmissajoblikeyoumisseda
limb–aconstant,reflexivething.Ihadn’tthoughtthataswellastheobvious
fearsaboutmoney,andyourfuture,losingyourjobwouldmakeyoufeel
inadequate,andabituseless.Thatitwouldbehardertogetupinthemorning

thanwhenyouwererudelyshockedintoconsciousnessbythealarm.Thatyou
mightmissthepeopleyouworkedwith,nomatterhowlittleyouhadincommon
withthem.Oreventhatyoumightfindyourselfsearchingforfamiliarfacesas
youwalkedthehighstreet.ThefirsttimeIhadseentheDandelionLady
wanderingpasttheshops,lookingasaimlessasIfelt,Ihadfoughttheurgetogo
andgiveherahug.
Syed’svoicebrokeintomyreverie.‘Aha.Nowthismightwork.’
Itriedtopeerroundatthescreen.
‘Justcomein.Thisveryminute.Careassistantposition.’
‘ItoldyouIwasnogoodwith–’
‘It’snotoldpeople.It’sa…aprivateposition.Tohelpinsomeone’shouse,
andtheaddressislessthantwomilesfromyourhome.“Careand
companionshipforadisabledman.”Canyoudrive?’
‘Yes.ButwouldIhavetowipehis–’
‘Nobottomwipingrequired,asfarasIcantell.’Hescannedthescreen.‘He’s
a…aquadriplegic.Heneedssomeoneinthedaylighthourstohelpfeedand
assist.Ofteninthesejobsit’sacaseofbeingtherewhentheywanttogoout
somewhere,helpingwithbasicstuffthattheycan’tdothemselves.Oh.It’sgood
money.Quitealotmorethantheminimumwage.’
‘That’sprobablybecauseitinvolvesbottomwiping.’


‘I’llringthemtoconfirmtheabsenceofbottomwiping.Butifthat’sthecase,
you’llgoalongfortheinterview?’
Hesaiditlikeitwasaquestion.
Butwebothknewtheanswer.
Isighed,andgatheredupmybagreadyforthetriphome.
‘JesusChrist,’saidmyfather.‘Canyouimagine?Ifitwasn’tpunishmentenough
endingupinaruddywheelchair,thenyougetourLouturninguptokeepyou
company.’

‘Bernard!’mymotherscolded.
Behindme,Granddadwaslaughingintohismugoftea.


2
Iamnotthick.I’djustliketogetthatoutofthewayatthispoint.Butit’squite
hardnottofeelabitdeficientintheDepartmentofBrainCells,growingupnext
toayoungersisterwhowasnotjustmovedupayearintomyclass,butthento
theyearabove.
Everythingthatissensible,orsmart,Katrinadidfirst,despitebeingeighteen
monthsyoungerthanme.EverybookIeverreadshehadreadfirst,everyfactI
mentionedatthedinnertableshealreadyknew.SheistheonlypersonIknow
whoactuallylikesexams.SometimesIthinkIdressthewayIdobecausethe
onethingTreenacan’tdoisputclothestogether.She’sapulloverandjeanskind
ofagirl.Herideaofsmartisironingthejeansfirst.
Myfathercallsmea‘character’,becauseItendtosaythefirstthingthatpops
intomyhead.HesaysI’mlikemyAuntLily,whoIneverknew.It’sabitweird,
constantlybeingcomparedtosomeoneyou’venevermet.Iwouldcome
downstairsinpurpleboots,andDadwouldnodatMumandsay,‘D’you
rememberAuntLilyandherpurpleboots,eh?’andMumwouldcluckandstart
laughingasifatsomesecretjoke.Mymothercallsme‘individual’,whichisher
politewayofnotquiteunderstandingthewayIdress.
Butapartfromabriefperiodinmyteens,IneverwantedtolooklikeTreena,
oranyofthegirlsatschool;Ipreferredboys’clothestillIwasaboutfourteen,
andnowtendtopleasemyself–dependingonwhatmoodIaminontheday.
There’snopointmetryingtolookconventional.Iamsmall,dark-hairedand,
accordingtomydad,havethefaceofanelf.That’snotasin‘elfinbeauty’.Iam
notplain,butIdon’tthinkanyoneisevergoingtocallmebeautiful.Idon’thave
thatgracefulthinggoingon.Patrickcallsmegorgeouswhenhewantstogethis
legover,buthe’sfairlytransparentlikethat.We’veknowneachotherfor

cominguptosevenyears.


Iwastwenty-sixyearsoldandIwasn’treallysurewhatIwas.UpuntilIlost
myjobIhadn’tevengivenitanythought.IsupposedIwouldprobablymarry
Patrick,knockoutafewkids,liveafewstreetsawayfromwhereIhadalways
lived.Apartfromanexotictasteinclothes,andthefactthatI’mabitshort,
there’snotalotseparatingmefromanyoneyoumightpassinthestreet.You
probablywouldn’tlookatmetwice.Anordinarygirl,leadinganordinarylife.It
actuallysuitedmefine.
‘Youmustwearasuittoaninterview,’Mumhadinsisted.‘Everyone’sfartoo
casualthesedays.’
‘BecausewearingpinstripeswillbevitalifI’mspoon-feedingageriatric.’
‘Don’tbesmart.’
‘Ican’taffordtobuyasuit.WhatifIdon’tgetthejob?’
‘Youcanwearmine,andI’llironyouaniceblouse,andjustforoncedon’t
wearyourhairupinthose–’shegesturedtomyhair,whichwasnormally
twistedintotwodarkknotsoneachsideofmyhead‘–PrincessLeiathings.Just
trytolooklikeanormalperson.’
Iknewbetterthantoarguewithmymother.AndIcouldtellDadhadbeen
instructednottocommentonmyoutfitasIwalkedoutofthehouse,mygait
awkwardinthetoo-tightskirt.
‘Byelove,’hesaid,thecornersofhismouthtwitching.‘Goodlucknow.You
lookvery…businesslike.’
TheembarrassingthingwasnotthatIwaswearingmymother’ssuit,orthatit
wasinacutlastfashionableinthelate1980s,butthatitwasactuallyatinybit
smallforme.Ifeltthewaistbandcuttingintomymidriff,andpulledthedoublebreastedjacketacross.AsDadsaysofMum,there’smorefatonakirbygrip.
Isatthroughtheshortbusjourneyfeelingfaintlysick.Ihadneverhada
properjobinterview.IhadjoinedTheButteredBunafterTreenabetmethatI
couldn’tgetajobinaday.IhadwalkedinandsimplyaskedFrankifheneeded

asparepairofhands.Ithadbeenhisfirstdayopenandhehadlookedalmost
blindedbygratitude.
Now,lookingback,Icouldn’tevenrememberhavingadiscussionwithhim
aboutmoney.Hesuggestedaweeklywage,Iagreed,andonceayearhetoldme
he’duppeditabit,usuallybyalittlemorethanIwouldhaveaskedfor.