Free Me Before You: A Novel by Jojo Moyes Page A

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 askhim 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. Youcould 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.’
    The Viking was spoken about with reverence, those who had competed bearing their injuries like veterans of some distant and particularly brutal war. He was almost smacking his lips with anticipation. I looked at my boyfriend and wondered if he was actually an alien. I thought briefly that I had preferred him when he worked in telesales and couldn’t pass a petrol station without stocking up on Mars Bars.
    ‘You’re going to do it?’
    ‘Why not? I’ve never been fitter.’
    I thought of all that extra training – the endless conversations about weight and distance, fitness and endurance. It was hard enough getting Patrick’s attention these days at the best of times.
    ‘You could do it with me,’ he said, although we both knew he didn’t believe it.
    ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I said. ‘Sure. Go for it,’ I said.
    And I ordered the cheesecake.
    If I had thought the events of the previous day would create a thaw back at Granta House, I was