Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

It was that I could suddenly see no point. I paid a gardener to come and keep
the garden tidy, and I don’t think I gave it anything but the most cursory of looks
for the best part of a year.
It was only when we brought Will back home, once the annexe was adapted
and ready, that I could see a point in making it beautiful again. I needed to give
my son something to look at. I needed to tell him, silently, that things might
change, grow or fail, but that life did go on. That we were all part of some great
cycle, some pattern that it was only God’s purpose to understand. I couldn’t say
that to him, of course – Will and I have never been able to say much to each
other – but I wanted to show him. A silent promise, if you like, that there was a
bigger picture, a brighter future.
Steven was poking at the log fire. He manoeuvred the remaining half-burnt logs
expertly with a poker, sending glowing sparks up the chimney, then dropped a
new log on to the middle. He stood back, as he always did, watching with quiet
satisfaction as the flames took hold, and dusted his hands on his corduroy
trousers. He turned as I entered the room. I held out a glass.
‘Thank you. Is George coming down?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘What’s she doing?
‘Watching television upstairs. She doesn’t want company. I did ask.’
‘She’ll come round. She’s probably jet-lagged.’
‘I hope so, Steven. She’s not very happy with us at the moment.’
We stood in silence, watching the fire. Around us the room was dark and still,
the windowpanes rattling gently as they were buffeted by the wind and rain.
‘Filthy night.’
‘Yes.’
The dog padded into the room and, with a sigh, flopped down in front of the
fire, gazing up adoringly at us both from her prone position.
‘So what do you think?’ he said. ‘This haircut business.’
‘I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s a good sign.’
‘This Louisa’s a bit of a character, isn’t she?’
I saw the way my husband smiled to himself. Not her too, I found myself
thinking, and then squashed the thought.