Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

‘So … ’ Dad opened the fridge. ‘How do we do this? Do you have a special
beer … cup, Will?’
If it was Dad, I told Will, he would have had an adapted beer cup before he
had a wheelchair.
‘Got to get your priorities right,’ Dad said. I rummaged in Will’s bag until I
found his beaker.
‘Beer will be fine. Thank you.’
He took a sip and I stood in the kitchen, suddenly conscious of our tiny,
shabby house with its 1980s wallpaper and dented kitchen cupboards. Will’s
home was elegantly furnished, its things sparse and beautiful. Our house looked
as if 90 per cent of its contents came from the local pound shop. Thomas’s dogeared
paintings covered every spare surface of wall. But if he had noticed, Will
said nothing. He and Dad had quickly found a shared point of reference, which
turned out to be my general uselessness. I didn’t mind. It kept them both happy.
‘Did you know, she once drove backwards into a bollard and swore it was the
bollard’s fault … ’
‘You want to see her lowering my ramp. It’s like Ski Sunday coming out of
that car sometimes … ’
Dad burst out laughing.
I left them to it. Mum followed me out, fretting. She put a tray of glasses on to
the dining table, then glanced up at the clock. ‘Where’s Patrick?’
‘He was coming straight from training,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he’s been held up.’
‘He couldn’t put it off just for your birthday? This chicken is going to be
spoilt if he’s much longer.’
‘Mum, it will be fine.’
I waited until she had put the tray down, and then I slid my arms around her
and gave her a hug. She was rigid with anxiety. I felt a sudden wave of sympathy
for her. It couldn’t be easy being my mother.
‘Really. It will be fine.’
She let go of me, kissed the top of my head, and brushed her hands down her
apron. ‘I wish your sister was here. It seems wrong to have a celebration without
her.’
Not to me it didn’t. Just for once, I was quite enjoying being the focus of
attention. It might sound childish, but it was true. I loved having Will and Dad