Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

liked to play Professor Higgins to my Eliza Doolittle. His body was just part of
the whole package, a thing to be dealt with, at intervals, before we got back to
the talking. It had become, I supposed, the least interesting part of him.
‘I just can’t believe … after all we went through … how long it took you to let
me come anywhere near you … and here’s some stranger who you’re quite
happy to get up close and personal with –’
‘Can we not talk about this tonight, Patrick? It’s my birthday.’
‘I wasn’t the one who started it, with talk of bed baths and whatnot.’
‘Is it because he’s good looking?’ I demanded. ‘Is that it? Would it all be so
much easier for you if he looked like – you know – a proper vegetable?’
‘So you do think he’s good looking.’
I pulled my dress over my head, and began peeling my tights carefully from
my legs, the dregs of my good mood finally evaporating. ‘I can’t believe you’re
doing this. I can’t believe you’re jealous of him.’
‘I’m not jealous of him.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘How could I be jealous of
a cripple?’
Patrick made love to me that night. Perhaps ‘made love’ is stretching it a bit.
We had sex, a marathon session in which he seemed determined to show off his
athleticism, his strength and vigour. It lasted for hours. If he could have swung
me from a chandelier I think he would have done so. It was nice to feel so
wanted, to find myself the focus of Patrick’s attention after months of semidetachment.
But a little part of me stayed aloof during the whole thing. I
suspected it wasn’t for me, after all. I had worked that out pretty quickly. This
little show was for Will’s benefit.
‘How was that, eh?’ He wrapped himself around me afterwards, our skin
sticking slightly with perspiration, and kissed my forehead.
‘Great,’ I said.
‘I love you, babe.’
And, satisfied, he rolled off, threw an arm back over his head, and was asleep
within minutes.
When sleep still didn’t come, I got out of bed and went downstairs to my bag.
I rifled through it, looking for the book of Flannery O’Connor short stories. It
was as I pulled them from my bag that the envelope fell out.