Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

There are normal hours, and then there are invalid hours, where time stalls and
slips, where life – real life – seems to exist at one remove. I watched some
television, ate, and cleared up the kitchen, drifting around the annexe in silence.
Finally, I let myself back into Will’s room.
He stirred as I closed the door, half lifting his head. ‘What time is it, Clark?’
His voice was slightly muffled by the pillow.
‘Quarter past eight.’
He let his head drop, and digested this. ‘Can I have a drink?’
There was no sharpness to him now, no edge. It was as if being ill had finally
made him vulnerable. I gave him a drink, and turned on the bedside light. I
perched on the side of his bed, and felt his forehead, as my mother might have
done when I was a child. He was still a little warm, but nothing like he had been.
‘Cool hands.’
‘You complained about them earlier.’
‘Did I?’ He sounded genuinely surprised.
‘Would you like some soup?’
‘No.’
‘Are you comfortable?’
I never knew how much discomfort he was in, but I suspected it was more
than he let on.
‘The other side would be good. Just roll me. I don’t need to sit up.’
I climbed across the bed and moved him over, as gently as I could. He no
longer radiated a sinister heat, just the ordinary warmth of a body that had spent
time under a duvet.
‘Can I do anything else?’
‘Shouldn’t you be heading home?’
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m staying over.’
Outside, the last of the light had long been extinguished. The snow was still
falling. Where it caught the porch glow through the window it was bathed in a
pale-gold, melancholy light. We sat there in peaceful silence, watching its
hypnotic fall.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I said, finally. I could see his hands on top of the
sheet. It seemed so strange that they should look so ordinary, so strong, and yet
be so useless.