‘Courchevel. Two and a half years ago.’
I blushed. ‘I’m sorry. I was just –’
‘You were just looking at my photographs. Wondering how awful it must be to live like that and then turn into a cripple.’
‘No.’ I blushed even more furiously.
‘The rest of my photographs are in the bottom drawer if you find yourself overcome with curiosity again,’ he said.
And then with a low hum the wheelchair turned to the right, and he disappeared.
The morning sagged and decided to last for several years. I couldn’t remember the last time minutes and hours stretched so interminably. I tried to find as many jobs to occupy myself as I could, and went into the living room as seldom as possible, knowing I was being cowardly, but not really caring.
At eleven I brought Will Traynor a beaker of water and his an
