A Still Life by Josie George

Author:Josie George [George, Josie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Summer

We had said ‘no expectations.’ We had arranged for there to be a polite spare bedroom.

Now I can see his silhouette through the glass door of the holiday lodge before I open it. He looks small and far away. The last few feet are an impossible distance and I hope I don’t faint. I might, and then what will we do? My mind is brave, but my body isn’t. My body doesn’t care about first impressions and I know it will crumple with no apology. I need it now. Please, please give me this.

I arrived yesterday, my mum dropping me at this place hidden in the Shropshire hills. She left me with my wheelchair, my suitcase, my nerve. I knew this was crazy: we all knew it was, but to be entirely dependent on other people to go anywhere at all is to have no secrets. My life now necessitates that I abandon all guile and become someone frank, someone who talks simply and says exactly what she means. I am glad of it. I have come to hate secrets. They are nothing but a collusion with yourself, a padding around truth when you’re convinced that you need to protect something. Things fester in that dank, closed-off place and they eat it till it’s spoiled. I wanted the windows open on this right from the start.

And so, I talked through this plan with Mum, Jude, even Dad. Fraser drew in his friends, confessing, red-faced. Together we worked out how I might make this leap safely, sanely – or at least as safe or sane as love and desire can ever be. Because I have been something fragile all my life, it can be hard for people to see beyond my vulnerability. They can end up wanting to keep me safe like a secret too, but the people in my life have all come to know my strength and my sense beyond appearances and they trust it. Mum and Jude had both said, ‘Anything you need to make this happen, I’m here.’ They had both hugged me tight and let me grin and blush at them like a new bride.

I slept alone last night in restless, dream-filled sprints, waking often. I tried to orientate myself to the small lodge that hangs over a bend in the river, finding the new handholds I need to get around. Help was only a call away if I needed it. I kept my phone close. ‘Are you sure you still want me to come?’ he asked, once, twice, and I replied each time, ‘Yes. Yes, please come. It’s beautiful here.’

The water runs unhurriedly under the balcony, under the trees. The damselflies are quick turquoise. There is a wood burner and a row of well-worn paperbacks on the shelf beside it. It is warm, warm enough for bare feet and for me to have fallen asleep with the windows pushed wide while I waited for the sound of his rental car on the gravel. There were

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