Page 6 of A Long Way Back
“I wish you’d not come down here,” his mother whispered. “I wish you’d stayed in the north where we could help you. I still don’t understand why you were so desperate to get away. I don’t believe it was because you blamed Jonty for what happened. That’s just not you. You hurt him, Tay.”
He’d rather admit to bitterness than jealousy. “If Jonty had listened to me, I wouldn’t be in this position.”
His mother sighed. “Once you’d said you didn’t want to see him, we didn’t let him see you, even though we thought you were wrong to blame him. You could have stayed right where you were, not living here on your own. I’m worried about you.”
“Mum, this is what I wanted. What I still want. I’m fine.”Fuck that word.
“You’re not,” his father said.
His mother banged her mug on the table as she put it down. “If you don’t let us find someone to help you while we’re away, we’re not going.”
“I don’t want help. I don’t need it.”Oh God, sometimes I do. How long would those biscuits have stayed on the floor?Probably until mice found a way in. But Tay had hated every person he’d employed to clean, tidy and cook, because they’d driven him round the fucking bend. As had the physio. No one had lasted more than a few days.
“There’s a company calledHelper.” His mother took a leaflet from her handbag and put it on the table. When he didn’t pick it up, she pushed it towards him.
Tay stared at it. The picture on the front was of a happy young woman walking two golden retrievers with an older woman using a Zimmer frame at her side, smiling up at her.Life is fucking wonderful.Not the heading on the leaflet which wasNo need to be alone.
Fuck the hell off.“I’m twenty-eight, not eighty-eight.”
His mother ignored him. “It’s a live-in service. They judge the level of support you require and match people carefully. You could get help around the clock and not even notice someone was here most of the time.”
“No,” Tay said. “If I’d wanted a flatmate, I’d be living in a shared house.”
“They live in your home, but notwithyou.” His mother carried on as if he’d not spoken. “You have a spare bedroom; all you’d need to do is buy a bed.We’llbuy a bed. You’re not tied into contracts. If they don’t like you, or you don’t like them, they—”
“No.”
“Then we’re not going on the trip.” She crossed her arms.
“Idon’thave a spare bedroom.”
“It’s a small room, but there’s enough space for a double bed.”
“And nothing else.”
“We could use it when we come to see you, instead of staying in a hotel.”
Tay didn’t touch the leaflet. He didn’t need to look at it to know he wasn’t interested. Anyway, he wasn’t sure he had enough strength to lift his hand let alone concentrate hard enough to read. His head was pounding.
“I mean it, about not going on the trip,” his mum said. “You’re being selfish. How can we go off and enjoy ourselves when we’re worrying about whether you’ve fallen and broken like that tin of biscuits? Or if you’ve eaten that day? We can’t leave you for three months without being sure someone is looking out for you. We wouldn’t have booked the trip if we’d known you’d got rid of all the people who were coming in to help you.”
Which was why he hadn’t told them.
“What would you have done about your wheelchair if we hadn’t been coming down?” She stared at him. “I can’t ask either of your sisters to help you now they have young children. If you’d stayed in Northumberland, at least they could have visited, but no, you wanted to come to London. You don’t even know anyone here.”
Tay stayed silent.
She leaned forward. “You had a traumatic brain injury, Tay. Damaged both sides of your brain. You’re allowed to take as much time as you need to get better. You’re allowed to require a bit of help, some company. Agree to this or I’ll cancel our trip.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Then stop acting like a baby. You need help.”
Tay wanted to say no again, but forced “Fine” from his mouth.
“Give me your phone.”
He struggled to get his phone out of his pocket, then threw it on the table so it almost skidded off.
