Mrs Traynor walked briskly down the corridor, gesturing from one doorway to the other, without looking back, her high heels clacking on the flagstones. There seemed to be an expectation that I would keep up.

"The keys to the car are here. I've put you on our insurance. I'm trusting the details you gave me were correct. Nathan should be able to show you how the ramp works. All you have to do is help Will position properly and the vehicle will do the rest. Although… he's not desperately keen to go anywhere at the moment."

"It is a bit chilly out," I said.

"This is the annexe. It used to be stables, but we realized it would suit Will rather better than the house as it's all on one floor. This is the spare room so that Nathan can stay over if necessary. We needed someone quite often in the early days."

Mrs Traynor didn't seem to hear me.

"You can make yourself tea and coffee in the kitchen. I keep the cupboards stocked. The bathroom is through here --"

She opened the door and I stared at the white metal and plastic hoist that crouched over the bath. There was an open wet area under the shower, with a folded wheelchair beside it. In the corner a glass-fronted cabinet revealed neat stacks of shrink-wrapped bales. I couldn't see what they were from here, but it all gave off a faint scent of disinfectant.

"If Will is occupied, then it would be helpful if you could do some basic housekeeping. Wash bedding, run a vacuum cleaner around, that sort of thing. The cleaning equipment is under the sink. He may not want you around him all the time. You and he will have to work out your level of interaction for yourselves."

Mrs Traynor closed the door, and turned briefly to face me. "I should reiterate, it is very important that Will has someone with him all the time. A previous carer disappeared for several hours once to get her car fixed, and Will… injured himself in her absence." She swallowed, as if still traumatized by the memory.

"Of course you will need… comfort breaks. I just want to make it clear that he can't be left for periods longer than, say, ten or fifteen minutes. If something unavoidable comes up either ring the intercom, as my husband, Steven, may be home, or call my mobile number. If you do need to take any time off, I would appreciate as much notice as possible. It is not always easy finding cover."

"I won't go anywhere."

"No."

Mrs Traynor opened the hall cupboard. She spoke like someone reciting a well-rehearsed speech.

I wondered briefly how many carers there had been before me.

"He watches films. Sometimes he listens to the radio, or to music. He has one of those digital things. If you position it near his hand, he can usually manipulate it himself. He has some movement in his fingers, although he finds it hard to grip."

"Obviously I would hope that you could… get on with each other. It would be nice if he could think of you as a friend rather than a paid professional."

"Right. What does he… um… like to do?"

I felt myself brightening. If he liked music and films, surely we could find some common ground? I had a sudden picture of myself and this man laughing at some Hollywood comedy, me running the Hoover around the bedroom while he listened to his music. Perhaps this was going to be okay. Perhaps we might end up as friends. I had never had a disabled friend before -- only Treen's friend David, who was deaf, but would put you in a headlock if you suggested that meant disabled.

Mrs Traynor looked at my clothes, as if for the first time. I was wearing the very shaggy waistcoat thing that Dad says makes me look like an emu. I tried to smile. It seemed like an effort.

"No."

In the centre of the room stood a black wheelchair, its seat and back cushioned by sheepskin. A solidly built man in white collarless scrubs was crouching down, adjusting a man's feet on the footrests of the wheelchair. As we stepped into the room, the man in the wheelchair looked up from under shaggy, unkempt hair. His eyes met mine and after a pause, he let out a bloodcurdling groan. Then his mouth twisted, and he let out another unearthly cry.

"Then let's go and introduce you." She glanced at her watch. "Nathan should have finished dressing him now."

"Do you have any questions?"

We hesitated outside the door and Mrs Traynor knocked. "Are you in there? I have Miss Clark to meet you, Will."

There was no answer.

She pushed open the door. The annexe's living room was deceptively large, and one wall consisted entirely of glass doors that looked out over open countryside. A wood burner glowed quietly in the corner, and a low beige sofa faced a huge flat-screen television, its seats covered by a wool throw. The mood of the room was tasteful, and peaceful -- a Scandinavian bachelor pad.

"Will? Nathan?"

A broad New Zealand accent. "He's decent, Mrs T."

"Will, stop it!"

Oh God, I thought. I'm not up to this. I swallowed, hard. The man was still staring at me. He seemed to be waiting for me to do something.

I felt his mother stiffen.

He didn't even glance towards her. Another prehistoric sound emerged from somewhere near his chest. It was a terrible, agonizing noise. I tried not to flinch. The man was grimacing, his head tilted and sunk into his shoulders as he stared at me through contorted features. He looked grotesque, and vaguely angry. I realized that where I held my bag, my knuckles had turned white.

"Will! Please." There was a faint note of hysteria in his mother's voice. "Please, don't do this."

"I -- I'm Lou." My voice, uncharacteristically tremulous, broke into the silence. I wondered, briefly, whether to hold out a hand and then, remembering that he wouldn't be able to take it, gave a feeble wave instead. "Short for Louisa."

Then to my astonishment his features cleared, and his head straightened on his shoulders.

Will Traynor gazed at me steadily, the faintest of smiles flickering across his face. "Good morning, Miss Clark," he said. "I hear you're my latest minder."

"Yes, well, if you're going to be foul, Will, I think it's best if Miss Clark does talk directly to Nathan." His mother wouldn't look at him as she spoke, I noticed. She kept her gaze about ten feet away on the floor. "I'm working from home today. So I'll pop in at lunchtime, Miss Clark."

"I'm here, mother. You don't have to talk across me. My brain isn't paralysed. Yet."

Nathan had finished adjusting the footrests. He shook his head as he stood up. "You are a bad man, Mr T. Very bad." He grinned, and held out a broad hand, which I shook limply. Nathan exuded an air of unflappability. "I'm afraid you just got Will's best Christy Brown impression. You'll get used to him. His bark is worse than his bite."

Mrs Traynor was holding the cross at her neck with slim white fingers. She moved it backwards and forwards along its thin gold chain, a nervous habit. Her face was rigid. "I'll leave you all to get on. You can call through using the intercom if you need any help. Nathan will talk you through Will's routines, and his equipment."

Mrs Traynor disappeared. We were silent while we listened to her clipped footsteps disappearing down the hall towards the main house.

"Okay." My voice emerged as a squawk.

Then Nathan broke the silence. "You mind if I go and talk Miss Clark through your meds, Will? You want the television? Some music?"

"Sure thing."

"Radio Four please, Nathan."

We walked through to the kitchen.

Nathan took a key from his belt and opened a locked cabinet, which was packed full of boxes and small plastic canisters of medication. "Right. This lot is mostly my bag, but you do need to know where everything is in case of emergencies. There's a timetable there on the wall so you can see what he has when on a daily basis. Any extras you give him you mark in there --" he pointed "- but you're best to clear anything through Mrs T, at least at this stage."

"No."

"You not had much experience with quadriplegics, Mrs T says?"

"Okay. I'll keep it fairly simple for today. There's a folder here that tells you pretty much everything you need to know about Will's routines, and all his emergency numbers. I'd advise you to read it, if you get a spare moment. I'm guessing you'll have a few."

"Okay. So he has two meds for blood pressure, this to lower it at bedtime, this one to raise it when he gets out of bed. These he needs fairly often to control his muscular spasms -- you will need to give him one mid-morning, and again at mid-afternoon. He doesn't find those too hard to swallow, because they're the little coated ones. These are for bladder spasms, and these here are for acid reflux. He sometimes needs these after eating if he gets uncomfortable. This is his antihistamine for the morning, and these are his nasal sprays, but I mostly do those last thing before I leave, so you shouldn't have to worry. He can have paracetamol if he's in pain, and he does have the odd sleeping pill, but these tend to make him more irritable in the daytime, so we try to restrict them.

"I didn't realize I was going to have to handle drugs."

I picked up one of the labels. I wasn't sure I had ever seen so many drugs outside a pharmacy.

"It's not hard. He mostly knows what he needs. But he might need a little help getting them down. We tend to use this beaker here. Or you can crush them with this pestle and mortar and put them in a drink."

As I stood there, he reached into his pocket and handed another key to me. "This is the spare," he said. "Not to be given to anyone else. Not even Will, okay? Guard it with your life."

"It's all written down. All you need to remember for today are his anti-spasm meds. Those ones. There's my mobile number if you need to call me. I'm studying when I'm not here, so I'd rather not be called too often but feel free till you feel confident."

"These --" he held up another bottle "- are the antibiotics he has every two weeks for his catheter change. I do those unless I'm away, in which case I'll leave clear instructions. They're pretty strong. There are the boxes of rubber gloves, if you need to clean him up at all. There's also cream there if he gets sore, but he's been pretty good since we got the air mattress."

I stared at the folder in front of me. It felt like I was about to sit an exam I hadn't prepared for. "What if he needs… to go to the loo?" I thought of the hoist. "I'm not sure I could, you know, lift him." I tried not to let my face betray my panic.

"It's a lot to remember." I swallowed.

Nathan shook his head. "You don't need to do any of that. His catheter takes care of that. I'll be in at lunchtime to change it all. You're not here for the physical stuff."

Nathan studied the floor before he looked at me. "Try to cheer him up a little? He's… he's a little cranky. Understandable, given… the circumstances. But you're going to have to have a fairly thick skin. That little skit this morning is his way of getting you off balance."

"What am I here for?"

"Is this why the pay is so good?"

"Oh yes. No such thing as a free lunch, eh?" Nathan clapped me on the shoulder. I felt my body reverberate with it. "Ah, he's all right. You don't have to pussyfoot around him." He hesitated. "I like him."

I followed him back into the living room. Will Traynor's chair had moved to the window, and he had his back to us and was staring out, listening to something on the radio.

He said it like he might be the only person who did.

"No. Thank you, Nathan."

"That's me done, Will. You want anything before I go?"

I blinked, my mouth opening briefly. I closed it. Dad always said it made me look more stupid than I actually was. "Well… can I get you anything?"

I stood in the middle of the room, hands thrust in my pockets, unsure what to do. Will Traynor continued to stare out of the window as if I weren't there.

"No hot beverages for me, just now, Miss Clark."

"I'll --" I cast around the room. "I'll see if there's any washing, then."

"Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?" I said, finally, when the silence became unbearable.

"Ah. Yes. The girl who makes tea for a living. I wondered how long it would be before you wanted to show off your skills. No. No, thank you."

"I'll leave you in Miss Clark's capable hands, then. See you lunchtime, mate."

I watched the affable helper putting on his jacket with a rising sense of panic.

"Will it help?"

"You can call me Lou."

He turned to look at me. His jaw was covered in several weeks of stubble, and his eyes were unreadable. He turned away.

"Coffee, then?"

"Have fun, you guys." Nathan winked at me, and then he was gone.

I walked out of the room, my heart thumping. From the safety of the kitchen I pulled out my mobile phone and thumped out a message to my sister.

This is awful. He hates me.

The reply came back within seconds.

You have only been there an hour, you wuss! M & D really worried about money. Just get a grip & think of hourly rate.

I snapped my mobile phone shut, and blew out my cheeks. I went through the laundry basket in the bathroom, managing to raise a paltry quarter load of washing, and spent some minutes checking the instructions to the machine. I didn't want to mis-programme it or do anything which might prompt Will or Mrs Traynor to look at me like I was stupid again. I started the washing machine and stood there, trying to work out what else I could legitimately do. I pulled the vacuum cleaner from the hall cupboard and ran it up and down the corridor and into the two bedrooms, thinking all the while that if my parents could see me they would have insisted on taking a commemorative photograph. The spare bedroom was almost empty, like a hotel room. I suspected Nathan did not stay over often. I thought I probably couldn't blame him.

I hesitated outside Will Traynor's bedroom, then reasoned that it needed vacuuming just like anywhere else. There was a built-in shelf unit along one side, upon which sat around twenty framed photographs.

As I vacuumed around the bed, I allowed myself a quick peek at them. There was a man bungee jumping from a cliff, his arms outstretched like a statue of Christ. There was a man who might have been Will in what looked like jungle, and him again in the midst of a group of drunken friends. The men wore bow ties and dinner jackets and had their arms around each other's shoulders.

There he was on a ski slope, beside a girl with dark glasses and long blonde hair. I stooped, to get a better view of him in his ski goggles. He was clean-shaven in the photograph, and even in the bright light his face had that expensive sheen to it that moneyed people get through going on holiday three times a year. He had broad, muscular shoulders visible even through his ski jacket. I put the photograph carefully back on the table and continued to vacuum around the back of the bed. Finally, I turned the vacuum cleaner off, and began to wind the cord up. As I reached down to unplug it, I caught a movement in the corner of my eye and jumped, letting out a small shriek. Will Traynor was in the doorway, watching me.

"Courchevel. Two and a half years ago."

I blushed. "I'm sorry. I was just --"

And then with a low hum the wheelchair turned to the right, and he disappeared.

"No." I blushed even more furiously.

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.

"You were just looking at my photographs. Wondering how awful it must be to live like that and then turn into a cripple."

"The rest of my photographs are in the bottom drawer if you find yourself overcome with curiosity again," he said.

At eleven I brought Will Traynor a beaker of water and his anti-spasm medication, as Nathan had requested. I placed the pill on his tongue and then offered him the beaker, as Nathan had instructed me. It was pale, opaque plastic, the kind of thing Thomas had used, except without Bob the Builder on the sides. He swallowed with some effort, and then signalled to me that I should leave him alone.

I dusted some shelves that didn't really need dusting, and contemplated cleaning some windows. Around me the annexe was silent, apart from the low hum of the television in the living room where he sat. I didn't feel confident enough to put on a music station in the kitchen. I had a feeling he would have something cutting to say about my choice in music.

"Great. You can take a half-hour now. Me and Mr T have a few things we attend to at this point in the day."

I had rarely been so happy to see someone in my life. "Fine."

I almost ran for my coat. I hadn't planned on going out for lunch, but I was almost faint with relief at getting out of that house. I pulled up my collar, stuck my handbag on my shoulder, and set off at a brisk walk down the drive, as if I had somewhere I actually wanted to go. In fact, I just walked around the surrounding streets for half an hour, breathing hot clouds of breath into my tightly wrapped scarf.

At twelve thirty, Nathan arrived, bringing with him the cold air of outside, and a raised eyebrow. "All okay?" he said.

There were no cafes at this end of town, now that The Buttered Bun was closed. The castle was deserted. The nearest eating place was a gastropub, the kind of place where I doubted I could afford a drink, let alone a quick lunch. All the cars in the car park were huge and expensive with recent number plates.

"Just talk to him, for crying out loud. Of course he's miserable. He's stuck in a bloody wheelchair. And you're probably being useless. Just talk to him. Get to know him. What's the worst that can happen?"

"What?"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Is he that bad?"

"I'm not telling Mum you're giving up your job after half a day. They won't give you any benefits, Lou. You can't do this. We can't afford for you to do this."

"No. I just needed to hear a friendly voice."

"You know I can't talk at work. You haven't walked out, have you?"

"I don't know… I don't know if I can stick it."

"Treen, he hates me. He looks at me like I'm something the cat dragged in. And he doesn't even drink tea. I'm hiding from him."

I stood in the castle car park, making sure I was out of view of Granta House, and dialled my sister's number. "Hey."

There was a brief silence. Treen's voice turned uncharacteristically conciliatory. This was really worrying. It meant she knew I did actually have the worst job in the world. "Look," she said. "It's just six months. Just do the six months, have something useful on your CV and you can get a job you actually like. And hey -- look at it this way, at least it's not working nights at the chicken factory, right?"

"I'm going now, Lou. I'll see you later."

"Nights at the chicken factory would feel like a holiday compared with --"

He turned his head towards me. "Where did you have in mind?"

Nathan had been gone for almost half an hour. I had spun out the washing of the tea mugs as long as humanly possible, and I thought that if I spent one more hour in this silent house my head might explode.

"So would you like to go somewhere this afternoon? We could drive somewhere if you like."

She was right. I realized I hated my sister.

"I don't know. Just a drive in the country?" I was doing this thing I sometimes do of pretending I'm Treena. She is one of those people who are completely calm and competent, and as a result no one ever messes with her. I sounded, to my own ears, professional and upbeat.

"I just thought --"

"I don't do anything, Miss Clark. I can't do anything any more. I sit. I just about exist."

"And you're worried that it will stop working if it doesn't get used every day?"

"Are you telling me I should go out?"

"I'm just trying to --"

"I don't know. What do you normally do?"

"You thought a little drive would be good for me? A breath of fresh air?"

I took a deep breath, trying to make my voice sound confident. "Okay… well… seeing as we're going to spend all this time in each other's company perhaps we could get to know something about each other --"

"Miss Clark, my life is not going to be significantly improved by a drive around Stortfold's country lanes." He turned away.

"Well," I said, "I was told that you have a car that's adapted for wheelchair use?"

"No, but I --"

His head had sunk into his shoulders and I wondered whether he was comfortable. It didn't seem to be the time to ask him. We sat in silence.

"Why, have you thought of a good quadriplegic support group I could join? Quads R Us? The Tin Wheel Club?"

"Do you want me to bring you your computer?"

"The country," he said, as if considering it. "And what would we see. Some trees? Some sky?"

There was something about his face then that made me falter. He was staring straight ahead at the wall, a tic moving in his jaw.

"It's just… it's quite a long time to spend with someone. All day," I continued. "Perhaps if you could tell me a little of what you want to do, what you like, then I can… make sure things are as you like them?"

"Here's what I know about you, Miss Clark. My mother says you're chatty." He said it like it was an affliction. "Can we strike a deal? Whereby you are very un-chatty around me?"

"Fine," I said, when I could speak again. "I'll be in the kitchen. If you want anything just call me."

This time the silence was painful. I heard my voice slowly swallowed by it, and couldn't work out what to do with my hands. Treena and her competent manner had evaporated.

I was lying sideways on my bed with my legs stretched up the wall, like I did when I was a teenager. I had been up here since supper, which was unusual for me. Since Thomas was born, he and Treena had moved into the bigger room, and I was in the box room, which was small enough to make you feel claustrophobic should you sit in it for more than half an hour at a time.

"You can't give up already."

Finally, the wheelchair hummed and he turned slowly to face me.

I swallowed, feeling my face flame.

"He can't move. Of course he's miserable."

"And I could have been naked. You could at least shout first."

I slid my legs sideways down the wall and pushed myself up to a seated position.

Treena had barged in without knocking, as she did every day, even though I always had to knock quietly on her room, in case Thomas was sleeping.

But I didn't want to sit downstairs with Mum and Granddad because Mum kept looking at me anxiously and saying things like "It will get better, love" and "No job is great on the first day" -- as if she'd had a ruddy job in the last twenty years. It was making me feel guilty. And I hadn't even done anything.

"I didn't say I was giving up."

"I've seen worse. Mum thinks you're going to hand in your notice."

"You probably did say something stupid. You just need to get used to each other."

"No, but he's sarcastic and mean with it. Every time I say something or suggest something he looks at me like I'm stupid, or says something that makes me feel about two years old."

"Oh God, Treen. It's worse than I thought. He is so miserable."

"Well, maybe he's like that with everyone at the start, until he knows whether you're going to stick around. I bet they get through loads of helpers."

"He didn't even want me in the same room as him. I don't think I can stick it, Katrina. I really don't Honest -- if you'd been there you would understand."

"I really didn't I was so careful. I hardly said anything except "Would you like to go out for a drive?" or "Would you like a cup of tea?"."

"Oh my God," I said. "But --"

It took my brain a few seconds to register this change of tack.

"I'm going to take a loan to pay for the fees. But I can get some special grant too, because of having Thomas, and the university is offering me reduced rates because they…" She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "They say they think I could excel. Someone's dropped out of the business studies course, so they can take me for the beginning of the next term."

Treena said nothing then, just looked at me for a while. She got up and glanced out of the door, as if checking whether there was anybody on the landing.

"I'm thinking of going back to college," she said, finally.

"What about Thomas?"

"Oh."

"There's a nursery on campus. We can stay there in a subsidized flat in halls in the week, and come back here most weekends."

I could feel her watching me. I didn't know what to do with my face.

"I'm really desperate to use my brain again. Doing the flowers is doing my head in. I want to learn. I want to improve myself. And I'm sick of my hands always being freezing cold from the water."

We both stared at her hands, which were pink tinged, even in the tropical warmth of our house.

"But --"

"Yup. I won't be working, Lou. I won't be able to give Mum anything. I might… I might even need a bit of help from them." This time she looked quite uncomfortable. Her expression, when she glanced up at me, was almost apologetic.

Downstairs Mum was laughing at something on the television. We could hear her exclaiming to Granddad. She often explained the plot of the show to him, even though we told her all the time she didn't need to. I couldn't speak. The significance of my sister's words sank in slowly but inexorably. I felt like a Mafia victim must do, watching the concrete setting slowly around their ankles.

When I didn't say anything, she added, "For me and Thomas."

"I really need to do this, Lou. I want more for Thomas, more for both of us. The only way I'll get anywhere is by going back to college. I haven't got a Patrick. I'm not sure I'll ever have a Patrick, given that nobody's been remotely interested since I had Thomas. I need to do the best I can by myself."

I nodded.

I had never seen my sister look like that before. It made me feel really uncomfortable. I lifted my head, and raised a smile. My voice, when it emerged, didn't even sound like my own.

"Lou? Please?"

"Well, like you say. It's just a matter of getting used to him. It's bound to be difficult in the first few days, isn't it?"