From *me before you by Jojo Moyes 01.29 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. '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." 10 'Right. What does he ... um ... like to do?' 'He watches films. Sometimes he listens to the radio, or to music. He has one of those digital things. If you position it 15 near his hand, he can usually manipulate it himself. He has some movement in his fingers, although he finds it hard to grip. I felt myself brightening. If he liked music and films, surely we could find 20 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 25 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 head-lock if you suggested 30 that meant disabled. 'Do you have any questions?" 'No.' 'Then let's go and introduce you.' She glanced at her watch. 'Nathan should 35 have finished dressing him now.' 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. 40 'Will? Nathan?' A broad New Zealand accent. 'He's decent, Mrs T.' She pushed open the door. The annexe's living room was deceptively large, and one wall consisted entirely of glass doors that looked out 45 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 so the room was tasteful, and peaceful - a Scandinavian bachelor pad. 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 60 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. 65 I felt his mother stiffen. 'Will, stop it!' He didn't even glance towards her. Another prehistoric sound emerged from somewhere near his chest. It was 70 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. 75 I realized that where I held my bag, my knuckles had turned | Focus 4. Second Edition. Student's Book | 4/24

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1 Mrs Traynor was hoping that (Pani Traynor miała nadzieję, że)

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