Jojo Moyes

Clark. A few weeks should have passed by the time you read this. If you follow the instructions, you'll be in Paris on one of those chairs that never sit quite level on a pavement. I hope it's still sunny. Across the bridge to your right, you'll see L'artisan Parfumeur. You should try the scent called Papiomextrem. I always did think it would smell great on you. There are few things I wanted to say and couldn't because you would've gotten emotional and you wouldn't have let me finish. So, here it is. When you get back home, Michael Lawler will give you access to a bank account that contains enough to give you a new beginning. Don't start panicking. It's not enough for you to sit around for the rest of your life but it should buy you your freedom, at least from that little town we both call home. Live boldly, Clark. Push yourself. Don't settle. Wear those stripy legs with pride. Knowing you still have possibilities is a luxury, knowing I might have given them to you. This eased something for me. So, this is it. You are scored on my heart, Clark. You have been the first day you walked in with your sweet smile and your ridiculous clothes and your bad jokes and your complete inability to ever hide a single thing you felt. Don't think of me too often. I don't want you getting sad. Just live well. Just live. I'll be walking beside you every step of the way. Love, Will.

You are pretty much the only thing that makes me wanna get up in the morning.

I just want to be a man who has been to a concert with a girl in a red dress.

Shh. Listen, this, tonight being with you is the most wonderful thing you could have ever done for me. But I need it to end here. No more pain and exhaustion and waking up every morning already wishing it was over. It's not going to get better than this. The doctors know it and I know it. When we get back, I'm going to Switzerland so I'm asking you if you feel the things you say you feel. Come with me.

If I shut my eyes now, I know exactly how it feels to be in that little square. I remember every sensation. I don't want those memories erased by the stuggle to fit behind a table, the taxi drivers who refuse to take me, and my wheelchair power pack that won't charge in a French socket.

I know we can do this. I know it's not how you would have chosen it, but I know I can make you happy. And all I can say in that you make me... you make me into someone I couldn't even imagine. You make me happy, even when you're awful, I would rather be with you - even the you that you seem to think is diminished - than with anyone else in the world.

You don't have to be an arse! Your friends got the shitty treatment. Fine *They* deserved it. *I'm* just trying to do my job as best I can. So it would be really nice if you didn't try and make my life as miserable as you apparently make everyone else's.

I'm not employed by you. I'm employed by your mother. So unless *she* says she doesn't want me here anymore, I'm staying. Not because I care about you, or particularly enjoy your company, but because I need the money. I *really* need the money.

And ignore the fact that he's shagging his secretary within five years. And bitch about him at dinner parties, knowing he won't leave because he's scared of the alimony. And have sex once every six weeks, and listen to him going on and on about how much he adores the children, while doing nothing to actually take care of them. And have perfect hair, but get this kind of pinched face through never saying what you actually mean. And develop an insane Pilates habit, and buy a dog, or a horse, and develop a crush on your riding instructor. And watch your husband take up jogging when he hits 40 and buy a Harley. And know that every day, he goes into the office and looks at the young men, and feels like, somehow, he got suckered! And leave him anyway, and come back here to give the children a happy childhood.