Hi there,
So, I meant to have this chapter up ages ago, like around the start of February, but life was good to me and I never got round to posting it. Also, it was hard to decide how to end this chapter, so that took me a while, and hence why it may seem to dip slightly in quality.
A big thank you to the first follows and faves and reviews, they are very much appreciated. Hopefully this chapter makes up for the long wait.
I'll explain this chapter in another A/N at the end of this chapter, but for now, enjoy!
"Now I know it's not how you like to dress…"
I hold back a scoff, frowning heavily at the shorter girl in the mirror's reflection. "It's not how anyone likes to dress, Penny."
After making sure I got out of bed on time this morning, via actually pulling me from the nest of blankets I was happily cocooned in (I slept through my alarm), and making sure I had a decent breakfast in me (scones, a fry, and scones again) Penelope set straight to the task of dressing me. I tried to explain to her that surely a carer wears quite casual, comfortable clothing, but she insisted otherwise.
What she pulled out of my admittedly small wardrobe was something I can't remember ever putting in it myself. And it's anything but comfortable.
I pull at the tie Penny expertly tied herself (much more quickly, I noticed sourly, than I could ever do on my own.) (Of course only if I decided to wear the blasted thing out of my own free will)
"I'm sorry but have you ever seen a carer walking around in a full suit? With a tie n' all?" I growl as I try to fluff up my hair she spent at least ten minutes trying to tame. Gel in my hair looks like what oil spilled on a lions mane would look like.
"No, not all carers, but do you even know who you're working for? Simon, these are the Pitch's your waltzing off to, not old Mary down the road." Penny explains, her voice rising two octaves higher than it needs to. She does this when she can't believe my obliviousness. Or just my lack of knowledge about something apparently important.
She spins me around to face her, making sure my collar is lying the right way. "Poor Mr. Pitch, his wife mustn't be able to take on all the responsibility of caring for him by herself." she finishes with a dusting to my shoulders. She places her hands on her broad hips with a sigh of satisfaction, a look in her eye that I can't really identify. Pride, I'd like to think.
"Any last bit of advice?" I ask through a nervous smile.
Penny lets out a hum of thought, then reaches up to pinch my cheek. "Don't accept any food that they give you."
I frown. "Why not?"
"Because you drool worse than a dog."
xXx
When I discovered the name of the family I was to be working for, I'm not going to lie; I definitely had second thoughts. On my part it's my fault for not looking further into it the job, and well, yeah that's it.
The Pitch's are a wealthy family that run a massive company: Pitch Industries. They make musical instruments, all kinds; violins, cellos, guitars, trombones, pianos, the lot. The only instruments they do not make are electronic instruments and devices, like launch pads and electric guitars. Why, I don't know. My guess is that they simply prefer more classical instruments.
On my bus journey to the Pitch mansion (yup, a mansion) I begin to regret eating such a large breakfast. As much as I know how much better I work on a full stomach, the butterflies doing three-sixties in my stomach are starting to get to me, and a sharp queasiness is starting to come over me. Luckily, the journey from Penny and I's apartment to the mansion is short, and I can now see the surrounding outer high walls of the mansion coming into view.
I eventually get off the bus, straightening my collar and the cuffs of my sleeves as I step onto the pebbled ground. When I look up from my fumbling, I see a middle aged woman standing in the courtyard waiting for me, hands neatly folded in front of each other, her stance professional. I give her my best smile, hoping it doesn't show how nervous I am.
As I approach her, her eyes regard me coolly and a small smile graces her thin lips. Upon closer inspection, I decide that she's in her thirties, possibly forties, and she has an air of regal grace about her. Her dark brown hair is pulled pack into a neat bun, and her attire consists of a white blouse, a formal black pencil skirt and small heels. She gives off a vibe to me that I decide is relatively pleasant and not too intimidating at all.
For now.
She holds out an elegant hand, and I accept it, hoping she didn't notice the nervous shake in my own hand. "You must be Simon Snow" she says, her voice low and calm. "My name is Daphne Pitch. It's nice to make your acquaintance at last."
I nod earnestly. "Yes I am. A pleasure to meet you " I say as calmly and certainly as I can, hoping to come off as gathered and collected.
Her green eyes give a little twinkle, and immediately I decide that I like this woman. "Please, just call me Daphne. Now, if you would follow me please."
She turns on her small black heels and gestures for me to follow. I walk beside her, trying to decide if should walk with my hands in my pockets or by my sides. I decide on the latter.
The inside the mansion is huge, with everything themed wooden and rustic and red, but with a modern twist. Our footsteps echo on the wooden floor as she leads me into a large study room, with two long couches and a coffee table centered in the middle of the room on a thick red rug. Tall windows allow a generous amount of light into the room, and tall bookshelves line three surrounding walls. I decide that the room itself probably costs more that Penny and I's whole apartment.
Daphne gestures for me to sit, and as I do she takes a seat across from me on the opposite couch. The leather is cool, and it feels like sinking back into a giant marshmallow.
She crosses her legs, sitting delicately. "Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Snow?" she asks politely. Unsure of whether or not it would be rude to decline, I decide to accept.
"Yes please, I would. Oh and please, just call me Simon" I say.
Daphne nods and elegantly raises a hand. Suddenly an old maid walks into the room, carrying a tray with a steaming pot and two teacups on saucers. She places it on the coffee table in front of us and makes quick work of pouring the steaming hot contents of the pot into the expensive cups. Jasmine tea, I can tell from the soothing aroma.
Daphne nods her thanks to the maid. "Thank you, Vera". The maid, Vera, bows in courtesy and walks out of the room without a word, giving me a small wrinkled smile as she passes me.
"Now, onto business." I turn my attention back to the woman across me, and pick up my tea, taking a sip. I try not to cringe at the scalding temperature of it as it slips down my throat. Daphne daintily holds her cup expertly with two fingers, and I decide that mimicking the posh technique would only end up with me spilling the contents of my cup. "Tell me, Mr. Snow, what are your skills, what attracts you to this job, and why should I hire you?"
The questions shake me a little. Skills? Very little. What attracts me to this job? I can't just say the money, how rude and unprofessional would that be? I set my cup down, and nervously pull at the leg of my trousers.
"Well," I start, nervously meeting her calm eyes, "I haven't many skills to be honest. I can cook, clean and I'm good with people. I worked in a café before applying for this job, so interacting with other people is quite easy for me. And um… I can make a mean cup of tea?" I finish weakly, resisting the urge to scratch the back of my neck to stem my nerves. I settle for reaching for my cup again, taking a quick sip.
Daphne's face remains neutral, and I wait for it to slip into an unimpressed frown. Instead, she tilts her head a bit, her green eyes remaining cool and calm. "And why should I hire you?"
I hesitate, unsure of what answer to give her. After a few seconds of deliberating, I say, "I just really want to help people- I always have. Whether they just need a little bit of help or a lot. I- I just want to help. And in this case, I want to help your husband, Mr. Pitch."
She raises a dark brow, and I feel my stomach drop in disappointment as I assume my answer isn't good enough for her. But instead, before I can try and add on to my reasons, she says "That is good. Actually, I was hoping for an answer like that. However, I must inform you that it is not my husband that is in need of caring."
I blink in surprise. "Oh?" I say dumbly. Not her husband? Who else could it possibly be then?
Daphne stands from the couch, straightening her skirt once on her feet. "Follow me please, Simon." she says and sets off out the door. I stand up hurriedly and set off after her.
She leads me down a the long halls of the mansion until we reach a large set of cream double doors. She opens one and gestures for me to walk inside.
I comply, and am greeted with a large, pleasant, modern and hygienic four part room. On one side of the room is a kitchen, with a marble island and expensive cooking equipment, and on the other is a large dining table. The chairs that surround it, only four in total, are cream leather, much like the cream painted walls. There's a wide doorway into a bathroom, and from my position I can see that in it is a huge shower with a seat fitted against the wall, and other aiding equipment.
I realise that I am in a totally separate part of the mansion, one designed to equip only someone who cannot look after themselves. Daphne stands beside me and gestures around the room. "As you can see, we are very well equipped. I will show you where everything is later. But first I need you to confirm, you are aware that this job requires aid to someone with full loss of mobility, yes?"
In all honesty I wasn't really aware; I had never thought about to what extent of disability the person I was to look after had. But I nod my head anyway, the seriousness of this job settling on my shoulders. Because I want to help, and I need the money.
Daphne gives an appreciative nod of her head and walks forward to one more set of doors into the last part of the room, these ones being glazed sliding doors. She grips the handle and slides the door open.
The room revealed to me is a bedroom, again fully equipped, but with a personal touch. Obviously, from the one who occupied it.
A man is bent over someone in a wheelchair, and he looks up. He's young, but definitely older than me, possibly around the age of twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with brown eyes and hair and dressed in surgeon clothing. He doesn't look like he can pack much punch, but he smiles friendly when he sees me. "This is Niall," Daphne says, returning his smile politely, "He will be helping you as well as showing you the routines. And this…" she continues as the man, Niall, presses a button that makes the electronic chair turn around to face me.
And I'm stunned into oblivion when my eyes land upon the person occupying it;
A young man, around my age, with the darkest hair and palest, most striking grey eyes I've ever seen.
"... is my stepson, Basilton."
And there we go.
Two things; One, my reasons for choosing Niall as Baz's medical caretaker are quite simple really; he didn't really come off as a bad fella in the book (I found Dev a bit sneery if I'm honest), and I kinda wanna give him a good run as one of the good guys, which he will be in this story. For those of you who saw the film/read the book of Me Before You, Niall is basically playing the same role Nathan.
Second thing; for those of you who wanted to see a full introduction to Baz in this chapter, sorry you didn't. But you will for sure in the next chapter.
I'll be clearing up any typos within the next 24. That's all for now, thanks for reading, all feedback is welcome, and I'll hopefully get the next chapter up quicker than this one.
xo