I turned in my seat. Will’s face was in shadow and I couldn’t quite make it out.‘Just hold on. Just for a minute.’‘Are you all right?’ I found my gaze dropping towards his chair, afraid some part of him was pinched, or trapped, that I had got something wrong.‘I’m fine. I just . . . ’I could see his pale collar, his dark suit jacket a contrast against it.‘I don’t want to go in just yet. I just want to sit and not have to think about . . . ’ He swallowed.Even in the half-dark it seemed effortful.‘I just . . . want to be a man who has been to a concert with a girl in a red dress. Just for a few minutes more.’I released the door handle.‘Sure.’I closed my eyes and lay my head against the headrest, and we sat there together for a while longer, two people lost in remembered music, half hidden in the shadow of a castle on a moonlit hill.

Some disabled people spend a significant amount of their energy on trying to come across as abled or as not that disabled.

Don’t you think it’s actually harder for you . . . to adapt, I mean? Because you’ve done all that stuff?’‘Are you asking me if I wish I'd never done it?’‘I’m just wondering if it would have been easier for you. If you’d led a smaller life. To live like this, I mean.’‘I will never, ever regret the things I've done. Because most days, if you’re stuck in one of these, all you have are the places n your memory that you can go to.’ He smiled. It was tight, as if it cost him. ‘So if you’re asking me would I rather be reminiscing about the view of the caste from the minimart, or that lovely row of shops down off the roundabout, then, no. My life was just fine, thanks.