The worst thing about working as a carer is not what you might think. It's not the lifting and cleaning, the medicines and wipes and the distant but somehow always perceptible smell of disinfectant. It's not even the fact that most people assume you're only doing it because you really aren't smart enough to do anything else. It's the fact that when you spend all day in really close proximity to someone, there is no escape from their moods. Or your own.

Will had been distant with me all morning, since I had first told him my plans. It was nothing an outsider could have put their finger on, but there were fewer jokes, perhaps less casual conversation. He asked me nothing about the contents of the day's newspapers.

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