Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

‘Would you jump in my grave so quickly?’
Granddad jerked awake in his chair, his hand reflexively clasped to his chest.
I looked up from the television. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Where are me and Thomas supposed to go at weekends? We can’t both fit in
the box room. There’s not even enough room in there for two beds.’
‘Exactly. And I’ve been stuck in there for five years.’ The knowledge that I
was ever so slightly in the wrong made me sound pricklier than I had intended.
‘You can’t take my room. It’s not fair.’
‘You’re not even going to be in it!’
‘But I need it! There’s no way me and Thomas can fit in the box room. Dad,
tell her!’
Dad’s chin descended to somewhere deep in his collar, his arms folded across
his chest. He hated it when we fought, and tended to leave it to Mum to sort out.
‘Turn it down a bit, girls,’ he said.
Granddad shook his head, as if we were all incomprehensible to him.
Granddad shook his head at an awful lot these days.
‘I don’t believe you. No wonder you were so keen to help me leave.’
‘What? So you begging me to keep my job so that I can help you out
financially is now part of my sinister plan, is it?’
‘You’re so two-faced.’
‘Katrina, calm down.’ Mum appeared in the doorway, her rubber gloves
dripping foamy water on to the living-room carpet. ‘We can talk about this
calmly. I don’t want you getting Granddad all wound up.’
Katrina’s face had gone blotchy, the way it did when she was small and she
didn’t get what she wanted. ‘She actually wants me to go. That’s what this is.
She can’t wait for me to go, because she’s jealous that I’m actually doing
something with my life. So she just wants to make it difficult for me to come
home again.’
‘There’s no guarantee you’re even going to be coming home at the weekends,’
I yelled, stung. ‘I need a bedroom, not a cupboard, and you’ve had the best room
the whole time, just because you were dumb enough to get yourself up the duff.’
‘Louisa!’ said Mum.
‘Yes, well, if you weren’t so thick that you can’t even get a proper job, you
could have got your own bloody place. You’re old enough. Or what’s the matter?