Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

She glanced through it all in silence, and then studied the figures that I had
compiled.
‘I’ll pay for myself, if you like. For my board and lodging. I don’t want
anyone thinking –’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, cutting me off. ‘Do what you have to do. If you think you
can get him to go then just book it.’
I understood what she was saying. There was no time for anything else.
‘Do you think you can persuade him?’ she said.
‘Well … if I … if I make out that it’s … ’ I swallowed, ‘ … partly for my
benefit. He thinks I’ve never done enough with my life. He keeps telling me I
should travel. That I should … do things.’
She looked at me very carefully. She nodded. ‘Yes. That sounds like Will.’
She handed back the paperwork.
‘I am … ’ I took a breath, and then, to my surprise, I found that I couldn’t
speak. I swallowed hard, twice. ‘What you said before. I –’
She didn’t seem to want to wait for me to speak. She ducked her head, her
slim fingers reaching for the chain around her neck. ‘Yes. Well, I’d better go in.
I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know what he says.’
I didn’t go back to Patrick’s that evening. I had meant to, but something led me
away from the industrial park and, instead, I crossed the road and boarded the
bus that led towards home. I walked the 180 steps to our house, and let myself
in. It was a warm evening, and all the windows were open in an attempt to catch
the breeze. Mum was cooking, singing away in the kitchen. Dad was on the sofa
with a mug of tea, Granddad napping in his chair, his head lolling to one side.
Thomas was carefully drawing in black felt tip on his shoes. I said hello and
walked past them, wondering how it could feel so swiftly as if I didn’t quite
belong here any more.
Treena was working in my room. I knocked on the door, and walked in to find
her at the desk, hunched over a pile of textbooks, glasses that I didn’t recognize
perched on her nose. It was strange to see her surrounded by the things I had
chosen for myself, with Thomas’s pictures already obscuring the walls I had
painted so carefully, his pen drawing still scrawled over the corner of my blind. I
had to gather my thoughts so that I didn’t feel instinctively resentful.