Her mother pretended not to have heard that and went to put the kettle on. ‘Tea?’
‘OK.’
She made it, and they sat at the table.
‘Been thinking. You’ve graduated now.’
‘Mm.’
‘We need to start getting things straight,’ her mum went on. ‘Properly. I’m talking grown-up life now, not messing about.’
Callie’s mouth fell open in astonishment. But before a bitter laugh could escape, her mother carried on.
Her mum gestured around at the peeling wallpaper, the sagging sofa. ‘This house doesn’t pay for itself, does it? And I can’t keep doing all these shifts forever. I’m on my feet all day, then I come back, and there’s washing, and homework, and appointments, and George needs reminding about everythingtwice…’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I feel like I’ve got two jobs and no time to breathe.’
Callie didn’t bother to say the words, ‘I’m doing most of that.’ Her mother wouldn’t hear it anyway.
‘It would help if you did more than a few glass-collecting shifts. You could get a job at the supermarket with me.’
Callie’s insides went cold. ‘I’m not doing that. I’ll choose my own job, thanks. I could even do uni.’
Her mother laughed. ‘With your marks!’
Callie looked away. She was no academic, but her mother didn’t have to be mean about it.
‘I could retake my exams. Try harder.’
‘Brilliant. Then you can get yourself into debt so you can ponce about at university. Meanwhile, I’m here trying to work out how to pay the leccy and take care of your brother.’
Callie glanced towards the stairs. George’s door was shut, music leaking faintly through it, the same song on repeat.
‘You can’t make this decision for me,’ she said, allowing herself a little volume.
‘Thisis your life,’ her mother said bitterly. ‘This family. This house. We’re not something you graduate from.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Felt like it.’
It had been this way for so long that it was nearly impossible to imagine another life. She’d been her brother’s parent for so long.
But today, she’d been with Mae. She’d felt like it was life, at last. Happiness. She could see that feeling was the point of everything. Not just trundling along, grabbing at whatever you could, scraping by. To choose something. To choosesomeone.
And Callie wanted those choices. She knew Mae did too.
‘I’m your daughter,’ Callie said finally. ‘Not your partner. I need a life of my own.’
Her mother had the old standby line ready to go. ‘What about your brother? He needs—’
‘George isn’t helpless,’ Callie said. ‘He can learn to do more. He already does. And when he’s ready, he can leave. He can live his life.’
‘He can’t! He’ll live on nuggets and get scurvy!’
‘He’s gotten into fruit smoothies,’ Callie told her. ‘So, I’m not worried about that.’
‘What? Since when?’
‘Weeks.’
