Dil y said severely, ‘You don’t know what you want.’
‘I do!’ Amy said fiercely. ‘I do! I want al this to stop, I want al this drifting and not deciding and crying and being upset al the time to stop. I want to stop being treated like a child, I want to be in charge of my own life and make my own decisions. There is no use in doing A levels. A levels are for people who can afford to do them, and I can’t any more.’
‘You’re overreacting,’ Dil y said.
‘
‘We haven’t run out of money, we aren’t desperate—’
‘We soon wil be,’ Amy said.
Dil y looked up at the ceiling.
‘Mum’s going to sel the house.’
‘I know.’
‘There’l be some money when she sel s the house.’
‘She’l have to buy something else,’ Amy said. ‘She hasn’t found a job yet. I don’t think she’s in a fit state to find a job.’
Dil y rol ed on her side and looked at her sister.
‘How wil you tel her?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. Don’t say anything.’
‘I won’t—’
‘Don’t say anything to Tam, either.’
‘Amy,’ Dil y said, ‘just think about it. Grade eight music. A level music. Al that Spanish. Just throw it al over to wipe tables in a coffee place?’
Amy looked defiant. She reached out to pick up Dil y’s banana rol , and took a bite. Round it, she said carelessly, ‘Sounds OK to me.’
There was a muffled thud from downstairs, and then another. Dil y sat bolt upright.
‘What’s that?’
Amy put the banana down.
‘Mum—’
They struggled to their feet and made for the door.
‘Oh God—’
‘I’l go first,’ Amy said. ‘Fol ow me. Come with me.’
It was quiet on the landing. Amy cal ed, ‘Mum?’
There was another thud, more muted. And then a smal clatter.
‘Mum?’
‘I’m here,’ Chrissie cal ed.
They started down the stairs.
‘Where—’
‘Here,’ she said. She sounded exhausted.
They reached the first-floor landing. Chrissie’s bedroom door was open, and out of it spil ed heaps and piles of clothes, stil on their hangers, jackets and trousers and suits. Richie’s clothes.
The girls stared.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’
Chrissie was stil in the clothes she had been wearing when she went out with Sue, stil in her gold necklaces, stil in her high-heeled boots. She had scraped her hair back into a ponytail and there were dark shadows under her eyes.
‘What do you think I’m doing?’
‘But—’
‘I’m moving Dad’s clothes out. I’m emptying the cupboards in my bedroom of Dad’s clothes.’
‘But not now, Mum, not tonight—’
‘Why not tonight?’
‘Because it’s late, because you’re tired, because we’l help you—’
Chrissie waved an arm towards the sliding heaps of clothes.
‘I’ve done it. Can’t you see? I’ve done it. You can help me take it al downstairs if you want to, but I’ve done it.’
