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.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. ‘Does Mum want me?’ she said. She glanced up at the clock. ‘I thought she was going to do Thomas’s tea.’

‘She is. He’s having fish fingers.’

She looked at me, then removed the glasses. ‘You okay? You look like shit.’

‘So do you.’

‘I know. I went on this stupid detox diet. It’s given me hives.’ She reached a hand up to her chin.

‘You don’t need to diet.’

‘Yeah. Well … there’s this bloke I like in Accountancy 2. I thought I might start making the effort. Huge hives all over your face is always a good look, right?’

I sat down on the bed. It was my duvet cover. I had known Patrick would hate it, with its crazy geometric pattern. I was surprised Katrina didn’t.

She closed her book, and leant back in her chair. ‘So what’s going on?’

I bit my lip, until she asked me again.

‘Treen, do you think I could retrain?’

‘Retrain? As what?’

‘I don’t know. Something to do with fashion. Design. Or maybe just tailoring.’

‘Well … there are definitely courses. I’m pretty sure my uni has one. I could look it up, if you want.’

‘But would they take people like me? People who don’t have qualifications?’

She threw her pen up in the air and caught it. ‘Oh, they love mature students. Especially mature students with a proven work ethic. You might have to do a conversion course, but I don’t see why not. Why? What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just something Will said a while back. About … about what I should do with my life.’

‘And?’

‘And I keep thinking … maybe it’s time I did what you’re doing. Now that Dad can support himself again, maybe you’re not the only one capable of making something of herself?’

‘You’d have to pay.’

‘I know. I’ve been saving.’

‘I think it’s probably a bit more than you’ve managed to save.’

‘I could apply for a grant. Or maybe a loan. And I’ve got enough to see me through for a bit. I met this MP woman who said she has links to some agency that could help me. She gave me her card.’

‘Hang on,’ Katrina said, swivelling on her chair, ‘I >don’t really get this. I thought you wanted to stay with Will. I thought the whole point of this was that you wanted to keep him alive and keep working with him.’

‘I do, but … ’ I stared up at the ceiling.

‘But what?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘So’s quantitive easing. But I still get that it means printing money.’

She rose from her chair and walked over to shut the bedroom door. She lowered her voice so that nobody outside could possibly hear.

‘You think you’re going to lose? You think he’s going to … ?’

‘No,’ I said hurriedly. ‘Well, I hope not. I’ve got plans. Big plans. I’ll show you in a bit.’

‘But … ’

I stretched my arms above me, twisting my fingers together. ‘But, I like Will. A lot.’

She studied me. She was wearing her thinking face. There is nothing more terrifying than my sister’s thinking face when it is trained directly on you.

‘Oh, shit.’

‘Don’t … ’

‘So this is interesting,’ she said.

‘I know.’ I dropped my arms.

‘You want a job. So that … ’

‘It’s what the other quads tell me. The ones who I talk to on the message boards. You can’t be both. You can’t be carer and … ’ I lifted my hands to cover my face.

I could feel her eyes on me.

‘Does he know?’

‘No. I’m not sure I know. I just … ’ I threw myself down on her bed, face first. It smelt of Thomas. Underlaid with a faint hint of Marmite. ‘I don’t know what I think. All I know is that most of the time I would rather be with him than anyone else I know.’

‘Including Patrick.’

And there it was, out there. The truth that I could barely admit to myself.

I felt my cheeks flood with colour. ‘Yes,’ I said into the duvet. ‘Sometimes, yes.’

‘Fuck,’ she said, after a minute. ‘And I thought I liked to make my life complicated.’

She lay down beside me on the bed, and we stared up at the ceiling. Downstairs we could hear Granddad whistling tunelessly, accompanied by the whine and clunk of Thomas driving some remote-control vehicle backwards and forwards into a piece of skirting. For some unexplained reason my eyes filled with tears. After a minute, I felt my sister’s arm snake around me.

‘You fucking madwoman,’ she said, and we both began to laugh.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, wiping at my face. ‘I’m not going to do anything stupid.’

‘Good. Because the more I think about this, the more I think it’s about the intensity of the situation. It’s not real, it’s about the drama.’

‘What?’

‘Well, this is actual life or death, after all, and you’re locked into this man’s life every day, locked into his weird secret. That’s got to create a kind of false intimacy. Either that or you’re getting some weird Florence Nightingale complex.’

‘Believe me, that is definitely not it.’

We lay there, staring at the ceiling.

‘But it is a bit mad, thinking about loving someone who can’t … you know, love you back. Maybe this is just a panic reaction to the fact that you and Patrick have finally moved in together.’

‘I know. You’re right.’

‘And you two have been together a long time. You’re bound to get crushes on other people.’

‘Especially while Patrick is obsessed with being Marathon Man.’

‘And you might go off Will again. I mean, I remember when you thought he was an arse.’

‘I still do sometimes.’

My sister reached for a tissue and dabbed at my eyes. Then she thumbed at something on my cheek.

‘All that said, the college idea is good. Because – let’s be blunt – whether it all goes tits up with Will, or whether it doesn’t, you’re still going to need a proper job. You’re not going to want to be a carer forever.’

‘It’s not going to go “tits up”, as you call it, with Will. He’s … he’s going to be okay.’

‘Sure he is.’

Mum was calling Thomas. We could hear her, singing it beneath us in the kitchen. ‘Thomas. Tomtomtomtom Thomas … ’

Treena sighed and rubbed at her eyes. ‘You going back to Patrick’s tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to grab a quick drink at the Spotted Dog and show me these plans, then? I’ll see if Mum will put Thomas to bed for me. Come on, you can treat me, seeing as you’re now loaded enough to go to college.’