What has remained constant over the years is the art hung up on the walls – paintings from Thailand, India and more that she collected in the years before she had me.
‘You don’t think I care,’ says Mum, raising an eyebrow.
‘Well, you never really say anything about it,’ I say.
‘I ask you all the time about what you want to do!’ says Mum, aggressively chopping a carrot.
‘But conceptually, not concretely.’ I start to temper the spices in the pan, like Mum taught me.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Like “What do you want to do in the future” is a bit vague compared to “What do you want to study at uni? Shouldn’t you be prepping your UCAS by now? You needed to have chosen three days ago”.’ My voice turns more and more into Kira’s as I say it.
‘Just because I don’t ask you specifics doesn’t mean I don’t care,’ says Mum, her voice level.
I turn off the heat and turn around to look at her.
‘I know you care, Mum. You’re constantly showing me you care. But it’s low pressure, you know. You get that it doesn’t matterthatmuch.’
‘No, Selena,’ says Mum, looking up from chopping onions. She puts down the knife. ‘It does matter, but I wanted to give you the space to figure it out yourself, rather than have you looking to me for advice. But don’t you think Kira has a point? Time is starting to run out. You don’t want to rush making thesedecisions.’
I take a step back. ‘You agree . . . with Kira?’
‘Selena, my whole life I’ve had direction,’ says Mum urgently. ‘I didn’t go to university, and I decided to study later. I chose a career I wanted. I hope you’d follow the example. Not making any choice and running out of time . . . that’s not courageous. It feels like you want someone to tell you what to do, so you don’t have to make a choice. I don’t know why you’re avoiding choosing options for your future, but whatever the reason it’s not right to avoid it like this.’
I’m shocked. Mum has always gone along with what I thought. And I was hoping she would have my back with this against Kira. And now she says she thinks I’m being a coward by not making a rash decision? If it’s my choice to make, I deserve the time to make it.
‘I thought you were on my side,’ I say as I walk out to the garden.
Nineteen
The cameras, the headlines
The feeling I can’t define
I’m under a microscope
A specimen
Prodded, poked, ostracised
‘Specimen’ fromThe In-Between
I immediately regret walking outside. It’s sunset and it’s starting to get cold. The air has a chill, but I don’t care as I angrily stomp up to the oak tree at the base of the garden. As I pass the fence, I see Ty.
He’s lying down on his front, camera pressed to his face. As far as I can tell, he’s zooming in on some blades of grass.
‘Don’t you ever stop taking pictures?’ I say.
He rolls over, so he’s facing upwards, camera still hovering over his face. The top of his head is facing towards me, I’m looking across at him, almost like he’s in a movie still. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, now marred by grass stains, that is pushed up past his waist, and I feel the tug of attraction again, the one I’m desperately trying to resist.
‘Do you ever stop asking questions?’ he says.
‘He asks with a question?’ I say, knowing I sound petulant.
He sits up and spins around, camera hanging around his neck.
‘What’s got you today?’ says Ty.
