“I know,” she said, “but you shouldn’t have to make your own breakfast every morning.”
“Every morning?” Conor said. “How long is she going to be here?”
“Conor–” “We don’t need her here–” “You know how I get at this point in the treatments, Conor–”
“We’ve been okay so far–” “Conor,” his mum snapped, so harshly it seemed to surprise them both.
There was a long silence. And then she smiled again, looking really, really tired.
“I’ll try to keep it as short as possible, okay?” she said. “I know you don’t like giving up your room, and I’m sorry.
I wouldn’t have asked her if I didn’t need her to come, all right?”
Conor had to sleep on the settee every time his grandmother came to stay.
But that wasn’t it. He didn’t like the way she talked to him, like he was an employee under evaluation.
An evaluation he was going to fail. Plus, they had always managed so far, just the two of them,
no matter how bad the treatments made her feel, it was the price she paid to get better, so why–?
“Only a couple of nights,” his mum said, as if she could read his mind.
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