Worst Impressions

Chapter Forty Five

The journey between the school and home was second nature to me. I did everything on autopilot; changing trains in London and then again in Bodmin onto the smaller line which led to my town, dozing with my head against the window the entire way, and dragged my luggage back through the streets and to the garage where my father would be waiting.

It wasn't until I was alone in my bedroom that the weight of the past few weeks sunk in. Not only had I endured Lisa's scorn, Gideon's smug presence, and the endless toil of studying for exams which would decide my future, but I'd also been reminded of how my lacking fortune would forever keep me separated from my friends. While they would spend the rest of their lives free to jet off to whatever exotic location they wanted, I was doomed to live within a tight budget and scroll enviously through their social media feeds while I fought to earn enough to survive.

It was almost enough to make me wish that I'd never met any of them in the first place. If I'd stayed in Cornwall and attended the local secondary school, then I'd never have started to get ideas above my station. I wouldn't have hoped that I could have a better life. I wouldn't have silently resented the vast social chasm which would keep my friends and I forever apart.

And now, here I was, condemned to spend two long weeks listening to grimy mechanics complain about the lack of luxury vehicles they worked on while everyone else got to stare at beautiful statues and throw coins into decadent fountains.

Perfect.

It wasn't until the light dwindled outside that Dad knocked on my bedroom door. He didn't wait for an invitation, having never learnt the meaning of respecting a girl's privacy, what with my being away most of the time. Still dressed in his greasy overalls, he wiped his hands on an equally filthy rag while he regarded me.

'Something up?' he asked bluntly.

'No.'

'Want dinner?'

'Not really.'

'I can order in,' he offered. 'Fish and chips?'

I groaned. 'No, Dad. I just said I didn't want dinner.'

'Look, I know it sucks that I can't afford to send you to Italy. I'm sorry, but –'

'Dad, that's not –'

'I'm just saying, Ms Ayers did offer to pay for –'

'I don't want her charity, Dad!' I snapped. 'I want to make my own way, like you! Anyway, it's none of her business. She's just Jenny's mum, not mine.'

'Madeleine respects you. She doesn't think of it as –'

'I'm tired,' I interrupted. 'Can you please let me go to sleep?'

He hesitated, but I didn't want to talk to him about it any longer. Even if he asked more questions, or lectured me, it would all go ignored. Deciding it was best to withdraw, Dad walked out, slamming the door behind himself. It wasn't the reunion I wanted, but he didn't understand how I felt. To him, it was just a polite gesture from a family friend. But to me, it was a reminder that I couldn't pay for anything without help.

By morning, I realised I'd been kind of harsh.

Dad was already down in the garage when I woke up. I didn't think he'd be in any mood to speak to me after what I'd said. I took my time showering, getting dressed in a comfortable old t-shirt and jeans, and made myself breakfast. From the dishes resting in the sink, I deduced that Dad had already eaten without me. He must have been irritated not to wake me. We usually had a huge breakfast together on my first morning home to celebrate my return. Instead, I was nibbling on dry toast and feeling like the worst daughter in the world.