Conditional Love by Cathy Bramley

the screen. ‘I’m very disappointed in you. I brought you up to be independent. Pay your own way.’
    That was unfair; she’d bobbed off to Spain as soon as I was legally an adult, I hadn’t had much choice to be anything other than independent!
    ‘What happened to that glittering future you used to harp on about? Where’s your sense of adventure? I expected you to make a career for yourself. But no, you’ve been festering at that bloody newspaper for years. Sometimes I wonder how the hell I managed to give birth to such a wimp, I really do.’
    My mum’s face suddenly loomed large, filling the screen. Then it went black; she’d cut me off.
    Blimey! I reeled back from her attack. I’d touched a nerve there. It had been years since the subject of my father had come up between us and I’d forgotten how strongly she could react.
    I waited for her to call back in case it had been an accident. After five minutes I gave up, logged on to Facebook and updated my status to miserable. Within seconds two of my so-called friends liked my comment. What was that supposed to mean? They weren’t supposed to like it, they were supposed to try and cheer me up. I logged off my laptop with shaking hands.
    The sound of Jess and Emma laughing in the kitchen made its way through my closed door. Now I felt worse. I’d naively assumed that it would be a relief to come to a decision.
    So why was it I felt so wretched?

twelve
    The morning bus into the city was packed. It was impossible to hold a private conversation while standing nose to nose with strangers. As usual, there was standing room only by the time Emma and I got on. I was sure the man behind me with the lumpy briefcase on his knee was nudging the corner of it into my bottom on purpose and there was a studenty scruffbag opposite shoving huge sweat patches my way as he held onto the overhead rail.
    ‘When I inherit that money, the first thing I’m going to do is buy a car, even if it’s an old banger,’ I grumbled, raising my voice to reach Emma, who was standing three passengers away. ‘Anything has got to be an improvement on this bus journey every day.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Emma called back, grabbing onto a pole as the bus veered round a corner. ‘Rock climbing in Derbyshire with sixty kids maybe?’
    Emma was wedged between two teenaged girls who were shouting to each other to avoid having to remove their earphones. She was trying to talk without opening her mouth. Emma was convinced that public transport was a hotbed of germs. One wrong in-breath and she would be infected with God knows what. One of the girls had a cold sore; she definitely wouldn’t want to catch that.
    ‘True,’ I replied, ‘but strangely Jess seemed really excited about that.’
    ‘Weirdo,’ said Emma, rolling her eyes. ‘Mind you, knowing her, she’ll be copping off with the climbing instructor by now. “Ooh, I’ve got a wedgie from this harness. Please can you sort me out?”’
    Jess was a sucker for a hero; her ideal man was a cross between Daniel Craig and Mr Darcy. Add a uniform into the mix and she lost all use of her legs. Emma was far less fussy. She was flattered by any male attention, mainly due to the fact that she treated her red hair as if it was a form of disability. I’ve even heard her declare breathily, ‘He liked me even though I’ve got ginger hair!’ The daft bat. She had gorgeous hair.
    I knew Emma like the back of my hand. Deep down she was just as romantic as her sister and was secretly searching for someone to sweep her off her feet. Unfortunately, it was usually Jess who inspired such devotion; Emma’s abrupt manner had a habit of making men run for the hills. On paper, Emma had the better figure, tall and willowy, whereas Jess was short and plump. But Jess was naturally so much better with people. If only Emma could work on being a bit more empathetic.
    ‘Sorry Jess isn’t being very supportive about the will thing,’ said Emma.
    There you go; I