Coming of Age Read Online Free

rapidly now, as if he’d been practising a speech – “they use the system all the time. It’s marvellous because it links them with the real world. They can do anything they want.”
    Amy stopped looking at Dad. She concentrated on reading the label on the jar of marmalade. Her mouth felt dry as dust.
    I can just imagine what they must’ve said. “Thank you for making time to see us, Dr Grant. Amy’s obviously no better. We’re concerned about her. It’s our job to watch our pupils, monitor their progress. Such a pity, Dr Grant. Amy had been doing so well. Although we still have high hopes for her future.”
    Dad took a deep breath. “If you don’t like the idea –” his voice shook – “tell me and I’ll forget about it. It’s only a suggestion.” He put down his knife. “I want us to face up to the fact that –”
    Amy clenched her hands, forced herself to answer.
    â€œNO,” she mouthed. She pulled her notebook from her pocket and scribbled NO, NEVER on it. She tore out the note, pushed it towards him.
    Dad glanced at it. He seemed to shrink a little. “OK,” he said gently.
    He reached across, opened Amy’s fist, stroked her palm. “I understand. If I were you, I’d probably feel the same.”
    He came round the table to give her a hug.
    Amy clung to him.
    â€œBut think about it, sweetheart. Don’t dismiss it out of hand.” He looked into her face. “We’ll talk about it another time.”
    When Dad had gone to the surgery, Dora arrived. She was a neighbour who came three times a week to help with the chores. Amy waited until she heard hoovering from the bedrooms. She shut herself in the downstairs loo and burst into tears.
    She knew Dad was doing his best, but the pain in his eyes this morning had cut her to the quick. As if things weren’t hard enough for him without Mum. She was making everything worse. A lot worse.
    She wanted to scream, make the walls rattle with noise. She couldn’t even sob.
    She held on to the edge of the basin. It felt cold. Her tears fell in hot splodges on to her hands. Dad’s right. I might never be able to speak again. Maybe Ruth could learn sign language and we could get videophones . . .
    After twenty minutes she dried her eyes, looked at her face in the mirror. A pair of grey-green eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, stared back.
    She straightened her shoulders. “Pull yourself together,” she mouthed.
    She ran the cold tap, smoothed water on her forehead, over her shining plaits.
    When she opened the door, Tyler was waiting for her, that reproachful “You haven’t taken me for a walk” look in his eyes.
    She mouthed at him, “You win, Tyler,” and slid into her duffel coat. She scribbled a note for Dora: Taken Tyler out on the Common , and left it on the draining board.
    Amy runs with Tyler down through the back garden and scrapes open the battered wooden gate. Then she turns left on to Ludshott Common, up the short, steep path towards the part where it gets all sandy and it’s like walking along the beach. She can see for miles. The wind whips into her hair and through her clothes as if she isn’t wearing anything.
    Nobody’s ever going to treat me as if I were permanently dumb. Because I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. I will talk again, I’ve promised Dad and Aunt Charlotte and Jules and Ruth . . . I must not let them down . . .
    She has not been back to the spot where the accident happened: a narrow, stony, badly kept path bulging with thick, snarly tree roots which snakes away from the thick wood and links the edge of the Common to her back garden. It’s easily avoided, even if Tyler often starts to run there out of habit. It’s as if an impenetrable wall blocks off that part of the Common, forbidding her to cross into it.
    For the first time in ten grey days the sun clears through the