Mum blinks. ‘Really?’
I nod. ‘Any suggestions? Somewhere close, obviously, because we don’t have that much money for travel and stuff. You can get cheap flights to basically anywhere in Europe now, right?’
‘You’re thinking of going abroad?’ she says, her eyes widening. ‘Oh, Stefanie, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ I ask, surprised. I honestly thought she’d be pleased that I was even considering such a big step.
‘The two of you are very young, for a start.’
‘Rhys is eighteen. He’s an adult.’
‘And with your . . . difficulties . . .’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘It’s probably not a good idea for you to go away without some kind of support.’
‘Support?’ I repeat. Even though this is my mother, and we’re standing in her kitchen with no one else around, I feel embarrassed. Almost ashamed that this is how she sees me.
‘Why don’t you go away with Tem?’ she suggests, brightening.
‘Because I want to go away with Rhys,’ I say, frowning.
‘Tem could go with you,’ she says promptly. ‘And maybe some of Rhys’s friends too.’
‘I don’t need you to organize my social life for me.’
‘You asked me for suggestions.’
‘For locations.’ I try – unsuccessfully – to hide how irritated I am. ‘I meant, like, “Paris or Amsterdam?” kind of thing.’
‘Amsterdam?’ For a second, Mum looks almost panicked. ‘Oh no, Steffi. No, this isn’t a good idea at all. Look, why don’t you wait until the summer holidays? We’re all going to Cornwall for a week. Rhys is welcome to come. If he doesn’t mind staying in a separate room, of course.’
‘Mum,’ I groan. I can’t believe she’s trying to turn my first ever couple holiday into a separate-rooms family trip to a Cornish cottage. Except I can believe it, because it’s Mum.
‘Have a think about it,’ Mum says. She picks up a dishcloth and starts wiping the counter, which means she thinks the conversation is over. ‘But the two of you going away alone is just out of the question, love. It’s just not a good idea.’
I stare at her, mute with frustrated annoyance. I can’t even argue, because she’s being so unreasonable it’s bordering on ridiculous. Finally, I manage, ‘Remember how you always wanted me to be more . . .’ I trail off, trying to find the word. ‘More . . . just more?’
Mum pauses, her fingers stilling over the dishcloth. But then she recovers herself, scrubbing harder at an imaginary stain on the countertop. ‘I wanted you to be able to talk. I like Rhys. You know I like Rhys. But I don’t think you want to go away because you’ve suddenly become braver and want to try new things and meet new people. I think it’s because you think it doesn’t matter any more, because you have him.’
There are a lot of things I could say to this, but none of them makes it past my lips. I swallow. ‘Are you telling me I can’t go?’
‘I’m not telling you,’ she says. She’s not looking at me. ‘I’m giving you my advice. As your mother.’ There’s a long pause and then she lets out a sigh that I hear from across the room, tosses the dishcloth on to the counter and turns to face me. ‘Steffi, I know I can’t make decisions for you. I know how exciting first love can be. But I worry that this relationship is making your world smaller, not bigger.’
I frown. ‘Smaller? How can it be smaller, if I want to see more of it?’
She shakes her head. ‘Maybe you’ll understand when you’re older.’ The most frustrating sentence in the entire world of parents and teenagers. ‘But I’ve said my piece now.’
I steam about this conversation for the next few hours. Have I suddenly become braver? No, but who the hell cares? Doesn’t the fact that I do the things I never did before matter more than the reason why I do them? Do I think talking doesn’t matter now I have him? No, but I definitely think it matters less than I used to think it did. Of course we have our own little bubble. But it’s a bloody nice bubble. Why can’t she just be happy for me? Who cares how big or small my world is, so long as I’m happy?
By February, Rhys and I haven’t made any progress on our adventure-seeking. At least, not in the real world. In fantasy land, we’re well away. Rhys has drawn a series of cartoon sketches of the two of us trekking the Inca Trail, piloting a space shuttle, discovering Atlantis, kayaking through the Bougainville Strait. We are Bronze and Gold, intrepid explorers, bound by nothing, cowed by no one. In our cartoon world, everyone speaks BSL.
In the real world, I sit on his bed doing my homework while he plays video games with the door open. I’m allowed in his room now, but his mother has a habit of coming in unannounced every twenty minutes or so. She always has a reason for this, albeit a flimsy one: she’ll bring us tea, then collect the cups. Ask if we want snacks, come back and ask are we sure.