“Her heart’s set on it.”
“She could at least do Art and Design.”
“She won’t change her mind.”
“Stubborn, like you were. I advised you against reading English.”
“It was my favourite subject.”
“But look at you now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A schoolteacher who’ll have to work until 65.”
“It’s OK, dad.”
“Well, if you’d done Law you’d be retired already.”
I stared at the empty armchair opposite, from which no words had come.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, for when you start arguing with the dead the grieving period is surely over.