A Quiet Kind of Thunder(48)

‘You’re spending a lot of time over there,’ Dad says to me, about a week after Petal’s adoption. ‘If you and Rhys want to come over here instead sometimes, that’s fine with us.’

‘I know, Dad.’

‘OK, good. Just wanted to be sure.’

‘It’s only because of the dog,’ I remind him. ‘People need training just as much as dogs do, you know.’

He smiles. ‘Yes, I’m sure. This kind of thing . . . helping people learn how to look after new animals . . . is this what you’d like to do for a career?’

I nod. ‘Something like this, yeah. Working with animals, anyway.’

‘Maybe you should think about expanding,’ he says. He comes into my room – where I’m sitting on my bed doing homework – and leans slightly, anchoring his hands in his pockets. ‘Maybe turning some of the people you know from the kennels into clients. You could build up a client list before you’ve even left school. One day it could be your own business.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think I’ll start doing anything like that until after university. I’ll be more prepared then.’

A slight frown passes over Dad’s face. ‘I meant as an alternative to university.’

‘Oh, Dad,’ I snap, instantly irritated. ‘Will you stop? I get enough of this from Mum. I want to go to uni, OK?’

‘I know that, love.’ His careful calmness gets my back up even more. ‘But I’m a little concerned that you haven’t made as much progress as we’d hoped. With your communication, I mean.’

‘Well, I don’t know where you’re getting that from,’ I say, beginning to type more ferociously than necessary on my keyboard, not even looking at whatever nonsense is appearing on screen. ‘I’m doing a lot better, actually. I can talk at school now.’

‘A word or two, every now and then,’ Dad says. ‘That’s not really what we had in mind. By now I’d hoped that you’d be talking to more of your peers. But I don’t hear you mention anyone at school except Rhys.’

‘God, what do you want from me?’ I demand. ‘You’re meant to encourage me to push myself.’

‘That’s why I’m trying to do,’ he says, his forehead scrunching. ‘But I also want to protect you, Stef-Stef. There’s no shame in not going to university. It’s a good thing to consider alternatives.’

As far as I’m concerned, there is no alternative. I gave up on my dream of being a vet because of my stupid chronic anxiety when I started secondary school, which was when I realized that a job that required so much interaction with people was not exactly made for me. In its place I put a new dream, smaller, but more achievable. I would be an animal trainer, ideally working with guide dogs or other service animals. You don’t necessarily need a degree or anything like that to be an animal trainer, but my academic heart was set on university. I researched until I had formulated my new plan: Zoology with Animal Behaviour. I’d learn all about animals in beautiful North Wales. It would be perfect.

When I first brought this up, aged fourteen, I quickly discovered that my mother didn’t agree. ‘But, Steffi,’ she said, frowning. ‘Steffi, you don’t need to go to university.’

‘I do,’ I said. As far as I was concerned, this comment made no sense. I had the online prospectus right in front of me. I was literally pointing to the course I wanted to take. ‘See? Eighty-five per cent of students are in full-time work after graduation. That’s pretty good, right?’

‘Anyone can work with animals,’ Mum said. ‘What I mean is, why put yourself through all of that if it’s not necessary? Work at the kennels, get some experience. Maybe you can work there full time one day.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to work in a kennels – I want to actually train the animals.’

‘I’m sure you can get experience doing that too, love. Isn’t it fairly simple to get a job in a zoo, or something?’

‘Firstly, no,’ I said, irritated. ‘And, secondly, I want to go to uni. I want to learn all that stuff. It sounds amazing. Look, Animal Ethics and Welfare. Herpetology!’

‘What’s herpetology?’

‘I don’t know, but if I do this course I can find out.’

‘Steffi,’ Mum said again. It was both annoying and worrying how she kept using my name. ‘Do you realize how difficult university would be for you? You can barely talk to your classmates, and you’ve known a lot of them since you were very young. There are thousands of students at universities, of all ages and from all over the world. Not to mention lecturers and professors. Do you think they’d be as accommodating of your problems as Windham has been?’

Talk about a kick in the teeth. Mum and I have been having variations of this same argument ever since.

Last summer, after I took my GCSEs, the whole parental troupe and I sat down over dinner to discuss it ‘calmly and rationally’ (Keir) without any ‘sulking or slamming of doors’ (Dad). The five of us went to the nearest Ask and talked it all over for the first time.

‘I’m just worried it might be too much for you,’ Mum said. ‘Why not work for a few years and then see if you still want to go when you’re a bit older?’