He reached for the thing that had been sitting beside his mug the whole time, which I had assumed was post.
It was an envelope.
Less than a minute later my sister was the colour of the tiles and shouting in my kitchen.
“Gideon, you can’t do that!”
PART 2 — WHAT WAS IN IT
Everybody expects it to have been something cruel.
It was a receipt and a set of keys.
Gideon had paid a deposit and three months’ rent on a room in a shared house on Kell Street, eleven minutes’ walk from our house, in her name, from the Friday.
Fully paid. Not a loan. Nothing to sign and nothing to pay back.
There was a printed confirmation, the landlord’s number, and a note in his handwriting that said: Bree — this is yours either way. If you want to stay and be a person in this house instead, that’s fine too. Your choice, not Rom’s.
