Read Online Weak at the Knees by Jo Kessel - Free Book Online Page A

convertible. So today my mother’s reluctantly helping me out, sitting outside the Gothic mansion which houses Hugo’s flat in her maroon Honda Jazz, revving up the engine and waiting for me to come down with the last of my belongings.
     
    Hugo’s in the flat. He wanted to be there when I left. He hasn’t taken this moving out business seriously. He thinks what I’m going through is inevitable. He expects me to eventually come back round to the idea of us. He doesn’t believe for one minute that this is it, the end. He’s already told me he’s not letting me out of his life that easily, but if I feel this is what I need to do now, then he will support me all the way. How damn reasonable is that ?
     
    “So,” I say, smiling awkwardly. “This is it.”
     
    “No, this isn’t ‘it’,” he corrects me,” it’s ‘it’ for now.”
     
    Instead of responding, I flash my keys, their jangle breaking up the silence.
     
    “What shall I do with these?”
     
    “Keep them if you like. I don’t mind you letting yourself in if you’re popping by, or if you just want somewhere else to go when your parents drive you crazy.”
     
    “I think it’s best if I leave them here for now,” I say, trying not to offend. He’s been so supportive and understanding about our separation, probably because he doesn’t truly believe it’s over. I suddenly feel awkward. I mean, how does one leave one’s partner of eleven years? Should I kiss him, hug him, or create an argument so that we can both believe it’s for the best? You see, there’s been no animosity, rants or raves. It’s all so docile and feels too weird. There’s too much history, so I go for the hug. Hugo squeezes me tightly, comforting and then he pulls away, leaving a hand on each of my shoulders.
     
    “Danni,” he faces me squarely, “you don’t have to listen to a word of what I’m going to tell you, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I love you too much and care about you too much to just let you go ahead and fuck up your life. You’re losing it Dan. You’re losing the plot. I know these last three months have been tough beyond belief, but I’m not going to sit back and watch you waste your life without a fight. That’s the last thing Amber would have wanted. It’s time to buck up, get a job or something. You might think it is, but leaving me isn’t the answer to all your problems. You’ve got to sort your life out, make her proud. Don’t let her down, do something with your life. Promise me you won’t just sit at home and wallow.”
     
    I tell him I’ll do my best and then pick up the last of my bags and leave, without even looking back to see his expression. Not out of malice, but because I simply didn’t want to see. The strange thing is that not only do my eyes stay bone dry as I take my time walking down the three sets of stairs, but I also feel like a heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
     
    *****
     
    I did nothing the rest of that day, except for unpack my clothes and shoes, bung the box of books in the attic, listen to my mother harp on about Hugo being the best thing in my life and I had to go and ruin even that. The next morning, I wake up a stranger in my parents’ home. Lying in my childhood single bed, I suddenly see two very clear paths. I can either wallow with self-pity for the twenty-six year-old unemployed, non homeowner loser that I have become, or I can take action and try to turn it all around. Hugo’s kick up the backside is ringing in my ears. Buck up, get a job and make her proud. That’s all very well, but how? There are thousands of unemployed graduates out there, most of them far more qualified than I am. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make her proud.
     
    The next morning, over breakfast, I draw inspiration from a most unlikely source, the Daily Telegraph , which my parents get delivered to the house. There’s a consumer feature on the most popular school trips (art weekends,