Contents ( 71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘What do you think, Kate?’
Kate hadn’t even heard the question, in part because she’d tuned out a while ago, finding many of them too difficult to answer. She gave Julia a blank look.
‘Come on, keep up,’ said Julia. ‘Don’t let the side down.’ Her tone was light, but Kate had caught the disdainful glint in her eye and she flushed.
‘We’re on the general knowledge round. Means everyone gets a chance of getting something right, whatever their background,’ said Julia. Kate glanced up sharply, but Julia was smiling around the table. ‘So, to recap: who won the British Grand Prix earlier this year?’
‘Lewis Hamilton,’ said Kate.
‘Well done, Mum,’ said Becky.
‘Yes, thank God,’ said Sue. ‘I know nothing about sport.’
Neither do I, thought Kate, but she’d heard her boss Martin talk about it a couple of days ago at lunch. She looked across the table, but Julia wasn’t writing the answer down.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Julia. ‘Only, I thought it was Mark Webber.’
Was it? Kate stumbled in her thoughts. Come to think of it, Martin had mentioned him too. Or had he won the Monaco Grand Prix? Julia was looking at her expectantly.
‘Lewis Hamilton,’ said Kate, firmly. She was sure that was right.
‘Well, we know who to blame if we lose,’ said Julia airily as she wrote down the answer.
Kate bristled, her jaw set tight as doubt once again took hold. She looked across at the answer sheet, at Julia’s swirling handwriting, Lewis Hamilton’s name burning itself on her retinas. Maybe she should say something – she wasn’t sure after all – but then the answer sheets were being handed over to the neighbouring tables for marking.
The headmistress began to read out the answers, Julia giving a little nod of confirmation at each right answer they’d got, clocking up the points with a one hundred per cent success rate so far, until, finally, they were on the last question.
‘Question twenty,’ said the headmistress. ‘Who won the British Grand Prix earlier this year?’
Kate’s stomach churned. Oh God, please be Lewis Hamilton, she thought.
‘The answer is Mark Webber!’
Kate flushed.
‘Never mind,’ said Sue. ‘None of us were sure.’
But Kate didn’t hear her kind words. All she could feel were the waves of disdain emanating from Julia.
‘Seems like we’ll have to settle for second,’ said Julia as the roll call of winners was read out. Kate felt Becky give her hand a squeeze under the table, but she wouldn’t be comforted. She considered leaving at that point, but there was still one event left – the Year 11 charity auction. As much as she wanted to go home and put her pyjamas on and curl up in front of the TV, she wouldn’t give Julia the satisfaction of thinking she’d driven her away.
Kate gritted her teeth; she’d see out the last part of this Family Woman Day. She may not know the answer to a quiz question but there were two things she absolutely did know for sure. The first was that she wished she was a better mother for Becky, one she could be proud of. The second was that she hated Julia Cromwell.