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
Kate reluctantly shook her head. Truth was, she didn’t know how. She was acutely aware of how sporadic her experience was in the art of relationships and had the uneasy feeling that this lack of experience was what had made her fail with Tim. Even Becky, at the tender age of seventeen, had recognized her mother’s inadequacies. Becky had suffered her first real heartbreak – a three-month relationship with a boy from school had ended when he’d dumped her for another girl who had her own car. He’d broken up with Becky by text and she’d come down from her room where she’d been getting ready to go to the cinema with him, sobbing her heart out.
Kate had held her tight and eventually got the story out of her. She’d felt anger towards this boy she’d never met who’d caused her daughter so much pain and wished with all her heart she could wave a magic wand and make it better.
‘What do I do, Mum?’ Becky asked between tears.
Kate pondered the question. Got a flurry of nerves as she realized she didn’t really know how to help. She wished she had a memory book of experiences to draw on, to share with her daughter. All she knew for sure was that if she saw this boy – Jake, Becky kept on calling him – she’d like to punch his lights out.
‘Kick him in the goolies.’
Becky stopped crying. ‘What?’
‘That’ll work, won’t it?’
Her daughter started laughing. ‘Oh, Mum . . .’
Kate was embarrassed. ‘OK, I admit, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’m making it all up as I go along. I’m just an ordinary woman trying to muddle my way through. Sorry, your mother’s failing you.’
‘You’re not, Mum,’ said Becky. ‘Just . . . maybe don’t become a marriage guidance counsellor.’
‘Really?’ said Kate.
Of course, in a few months, Becky had realized just what a toad Jake was, but somehow, Kate felt that in Tim, she’d lost someone quite special. She shook herself; no point in getting maudlin.
Iris was sucking on her straw again and finding only air. A look up and the bartender understood. ‘They’re so wonderfully helpful here,’ she said.
‘Um . . .’
‘What?’
‘They’re . . .’ Kate indicated the drink.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s probably quite a bit of rum in them.’
Iris picked up her fresh glass. Took a sip. ‘Really? All I can taste is juice. So, have you? Got any new ideas on who sent that vile bullet?’
‘Tim thinks it’s Greg,’ said Kate.
‘What about you?’
Kate shrugged. ‘There’s no real evidence.’
‘There might be tomorrow.’
There just might, thought Kate. If they managed to get any information. She watched as the bartender began to light the candles in carved-out pineapples – a Caribbean version of pumpkins at Halloween. Then the sound of a guitar tuning, a tambourine waking up. A gravelly voice across the sound system: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for a few tunes.’ The band of four launched into some jazz and a ripple of energy caught across the small crowd.