Forget Me Not Read Free Page A

you had to do.’
    ‘I do long hours now.’
    ‘That’s true.’ Dad began to fan the fire with the rusty lid from an old biscuit tin. ‘But at least you’re not a wage slave any longer – it’s all for you and Milly. Plus you enjoy what you’re doing more.’
    ‘Much more,’ I agreed happily. From the holly we heard the chittering of a wren. ‘I love being a garden designer.’
    ‘A fashionable one according to The Times , eh?’ That unexpected bit of coverage had really lifted my confidence; Sue, my former PA, had spotted it and phoned me. ‘And those appearances on GMTV must have helped.’
    ‘I think they did.’ I’d recently done five short pieces about preparing the garden for spring.
    ‘And what happened with that big contract in Chelsea you were hoping to get?’
    ‘The one in The Boltons?’ Dad nodded. ‘I’ve done the survey and I’m taking the designs over on Saturday. If it goes ahead it’ll be my biggest commission by a very long way.’
    ‘Well – fingers crossed. But if you’re ever stuck for money you know I’ll lend you some. I could be a sleeping partner in the business,’ he added with a smile.
    ‘That’s kind, but I budgeted for the first two years being a bit tough and you know I’d never ask you for help.’ Unlike Cassie, I thought meanly. She’s always touching Dad for cash. Like that time last year when she simply had to go and find herself on that Ashtanga Yoga retreat in Bhutan – Dad had ‘lent’ her most of the three and a half grand. ‘Anyway,’ I went on, ‘things should be a little easier this year.’ There was a soft pop as sparks burst from the fire, like lava from a tiny volcano.
    ‘Well …’ There was a sudden, awkward silence. Dad cleared his throat, then I saw him glance at the box. ‘I … imagine you’ll want to be getting back now, won’t you?’
    ‘I … guess so.’ I looked at my watch. It was only 3.30. I still wasn’t quite ready to say my final farewell, plus I was enjoying the warmth of the fire.
    ‘I know you don’t like driving in the dark.’
    ‘That’s true.’
    ‘And then it’ll be Milly’s bedtime.’
    ‘Mm.’
    ‘And I’ve got things to do, actually.’
    ‘Oh.’ Dad wasn’t usually in a hurry for us to leave – quite the opposite. ‘OK, then… we’ll be on our way.’ I looked at the cardboard box. ‘Are you sure you don’t need help with anything else before I go?’
    ‘No. I’ve just got to deal with this before the light goes.’
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Just … old correspondence.’ I suddenly saw that a red stain had crept up Dad’s neck. ‘Valentine cards I’d sent your mum – that sort of thing.’
    I didn’t remind him that today was Valentine’s Day. Not that I’d received so much as a petal, I thought ruefully. I was a romance-free zone.
    ‘She never threw them away,’ I heard Dad say. ‘When I finally went through her desk I found them.’ He shook his head. ‘Every Valentine card I’d ever sent her – thirty-six of them,’ he went on wonderingly. ‘She was very sentimental, your mum. Then I sorted through some old letters that she’d sent me.’
    I did up Milly’s top button. ‘But why would Mum write to you when you were married?’
    Dad fanned some smoke away. ‘It was when I was in Brazil.’ He looked at me. ‘I don’t suppose you remember that, do you?’
    ‘Vaguely … I remember waving you off at the airport with Mum and Mark.’
    ‘It was in 1977, so you were five. I was out there for eight months.’
    ‘Remind me what you were doing.’
    ‘Overseeing a big structural repair on a bridge near Rio. The phone lines were terrible, so we could only keep in touch by letter.’
    Now I remembered going to the post office every Friday with our flimsy blue aerogrammes. I used to draw flowers on mine, as I couldn’t write.
    ‘It must have been hard for you, being away for so long.’
    ‘It was,’ Dad said quietly.
    ‘So that was before Cassie was born?’
    He snapped