Will's Mum Quotes

Someone else’s actions may affect you. But what other people choose to do is about them.” We were both quiet for a moment.. “Will it…will it ever stop hurting?” “Non.” Mum shook her head. “But it will stop mattering.

First I put on what I thought of as my ‘artistic’ outfit, a green smock dress with huge amber beads stitched into it. I imagined the kind of people who went to concerts might be quite arty and flamboyant. Will and Nathan both stared at me as I entered the living room. ‘No,’ said Will, flatly. ‘That looks like something my mum would wear,’ said Nathan. ‘You never told me your mum was Nana Mouskouri,’ Will said.

I laughed and shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. My mum doesn’t really go out. And it’s not my cup of tea.’ ‘Like films with subtitles weren’t your cup of tea?’ I frowned at him. ‘I’m not your project, Will. This isn’t My Fair Lady.’ ‘Pygmalion.’ ‘What?’ ‘The play you’re referring to. It’s Pygmalion. My Fair Lady is just its bastard offspring.

Yeah, it will,’ said Ron fiercely. ‘You won’t have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I’ll help.’ ‘Oh, Ron!’ Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck and broke down completely. Ron, looking quite terrified, patted her very awkwardly on the top of the head. Finally, Hermione drew away. ‘Ron, I’m really, really sorry about Scabbers…,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh – well – he was old,’ said Ron, looking thoroughly relieved that she had let go of him. ‘And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now.

As for us,Etienne was right.Our schools are only a twenty-minute transit ride away.He'll stay with me on the weekends, and we'll visit each other as often as possible during the week. We'll be together.We both got our Point Zero wishes-each other.He said he wished for me every time.He was wishing for me when I entered the tower. "Mmm," I say.He's kissing my neck. "That's it," Rashmi says. "I'm outta here.Enjoy your hormones." Josh and Mer follow her exit,and we're alone.Just the way I like it. "Ha!" Ettiene says. "Just the way I like it." He pulls me onto his lap,and I wrap my legs around his waist.His lips are velvet soft,and we kiss until the streetlamps flicker on outside. Until the opera singer begins her evening routine. "I'm going to miss her," I say. "I'll sing to you." He tucks my stripe behind my ear. "Or I'll take you to the opera.Or I'll fly you back here to visit. Whatever you want.Anything you want." I lace my fingers through his. "I want to stay right here,in this moment." "Isn't that the name of the latest James Ashley bestseller? In This Moment?" "Careful.Someday you'll meet him, and he won't be nearly as amusing in person." Etienne grins. "Oh,so he'll only be mildly amusing? I suppose I can handle mildly amusing." "I'm serious! You have to promise me right now,this instant,that you won't leave me once you meet him.Most people would run." "I'm not most people." I smile. "I know.But you still have to promise." His eyes lock on mine. "Anna,I promise that I will never leave you." My heart pounds in response.And Etienne knows it,because he takes my hand and holds it against his chest,to show me how hard his heart is pounding, too. "And now for yours," he says. I'm still dazed. "My what?" He laughs. "Promise you won't flee once I introduce you to my father.Or, worse, leave me for him." I pause. "Do you think he'll object to me?" "Oh,I'm sure he will." Okay.Not the answer I was looking for. Etienne sees my alarm. "Anna.You know my father dislikes anything that makes me happy.And you make me happier than anyone ever has." He smiles. "Oh,yes. He'll hate you." "So....that's a good thing?" "I don't care what he thinks.Only what you think." He holds me tighter. "Like if you think I need to stop biting my nails." "You've worn your pinkies to nubs," I say cheerfully. "Or if I need to start ironing my bedspread." "I DO NOT IRON MY BEDSPREAD." "You do.And I love it." I blush,and Etienne kisses my warm cheeks. "You know,my mum loves you." "She goes?" "You're the only thing I've talked about all year.She's ecstatic we're together." I'm smiling inside and out. "I can't wait to meet her.

Becky --" he begins, and there's a tiny intake of breath around the churchyard. "Will you--" "Yes! Yeee-esssss!" I hear the joyful sound ripping through the churchyard before I even realize I've opened my mouth. I'm so charged up with emotion, my voice doesn't even sound like mine. In fact, it sounds more like... Mum. I don't believe it.

Her & Dad & Mum, all of them one after the other in a line putting love & courage and the deep mana of willing self-sacrifice into the universe.

One woman sent me on a letter written to her by her daughter, and the young girl's words are a remarkable statement about artistic creation as an infinitely versatile and subtle form of communication: '...How many words does a person know?' she asks her mother. 'How many does he use in his everyday vocabulary? One hundred, two, three? We wrap our feelings up in words, try to express in words sorrow and joy and any sort of emotion, the very things that can't in fact be expressed. Romeo uttered beautiful words to Juliet, vivid, expressive words, but they surely didn't say even half of what made his heart feel as if it was ready to jump out of his chest, and stopped him breathing, and made Juliet forget everything except her love? There's another kind of language, another form of communication: by means of feeling, and images. That is the contact that stops people being separated from each other, that brings down barriers. Will, feeling, emotion—these remove obstacles from between people who otherwise stand on opposite sides of a mirror, on opposite sides of a door.. The frames of the screen move out, and the world which used to be partitioned off comes into us, becomes something real... And this doesn't happen through little Audrey, it's Tarkovsky himself addressing the audience directly, as they sit on the other side of the screen. There's no death, there is immortality. Time is one and undivided, as it says in one of the poems. "At the table are great-grandfathers and grandchildren.." Actually Mum, I've taken the film entirely from an emotional angle, but I'm sure there could be a different way of looking at it. What about you? Do write and tell me please..

I will if you will,” she says, a line reminiscent of so many other days of our lives. Sledging down the hill behind the house on winter morning when we were kids, our backsides on Mum’s tea trays: I will if you will. Getting our ears pierced at the dodgy salon in the precinct when we were teenagers: I will if you will. Another drink at last orders, even though we’ve both had enough: I will if you will.

I love your body 'cause I've lost my mind If you want someone to talk to, you're wasting your time If you want someone to share your life, you need someone who's alive And if every relationship is a two-way street, I have been screwing in the back whilst you drive I never said I was deep, but I am profoundly shallow My lack of knowledge is vast, and my horizons are narrow I never said I was big, I never said that I was clever And if you're waiting to find what's going on in my mind, you could be waiting forever Forever and ever I can dance you to the end of the night 'cause I'm afraid of the dark I have to confess: I'm out of my depth You're going over my head and straight through my heart Some girls like to play it dirty, some girls want to be your mum Me, I disrespected you whilst we were waiting for the taxi to come My morality is shabby, my behaviour unacceptable No, I'm not looking for a relationship, just a willing receptacle I never said I was... I never said I was... I never said I was... I never said I was deep, but I am profoundly shallow My lack of knowledge is vast, and my horizons are narrow Oh, yeah. I never said I was big, I never said that I was clever And if you're waiting to find what's going on in my mind, you could be waiting forever Forever and ever

Then I said those words I’d heard Mum say to some women, with more conviction than any of her other predictions. I said, “I see you leaving.” I see you leaving. It’s what my mother would say to women who cried into soggy, balled-up handkerchiefs while they asked, “Will I ever be happy, Madame Mae?” She’d say it over and over, at every reading: I see you leaving, I see you leaving, I see you leaving. Until finally they saw themselves leaving too.

What's this about slippers?" Stephanie's mom said, walking in. "Dad's just saying he could never lead the resistance against a robot army because he wears slippers." "This is very true," her mum said. "Then it's decided," Stephanie's father said. "When the robot army makes itself known, I will be one of the first traitors to sell out the human race." "Wow," said Stephanie. "Now that's an about-turn," said her mum. "It's the only way," said her dad. "I have to make sure my family survives. The two of you and that other one, the small one--" "Alice." "That's her. You're all that matter to me. You're all I care about. I will betray the human race so that the robot army spares you. And then later, I will betray you so that the robot army spares me. It's a dangerous ploy, but someone has to be willing to take the big risks, and I'll be damned if I'm about to let anyone else gamble with my family's future." "You're so brave," Stephanie's mum said. "I know," said her dad, and then quieter, "I know.

My Dear Mother, Please, Mum, read this letter and give me the chance to get to know you again. Mum, I love you and always will. You have been in my heart for forty years. All I remember was a funeral, then I was taken away. I was told you were dead. I will not forgive them for that. Please, Mum, write to me. Please give me the chance to prove to you that there is no hurt in me towards you.

She ventured out of the village that morning for what her mum would have called life's little luxuries. A soft gray dressing gown, a matching towel, and bubble bath promising the healing properties of sea kelp. Charlie knew there wasn't a big enough bottle enough to heal her wounds, but she was willing to begin the process. Penderrion was getting to her if she thought that anything with "sea" in the title could be soothing instead of threatening.

I take a picture of it with my mobile, then erase the board and lift it off the wall. My 7-year-old sister watches me do it. "I'm telling Mum," she says. "If you tell Mom, I'll block up all he chimneys so that Father Christmas cant get in" "You cant do that, there are too many chimneys," she countered "Not for me," I say. "I'm willing to put the time in" "He'll just come to the door." "Don't be an idiot, Mordelia, Father Christmas never comes to the door. And if he did, I would tell him he had the wrong house.

A second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped The Monster Book of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Ron’s ankle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Hermione cried as Harry wrenched the book from Ron’s leg and retied it shut. “What are you doing with all those books anyway?” Ron asked, limping back to his bed. “Just trying to decide which ones to take with us,” said Hermione. “When we’re looking for the Horcruxes.” “Oh, of course,” said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot we’ll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library.” “Ha ha,” said Hermione, looking down at Spellman’s Syllabary. “I wonder…will we need to translate runes? It’s possible…I think we’d better take it, to be safe.” She dropped the syllabary onto the larger of the two piles and picked up Hogwarts, A History. “Listen,” said Harry. He had sat up straight. Ron and Hermione looked at him with similar mixtures of resignation and defiance. “I know you said after Dumbledore’s funeral that you wanted to come with me,” Harry began. “Here he goes,” Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes. “As we knew he would,” she sighed, turning back to the books. “You know, I think I will take Hogwarts, A History. Even if we’re not going back there, I don’t think I’d feel right if I didn’t have it with--” “Listen!” said Harry again. “No, Harry, you listen,” said Hermione. “We’re coming with you. That was decided months ago--years, really.” “But--” “Shut up,” Ron advised him. “--are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Harry persisted. “Let’s see,” said Hermione, slamming Travels with Trolls onto the discarded pile with a rather fierce look. “I’ve been packing for days, so we’re ready to leave at a moment’s notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye’s whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under Ron’s mum’s nose.” “I’ve also modified my parents’ memories so that they’re convinced they’re really called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their life’s ambition is to move to Australia, which they have now done. That’s to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them down and interrogate them about me--or you, because unfortunately, I’ve told them quite a bit about you. “Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I’ll find Mum and Dad and lifted the enchantment. If I don’t--well, I think I’ve cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don’t know that they’ve got a daughter, you see.” Hermione’s eyes were swimming with tears again. Ron got back off the bed, put his arm around her once more, and frowned at Harry as though reproaching him for lack of tact. Harry could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual for Ron to be teaching anyone else tact.

computers, and what I had done for Will. But I thought this should probably be her moment. We sat on the foldaway chairs, under the tattered sunshade, and sipped at our mugs of tea. Her fingers, I noticed, were all the right colors. “She misses you,” I said. “We’ll be back most weekends from now on. I just needed…Lou, it wasn’t just about settling Thomas in. I just needed a bit of time to be away from it all. I just wanted time to be a different person.” She looked a bit like a different person. It was weird. Just a few weeks away from home could rub the familiarity right off someone. I felt like she was on the path to being someone I wasn’t quite sure of. I felt, weirdly, as if I were being left behind. “Mum told me your disabled bloke came to

I’m not—I’m not talking about myself.” “Oh, darling,” her mother said, the sharp planes of her face softening. “We’re all talking about ourselves. Always, because the only way we see the world is through our own eyes. The way you’ve always seen Anthony in Will, and you’re so scared that he’s his dad all over again. That he’s weak at the core after all, and that he’ll disgrace you in the end, and desert you, too. This is all just one more way you’re afraid he’s done it. But he hasn’t, and he won’t, because he’s not his dad. He’s got you in him, too. He’s got the mum who stayed, and stuck. That’s why he’ll never do a runner on the people he loves, no matter how heavy the burden gets. He’ll take care of you until you’re in your grave, and he’ll take care of his brother and sisters as well. Because he’s strong to the core, and solid to the bone. Because he’s a good man.

That treacherous old bleeder!” Ron panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. “Hermione, you’re a genius, a total genius, I can’t believe we got out of that!” “Cave Inimicum…Didn’t I say it was an Erumpent horn, didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!” “Serves him right,” said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs. “What d’you reckon they’ll do to him?” “Oh, I hope they don’t kill him!” groaned Hermione. “That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying!” “Why hide me, though?” asked Ron. “You’re supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron! They’ve kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you’re with him?” “But what about your mum and dad?” “They’re in Australia,” said Hermione. “They should be all right. They don’t know anything.” “You’re a genius,” Ron repeated, looking awed. “Yeah, you are, Hermione,” agreed Harry fervently. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” She beamed, but became solemn at once. “What about Luna?” “Well, if they’re telling the truth and she’s still alive--” began Ron. “Don’t say that, don’t say it!” squealed Hermione. “She must be alive, she must!” “Then she’ll be in Azkaban, I expect,” said Ron. “Whether she survives the place, though…Loads don’t…” “She will,” said Harry. He could not bear to contemplate the alternative. “She’s tough, Luna, much tougher than you’d think. She’s probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles.” “I hope you’re right,” said Hermione. She passed a hand over her eyes. “I’d feel so sorry for Xenophilius if--” “--if he hadn’t just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah,” said Ron.

Hello, little man,’ I said and kissed his cheek. ‘Urgh.’ He wiped the kiss off. ‘I hate lipstick.’ I laughed as if he were joking and kissed him again. ‘You’ll love it when you’re older.’ ‘When I’m older,’ he asked, ‘will you be dead?’ Though there was nothing in his tone but interest, the question floored me completely. Stunned, I opened my mouth to reply, but could think of nothing to say. ‘The mum of one of the kids in Ben’s class is dead,’ Red said, his tone neutral. ‘Ever since he found out, he’s been obsessed.’ ‘Will you?’ Ben pressed. ‘Mummy will die when she’s old,’ his father answered, and I had to bite my tongue, because I knew better than anyone that death did not pre-book appointments decades in advance. Its approach was random, based on whimsy, often violent. I came from a line of women who bore a single child and were dead before its eighteenth birthday. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about,’ Red said.

Call him,” Vicky urges one last time, placing my phone on my desk, tapping her nail on the screen before leaving me to it. I stare at my phone and then with shaky fingers I pick it up and press redial on his number. He answers on the first ring. “Tru,” his voice comes deep and sexy down the line. “Hi, Jake.” Silence. “So…” I say, not really knowing what to say. “I’m taking it your boss beat me to it?” he states rather than asks. “She did.” “And?” “And what?” “Will you do it – the bio?” “Do I have a choice?” There’s a really long pause. I can practically feel his tension radiating down the line. “There’s always a choice, Tru.” He sounds a little pissed off. “Sorry,” I recover. “That sounded a little shitty, it’s just a lot of information to process this early in the morning. Especially when I haven’t even had a chance to have a coffee yet.” “You haven’t?” “No, and I don’t function without coffee,” I say in a Spanish accent. I’m actually fluent in Spanish, something my mum insisted on, and it does comes in handy at times – well, mainly holiday’s in Spanish speaking countries. And my crap Spanish accent always used to make Jake laugh when we were kids, so I’m aiming for just that again. He chuckles, deep and throaty down the line. It does incredible things to me. “I see you’re still an idiot.” “I am, and it still takes one to know one.” “That it does … so you’ll do it?” I get the distinct feeling he’s not asking me. And really in what world would I ever say no. “I’ll do it,” I smile. I can practically feel his grin down the phone. “Okay, so as your new boss – well one of them – I order you to go get some coffee as I can’t have you talking in that cute Spanish accent of yours all day. You’ll drive me nuts.” I’ll drive him nuts?! In a good or bad way… “I’m seeing you today?” “Of course. Go get that coffee and I’ll call you back soon.” He hangs up, and I sit staring at the phone in my hand, feeling a little dumbfounded. And somehow a little played. I just haven’t figured out as to how yet.

He does fool me. I know he’s not always 100 percent honest about everything. I think about that story about his parents—how he invited them to the wedding but they refused to come because they were so angry with him for leaving Rachel. I always thought that was odd, because on the two occasions when I’ve spoken to his mum she sounded so pleased to be talking to me. She was kind, interested in me, in Evie. “I do hope we’ll be able to see her soon,” she said, but when I told Tom about it he dismissed it. “She’s trying to get me to invite them round,” he said, “just so she can refuse. Power games.” She didn’t sound like a woman playing power games to me, but I didn’t press the point. The workings of other people’s families are always so impenetrable. He’ll have his reasons for keeping them at arm’s length, I know he will, and they’ll be centred on protecting me and Evie. So why am I wondering now whether that was true? It’s this house, this situation, all the things that have been going on here—they’re making me doubt myself, doubt us. If I’m not careful they’ll end up making me crazy, and I’ll end up like her. Like Rachel.

Until she was willing to tell me the truth about my real parents I didn’t want anything to do with her. I’ve never stopped missing her, but now I need her. I need her to be my mum again, even if she isn’t. I don’t have anyone else.

Rob feels terrible. He’s looking further up the road with his mum.” So he should! Olivia thought. But being furious with Rob didn’t really help. She and Ben and Mum and Dad set off up the road, calling and peering over fences. Olivia kept shaking the treats, hoping to see a little grey kitten dash eagerly towards her, like he did at home. Half an hour later, they were back outside Rob’s house, and everyone looked rather hopeless. Especially Rob. It seemed as though he’d been crying, and Olivia almost felt sorry for him. “Not a sign,” Dad said, frowning. “And none of the people we asked had spotted him.” “Should we go further? The next street?” Rob’s mum asked doubtfully. “Oh, look!” Mum pointed down the road. “What is it? Can you see him?” Olivia gasped. “Sorry, Olivia. It’s Lucie, down at the end of the road, with her mum.” Lucie came runninng up the road as soon as she spotted Olivia. “We’ll find him,” she promised, seeing her friend’s miserable face and hugging her tightly. “I’m sure we will,” her mum agreed, as they reached the little crowd outside Rob’s house. “There’s lots of us looking now.” Everyone was still discussing where to look next. “He couldn’t still be in your garden, hidden away?” Olivia suggested.

As a mum you never stop worrying about your kids, but I had spent years either saving Amy from disaster or diverting her with the hope that she’d grab an opportunity and run with it, but nothing ever seemed to work. However much time and energy I ploughed into her, Amy wanted more; whatever I gave, it never seemed to be enough. Of course, my mother’s instinct was to carry on rescuing Amy no matter what. Isn’t that what love is? In years to come, my notion of what love is would be tested way beyond that of most parents. In those days, though, I willed myself not to lose faith in her, nor in myself in the process, but I had to accept there was no rulebook made for Amy.

Please,” Mum whimpers quietly. That’s when I realise her plan. The empty shell of my mother wanted me to come tonight. She knew this was the only way to be family again. This cruel world won’t give us our happy ending, but perhaps the promise of the next will. After years of torment, she has a chance to escape. I have to give her that. I’m the only one who can set her free.

Look. I don’t know what the Hell we’re doing. All I know is that a baby just got abandoned by her mum today. That tiny little girl.” He points at Cami. “She’s already lost everything, and she’s a goddamn infant. We have to try to look after her. She deserves someone who will.

Please, Mum, I want that sugary treat with all the preservatives and the cleverly branded packaging and I know I promised I wouldn’t ask for anything but I want it. Please, Tess, I want your delicious-looking cousin and I know I promised to be true to you in good times and bad, in sickness and health, but pleeeease. No. You may not have her. I said no. “We couldn’t work out the right time or the right place,” said Will. “And we both wanted to tell you. We couldn’t—and then we just thought, we couldn’t go any longer without you knowing—so we just . . .” His jaw shifted, turkeylike, in and out, back and forth. “We thought there would never be a good time for a conversation like this.” We. They were a “we.” They’d

But surely, if Fergus had actually spoken to Cooper, he wouldn’t have kept mum on that little detail. Who are you kidding? The man thrived on meddling, especially where his beloved McCrae girls were concerned. That would also explain why he’d so conveniently disappeared once Cooper had taken the floor. And why he hadn’t come back out carrying the shotgun they kept handy in the back. “Uncle Gus” was all she said. He smiled briefly. “I thought that was a better bet than your chief-of-police brother. I’ve already guessed Fergus didn’t tell you about our little conversation.” She shook her head. “How long ago?” “A week. Not so long as all that.” Long enough, she thought, already mentally rehearsing the conversation she’d be having with her uncle the minute she got back to the pub. “We only had the one chat.” “One was apparently all that was needed. What else did he share with you?” She immediately held up her hand. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I’ll have that little chat with him directly.” “He wants you to be happy,” Cooper said. “And he thought encouraging a man I haven’t seen in over a year, a man who was my former employer and nothing more, to hop on a plane and bop on up this side of the equator to see me was what would make me happy?” Cooper’s smile deepened, and that twinkle sparked to life in his eyes again, making them so fiercely blue it caught at her breath. “He might have mentioned that you’d be less than welcoming of a surprise visit. He also said if I had a prayer of your still being here when I arrived, a surprise visit was pretty much my only shot. And how the frosty reception I was sure to receive was simply your automatic defense system, and how I should just ignore all that and ‘press my suit’ anyway, as I believed he called it.” Kerry closed her eyes, willed her short fuse to wink out before it had the chance to get dangerously lit up. Yep, too late. She turned abruptly and moved to go around Cooper, aiming herself back toward the lot where the truck was parked. Cooper’s hand shot out and took hold of her arm, releasing it the moment she stopped and turned to look at him, her balance intact. “His heart was in the right place, Starfish. He warned me. It was my choice to come here and risk it anyway. Don’t go unloading all the frustration you’re feeling about my unexpected arrival, not to mention the unfortunate public spectacle I made of this whole thing, on your poor uncle.

ignore the feeling of gloom that clung to her like a limpet. She'd been looking forward to the summer holidays for weeks, especially after her mum had agreed she could help out at the stables every weekend. Instead she was being sent to her godmother's farm miles away.

But when I went to sit down, I hesitated. The shining silk fabric of my purple dress winked in the sunlight, mocking me. “What’s wrong now?” “I can’t—My dress, it will—I shouldn’t,” I stuttered again, feeling stupid. “No worries.” The boy rose up on his knees as he removed his simple gray coat. He laid it out on the grass across from himself and sat back down, gesturing for me to do the same. “Sit there. I’ve seen my da do that for my mum loads of times.” “Thank you very much.” “What

From Rotting [God will] bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor. ISAIAH 61:3 NIV Sometime in August, after weeks of busy work schedules by day (and sometimes night) and a bathroom tiling project by night (and into the wee morning hours), Mary walked down her front porch steps and took a deep breath. When she looked around, she was shocked to realize how neglected her landscaping was. There were massive broad-leaf weeds taking over the ground. A closer look revealed that the “weeds” were actually pumpkin plants that last year’s rotting pumpkin display had inadvertently provided. She thought about ripping out the vines, since there wasn’t much growing on them yet, but she decided to let what was alive and well continue to grow. Before long, three large, bright orange volunteer pumpkins had pushed past red (now barely visible) mums. Mary started thinking how many things volunteer themselves right into her life—and end up being beautiful additions to her days. God, thank You for taking the rotten things of life and turning them into bountiful blessings. Amen.

I mean, we’re fine and everything. But, you know, things being what they are. And then Granddad saw something on the daytime telly about making your own presents, and I thought that was something that would … you know … really mean something.’ ‘It does, Mum.’ My eyes had filled with tears. ‘I love it. Thank you.’ ‘Granddad picked out some of the pictures,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Will. ‘I love it,’ I said again. The look of utter relief she and Dad exchanged was the saddest thing I have ever seen.

I mean, we’re fine and everything. But, you know, things being what they are. And then Granddad saw something on the daytime telly about making your own presents, and I thought that was something that would … you know really mean something.’ ‘It does, Mum.’ My eyes had filled with tears. ‘I love it. Thank you.’ ‘Granddad picked out some of the pictures,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Will. ‘I love it,’ I said again. The look of utter relief she and Dad exchanged was the saddest thing I have ever seen.

No,” I said, “there isn’t.” After that, getting ready to leave stopped feeling like a big negative chore and began to feel more like a celebration. “Be sure to say thank you to Oscar for that tart,” my mum had said, looking kind of mystified and happy, while Dad had nodded dreamily in the background. “Okay, I will,” I said. Who would’ve guessed that something so specific, so definite, so full of butter and sugar would have been the answer to my fears? It turns out, though, that Oscar’s tart was the solution. Such a simple thing. Oscar said that now that I was committed to the trip, it was going to be better than even he’d predicted. As soon as I arrived, everything was going to be instantly fantastic—I was going to have a wonderful time and it was all going to work out perfectly brilliantly. But along with these new warm feelings, there was something else too. The thing that had been haunting me swelled up inside me again, and I

Will it…will it ever stop hurting?” “Non.” Mum shook her head. “But it will stop mattering

release knot and led Cloud slowly down the ramp and around the back of the house to the stables. As she passed the kitchen window she saw Charlie watching her, a huge grin on his face. Her heart was threatening to burst as she undid the bolts of Chester’s stable. The donkey looked up and hee-hawed loudly when he saw his old friend. Cloud limped straight over and they nuzzled each other affectionately. ‘It’s a bit of a squeeze. Do you think they’ll be OK in there together?’ asked Caroline, who was watching over the stable door. Poppy looked at them and smiled. ‘I think so. He looks pretty settled already, I’d say.’ ‘We’ll get the vet out to have a look at his leg. You do realise it’s going to be a long journey, getting him back to full strength, Poppy? His leg might be so badly damaged you’ll never be able to ride him. And if it does heal it’s been years since Cloud has had anyone on his back. We’ll be starting from scratch,’ said Caroline. Poppy was glad her stepmother was planning to help. It felt right. ‘I know, Mum. All I care about is that he’s safe and he’s here. Anything else will be a bonus.’ Caroline smiled. Cloud Nine lay down, exhausted, in the thick straw, with Chester standing over

Irline crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him, her curiosity quite evident. “A boon?” “Aye, just one boon.” “Tell me what boon it be that ye seek. I’ll no’ say aye or nay until I hear it.” He was quite thankful that she was at least willing to listen. “Let me have just a few moments with Joie, alone, without all the women around.” “Are ye daft?” she asked with a most serious tone. “Aye, I fear so,” he said as he offered her a warm smile. “All I ask is fer a few moments alone with her. I’ll even keep the door open and ye can watch to make certain I do no’ do anythin’ either one of us would be ashamed of.” Irline studied him closely for several long moments, sizing him up, looking for any hint of insincerity or deceit. Finally, she gave a curt nod of her head. “Verra well,” she said. Graeme was so overcome with relief that he scooped her up and hugged her. “Put me down, now, Graeme MacAulay!” she said as she smacked the back of his head. He was still smiling when he carefully set her back on her feet. “Thank ye, Irline, from the bottom of me heart.” “Do no’ thank me yet, Graeme. If yer mum finds out, I’ll lie and tell her ye held us all at sword point.” “’ Tis a risk I be willin’ to take,” he said.

Dad and baby Will. It was fun. ‘I never knew I had such a talented family!’ said Mum.

say your goodbyes, our Ali. Give her a kiss – she’d like that.’ ‘If Mum is in heaven, she knows I should have been with her instead of sitting up the fell. She won’t love me any more.’ Tears began to fall from Alice’s eyes and she started sobbing, grief taking over her small, crumpled body. ‘Yes, she’ll know you were up the fell, but she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. You always were headstrong, Mum knew that. That’s why it’s our job to look after Father. She asked that of us with her dying breath. So, don’t you worry, she loved you for the spirited person that you are – she told me so.’ Alice controlled her sobbing for a brief moment and bent to kiss her mother’s brow. Already the skin was cold and bluish white. The brief contact made her feel sick and her legs turned to jelly. What was she going to do without her mother? She almost dissolved into sobs again, but by holding her breath and blowing her nose she managed to bring her emotions under control. ‘There, our lass, she knows you loved her. Go and brush your hair, then come downstairs and make some supper before Mrs Batty gets here. She’ll want to lay Mum out in the parlour while her husband brings the coffin. Reckon it’ll be down to us to get everything ready – Father doesn’t seem up to it. I’ll see to the parlour while you do us all some bacon and eggs. We’ve not eaten all day, and you know Mother – she wouldn’t have wanted that, now, would she?’ ‘I did love her, our Will.’ Resolving to pull herself together and stop sniffling, Alice placed her hands on her hips and announced: ‘Don’t worry, I will look after everybody as Mother

And he won't come any more?" her mother sighed, with reserved censure. "Oh, I think he will. He couldn't very well come the next night. But he has the habit of coming, and with Mr. Beaton habit is everything—even the habit of thinking he's in love with some one." "Alma," said her mother, "I don't think it's very nice for a girl to let a young man keep coming to see her after she's refused him." "Why not, if it amuses him and doesn't hurt the girl?" "But it does hurt her, Alma. It—it's indelicate. It isn't fair to him; it gives him hopes." "Well, mamma, it hasn't happened in the given case yet. If Mr. Beaton comes again, I won't see him, and you can forbid him the house." "If I could only feel sure, Alma," said her mother, taking up another branch of the inquiry, "that you really knew your own mind, I should be easier about it." "Then you can rest perfectly quiet, mamma. I do know my own mind; and, what's worse, I know Mr. Beaton's mind." "What do you mean?" "I mean that he spoke to me the other night simply because Mr. Fulkerson's engagement had broken him all up." "What expressions!" Mrs. Leighton lamented. "He let it out himself," Alma went on. "And you wouldn't have thought it was very flattering yourself. When I'm made love to, after this, I prefer to be made love to in an off-year, when there isn't another engaged couple anywhere about." "Did you tell him that, Alma?" "Tell him that! What do you mean, mamma? I may be indelicate, but I'm not quite so indelicate as that." "I didn't mean you were indelicate, really, Alma, but I wanted to warn you. I think Mr. Beaton was very much in earnest." "Oh, so did he!" "And you didn't?" "Oh yes, for the time being. I suppose he's very much in earnest with Miss Vance at times, and with Miss Dryfoos at others. Sometimes he's a painter, and sometimes he's an architect, and sometimes he's a sculptor. He has too many gifts—too many tastes." "And if Miss Vance and Miss Dryfoos—" "Oh, do say Sculpture and Architecture, mamma! It's getting so dreadfully personal!" "Alma, you know that I only wish to get at your real feeling in the matter." "And you know that I don't want to let you—especially when I haven't got any real feeling in the matter. But I should think—speaking in the abstract entirely—that if either of those arts was ever going to be in earnest about him, it would want his exclusive devotion for a week at least." "I didn't know," said Mrs. Leighton, "that he was doing anything now at the others. I thought he was entirely taken up with his work on 'Every Other Week.'" "Oh, he is! he is!" "And you certainly can't say, my dear, that he hasn't been very kind—very useful to you, in that matter." "And so I ought to have said yes out of gratitude? Thank you, mamma! I didn't know you held me so cheap." "You know whether I hold you cheap or not, Alma. I don't want you to cheapen yourself. I don't want you to trifle with any one. I want you to be honest with yourself." "Well, come now, mamma! Suppose you begin. I've been perfectly honest with myself, and I've been honest with Mr. Beaton. I don't care for him, and I've told him I didn't; so he may be supposed to know it. If he comes here after this, he'll come as a plain, unostentatious friend of the family, and it's for you to say whether he shall come in that capacity or not. I hope you won't trifle with him, and let him get the notion that he's coming on any other basis." Mrs. Leighton felt the comfort of the critical attitude far too keenly to abandon it for anything constructive. She only said, "You know very well, Alma, that's a matter I can have nothing to do with." "Then you leave him entirely to me?" "I hope you will regard his right to candid and open treatment." "He's had nothing but the most open and candid treatment from me, mamma. It's you that wants to play fast and loose with him. And, to tell you the truth, I believe he would like that a good deal better.

Why, Alma," whispered the mother, "who in the world can it be at this time of night? You don't suppose he—" "Well, I'm not going to the door, anyhow, mother, I don't care who it is; and, of course, he wouldn't be such a goose as to come at this hour." She put on a look of miserable trepidation, and shrank back from the door, while the hum of the bell died away, in the hall. "What shall we do?" asked Mrs. Leighton, helplessly. "Let him go away—whoever they are," said Alma. Another and more peremptory ring forbade them refuge in this simple expedient. "Oh, dear! what shall we do? Perhaps it's a despatch." The conjecture moved Alma to no more than a rigid stare. "I shall not go," she said. A third ring more insistent than the others followed, and she said: "You go ahead, mamma, and I'll come behind to scream if it's anybody. We can look through the side-lights at the door first." Mrs. Leighton fearfully led the way from the back chamber where they bad been sitting, and slowly descended the stairs. Alma came behind and turned up the hall gas-jet with a sudden flash that made them both jump a little. The gas inside rendered it more difficult to tell who was on the threshold, but Mrs. Leighton decided from a timorous peep through the scrims that it was a lady and gentleman. Something in this distribution of sex emboldened her; she took her life in her hand, and opened the door. The lady spoke. "Does Mrs. Leighton live heah?" she said, in a rich, throaty voice; and she feigned a reference to the agent's permit she held in her hand. "Yes," said Mrs. Leighton; she mechanically occupied the doorway, while Alma already quivered behind her with impatience of her impoliteness. "Oh," said the lady, who began to appear more and more a young lady, "Ah didn't know but Ah had mistaken the hoase. Ah suppose it's rather late to see the apawtments, and Ah most ask you to pawdon us." She put this tentatively, with a delicately growing recognition of Mrs. Leighton as the lady of the house, and a humorous intelligence of the situation in the glance she threw Alma over her mother's shoulder. "Ah'm afraid we most have frightened you." "Oh, not at all," said Alma; and at the same time her mother said, "Will you walk in, please?

Then I stood up and we all stood staring at each other, wondering what to do next. ‘Mum’ll be all right, won’t she?’ I said. ‘Of course she will. She’s used to having babies. She’s had enough practice, after all,’ said Jude. ‘But she said it was coming too quickly.’ ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ said Rochelle. She started sniggering again. ‘Imagine if it comes before she gets to hospital! How will old Bruce cope?’ ‘I hope she doesn’t hook up with him, he’s such a creep,’ said Jude. ‘I like him,’ I said. ‘He looks like a frog,’ said Rochelle. She pulled a stupid froggy face that was nothing like my Uncle Bruce. ‘He talks like a frog too, all croaky.

Here's the truth my mother won't speak: if I hadn't known what I wanted, and worked out how to get it, I wouldn't have got anywhere. I had to learn how to get my way. Because my mother wasn't going to be any bloody help. I look at her, in her frothy black chiffon - like a negative of a wedding gown - and her glittering earrings, holding her sparkling glass of champagne, and I think: You don't get this. This isn't your moment. You didn't create it. I created it in spite of you. I grip the edge of the table with one hand, hard, anchoring myself. With the other I pick up my glass of champagne and take a long swig. 'Say you're proud of me', I think. And it will just about make everything all right. 'Say it, and I'll forgive you.' "This might sound a little immodest," Mum says, touching her breastbone. "But I have to say that I'm proud of myself, for having brought up such a strong-willed, independent daughter." And she does a little bow, as though to an adoring audience. Everyone claps dutifully as she sits down. I'm trembling with anger. I look at the champagne flute in my hand. I imagine, for one delicious, delirious second, smashing it against the table, bringing everything to a halt. I take a deep breath. And instead I rise to make my own toast. I will be gracious, grateful, affectionate.

As a mum you never stop worrying about your kids, but I had spent years either saving Amy from disaster or diverting her with the hope that she’d grab an opportunity and run with it, but nothing ever seemed to work. However much time and energy I ploughed into her, Amy wanted more; whatever I gave, it never seemed to be enough. Of course, my mother’s instinct was to carry on rescuing Amy no matter what. Isn’t that what love is? In years to come, my notion of what love is would be tested way beyond that of most parents. In those days, though, I willed myself not to lose faith in her, nor in myself in the porcee, but I had to accept there was no rulebook made for Amy.

My stroppy, strong-willed daughter who’d only ever called me Helen had finally called me Mum.

I know we have to talk.” He swallows and looks toward his mum and our dad. “But can you wait?” I can. I have. I always will.

Let me guess: he’s pouring his heart out onto the page, claiming how inadequate he feels because what he truly craves is affirmation from you. And he probably threw something in there about his family: a mum or his sister or his nan. Because he knows you’ll melt at the thought of the other women in his life, the ones who have shaped him. And if he knows you well enough … then he’ll mention something about books or newspaper articles, because surely by now he knows your writing is exquisite, and above all he knows that he doesn’t deserve you and your words and he never will.