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She takes another sip from her cup. “I do wish you’d buy proper tea for my visits.”
“Right.”
“Fiona.”
I wrap my arms around my middle and nod. This must be important since she’s using my name.
“I had to leave you.”
“I know.” My throat is dry and achy. I stare at the ruby-red color of my wine.
“I wasn’t good for you. I wasn’t. You needed a home. You’re not like me. Even at six you wanted to stay put and settle in. Every time we moved to a new place you cried. It broke my heart. But I couldn’t give you what you needed. Not me. But your dad could. He could give you a home. A brother. School. Stability.”
“I know, Mum. I understand.”
“It’s only ...” She reaches for me, touches my hand. “You were the one thing I’ve always regretted leaving behind. I wish ...”
Mum stops, pulling her hand from mine.
“It’s fine, Mum. You were right. I love it here. I loved Dad. And Daniel. I have Abry now. My life. My daughter. I wouldn’t have all that if not for you. You made the right choice.”
“Did I?”
I lift a shoulder.
“Seeing you, I’m not sure I did.”
“Mum. I’m happy.”
“What about your dreams? You used to dream as a little girl.”
I look away from her. I remember those dreams. A decade ago I thought I’d found them. I hadn’t, so I let them die the death they should have done a long time ago.
“I can tell, you know. I can tell you don’t have dreams anymore. I worry I’m the reason you don’t.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be conceited. I’m the reason I don’t.”
She smiles at that.
Then she pulls a small gift wrapped in brown paper from the pocket of her dress. “I brought you a birthday gift.”
“It’s not my birthday.”
“Summer solstice gift then.”
I let out a huff of air. My mum presses the rectangular box into my hands. The wrapping is thick butcher paper and the box is tied with twine. The paper is torn and stained and looks as if it’s been shoved under the front seat of her Vauxhall for a few years.
I smile. “Thank you.”
The rough twine slips through my fingers and the paper crumples free, revealing a long wooden box. I’m intrigued.
I look back at my mum. The wood is warm in my hands and heavy. “What is it?”
She flashes a bright smile. “Open it.”
I fold up the little gold latch and lift the lid of the box. The scent of musty velvet and dry wood fans toward me. Light catches on the object inside and I suck in a shocked breath.
“Where did you get this?”
