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now, her wildly curling hair like an aureole of white about her head as she busied herself about the house and yard, always seeming to be in a tearing hurry, setting off on some new scheme or other, never still for a moment. She felt an increasing curiosity to discover more about her. What had happened to her as an evacuee? How, exactly, had she come to Lane End Farm? And how had a girl from the slums of Salford come to own such a fine house?
    And what had caused her to deprive Laura’s father of his heritage? It was a situation which filled Laura with guilt, although she’d no wish to hand it back. Losing the house was the last thing she wanted, for hadn’t she always loved it, even as a child?
    It was tragic really that whatever had caused their quarrel in the first place, Gran and Dad never had properly made up. Both too stubborn and hot tempered, Laura supposed, and determined always to be right. He never even spoke of his own father who had died when he was about seventeen, the year after he’d left home to join the navy, so it would appear that memories of him were painful too. How very sad!
    What was at the root of it all? she wondered. Following the enforced estrangement, Laura had begun visiting her grandmother again during her years at university, the moment she was free of the restrictions placed upon her by her father, Robert. Sadly, these visits had lapsed somewhat, during her marriage to Felix. Laura felt guilty about that too. Yet despite the enforced absences between visits, she and Daisy had remained close.
    Which was more than could be said about Laura’s own relationship with Robert. That too had always been difficult, particularly since the death of her mother. Twelve was a difficult age for a girl to lose a mother, and father and daughter had spent much of her teenage years at odds.  
    Even the question of her education had been a source of conflict between them. Robert had actively prevented her from attending a cordon bleu course in Paris by telling her that there were no places left, when, in fact, he’d never made any attempt to book her one. He’d secured her a job in a bank instead and, naively, Laura had believed his story. It had been Felix who had laughingly told her the truth, years later. The only thing she had ever done which her father had approved of was to marry Felix, whom he’d considered to be quite a catch.
    She glared at the phone, willing it to ring. Why did he never call her? There were times when Laura believed that if she didn’t take the trouble to ring, she might never hear from her father ever again. Why didn’t he ring to apologise for missing the funeral, or at least ask how it went, how she’d coped with it? Right now, she could do with some support. Every time she rang him, she hoped that he’d break a lifetime's habit and offer some.  
    With a sigh, Laura picked up the phone. Nothing would be gained by allowing pride to stand in the way, as had evidently happened between Robert and Daisy. She certainly had no intention of treating her father with the same kind of cavalier neglect that he had used upon his own parent. That wouldn’t improve matters one bit. ‘Hi Dad, it’s me. Laura.’
    ‘Of course it must be you, Laura, who else would call me by that infernal name?’
    Her heart sank. Clearly in one of his moods again. She felt her hand tighten on the receiver, even as she tried to put a smile into her voice. She’d discovered long since that reacting to his black humour only made matters worse, yet conversation between them was always difficult at the best of times. ‘I just thought I’d ring to see how you were.’
    ‘How do you think I am? I’m not quite senile yet, you know.’
    Oh, definitely on good form. ‘So, you’re quite well. Good.’
    ‘Last time I looked I was still alive. Hail and hearty in fact.’
    ‘Excellent. I began to worry you might be ill.’
      ‘If this is a criticism about my not turning up to that dratted funeral, you