Sarah Lean - 3 Book Collection. Sarah Lean
Читать онлайн.| Название | Sarah Lean - 3 Book Collection |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Sarah Lean |
| Жанр | Природа и животные |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Природа и животные |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9780007562046 |
Table of Contents
Praise for Sarah Lean’s stories
Sarah Lean 3 Book Collection
Sarah Lean
For Dad
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgments
MY NAME IS CALLY LOUISE FISHER AND I haven’t spoken for thirty-one days. Talking doesn’t always make things happen, however much you want it to. Think of rain; it just happens when it happens. When the clouds are ready, when they’re full, they drop the water. It’s not magic; it’s just putting something back where it belongs.
And this is how it all began.
1.
DAD’S BIRTHDAY, AND I GOT UP BEFORE ANYONE.
He just wanted a quiet day. No presents, no cake, no nothing. It just wouldn’t be right, he said. People forget birthdays aren’t just about them.
Dad’s birthday is also the same day my mum died last year. I think it’s called a tragedy or a catastrophe or some other big word which means more than just ‘bad luck’ when two things like that happen on the same day.
I sat outside Dad’s bedroom door with his birthday cards, waiting. Through the gap in the doorway I could just make out the dark hump under the covers and his dark head making a deep dent in his pillow. He sighed, so I knew he was awake.
There were six birthday cards for Dad. One from me, one from my older brother Luke (still in bed or on his computer – the door was shut) and four that had come in the post. I nudged Dad’s bedroom door open a bit wider and flung my card in. I saw Dad patting round the bed, feeling for the blue envelope that landed by his back, and heard it crunch as he opened it. It was a picture of a grey bear with a blue nose. It was speaking on the telephone and on the front it said A Message From Me To You.
Dad said, “Thanks, that’s nice.”
And I said, “Are you thinking about Mum?”
Silence.
And then he said, “Get me a cup of coffee, will you?”
It didn’t feel like a birthday at all, not even with the cards on top of the telly. Dad had the volume turned low while we sat around waiting for the rest of our family to arrive and come with us to visit Mum’s grave for her anniversary.
2.
GRANDPA AND GRANDMA HAMBLIN PICKED US up and drove slowly to the cemetery. We met Granddad Fisher and Aunty Sue and walked together along paths of tidy grass and loving memories.
We made a circle, stood still as statues, not talking about her because Dad says it’s too hard to talk about her. We stared at the cold, grey stone marked with her name. Louise Fisher. The same as my middle name.
And I thought about her, up there, somewhere. Not here. And because she was so far away I missed her like crazy and I wondered if I should have had some breakfast because my belly hurt like mad.
And then there she was. I saw my mum. And I know what you’re thinking – you can’t really see dead people. But I did. She was standing on the wall of the cemetery, wearing her red raincoat and waxy green hat. And I wasn’t scared. Why would I be scared of my own mum?
She put her arms out to balance, swaying as she walked along the wall. Just like she always was, doing something that made you want to laugh or do it too. She wobbled along, until she was as close as she could get to us without jumping down. She pushed her hat flat on her head. She looked at me and smiled, just like she did when she saw me sing in the school musical of Charlotte’s Web. Like you’re everything.
Grandma had a bunch of sweet peas wrapped in silver foil.
“Be a good girl and put the flowers in the vase,” she said, holding them out. Her tissue fell out of her sleeve and floated to the ground.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”