Free Forget Me Knot by Sue Margolis Page A

Perhaps I should think about getting a blood test or something.”
    “OK. Sounds like a good idea. So, you promise you’ll do that?”
    “Promise.”
    For several minutes, they didn’t say very much. As they hit Euston Road, Abby noticed a billboard for The Producers . There were zany line drawings of the three main characters: Max Bialystock, Leo Bloom and a vampy blonde called Ulla.
    Abby started to giggle quietly to herself as she remembered the poster in the elevator advertising The Producers andrealized that the names had clearly been Dan’s inspiration for the Bialystock joint, the Bloom overload breaker and the Ulla oscillator.
    “What’s so funny?” Toby asked.
    “Oh, nothing. Just something on a poster I found amusing. It’s not important.”

AFTER A SHOWER AND a mug of warm milk, Abby went to bed and slept so deeply that she didn’t hear her alarm the next morning. At a quarter to nine, her mobile finally woke her. Still drowsy, she reached out from under the duvet and fumbled for the phone, which she’d left charging on the bedside table. She assumed it was Toby phoning to check that she’d slept and was suffering no aftereffects from the elevator fiasco.
    “Helloo?… Abby?… Mum here,” Jean boomed, as if she were on a walkie-talkie in a war zone. Abby felt a momentary pang of disappointment when she realized it was her mother calling rather than Toby. “I’m… on… the… ship’s satellite phone. Can… you… hear… me?”
    “Loud and clear.” Abby winced, moving the phone away from her ear. “There’s no need to shout.”
    “Sorry, dear.” Jean lowered her voice. “This any better?”
    “Much.”
    “I’m not dragging you away from something important, am I?” This was how Jean began most of her phone calls to Abby. From the moment Fabulous Flowers took off, sheseemed to develop an image of Abby as this wheeler-dealer, hotshot businesswoman who led such a high-octane existence that she couldn’t be disturbed—even by her own mother.
    If there was one thing Abby wished she could change about her mother, it was her lack of self-esteem. Jean had been brought up in a strict, God-fearing family with a sweet but weak mother and a thunderous, table-banging, lay-preacher father who would frequently address his wife and small children on eternal damnation and the fires of hell that awaited sinners and nonbelievers. Grandpa Enoch had died years ago—when Abby was a baby—but the fear he had instilled in Jean, although much diminished, hadn’t gone away entirely. She still couldn’t have her highlights done without feeling she was a harlot. The other legacy that Enoch had left his daughter was her inability to confront or challenge others.
    It was no surprise to Abby that Jean had married the gentle Hugh. They had met at work. Hugh worked for the local council, in the planning department, inspecting house extensions. Jean was a typist in the same department. Unlike Enoch, Hugh was soft-spoken and kind. When it came to Jean, he was her most ardent supporter and admirer. They never went out without him telling her how lovely she looked. They never sat down to a meal she’d cooked without him telling her how tasty it was.
    Hugh was also an agnostic—although he took care never to mention this to his father-in-law.
    Once Abby had started school, Hugh encouraged Jean to take a part-time job—not because they needed the money, but because he thought it would help build her self-confidence. Jean never did. Having been at home for sixyears, what little confidence she’d acquired when she worked for the council was gone.
    Abby remembered classmates coming to tea after school. A few of these girls had mothers who went out to work. Some were professional women—lawyers, doctors, teachers.
    Jean would serve up her homemade shepherd’s pie and make wistful comments like: “You must be so proud of your mum” or “I bet you want to grow up to be just like her.”
    Usually the children