Free Forget Me Knot by Sue Margolis Page B

shrugged. Abby knew—because they told her—that they hated being met by the au pair when they got back from school.
    As Abby got older, she began to understand the inadequacy her mother was feeling and needed to reassure her. Time and again she would hug Jean and tell her she was the best mother in the whole wide world. “You’re always waiting for me when I get home. You always come to assemblies and plays and you make real food for tea, not fish fingers.”
    Jean would return the hug and thank Abby for being so appreciative, but there was always this faraway look on Jean’s face. It was as if part of her was aching to climb to the top diving board and jump off but the rest of her was petrified that she might not surface again.
    Abby lay on her side, phone pressed to her ear. “No, Mum, of course you’re not disturbing me,” she said kindly, “and even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. Actually, I’m still in bed.”
    “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
    “Yes, but you did me a favor,” she said, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was nearly nine. “Somehow I managed to sleep through my alarm.” She decided not tomention the elevator incident. Jean would only get into a flap and suggest that Abby may have sustained some as yet asymptomatic injury and insist she go to the hospital to get herself checked out.
    “So, Mum, why are you calling? Is everything OK?”
    “Oh, yes, fine. Bit choppy through the Drake Passage last night. Your dad threw up most of his boeuf en daube and half a bottle of chardonnay. And the lavatory situation is still a bit iffy. All the cabins seem to be affected. The gangways were awash with smelly water this morning, so it was quite literally all hands on deck with buckets and disinfectant. Still, mustn’t grumble. We’re managing to keep our chins up. As they say, worse things happen at sea.”
    “But you are at sea.”
    “Oh, dear,” Jean giggled, “so we are.”
    “Mum, I’m really worried about what’s happening. I mean, you could get really ill if this leaking sewage thing isn’t fixed.”
    “Please stop worrying. Everything’s under control. Dad and I have gotten rather pally with this solicitor chappy— lovely wife, very elegant, image of the Duchess of Kent, owns an artsy-crafty gift ship in Brockenhurst. … Anyway, Gerald—that’s the solicitor—suggested we get up a petition to present to the captain.”
    “Saying what—that if he doesn’t get the problem fixed, you will be forced to instruct counsel and, in the fullness of time, pursue a claim for damages in the county court? That’s bound to have him quaking in his boots. Mum, something needs to be done right away. This is serious.”
    “We all know that, so the passengers are pulling together. In fact, there’s a real camaraderie built up. You know, Dunkirk spirit and all that. We’re pooling our baby wipesand bottles of Dettol. Now, the reason I rang was to remind you that it’s your aunty Gwen’s birthday the day after tomorrow, and I thought you might like to send her a card and a nice Il Divo CD. Or you could get her a sweater or a bottle of that Body Shop white musk scent she likes.”
    Abby had completely forgotten her aunt’s birthday. She said she would pop out at lunchtime and buy a card and present.
    “Look, Mum, I have to go. It’s past nine and I need to go downstairs and open the shop. But please promise me you’ll get this problem sorted. You and Dad need to take some direct action for once and stand up for yourselves.”
    “We will, dear. Now stop fussing—ooh, before you go. Aren’t you meant to be having dinner with Lady Penelope this week?”
    “Actually, it was last night.”
    “How did it go? I bet she was lovely. Is she very beautiful? I’ve always imagined her as very elegant and chic, with a perfect figure—a bit like Princess Grace of Monaco.”
    “Well, she’s certainly got a figure,” Abby said, grinning to herself.
    “And she’s