Chapter 23
Her mother’s voice drifted out to Susan. Peels of laughter followed, ringing, echoing through the house. Reassured, Susan picked up her skirt again and resumed pinning the hem. Mrs McPherson made her mother happy, her face expanding into mirth; it was she, Susan, who caused such misery and it was her fault, her doing that had made her parents argue, fight, made her mother cry and her father keep his face closed, tight shut. But she missed her father, wanted to wrap her arms round him, feel his stubble graze against her cheek, smell the sleep in him as he ruffled her hair in the mornings. And now, she did not care about the woman who was with him on that day, or about Emma of the letter she had found. Most of all she wanted to go back to the day she saw his car parked on the roa
