Mothers and Daughters Read Online Free Page A

she wiped some drool from her chin and quickly checked to see if anyone had noticed, but Fiona was still asleep and Caro’s seat was empty.
    How strange to dream of her old job like that, she thought. She supposed it must have been because she’d mentioned Edinburgh earlier, to Caro, but it had seemed so real. She closed her eyes again, clutching at the fading remnants . . . she could almost see herself hurrying across the Meadows, awash with students and tourists; feel the Castle, ever-present, hovering over her above the trees; see the grey stone of the Royal Infirmary looming ahead, the man who sold coffee in the old police booth out the front nodding to her as she came past. Only, the Royal Infirmary was gone, she remembered, fully awake now, torn down to make way for boutique apartments, the doctors and nurses and other allied health workers like herself moved to a soulless new building out in Little France. She’d almost been pleased when she’d heard that, a few years after she’d moved to Australia. She missed Edinburgh, missed it keenly, and the Royal Infirmary was one less thing to mourn. Still, it was almost impossible to imagine it gone, it had been such an important part of her life—with her work, of course, as deputy head of the occupational therapy department, but even more so when she was pregnant with the twins. She’d first seen Finn and Callum at her twelve-week scan on a tiny black and white screen in the obstetrics department in the basement of the hospital; she’d given birth to them on an August evening three floors up in the Simpson Pavilion. Pavilion , she thought, smiling. Such an odd name for a maternity ward, as if the occupants were playing cricket, not moaning through labour. And moaned she had, though hardly anyone had heard her. It was the last night of the Festival, with the fireworks from the Princes Street Gardens going off so loudly outside the window that at the first barrage the midwife had sworn and dropped her stethoscope.
    Caro reappeared in the aisle. Morag pulled in her knees so that her friend could get back to her seat in the centre of the row. White pants, she thought as Caro squeezed past, her bottom inches from Morag’s face. Linen, just to top it off. Only Caro could get away with that—almost five hours of travel, drinks, a meal, and they were still spotless. Morag glanced down at her own navy-blue tracksuit, feeling vaguely embarrassed. Some women had the knack of wearing the right thing at the right time. She didn’t.
    ‘We’ve started our descent,’ Caro said. ‘Did you hear the pilot? You were asleep. I thought I’d fix my make-up before we arrive.’
    ‘Won’t it just melt as soon as we’re out of the plane?’ Morag asked, then added, ‘That’s a pretty lipstick,’ so she didn’t sound like a bitch, and because the soft coral colour really did look good against Caro’s creamy skin.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Caro. ‘Janey picked it out actually, a few weeks ago, when we were shopping. I think she only wanted me to get it so she could borrow it, but at least we’ve got the same colouring.’ Fiona stirred slightly in her seat against the window. ‘Do you ever do that with Macy? Go shopping, I mean.’
    Morag snorted. ‘Not a chance. As far as Macy’s concerned, I’m just there to provide meals and drive her to rehearsals. Besides, the only lipstick she ever wears is black.’ Her stepdaughter was going through a goth phase. That was how she’d reassured Andrew when Macy had started dyeing her hair and had her nose pierced, though in reality it was well over a year now. Was that still a phase, or had she turned professional?
    ‘God, how depressing,’ said Caro. ‘I don’t know how Janice puts up with it. And you too,’ she amended, ‘but that’s different, isn’t it? At least you can always tell people she isn’t yours.’
    The sentiment was a bit harsh, but Caro was right, Morag thought. It was different. She liked Macy, and would never