Читать книгу The Many Colours of Us: The perfect heart-warming debut about love and family - Rachel Burton, Rachel Burton - Страница 18

6th June 1993

My dearest daughter,

Now you are ten! My baby girl already a decade old.

We haven’t met again since your third birthday; we haven’t danced under the stars, or listened to the Beatles together since then. But every time I hear Penny Lane I think of you, every time I see the stars in the sky, I think of you. Oh, who am I kidding! I think of my daughter every day.

Other than not getting to see you, the last few years have been good to me. I’m still clean as a whistle, other than the ‘cancer sticks’ as your Uncle Frank likes to call my nicotine habit. Being sober has made me so much more productive in my work. For the first time in my life, I’m making money from my paintings and my last two exhibitions have been very lucrative. My agent loves me, as you can imagine!

I decided to use some of this money to help you and your mother out. Maybe by the time you read these letters, which sit in a box in a drawer by my bed, you’ll already know this, but your mother isn’t very good with money. She earned a lot back in the 70s. She was beautiful and she worked hard for it, but when the work dried up and she was no longer getting modelling contracts she carried on living as though she was.

I found out recently that she’d been remortgaging the Campden Hill Road house for years. To the point where it looked like she would have to sell it. So I have bought the house! Just like that! I can hardly believe I’m able to do such a thing. Frank says I’m getting ideas above my station. He says it in a thick Yorkshire accent like our father’s so I know he’s joking.

One day I hope I can tell you about our father, about my family, well your family as well of course. I’d like to take you up to Yorkshire and show you where I came from.

Anyway, back to the house. I bought it and put it in trust for you. Your mother gets to live there as long as she likes, but she can’t sell it or move you on without my permission and when I’ve gone it’s all yours.

Maybe your mother will let me see you from time to time, maybe she won’t. I know she is still angry with me and can’t bear to see me. Please always know that the problem is between me and your mother, not between me and you.

I always hear about what you’ve been up to through Frank who still sees you and your mother from time to time. You’re growing tall I hear, just like your mum. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.

Happy Birthday, Princess.

I love you.

Your Father