Cathy Sharp

A Daughter’s Choice


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       Copyright

       Harper

      An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      The News Building

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published as ‘Kathy’ in Great Britain by Severn House Large Print 2003

      Copyright © Linda Sole

      Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

      Cover photographs © Richard Jenkins (girl); Shutterstock.com (background).

      Linda Sole asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780008168612

      Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9780008168629

      Version: 2016-12-08

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Keep Reading …

       About the Author

       Also by Cathy Sharp

       About the Publisher

       One

      ‘How is your grandmother today, Kathy?’ Bridget Robin son called to me as I was leaving the shop at the corner of Farthing Lane and had paused to greet her. ‘I heard she wasn’t well.’

      ‘She seems better again now. The doctor thinks it was just a chill, but he says she should take things easier.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad she’s getting over it, whatever it was. I’ll pop in and see her later if I can manage it.’

      ‘She would enjoy that …’ I hesitated, then went on in a rush: ‘Gran often talks about you, Bridget. She says things would have been different if Da had married you.’

      Bridget gave me an understanding smile and I knew she must have heard the latest tale about my father, but she wouldn’t embarrass me by mentioning it. Bridget’s husband Joe was a rich man these days and owned most of the property in the lane, including the small general store we all used at the corner. Some people were a bit jealous of his success, but most agreed that he was generous in his support of local people, and everyone liked Bridget.

      ‘She’s just the same as she always was,’ Gran had told me more than once. ‘Ernie Cole was a fool, that’s what I say. He had his chance with her and threw it away – that’s your father all over. Never knows what’s good for him. I warned him when he married that woman – but he wouldn’t listen to me and look what it got him! He’s never been the same since.’

      Why did Gran dislike my mother so much? What had she done that caused both Gran and my father to scowl if I mentioned her name?

      I often wondered why my mother had run away soon after I was born, but when I asked questions about her Gran shook her head.

      ‘Best you don’t know child. It wasn’t your fault – and you’ve been a blessin’ to me.’

      Jean Cole had been as good as a mother to me, loving me and making sure that I never went without anything if she could help it, though I suspected she sometimes had help with money from a source she wouldn’t reveal.

      A Londoner through and through, she had lived in the same house since marrying at the age of seventeen, moving only three houses when she left her home to start her married life. Our lane was just across from the St Katherine’s Docks, which were now a part of the larger London Docks, but when they were first built almost a whole parish, including the old hospital of St. Katherine’s, had been pulled down to make way for them.

      ‘Well, I must get on,’ Bridget said, her voice breaking into my thoughts. ‘Our Tom is coming for a meal this evening. He’s a doctor with the Army, you know, but they didn’t send him to France with the troops because of that bit of bother he had when he was a lad. Not that it troubles him now. In fact, he thinks he may never have had consumption at all, just an infection of the lungs. He knows all about that sort of thing now, our Tom – and he says the doctors made a lot of mistakes in the early days.’

      ‘You’ll be glad to see your brother, I expect.’

      ‘Yes, I shall. Tom is busy so we don’t