Page 52 of Winter Magic on Railway Lane

Libby gave a start at his words. Was it true?

‘I’ve researched the subject since then and, believe me, I am right,’ he carried on. ‘Second, I don’t know where you get the idea that you’re a terrible daughter.’

Libby rolled her eyes. ‘Have you conveniently forgotten how lazy I was at school, messing about and too busy rebelling to get any kind of qualifications?’

‘All I know is that you’ve had a fire inside of you since the day you were born,’ he replied. ‘Qualifications aren’t everything.’

Libby was shocked. ‘But you always said that they were,’ she reminded him. ‘That education was the be-all and end-all.’

‘May I add a small amendment to my original statement?’ he asked, with a sad smile. ‘Education is necessary and hopefully a good grounding for adult life. But some things are more important. Kindness. Generosity of heart. Vitality of spirit. All ofwhich you have in abundance, my dear daughter.’ He hesitated before carrying on. ‘If I have given you cause to think that I’m not proud of you, then let me state my feelings once and for all. You’ve worked so hard to keep a roof over our heads, taking endless plane journeys at all hours of the day and night. I am very proud to call you my daughter.’

Libby couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. ‘But, Dad, I’ve made such a mess,’ she said, with a sob. ‘I lost my job and now I can’t even use Ethan’s kitchen. I won’t reach my deadline and we won’t get paid!’

‘Don’t worry about that now,’ he told her, squeezing her hand. ‘By the way, you lied to me about where you’ve been. You didn’t tell me that you were making chocolate.’

Her shoulders sagged. ‘I didn’t want to upset you. It was something that Mum always did.’

‘I know and I had no idea that you’ve inherited her talent,’ her dad replied. ‘I wish you’d have told me.’

Libby sighed. She really had made an awful lot of bad decisions lately, she realised.

‘And I just wanted to say…’ His voice drifted off and he frowned to himself.

Figuring that he had lost his train of thought, she said, ‘It doesn’t matter, Dad. It’s late.’

He looked at her with a fierceness in his eyes. ‘It matters very much and I need to say this. Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me all these years.’

She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘I would never have left you,’ she told him. ‘Ever.’

‘I know.’ His eyes softened. ‘Anyway, I’ve spoken to both Ethan and Katy tonight,’ her dad carried on. ‘You’re not alone. You never were, although you obviously felt that you might be. And that’s all on me. My fault. My error. And I’m so very sorry for it. But from tonight, that changes. We both need tostart asking for help. Reaching out to people. To stop closing ourselves off from the world. Because it’s not done either of us any good, has it?’

Libby couldn’t speak and so merely shook her head and closed her eyes as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

She suddenly felt herself being pulled gently forward and found herself held against her dad’s chest, his one good arm stretching out around her and patting her on the back.

‘There, there, my dear darling Elizabeth,’ she heard him say. ‘Everything’s going to be different now. Everything’s going to be okay.’

She sighed with something akin to relief as she tried to take in what he was telling her. Perhaps it really was a new beginning for the both of them.

He gently released her and she sank back against the pillows. ‘Now, doctor’s orders were that you rest, so try to get a good night’s sleep.’ He stood up and gave her a sad smile as he looked down at her. ‘By the way, when you’re better, I’d like to taste some of that chocolate of yours.’

‘You would?’ she murmured.

‘Of course,’ he told her. There was a short pause before he added, ‘I love you.’

Libby gulped away more tears at the words so rarely spoken between them.

‘I love you too, Dad,’ she said, her voice croaky from emotion as well as the smoke.

He reached out to give her hand another squeeze before he headed over to the door. ‘We’ll keep this open tonight because I want to keep an eye on you.’

She felt like a little girl but, for once, was grateful not to have to be the strong one, to let someone else take charge.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, her eyelids grew heavy. ‘Goodnight, Dad,’ she murmured, snuggling down under the covers.

‘Goodnight, my dear,’ she heard him say, before sleep pulled her into its arms.

Her dad stood watching her for a very long time until he was certain that she was peaceful and asleep before he quietly left the bedroom.