Finding Lucy: A suspenseful and moving novel that you won't be able to put down. Diana Finley
but also at least one or two grandparents – many of my friends had a complete set of four. I didn’t have any. There was just me and Mummy. Her own mother had died when I was so little that I had no memories of her at all, though Mummy did often show me photos of her. There was a photo of her in a frame on the mantelpiece in the sitting room, and Mummy kept another one on her bedside table. My grandmother didn’t have a husband, and she’d adopted Mummy when she was a baby. So they were just a mother–daughter unit, like us. I know Mummy loved her very much. She sometimes talked about how much she missed her. She always called her “Mother”.
From what I saw of my friends’ families, grandparents seemed like a really good thing. They adored their grandchildren and indulged them. They often took care of them if they lived near and were always happy to take them on trips, read stories to them and play games with them. They were generally very proud of their grandchildren’s every little achievement, and often seemed to be generous with presents, treats and even money too. I thought how wonderful it would be to have grandparents – not for the money or presents, but just because sometimes I longed to have another grown-up in my life to talk to, someone who really loved me and was proud of me.
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