It had taken a week of solid work – every evening after dinner – but it was finally done. It was beautiful. A proper display cupboard for the Collectors’ Edition dolls she’d been buying for years. She’d already had the cupboard, a lovely glass-fronted antique. It had just needed some decoration, to put each of the dolls into a suitable setting.
All Emma had to do was arrange the dolls and it would be ready for Vivienne’s homecoming. It was hard to believe her little girl had been away from home for a whole school year already. She hadn’t even come home for Christmas. They’d collected her from school and whisked her off to a proper snowy festive season in Switzerland.
There had been a few tears when Vivienne had realised she wasn’t going to see Lucy or Greta, or any of those other local girls she used to be friends with. But after she had forced a Christmas promise from her father that she’d be allowed to come home for the whole of the summer break, she’d taken to the slopes with joy and enthusiasm.
And really, she didn’t mean the whole ‘all summer’ thing. She’d be bored silly within two weeks and then Emma could spoil her with the surprise trip to the Bahamas she’d booked.
She could just imagine her daughter’s delighted squeal.
Two days later, Vivienne was home, and things weren’t going to plan.
First. “I’m Vivi, not Vivienne. Get it right, Mum.”
Then, she’d already been in touch with all those local girls and had arranged visits, and sleep-overs and outings without so much as consulting Emma. And when she protested, it was. “Well you don’t want them here, you said so. Which means I’m going to them. Dad knows about it.”
Dad would have some explaining to do when he got home from his business trip to Shanghai.
And worst of all, when Vivienne (she refused to shorten the name she’d so carefully chosen for her baby) had walked into her room and seen the beautiful doll display, she’d screwed up her face. “What’s that?”
“It’s your collectable dolls, darling. I made a proper home for them.”
“Why do I have to have the ugly things in my room? You’re the one who wanted them. Where’s my computer desk?”
Really, how could she be so ungrateful?
Emma had breathed through her nose and replied. “It’s a display cabinet darling. Like I have for the Royal Doulton in the dining room.”
“Then move it to the dining room. I want my desk back.”
The DNA of Stories 