I wish Allie liked me,’ said Meg quietly, looking across at the sulky 12-year-old, who was hunched over a magazine on the garden bench outside. ‘I know I’m not her mother but she seems to hate me.’
‘How could she possibly hate you?’ Harry hugged her close. ‘You’re the best thing that’s happened to us, since her mother ran off. I’ll have a word with her.’
That evening, he knocked on the door of his daughter’s bedroom.
‘Allie?’ He sat on her bed while she glared down at her book. She seemed to be fiddling with some small silver object. ‘Pumpkin, is there a problem between you and Meg? Because you know, I really want you to give her a chance.’
‘Give her a chance?’ Allie’s head shot up, scowling. ‘She’s always on my case! Do your homework, keep your room tidy, don’t be late home! She’s not my real mother. She’s no right to make my life such a misery.’
Ever since Meg had married Harry, Allie had taken every opportunity to complain about her or point out her faults.
‘She can’t cook like Mum used to, Dad! Look how she burnt the rice. And she pranged your car last week. She can hardly drive! I don’t know why you let her have a car.’
‘Mostly, to act as a private taxi for you,’ said Harry evenly. ‘There and back
