Home For Christmas by Fiona Greene Read Free Book Online Page A

her it was the same thing. The woman couldn’t even call herself Mum for Christ’s sake. Hell, she couldn’t even stick to her real name of Deidre. Instead she was Dee Dee, always up for a good time. She hated the fact she was the mother of an adult son, but couldn’t she at least acknowledge the relationship when she was hitting him up for money?
    Again.
    Again and again and again.
    His shoulders cramped and he peeled his fingers off the desk, resisting the urge to throw the whole bloody thing to kingdom come. It took a full sixty seconds of staring at the Exit sign over the door before he could even think about typing, and a further five minutes before he dragged his fingers onto the keyboard, his mouth a grim line.
    Dear Mum ,
    Thanks for the email .
    No. He jammed the delete key down and sent his first sentence back where it came from.
    Thanks for letting me know your plans. I’m not going to give you any more relocation funds. It being so expensive to move, I suggest you consider staying in the same place if you are short of cash. Or you could ask Brian to help you out. I’ve burnt the piece of paper with your account details on it .
    I’d like us to stay in contact .
    Who was he kidding? He ground down on the delete key again.
    It’s important for us to stay in contact, but I’m not interested in being used anymore, and that’s how your constant demands for cash make me feel. We’re both adults and I’m sick of being made to pay for what was essentially my father’s and your mistakes .
    Tate
    Tate breath whistled through his teeth as he hit send. If that was the end of their relationship, so be it. He shoved his chair back and paced across to the door, flinging it open. He marched into the weak winter sunshine and stared at the cloud-streaked sky. All his life, he’d tried to fix something that was beyond broken, and with one quick email, a weight had been lifted. For the first time in years, he might be free of her demands.
    With his fingers turning blue and an icy gale biting his ears, he spun on his heel and returned to the computer room.
    Lavarack’s email was next. He skimmed through the newsletter. His eyes moved over the paragraph about resigning commissions. He stopped skimming and went back and read it. He’d served his time after he’d done his trade, so now he was free to leave whenever he wanted to. All he had to do was give six months’ notice.
    He hovered the mouse over the link but he didn’t click. What else would he do? He shifted in his seat. There was nothing else. He was a soldier.
    Mostly, he ignored the politics of wars. The government decided where and when the troops were deployed. The general public sometimes agreed, sometimes not. And whether or not they made any impact on the ground, it depended on who you asked.
    He always tried to make a difference, but it was impossible to tell when you were this close to the action. Some days it was like moving a mountain of dirt using a garden trowel. If they had lots of trowels, bigger and better trowels, then they’d make progress. So many days it wasn’t as clear-cut.
    With a sigh he closed the email down and clicked into Layla’s email. At least one thing in his life seemed to be travelling in the right direction.
    Hi Tate ,
    I’m so happy we cleared up our misunderstanding and are on our way to becoming friends. I know Lavarack well; it’s where Ben was stationed before the accident. I was trying to figure out if you might have known him. He was ten years older than me, so maybe not .
    This summer has been a real cracker — hot and horrible, and we’re in desperate need of more rain. Everything is parched. Up north, they’re flooding again. One day, someone will build a pipeline to divert all the water around Australia to where it’s needed .
    I’m working on a new project (photo attached — half-finished but you get the idea). Some new garden ornaments for Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day. I was wondering — if you