“It’s nice, Ma.” Maya Elliot sat on the floor by the large armchair that she presumed Ignan Storm would usually take. Today little Katrine Elliot was stood on the cushions, trying to climb over the arm as Maya kept a careful eye on her. “I guess it’s the perfect location for Storm to get to work.”

From her positon standing in the kitchen doorway with a cup of tea, Miranda sighed.
“You can call him Ignan, Maya. I wish that you would.”

“It’s weird.” Maya’s features screwed up as she though about it, “don’t you find that? I’ve only met him like a couple of times and you’re married to him. That makes him my step father and that’s weird because I don’t even know him.”

Miranda’s lips pursed and she frowned.
“Does it bother you?”
“You’ve even changed your name.”
“I had to.”
Maya stared up at her mum, lips pressed together and eyebrows raised.
“I did. Put yourself in Ignan’s shoes a minute; he’s just gotten married and his new wife insists on keeping the name of her dead husband.” Once she said it she realised it sounded pretty harsh in front of her daughter. She didn’t however, take it back.
“But Elliot was Dad’s name. You can’t just forget him.”
Miranda sighed again and shook her head. She stepped further into the room and sat herself on the arm of the armchair, a steadying hand on Katrine as her dark eyes fell on her daughters’.
“And I won’t. But I am also not prepared to spend the rest of my life alone. You won’t either.”

Previously kneeling, Maya sat back on her ankles and shook her head. “No one will come near me with a kid.”
“She should be your priority now anyway.”

Maya’s demeanour suddenly changed and she scowled up at her mother.
“I’ve not come for a lecture.”

“No.” Miranda stood, put her teacup on the table and grabbed Katrine in her arms. “You’ve come so I can have a munch of this gorgeous thing.” The little girl giggled in her nan’s arms as Miranda lifted her into the air and span around a little.

“Oh don’t make her sick, Ma.”

Stopping, Miranda suddenly looked down at her daughter, eyebrows raised, amusement clear on her features. “Since when did you become responsible?”
“Funny.”

Suddenly looking quite serious, Miranda lowered Katine to the floor who started a chorus of “Mor Mor Mor.” Neither women were certain if she was referring to Miranda who she called Mormor, or if she wanted more. Either way, Miranda sat down on the edge of the sofa and smiled at her daughter.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Ma?”
“I’m pleased.”
“What with?”
“You. You spent so long being reliant on Bug and me and anyone who would help and now look at you.” Miranda sat back, dark gaze sweeping over her daughter and granddaughter. “I’m proud.”

Maya sat quietly for a moment, taking in the words. She honestly couldn’t recall a time her mother had ever said she was proud. There had always been something wrong, something to stop her feeling that way about her daughter.