The Storyteller's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

eyes, just like my mother saw fire in my father’s eyes the first time they met. Unfortunately, the gas supply had been cut off while they prepared to close the lab due to a bat infestation. Still, the very fact that Mark Daly knew my name was enough to set me trembling. He was a doctoral student and lecturer, extremely well regarded in the faculty, especially by the female students. And he was flawlessly handsome.
    â€˜I was wondering whether I could ask you… ’
    He paused dramatically, and leant confidently on the work bench, looking me straight in the eye.
    â€˜Yes?’ I prompted, my heart fluttering with anticipation.
    â€˜I was wondering if I could ask you, could I borrow those safety goggles?’
    Could I borrow those safety goggles? Now that was a phrase to start a relationship on. Safety goggles. Goggles for practical usage in keeping one safe whilst unlocking the truths of the universe. Had I believed in romance, that would surely have been the closest thing to it.
    The evening of the prize-giving should have been one of the best of my life, but instead, every time I remember it, I want to weep with guilt.
    â€˜So, Miss May, where do your future interests lie?’
    â€˜Yes, you must tell us so that we can battle it out to be your supervisor! I assume you will be pursuing a PhD?’
    Professor Philip Winter and Doctor Larry Coldman both clutched their glasses of wine and waited for me to answer.
    â€˜Um, I hadn’t really thought… ’
    â€˜Of course she will,’ said Mark, sweeping in at just the right moment with his incredible capacity for certainty and decisiveness. He looked dashing in his suit and tie, a paper plate of finger food balanced expertly on one hand. Thank goodness for Mark. I didn’t want Professor Winter, the Head of Faculty, to think I wasn’t a serious scientist. I told myself to get a grip and stop feeling so stupidly nervous. I had every right to be here. I was a prizewinner, after all, and this evening was for a handful of students like me, students who had gone the extra mile, put in the overtime, achieved the highest grades. But as I looked around at all the Doctors and Professors mingling so confidently in their smart suits and dresses, I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had grown up in a tiny council flat in north London, or how many weren’t sure who their father was, or how many were caught in a frying pan…
    Doctor Coldman was speaking to Mark about a new state-of-the-art scanner he had ordered for one of the laboratories, but I wasn’t really listening. Instead, I was looking over his shoulder to where my mother was hovering awkwardly by one of the tables of food, looking nervous and out of her depth. It touched me deeply that she was suffering so much on my behalf. She would have nothing to talk to any of these people about. She hadn’t even passed her O-levels. But she had insisted on coming to see me awarded my ‘gift-token’ as she called it (which was actually a cheque for five hundred pounds), and was clearly determined to stick it out until the end. I was about to excuse myself to go and rescue her when Doctor McFee honed in on the buffet and struck up a conversation with my mother, whilst piling her plate with mushroom vol-au-vents.
    At first I thought everything might be fine. I could hear giggling and they seemed to have struck up quite a conversation. But I knew something wasn’t right when my mother pointed to one of the sausage rolls on Doctor McFee’s plate and started doing a pig impression. What on earth was she doing? What on earth was she saying? I tried to rack my brain for stories my mother liked to tell about sausage rolls. Was it something to do with pigs rolling in muddy puddles? No, no, that was hot dogs. Was it something to do with a sausage roll oinking at her once? No, that didn’t sound right either. But whatever she was saying, Doctor McFee wasn’t