I’m sorry.
Snowflake:
It’s not your fault.
Me:
But it’s not yours either.
Snowflake:
I had all these grand plans for when I’d take over the hotel one day. I wanted to open a second location in Edinburgh, and perhaps one in Birmingham too. I wanted to put in a little cinema in the basement for exclusive screenings. I had so many ideas, and now all I’m doing is fending off press enquiries about my dad’s sexual inclinations.
Me:
You’ll be able to do all those things one day.
Snowflake:
If the hotel is even still around then.
Me:
It will be.
Snowflake:
How do you know?
Me:
Because I’ve seen how much you love it.
Snowflake:
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
I couldn’t help but think about my mum and about how my love for her hadn’t been enough to save her. She had chosen Randell and the drugs over me, even though I’d sacrificed everything for her. My time, my education, my money. Even my friends, because I’d spent my time going to work and shoplifting to keep us afloat instead of meeting up with them. So maybe Henry was right. Maybe sometimes love just wasn’t enough.
Snowflake:
Let’s talk about something else.
I’ve had some more thoughts about your nickname.
Me:
Go on.
Snowflake:
What do you think about Bambi?
Me:
You’re only saying that because I have big brown eyes and my mum is dead.
Snowflake:
