Everyone remembered their own childhood differently and it wasn’t something you necessarily had control over. Val realised that.

If her own dear mother was alive today, she’d probably recall things in a way that Val herself had an entirely different recollection of.

But she worried that with her own daughter, Emmeline, it was more than that. She was prone to imagining things. She had this tendency to exaggerate events and hold them in her mind until needed; like a weapon to use against others.

Something to rest blame on when the mood took her.

Over the years, Val had read articles in various newspapers about how adults, after embarking on therapy, had ‘recovered’ memories of apparent abuse that other family members denied ever happened.

These adult children had believed in their recovered trauma so completely that some had gone on to immediately estrange themselves from their now elderly parents.

It wasn’t quite that dramatic with Emmeline, thank goodness, but it still worried Val that her only daughter demonised her father in such an aggressive way. As the years marched on, it seemed to only get worse as Emmeline’s ‘memories’ became more vivid.

It was true that Eric had not been perfect as a husband or a father. Val was the first to admit it.

He drank too much and often staggered home inebriated after yet another lock-in drinking session down the Dog and Duck, his local pub.

He had the manners of a pig at the dinner table and he’d been known to bet away bill money down at the bookies, leaving Val in a state of desperation when threats came in to cut off the electricity and water yet again.

But it had to be said that Eric was also a grafter and had been so all his life.

When he and Val first met, like most of the men in the small Nottinghamshire village, he’d worked at the nearby Bentinck pit, mining coal. They got engaged quickly, and within three years, they were married with a newborn baby daughter, christened Emmeline Rose. Unlike some men at that time, Eric had been happy they had a girl.

‘I’d never wish that black hole on any of my kids,’ he said, studying the dust on his knuckles, ingrained so deep it could no longer be scrubbed off. ‘And I can rest assured now that our lass won’t have to.’

Eric had worked his way up to the coalface by that time, and the family enjoyed the fruits of his labour. They moved from a long, narrow terraced house on an unmade road in Annesley Woodhouse, to a nice three-bedroom bungalow on Cavendish Crescent. There was a neat private garden at the rear, and the front faced onto fields and the village hall.

Val felt like the lady of the manor as she found herself the envy of her friends and family, who all still lived in houses like the one she’d just left.

Eric had turned thirty by this time, which was young for a man to reach the rank of face worker. It was the best-paid non-managerial role in the pit and required the miner to crawl in the tiniest, most claustrophobic and dusty spaces. In return, the job provided the highest salary and unlimited overtime opportunities.

Valerie, five years younger than Eric, enjoyed a certain status in her own family and amongst the local people.

As a couple, they were working hard and doing well in life. They took an annual holiday and kept a comfortable home with all mod cons, and that was what the people around them valued most in those days.

So although there were things Val might have changed given the chance, she hadn’t got a lot to complain about, certainly compared to some of her friends who hadn’t been so lucky in their choice of partner.

Yet to hear Emmeline talk, she’d been dragged up on a rough estate and told she’d never amount to anything.

That wasn’t how Val remembered it at all. Eric had been keen on discipline and Val hadn’t always approved of his methods. She also knew that she herself had been a hard taskmaster at times. But it had come from a good place; she wanted Emmeline to be the best she could be. It was a hard world out there and it had been up to them to prepare her for it.

If Eric had seemed overly critical of their daughter, it was only grounded in the belief that she had the wherewithal to make something of herself.

Therefore, when Emmeline announced she’d decided to study sociology at university, he had not been at all impressed.

‘Never mind all these flaming useless ologies, it’s just utter nonsense they make up these days. You should at least go for something solid, like English, or maths, or science. You’re a bright lass with the world at your feet, but sign up to study a load of twaddle and you’ll never make owt of yourself, my girl. Mark my words.’

Val had been there the first time he said it, had heard it all and the positive intention behind it.

But it seemed Emmeline had only ever retained the last eleven words and had been obsessed with trying to prove him wrong ever since.

No matter what the cost to herself and her family.

In Val’s opinion, that was how her daughter had got herself into a pickle at Clayton and McCarthy. Emmeline had fostered such great hopes for her career prospects there, seeing it as a chance to prove her father wrong.

It was one thing being ambitious, but to be ruthlessly ambitious… well, that was when things could turn nasty. As they had done for Emmeline.

Despite her insistence to the contrary, Val doubted her daughter was over it at all, even now. In some twisted way, the trauma of that experience had probably contributed to the break-up of her marriage to Shaun.

Emmeline thought she’d got it sorted with this daft ‘split up but stay together’ arrangement, but Val wasn’t at all convinced.

Such things often appeared to work well at the outset, but emotions were tricky things. They couldn’t simply be dampened down and controlled at will.

Val felt sure it wouldn’t be long before there were ructions.

She just hoped and prayed that nobody got hurt in the process. Specifically her beloved little Maisie.