Parents should never have favourites. He knew that. But he did. His youngest, Rose. She was a wild child but oh did she love life. She'd grown up into the kind of young woman that men should watch out for but even then he just couldn't bring himself to disapprove of her. He loved all his daughters but as he got older and Hyacinth and Violet had distanced themselves by transforming into upmarket madams, he appreciated the gentle unpretentiousness of his other two. Daisy didn't have much but she was generous to him and Rose had gumption, a cheeky charm about her that captivated people. He loved to hear her bustle about the house, her melodic exclamations, the patter of her footsteps as she ran to get the phone. There was such tenderness in the way that she treated him, sitting companionably at the back of the car and holding his hand, reassuring him with her smile. He felt safe when she was around. Rose always had consideration for her daddy. She was marvellous until the end, had never lost her spark, but the day she died was the darkest day of his life. It had only been a couple of weeks but he missed her more than anything. He hadn't got long to go now, he could sense it. And that was for the best.