Lucy
My name's Lucy Harding.
Lucy's not short for anything,
it's just Lucy.
That's right, with a y.
Only people from the city
spell it with an I,
or call themselves Lucienne.
I'm not French,
and I'm not from the city.
I'm from Battle Farm.
My Grandma named it that,
on account of her always saying,
"It's a battle to keep this place,
a battle to survive."
And she did pretty good.
At surviving, I mean.
She died four years ago,
aged 92.
She's buried up the hill,
next to Grandpa,
overlooking their farm
and I reckon she's up there
thinking,
"Why did my daughter marry
someone like him.
Mr Right.
He's never right. He just thinks he is."
He is Dad, of course.
But I don't want to talk about him.