In the 1950s, when greetings cards were relatively modest, dad always bought my mum a big card in a box for her birthday and at Christmas. Not big compared to those on offer today, but a box none the less. His careful, rounded handwriting embellished with curls and loops conveyed the emotions I seldom heard him utter. The printed verse, often running to several inserted pages, said what he couldn't. The card, a padded confection of bows and bells - well, perhaps not bells - was always received with derision. However mum kept them - in homage to the money they had cost him rather than the emotion expressed within them. Nothing in my parents's relationship was straight forward, but then how could it be? There was too much sadness and too many secrets - and considering they had both experienced such deprived and lonely childhoods, a surprising absence of compatibility and empathy. Mum wanted someone with ambition and drive. Dad want...