Dear Kitty,          I had a flashback-type-thing earlier. I don't get them much - well, I get them sometimes - but it was weird. Blowing bubbles somehow jolted my memory - and I've just realised why!!! I remembered that Daddy and I went to the History museum in Oxford to look at the Japanese art, and afterwards, he bought me a bottle of bubble mix to play with on the way home. I'd completely forgotten that.              I know that this won't seem big to you, but to me, it's huge. I've been alive for fifteen years, and I only properly remember about three of those. Most people who know me know that I have a mind like a sponge - it absorbs all the useless information and leaves all the important things. What I do remember are tiny little bits and pieces, like the beginning of a jigsaw. I have the outline, but only a few tiny bits inside that are completely disconnected. I've learnt what happened from my family and family friends who remember it too, but I haven't a clue.             When I was born, in 1993, we were living in a little house in Repton; just Mum, Dad, Cecily and I. Then, in 1995, when William was born, we moved to a flat so Dad could take up his new job as housemaster of the BBU in Foremarke Hall. I began at the pre-prep, and Cecily began at Foremarke itself. We both joined the orchestra quite soon afterwards - Mum and Dad were very pleased.              We stayed there until I was six. Then we moved, as an enormous contrast, to an enormous house in Oxford. It was a school property, and fairly dismal. But we had no choice - Dad was the headmaster of CCCS, so we had to stay there. Mum became a matron, and Cecily and I joined Headington, leaving William in Dad's school. We lived there until I was almost ten, then moved to another house on the other side of the city.              I don't remember any of what happened after this. We only stayed there for about a year. The house was much smaller, and I stayed at Headington with Cecily. Daddy got very ill. He almost died. It was quite serious.              Finally, we moved out of Oxford and out of schools. We lived in a tiny house in Aldeburgh for an even shorter time - only a month, maybe two. I went to the local middle school, and then we finally moved to where we live now - home. We're all together, and healthy, and happy, and that's all that matters. I don't think my family had been like that since before I was born until then. I know I complain about how dull it is, but so long as we're all there and safe, what does it matter where we are? We could be living in a mansion with three hundred rooms and a garden the size of the Two Acre, but if Dad was still a headmaster, I know that we could never ever be happy. No. It's much nicer this way.     It's funny, isn't it Kitty? All this has happened, but it's like it's not my past. It's like a book, and it doesn't seem real to me. But it is me, and I have proof for it. One day, I hope I can actually remember it - I just want to know what happened for myself. It probably won't happen, but I'd like it to all the same.        Yours,             Francesca