‘Hope you like the music,’ Leah said in her low voice. ‘It took me ages to find it. Someone real y doesn’t want us to listen to happy whales.’
And Daisy had laughed heartily at that one. Trust Leah to come up with something total y different, to make her laugh.
The final message was from her mother.
‘Hel o, Daisy. Wanted to catch up. Myself and your Aunt Imogen have been away, as you know, but we’re back now and mmm …’ Long pause.
Daisy could imagine her mother trying to work out what to say next. Strange that her mother’s normal ability to talk happily on the answering machine seemed to have deserted her. ‘I know that you were staying here for a while.
Brendan told me, and thanks for keeping it al so nicely.
Wel , that’s al . Hope you’re wel , Denise.’
Daisy hated it when her mother cal ed her Denise. ‘Why don’t you tel her that?’ said a little voice inside Daisy’s head. Good point. She’d never told her mother that she didn’t like her given name and preferred to be cal ed Daisy, the name her father had
given her when she’d been a baby and picked up daisies from the garden and tried to eat them. What was it Leah had said? ‘You’re to tel other people what you think and what you feel, they can’t guess? ‘Do give me a ring,’ her mother said. ‘Goodbye.’
For the first time in years Nan Farrel ’s cold, crisp tones didn’t upset Daisy. It was just the way her mother spoke.
She couldn’t help it, she’d been brought up that way, to be a lady and to know the correct way to greet an archbishop or a countess. Her mother’s world ran on tracks made up of etiquette and the way things had always been done. She’d sooner run down the road stark naked than say something deeply personal to her only daughter. She couldn’t help it, Daisy knew, any more than Daisy could help being naive and trusting and easily hurt.
Wow, more closure, she thought to herself, startled.
She rang Mary back immediately. ‘You can bring ful -fat lasagne, as long as you bring cheesecake,’ she told Mary, who laughed throatily.
‘Now that sounds like the old Daisy,’ Mary said. ‘Wil I bring a couple of bottles of wine too?’
‘Maybe not,’ Daisy said gently. ‘I think I was sinking into the wine far too often when Alex left. It’s not good for me,’ she said. Not drinking wasn’t easy. She’d got into the habit of it and a drink dul ed the edges so nicely, but Daisy knew she’d been teetering on the edge of problem drinking and she didn’t want to fal in.
‘Oh, join the club!’ said Mary. ‘It’s so easy to fal into the trap of the forgotten woman, sitting at home, with her litre bottle.
So that’s not a mistake I make, I just eat chocolate instead and digestive biscuits.’
‘That sounds like a bril iant idea,’ said Daisy, ‘and there is no limit on how many units of digestive biscuits you can have in a day.’
‘Precisely,’ Mary agreed. ‘And after seventeen digestive biscuits, you never want to ring up your ex and tel him just what a piece of shit he real y is! See you at about six and I’l help you with the unpacking.’ And she hung up.
Daisy was just about to drive off when she remembered one box of things she had wanted to carry with her in the car. It contained the kettle, teabags, milk, al the essentials for when she got to the new place. Her retinue of helpers Mary, Cleo and Leah - had insisted that they wouldn’t do a thing unless there was tea involved. She had to run up the stairs, because the removal men had obviously hijacked the lift yet again. At the door of the apartment, she pushed it open quickly, expecting to see nobody there. The movers were al gathered around by the lift discussing the best way to bring Daisy’s favourite armchair down. But there was someone in the apartment. He was standing near the window, holding a big box close to his chest and looking down to the street as he must have done many times before. It was Alex.
‘Oh, you startled me!’ she said.
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you were gone. I waited until I saw you go to your car,’ Alex said warily. How sad, Daisy thought, that the man she’d lived with and loved with had waited for her to leave the building before he’d had the courage to come in. So much for her theory that they could be friends.
‘I just wanted to get the rest of my stuff. The lawyer said you’d leave it al boxed up and ready, and I was going to get it later but ‘
‘It’s al right, Alex,’ she said. ‘You’re entitled to pick up your stuff.’ She could see him visibly relax. ‘What did you think I was going to do?’ Daisy asked, with a rare flash of irritation. ‘Scream blue murder and wave a carving knife around?’ Alex looked so surprised at this flash of humour that she laughed out loud. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t resist it.’ He stil looked shocked. ‘It’s a joke, Alex.
Remember jokes?’
‘Yes, sorry, of course. Just this is al a bit difficult,’ he said. ‘I think it’s probably more difficult for me than it is for you,’
Daisy pointed out testily.
‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Daisy, I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted it to end up this way, please believe me. If I could turn the clock back, I would, but I can’t.’
She would have kil ed to hear him say those words a month ago, but now she felt oddly unmoved by them. He was sorry, and that was good. It meant that their relationship had meant something to him, that he cared enough to feel regret over hurting her. Yet there was something hol ow about the apology of someone who had been so cruel to her.
Daisy would never forget the words he’d said to her: she wasn’t the one; that he’d been biding time from when they’d left col ege, waiting for the right person to come along.
Suddenly, she wanted to be cruel to him. He had no idea how low she’d sunk when he’d left her and she needed him to suffer for that. Words spun around in her head. Maybe she would ask him if he stil thought she was an evil bitch who’d wreck his relationship with Louise by tel ing her about them having sex together on this very floor?
And then she felt ashamed of herself. He’d hurt her so much, he’d never comprehend how much, but the pain wouldn’t get any better if she ranted and raved at him.
At least now she had memories of their time together. She could be proud of how she’d behaved towards him. ‘You’re right,’ she said calmly. ‘You can’t turn the clock back. I just wish you’d been honest with me from the start. You let me go on thinking we could have a baby, when al along you wanted to leave me. That was terrible, Alex.’
He leaned against the window, the box stil clutched to his chest. ‘I know. I am sorry. I didn’t have the bal s to tel you, and you were so excited …’
‘Don’t blame me for the fact that you weren’t being honest with me,’ Daisy said, fighting very hard to keep calm. ‘Take responsibility for what you did. You lied to me and the longer you went on lying, the harder it was for me.’
‘I was afraid,’ he said, looking at the floor. ‘I didn’t know how to tel you.’
‘That’s something we’ve both learned, then,’ she said, feeling a sudden charge of power. ‘Tel the truth, even when it hurts.’ ‘You’ve changed,’ he remarked.
‘I’ve had to. My life has changed. Al the things I believed in are gone, that’s a big adjustment.’
There was silence except for the talking of the removal men outside.
‘How’s Daragh?’ she asked.
The surprise was written al over Alex’s face. Surprise and grudging admiration.
She held herself a little tal er. ‘And Louise?’ ‘They’re great,’
he stammered. ‘You … you’re being so good about this, Daisy.’
Daisy thought of her col ection of wine bottles, how she’d wanted to destroy herself because of how hurt she was, of the tears she’d cried.
‘I want to be able to sleep at night, Alex,’ she said. ‘If I wish al sorts of disasters on you, I won’t. For my own peace of mind, I have to try to forgive you.’
‘My mother stil hasn’t forgiven me,’ he said.
‘What, not even now that you’ve given her a grandchild?’
Daisy asked, and that hurt, because she wanted to be the one to give Alex’s mum a grandchild; she had dreamed of it often enough. ‘She wrote to me,’ Daisy remembered, ‘a lovely letter, tel ing me how sorry she was and how she was furious with you and how she hoped we’d always be friends. She left her mobile number at the bottom and asked me to ring her. I haven’t,’ said Daisy, ‘not yet. I mean I wil , but just not now.’ ‘She might get off my back if you were to ring her,’ Alex said, and for a second he was like the old, selfish Alex, thinking only of himself.
‘So if I ring your mother and tel her I’m fine real y, then she won’t give you so much grief for your behaviour?’ asked Daisy. Alex winced. ‘OK, OK. I shouldn’t have said that,’ he said. ‘I am sorry, Daisy.’
Daisy knew it was time to go. It was Alex’s turn to be left behind. She picked up her smal tea box.
‘Bye, Alex. I don’t suppose we’l see each other again.
Take care.’
‘You too …’ He moved towards her and then stopped.
‘You’re being amazing about this, Daisy. Real y amazing.’
Daisy smiled. ‘I suppose I am,’ she said, and left. She walked with a spring in her step until she reached the safety of her car, when her legs suddenly felt shaky. She’d done it, she’d said the things she wanted to say to Alex. She hadn’t lost her temper because she didn’t want to waste any emotion on Alex Kenny any more. He was the past, part of her old life and she was moving into a new one.
Nan Farrel was surprised to see Daisy on her doorstep the next morning, bright and early.
‘Denise!’ said her mother. ‘Lovely to see you,’ she added, years of good manners coming to the fore.
‘Thought I’d drop in, Mother,’ said Daisy, determined not to be fazed by her mother’s use of her real name. They’d have that conversation later.
‘Drop in?’ said her mother. ‘How can you drop in from Carrickwel ? I don’t understand.’
‘I have some news for you, Mum,’ said Daisy, stil determined to maintain the cheery front. ‘I’ve moved. I’m living just down the road actual y.’
It was some relief that her mother didn’t look too horrified at this news.
‘That’s lovely, dear,’ said Nan. ‘It’s so beautiful round here.
The people are very welcoming.’
If Daisy was surprised, she didn’t let on. She wouldn’t have thought her mother was the sort of person who cared if the people in an area were welcoming or not, but then again, maybe she didn’t know her mother that wel . Her mother certainly didn’t know her.
‘Where exactly have you and Alexander moved to?’ ‘That’s something else I have to tel you,’ Daisy said. ‘Alex and I aren’t together any more.’
It was just strange that she was only tel ing her mother now, months after the event. Other women would have informed their mothers instantly, by speed-dial before the first tear could fal .
‘We split up,’ Daisy said.
‘Gosh,’ said her mother. There was a pause, while she waited for details.
Daisy tried not to flinch. ‘Alex became involved with somebody else and she got pregnant. He’s a father now.’
She said it as cheerful y as she could, but no matter how far she had come along in the personal growth department, it was stil hard news to deliver.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Daisy. Very sorry.’
And it sounded as if her mother meant it. Certainly cal ing her ‘Daisy’, and not ‘Denise’, was an olive branch. ‘When did this happen?’ Nan Farrel asked.
‘A few months ago.’ For a mil isecond Daisy toyed with the idea of not tel ing her mother al the facts, and then changed her mind. She was going to be utterly honest and see if they could put their relationship on a better footing. If her mother wasn’t interested and was her normal cool, removed self, then at least Daisy could comfort herself with knowing she’d tried. ‘We were trying to have a baby at the time. I thought Alex wanted it too. That certainly added pressure on the relationship,’ she said, ‘although it wasn’t the only reason.’
She had to admit that, even to herself. hoped we could have treatment to make me pregnant, then he fel in love with his assistant at work and she got pregnant. That’s it -
what can I say?’
‘I’d like to have a few words with that young man,’ said her mother angrily.
Daisy felt a dart of surprise. Her mother angry on her behalf? ‘How dare he? To drag your name through the mud like that, it’s outrageous. If your grandfather was alive Alexander Kenny wouldn’t have tried such a trick.’
Daisy’s grandfather had been a local landowner and a powerful man. Doubtless he’d have made Alex marry Daisy long ago by pure force of his personality. But what would have been the point? She and Alex would have ended up married and not in love with each other instead of just living together and not in love with each other.
‘Thanks,’ she said to her mother, and Nan Farrel looked slightly surprised.
‘Goodness. For what?’ she said.
‘Oh, just for saying that, for backing me up,’ Daisy said.
‘What else would you expect me to do?’ demanded Nan.
‘Poor Imogen wil be so upset,’ her mother went on. ‘She’s only getting over the operation and now this.’
‘Aunt Imogen wil be fine,’ said Daisy comfortingly. ‘If she could survive Lil ian getting a divorce, she can survive anything.’ The big drama in the family a few years ago had been Aunt Imogen’s daughter, Lil ian’s, marriage fal ing apart. ‘You’re right, I dare say,’ said Nan. ‘It’s just that things are changing. We never had divorces or anything like that in the family.’
It was easier, Daisy had just figured out, to talk to her mother and try to tease her gently out of her fears. That’s what she hadn’t done right before, Daisy realised. She had been too anxious for her mother’s approval, too anxious for everyone’s approval. If her mother had said one cross word, Daisy had quailed. ‘I’l phone Imogen and tel her if you like?’ Daisy said. ‘Maybe you’d go and see her,’ Nan brightened. ‘She’d love to see you, now that she’s back on her feet. I think she’s lonely. We could go together - that would be fun. Imogen and I were talking the other day about how we’ve got to stick together. Neither of us is getting any younger and we’re al the family we’ve got left.’
‘You’ve got me,’ said Daisy.
‘Wel , of course I have you,’ said her mother brusquely. ‘I meant family from when I grew up, people who remember the old times and the way things used to be. You don’t remember it, Daisy. It was al different when you were born.