Brightwood (16 page)

THIRTY-­FIVE

It took nearly half an hour to drive to the village, and Daisy had time to relax a fraction and even to look out of the window. But the car was driving so fast and the things she saw were so odd that she didn't have much time to make sense of them. There were poles, all the same height, with wire strung between them like washing lines, even though the wire was far too high to hang clothes from it. Cows stood in a field, mysteriously still.

In the middle of nowhere, a sign said stop. Yet there was no sign telling you when you could start again.

After a while, the fields disappeared and Daisy saw tiny houses, with even tinier gardens in the front, and a building with a tower that rose to a sharp spike. It was a church. The same church whose spire she had seen a thousand times from her perch in the Lookout Tree at Brightwood Hall.

The car slowed and turned into a wide space with a lot of other cars.

“This is the police station,” the woman told Daisy. “They'll look after you here.”

Daisy got a confused impression of a wide entrance with lights overhead. Then the woman who had been driving the car vanished, and another woman wearing a uniform appeared and took Daisy by the hand.

Daisy didn't want to hold hands, but she was too scared to pull away. The policewoman's shoes made a loud clacking noise on the shiny floor. They entered a room with a sofa and chairs and a low table in the center. It was the emptiest room Daisy had ever seen.

“Let me take your bag,” the policewoman said, reaching for it. Daisy jerked away.

“That's all right, you can keep it. You're Daisy, aren't you? My name is Mrs. Gardner.”

She guided Daisy to the sofa and fetched a blanket and wrapped it around Daisy's shoulders. Daisy hadn't felt cold, but under the blanket, she began to shake. She sat as still as possible, hugging her bag tight to her chest.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Daisy shook her head.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Mrs. Gardner's voice was calm, although Daisy didn't dare to raise her head. Instead she kept her gaze fixed on the buttons on Mrs. Gardner's shirt.

“That's okay,” Mrs. Gardner said. “You can take your time.”

There were six buttons. They were white and the top one was undone. Under the blanket, Daisy's shaking grew worse.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Gardner repeated. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat? A sandwich maybe?”

Daisy shook her head again.

At the mention of sandwiches, Tar woke up and squirmed against her leg. She pinched her pocket closed but she could feel him wriggling frantically, searching for a way out.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Gardner asked. “You look uncomfortable.”

Daisy pinched her pocket tighter. It was no use. Even though he was small, Tar was strong and he was used to getting out of tight corners. She felt his head pushing against her fingers, and a second later he had escaped into her lap. Daisy's eyes shot to Mrs. Gardner's face. She had expected her to cry out in surprise.

But Mrs. Gardner didn't seem at all worried by Tar's appearance. She leaned forward for a better look.

“Is that your pet?” she asked. “What a lovely color he is!”

Daisy stroked Tar's back with trembling fingers.

“What's his name?”

“Tar.”

“I can tell you're a clever girl, Daisy,” Mrs. Gardner said. “That's
rat
spelled backwards, isn't it?”

Daisy nodded. Perhaps Mrs. Gardner was a friend after all.

“My mum went out in the car nearly a week ago,” she said, lifting her head. “I waited and waited, only she didn't come back.”

Slowly at first, and then with growing confidence, Daisy described the events of the past six days. It took a long time and all the way through, Mrs. Gardner kept her eyes on Daisy's face. Every so often she nodded and once or twice she pressed her lips together as though she was holding back words, but she didn't interrupt.

Daisy was just coming to the end, when there was a knock at the door. A man in a dark blue uniform came in. When he saw Tar, his eyes widened and he made a coughing noise. Mrs. Gardner frowned at him.

“Could I have a word?” he said.

They were out of the room for nearly five minutes. Daisy waited, rather regretting now that she had refused the sandwich. Tar regretted it too. He stared at her with an outraged look on his face.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'll get you something as soon as I can.”

But when Mrs. Gardner came back into the room, Daisy could see by her face that she was thinking about something quite different from sandwiches.

She sat down on the sofa next to Daisy. “I have news,” she said. “It's about your mother.”

Daisy couldn't speak. Mrs. Gardner took her hand, and this time Daisy didn't want to pull away.

“She's called Caroline, isn't she? Caroline Fitzjohn.”

Daisy nodded.

Mrs. Gardner hesitated. Her hand tightened. Or perhaps it was Daisy herself who was squeezing it, terrified of what she might hear next.

“She was in a car accident,” Mrs. Gardner said. “She came off the road. It was a hit-­and-­run. Do you know what that is?”

Daisy shook her head.

“It's when the person responsible leaves the scene of an accident without identifying himself or herself. We found paint marks on your mother's car, suggesting that whoever hit her was driving a silver-­colored vehicle.”

Gritting,
Daisy thought. She had seen the long scrape down the right-­hand side of his car. He had forced her mum off the road and made it look like an accident.

“Is she dead?” Daisy said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. Mrs. Gardner shook her head. “No, Daisy, she's not dead. But she's in the hospital. She's been badly hurt. She's still unconscious.”

“I want to see her,” Daisy said.

“It's very late. We'll get you there first thing in the morning.”

“No,” Daisy said. She stood up, shaking off the blanket. “I want to see her
now
.”

Mrs. Gardner didn't say anything for a moment. Then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I understand.”

Daisy was hardly aware of anything at all on the ride to the hospital. The journey might have taken five minutes, or an hour. There might have been two people in the car with her, or maybe three. It was dark outside, and she could see nothing except the glare and dazzle of passing vehicles.

The car went by a long row of overhead lights that turned Daisy's hands a sickly yellow color. She wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't. Then the dark swallowed up the car again, and they carried on for what might have been a hundred miles, or only ten.

Daisy held her bag tight on her lap. She had left Tar behind at the police station. Mrs. Gardner had said she would look after him until Daisy returned. She wished he were with her now, despite all his wriggling and his nagging for food.

They pulled up under a big awning, lit by more of the sickly yellow light. Then they were out of the car, walking through a huge glass door into a building that looked like the Marble Hall, only far bigger and with nowhere to hide. Daisy shrank back at the sight of so many people.

Hands guided her forward. She went up a staircase and down a long, shining corridor with double doors that opened silently without needing to be touched. Daisy felt exhaustion rising. Faces blurred around her. Now she was in a room and people were talking, although she didn't understand what they were saying.

“We operated to relieve the pressure,” a man said. His face was so close that Daisy could see her reflection in his glasses. “We're keeping her stable.”

Daisy felt herself sway, and the room tilted a fraction.

That makes no sense,
she thought.
You can't keep her there. My mum's not a horse!

“. . . not responding, I'm afraid,” the man was saying. “Everything possible is being done . . . ”

Two young women wearing strange green overalls led Daisy to a door with the shade pulled down.

“Let me take your bag,” one of them said.

“No,” Daisy whispered.
“No.
”

“Just a few minutes. You understand?” the woman said.

“Oh, let her stay,” the other one murmured in a soft voice. “What harm can it possibly do now?”

They opened the door. Daisy saw a dimly lit room. Her mum lay on a bed, almost completely surrounded by machines and devices. There were tubes coming out of her arms. Her eyes were closed. Her hair had been cut close to her scalp, and one side of her head was covered with a white bandage.

“Oh, Mum,” Daisy said. “You have short hair now, just like me.”

She climbed onto the bed and lay down. Her mum didn't speak or even stir as Daisy nestled against her. Daisy reached for her mum's hand and placed it against her own cheek.

“I found you,” Daisy said.

A second later, she was fast asleep.

DAY SEVEN

THIRTY-­SIX

The early morning light came through the window blinds in thin stripes. The strangeness of it woke Daisy up. Her mum's hand lay unmoving on the blanket, just in front of her eyes. Daisy stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then she sat up.

“Mum?”

Her mother looked as if she were simply asleep. Daisy leaned forward and touched her face.

“Mum?”

Her mother's skin was warm, but she didn't move or open her eyes.

“It's me!” Daisy cried. “It's Daisy!”

She could hear a faint humming sound coming from all around. It was the noise of the hospital waking up. Panic seized her.

“Mum!”

She grabbed her mum's hand and squeezed it hard. It was thinner than she remembered, the fingers delicate, with faint marks of paint still under the nails.

“You have to wake up,” Daisy said. “You
have
to!”

A man and a woman came into the room. They were wearing the same pale green overalls as the women the night before.

“Who are you?” Daisy said, confused.

“We're nurses,” one of them said, giving her an odd look.

“It's time to go,” the other said. “You'll be wanting some breakfast.”

Daisy shook her head.

“You can come back later,” the first nurse said. “You can't stay here now. The doctor needs to make his rounds.”

Daisy held on tight to her mother's hand. “I can't leave,” she said. “I have to wake up my mum.”

The first nurse made a face, her mouth turned down. “I know you feel that way, honey, but . . . ”

“We're doing everything we can for her,” the other added.

“You don't understand,” Daisy said, her voice rising.

The first nurse had her hand on Daisy's shoulder and was steering her in the direction of the door.

Daisy twisted away. “Let me go!”

She scanned the room frantically, looking for her bag.

Both nurses stepped towards her, their faces firm.

“Come along now.”

“You don't want to make a fuss, do you?”

Daisy spotted her bag lying on the floor by her mum's bed and made a grab for it.

“I brought her all the way from home,” she told the nurses, her fingers scrambling to open the buckle. “I have to give her to my mum. I
have
to.”

She lifted Dolly Caroline out of the bag, smoothing her hair.

“She saved her once before,” Daisy said. “I thought maybe . . . ” What
had
she thought exactly? Whatever it was, it suddenly seemed childish, too foolish to put into words.

Both nurses were gazing at her sadly. “Oh, honey . . . ” the first one said.

It had been pointless to bring the doll. She was just a thing, like a lampshade was, or a pencil, or an empty coat. But Daisy turned to the bed anyway and placed Dolly Caroline in the crook of her mum's limp arm.

“Look,” Daisy said, softly. “She's still wearing her dress and her little shoes. She's still perfect. Please look,” she begged. “I brought her for you, Mum.”

Her mother didn't move.

Daisy covered her face and burst into tears.

Behind her, one of the nurses gave a little gasp. “Did you see that?” he said.

“What?”

“The right hand. See?”

It might have been the touch of Dolly Caroline's silky hair or the sound of Daisy sobbing. Or perhaps it was both. Caroline Fitzjohn's hand trembled and her breathing deepened. She opened her eyes.

“Daisy?” she said in a faint, astonished voice.

“Who's the doctor on call?” the first nurse asked the other in a high, excited voice. “He needs to be paged
at once
!”

Caroline shifted, struggling to raise her head. “There was an accident,” she murmured. “I remember . . . ”

“Try not to talk, Mrs. Fitzjohn. The doctor is on his way.”

Daisy was still crying, although it was different now. She had never understood how it was possible to cry from happiness. But it was exactly the same as crying from sadness, except you didn't have to try to stop. You could go on crying for as long as you liked.

“How long have I been here?” her mum asked.

“A week,” Daisy told her. “And it wasn't an accident. It was Gritting. He came to the house. He tried to hurt me too.”

Her mum's eyes widened. “I was so worried. He kept threatening me. He wouldn't stop. I tried to ignore it for as long as I could. Then I knew I had to get help. I was on my way to the police. I was going to tell them about him and about you as well . . . I was going to tell them everything.”

“Please don't upset yourself,” the nurse urged. Caroline didn't seem to hear. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Daisy,” she whispered. “I've been so wrong for such a long time.”

Daisy thought of all the Day Boxes piling up day by day and year by year. Each filled with memories her mum couldn't bear to lose. But some things were meant to be lost.

Perhaps in the end, she thought with a flash of sadness, everything was.

“I want things to be different,” Caroline said, her eyes still fixed on Daisy's face.

“You mustn't talk,” Daisy told her. “You must rest.”

The room was suddenly full of people. A man in a white coat hurried forward and felt her mum's wrist. “Remarkable!” he said, staring at his watch. “Do you have pain anywhere, Mrs. Fitzjohn? How many fingers am I holding up? Can you tell me the name of the current prime minister?”

A nurse drew Daisy aside.

“You must let us do our job now,” she said. She led Daisy out of the room into the corridor. Then, much to Daisy's surprise, she suddenly pulled her into a hug. There were tears in her eyes.

“She will get better, won't she?” Daisy asked.

The nurse sniffed and wiped her nose. “It certainly looks like it.”

She leaned forward to brush the hair out of Daisy's eyes. “And you'll be just fine as well. To think that nobody knew you were there all that time, alone in that big house!”

Daisy looked at her anxiously. “My mum . . . she won't get into trouble, will she?

The nurse hesitated. “I don't think ‘trouble' is the right word,” she said. “But I'm not going to lie to you, Daisy. When she gets better, your mum is going to have to answer a lot of questions. People will want to make sure that you are going to be okay. Do you understand?”

Daisy didn't. She was already okay. But it seemed rude to point that out when the nurse was being so kind. So she nodded instead.

“Now let's go to the cafeteria and get some breakfast,” the nurse said, straightening up. “You look like you need it. After that, you might like to visit the children's waiting area. There's a lot of fun stuff there. Toys, books, video games. There might even be a couple of other kids to talk to.”

Daisy gave her a worried look.

“Trust me,” the nurse said, smiling. “I've got a feeling you're going to really like the place.”