The Daisy Picker (18 page)

Lizzie says nothing, just nods and listens. After a few seconds Angela says, ‘It’s been two and a half years now; I’ve moved on. Dee and I have survived. I’m making
enough money to live on, and life is starting to look good again.’ She puts down the glass and takes one of Lizzie’s hands. ‘You’ve helped, Lizzie, you really have.
You’ve gone from being the lodger in the caravan to being a real good pal. In a way, the fact that you never knew John is great; you’re part of my fresh start.’

Then her face hardens. ‘And now he wants to sail back in here as if nothing had happened. How dare he? I’ve a good mind –’

‘Angela, hold on.’ Lizzie grips Angela’s hand. ‘I think you should do nothing; wait until this has sunk in a bit. You need to think about it. Please don’t do
anything rash that you might regret.’

‘You don’t think I’d consider letting him come back, do you?’ Angela’s face is incredulous. ‘Lizzie, you can’t imagine I’d do that.’

‘I don’t know – I can’t know what’s best for you. Only you can be the judge of that.’ Lizzie holds on to her hand. ‘But, Angela, for what it’s
worth, I do think you should give it some thought. Just sleep on it for a night or two – make sure you really come to the right decision here.’

‘Sleep on it – that’s a good one.’ The ghost of a smile passes over Angela’s face. ‘That man has made sure that I’ll have at least a week of lying in
bed looking at the ceiling.’

She lets go of Lizzie’s hand and stands up. ‘Look, you need to get to work. Thanks for listening, and sorry for laying all that on you.’

Lizzie stands too. ‘If you need to talk about it some more, you know I’m happy to do that.’ She puts her arms around Angela and hugs her tightly. ‘I’m not going
anywhere; the lodger is staying put in the caravan. You’ll have to kick me out.’ She lets her go and picks up her bag. ‘See you around one. Take care.’

She leaves Angela standing in the middle of the kitchen. Her heart aches for her; what a horrible position to be in . . .
At least she has me to listen to her, for what it’s
worth.
Angela has done so much for her since she got here – giving her a place to stay, not to mention the job she’d always wanted, and introducing her all around Merway. Lizzie is
glad that she can do something in return, even if it’s only being there when Angela needs someone to talk to.

As she walks down the street towards Ripe, she thinks about loving and hating someone at the same time, and wonders how it’s possible. Who said, ‘Love is akin to hate’? It
sounds vaguely like Shakespeare, but it could have been anyone. Two of the strongest emotions, so close together that maybe sometimes they collide and cause all sorts of heartache.

When Lizzie reaches Ripe, Joe is standing in the doorway to the back room, arms crossed, looking thoughtful. The shop is empty.

‘Morning,’ he says.

‘Hi, Joe; sorry about that – something came up.’ She heads towards the counter, taking off her jacket as she goes.

‘Did you sort it out?’ He watches her.

‘Yeah, it’s OK now.’ She looks at him. ‘It’s . . . not really something I can discuss, Joe. I hope you understand.’ She drops her jacket on a chair behind the
counter.

‘That’s fine; no problem.’ Joe hesitates, as if he’s going to say something else, then seems to change his mind. He turns. ‘I’ll be in the back if you need
me.’

Lizzie looks after him, frowning; he’s so serious this morning, not a bit like his usual self – not a hint of a smile, no smart comment. Could he be annoyed that she’s late?
She shakes her head – no, of course not. He’d assume she had a good reason.

She shrugs, and decides she’s imagining things; that business with John’s letter has her a bit anxious. It’s a pity she can’t talk it over with Joe, let someone else
share the worry – and get a man’s perspective. But of course she can’t.

She busies herself tidying up, sweeping and polishing and serving and chatting with whoever comes in. Joe doesn’t appear. Normally he puts his head around the door every so often with a
smart comment – ‘Just checking that you haven’t made off with the takings.’ But there’s no sound at all from the back room. Even the radio’s off.

He’s just busy, that’s all. Rushing to get this order out to Cork. Maybe he had a row with Charlie, and he’s a bit fed up; he’s entitled.
Lizzie tries to
concentrate on the crossword, to take her mind off the niggling worries, but the clues make no sense.

At twelve-thirty she goes to the back room. ‘Joe? It’s half twelve.’ Maybe he doesn’t feel like tea today. She’ll leave it up to him.

He looks up and drops the wood he’s holding. ‘Right; thanks. We’ll have tea.’

He still looks so serious. Suddenly Lizzie has to find out what’s wrong.

‘Joe, is everything all right? You look – upset.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Is it something I’ve done?’

He gives her an odd look – she can’t define it – and shakes his head. ‘Not at all, Lizzie. Sorry if you thought that. I do need to have a word with you, though.’ He
gestures towards the table. ‘Please sit down. I’ll put on the kettle.’

As if I’m a visitor, and he has to be polite. As if we’ve never sat around the table, laughing at nothing. As if there’s nothing between us at all.
Her heart sinks
further.

‘No, thanks, not for me; I don’t really feel like tea today.’ It would probably choke her. She sits on her usual chair and waits. First Angela, and now this . . .

Joe sits down opposite her. ‘Lizzie, I’m very sorry –’
Oh, no;
she doesn’t want to hear what’s coming. ‘ – but I have to let you
go.’

She looks at him, and can’t think of a single thing to say. He laces his fingers together; she’s never seen him like this, so uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie.
It’s been great having you here, but the fact is . . .’ He stops, and meets her eye for the first time since he sat down. ‘Charlie has offered to work here, and as he’s
family, I can’t very well say no.’

This is the last thing Lizzie expected. Charlie is taking over. Sullen, scruffy Charlie is moving in and taking her place. Ruining everything.

‘I see.’ She forces a smile. ‘That’s fine, Joe. As you say, he’s family. It makes sense to bring him in and let him help you out.’
Shut up. You
don’t mean a word of this; shut up.
She stops talking and stands abruptly. Her chair scrapes along the floor.

Joe stands too, then puts his hand in his back pocket and takes out an envelope. ‘Here’s what you’re owed, Lizzie, and a week in hand.’

Lizzie is mortified, without knowing why. A memory of Julia O’Gorman handing her an envelope flashes through her head. She feels as if she might get sick at any moment.

Her face flames as she reaches out for the envelope – ‘Thanks, Joe; I’ll see you’ – and practically runs out of the place, grabbing her jacket as she goes through
the shop. Joe starts to say something, but she keeps going.

At the door, she nearly collides with Big Maggie coming in. ‘Sorry, Maggie – I’m late for an appointment; Joe’s inside.’ There’s no way she can stop and talk
– least of all to the town gossip, who’ll probably wonder to everyone she meets why Lizzie O’Grady was in such a flap coming out of Joe McCarthy’s shop.

She walks quickly down the street towards The Kitchen, head down, blinking away tears and hoping to God she meets no one else she knows; and for once He listens. When she reaches her car she
gets in and drives off towards Seapoint. There’s no way she can go in to Angela, much as she’s dying to talk to her; Angela has quite enough to think about without Lizzie crying on her
shoulder. And she’d surely be spotted if she tried to sneak down to the caravan. No, she’ll go and find a café in Seapoint and sit there with a coffee and try and pull herself
together. She still has an hour or so before she needs to make a start on this evening’s baking.

Her throat feels tight; her eyes are hot. As she drives towards Seapoint she forces herself to think positive thoughts.

It’s not the end of the world. I’ve been let go because he needs to give Charlie something to do – to keep him out of trouble, probably. It’s no reflection on how he
feels or doesn’t feel about me; he just can’t afford to take two people on – and, anyway, there’s no need to have two behind the counter in such a small shop. I’ll
still be meeting him around the place. Nothing’s changed.

By the time she drives back to Merway, an hour and two cappuccinos later, she’s almost persuaded herself.

As soon as Lizzie walks in the back door of The Kitchen, Angela stands up from the table and goes quickly towards her.

‘Lizzie, I’ve been trying your mobile – I phoned the shop and Joe told me you were already gone –’ Her face is pale. Something tightens around Lizzie’s chest.
Oh, God, what now?
She doesn’t want to hear, whatever it is; she can’t face more trauma today.

But she has to. ‘I switched off the mobile. What is it?’ Can this day get any worse?

‘Your mother phoned.’

Oh, God. Daddy.

‘Your father had a fall. He’s all right, though.’ Angela holds out a bit of paper. ‘Here, give her a ring – she left this mobile number, it’s a neighbour
who’s at the hospital with her.’

The hospital.
Lizzie’s heart pounds. She looks at the paper, and the numbers dance. ‘Will you dial, Angela?’ Her voice is shaking.

She hears Angela’s voice asking for Mammy. Then the phone is passed to her. She takes it with a hand that won’t keep still.

‘Mammy?’

‘Lizzie, we’re all right.’ Mammy’s voice sounds incredibly calm. ‘Daddy had a bit of a fall. We’re at the hospital, and he’s having X-rays now.
I’m in the waiting room with Claire.’

For a second, Lizzie can’t think who Claire is; then she remembers – their next-door neighbour. For some reason she thinks of a cat.

‘I’ll come right back. I should be there in about two hours.’ She’s afraid to ask anything, for fear of what she’ll hear.

‘Drive carefully, love.’ Mammy hangs up, and Lizzie is left holding the phone, and shaking.
Why didn’t she tell me that there’s no rush, that I could wait until
tomorrow if I wanted?
A hand gently takes the receiver away from her, sits her down and places a steaming cup in front of her.

‘I have to go – Angela, I can’t –’

‘Just drink a bit of this – it’ll settle you.’ Angela spoons sugar into the cup and stirs it. ‘I’ve put an overnight bag together for you –’ she
gestures towards a bag sitting by the back door; Lizzie had walked right past it ‘– in case you can’t come back straightaway.’

What’s she talking about? Of course I’ll be back straightaway. Daddy will be fine when I get there. He just had a fall; it’s nothing.

Angela lifts the cup, puts it into her hands. ‘Take it, Lizzie. You need something before you can drive.’

The tea is sweet and very hot – she burns her tongue. But her heart slows down a little and she feels a bit steadier. After she’s forced down half a cup, she goes and picks up the
bag.

‘Now you take your time; you won’t be much good to anyone if you have an accident.’ Angela hugs her quickly. ‘Ring me when you’ve news – and take care,
Lizzie. We’ll look after Jones till you get back.’

Jones – she’d totally forgotten him. ‘Thanks, Angela.’

They go out to the car, and Lizzie gets in and drops the bag on the seat beside her. A memory nudges inside her head – saying goodbye to Mammy and Daddy when she left Kilmorris. Packing up
the Fiesta and heading off to start her life.

And never going back to see them since, not once; although they asked her and asked her. Putting it off every time she thought about it. Making every excuse she could think of.

She fights down a feeling of panic and starts the engine.
Daddy will be fine. He’s had a fall, that’s all; his bad leg gave way, probably. Maybe now they’ll fix it once and
for all – no more Deep Heat.

She puts her head out of the window. ‘I’ll call you when I have news.’ Angela nods, and waves as Lizzie drives off.

As she passes Ripe, she sees Joe’s black Land Rover outside the door. She puts her foot on the accelerator and drives out of Merway.

Daddy has cancer. Daddy is dying.

Lizzie sits beside Mammy, holding her hand. Mammy’s hand is cold and rough. It’s twenty past midnight, and they’ve just been told that Daddy has enough cancer in his body to
make sure he’s dead within weeks.

Daddy’s bad leg.
For the past year and a half they’ve called it
Daddy’s bad leg,
in the same tone of voice they’d use to talk about
Daddy’s
best suit
or
Daddy’s gardening gloves.
Daddy limping around the house, wincing if he banged his knee against anything, saying, ‘It’s at me today a bit.’ Mammy
and Lizzie taking turns to rub Deep Heat into Daddy’s bad leg. And all the time it was filling him up with poison, spreading the poison around his body till he was eaten up with it. Trying to
cure cancer with Deep Heat. Like trying to put out a blazing building with a watering can.

How could they not have known? How could they not have noticed that Daddy’s bad leg was slowly killing him? Why was there no sign, no warning that in the middle of one night they’d
be sitting close together in a doctor’s office, holding hands and trying not to hear the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth?