The Daisy Picker (22 page)

She opens the door of the caravan.
I’m home
. The familiar space feels so right – the small kitchen, the shelves with her cookery books, the rug in front of the fire, the
bowl of shells on the coffee table; the vase she always kept filled with flowers, full of flowers now –
thanks, Angela
.

She drops her bag on the bed. A shower and a change of clothes, and maybe a short walk on the beach, and then she’ll go back up to Angela. Might as well get stuck in.

But first . . . She puts a hand into a side pocket of the bag and takes out the cat and the baseball cap. She puts the cat on the little shelf beside the window and the cap under her pillow.

A little later, crunching along the pebbles next to the water, Lizzie wonders about Angela. Of course she seemed glad to see her, but was there something . . . subdued about her? She
wasn’t her usual bubbly self, was she?

Lizzie shakes her head impatiently.
I’m imagining things; Angela was perfectly normal. She was hardly talking to me for more than a minute, for goodness’ sake. And, anyway, she
knows I’m not able for bubbly just yet.
She turns back and heads towards the restaurant.

But by the time they’ve cleared away the last of the dinners, Lizzie’s decided that her first instinct was right: something is definitely up with Angela. She’s been distracted
all evening, going through the motions of cooking and dishing up and serving, but clearly a million miles away.

Lizzie waits until they’re sitting down with tea.

‘Want to talk about it?’

Angela gives her a half-smile. ‘How well you know me.’

‘It’s John, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ Angela takes a deep breath. ‘You know I wrote to him and said I wasn’t interested in getting back together again.’ Lizzie nods. ‘I feel I made the
right decision; that part of my life is over, I just want to move on . . . To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever be able to trust him again.’

Lizzie passes her the milk. ‘That letter can’t have been easy to write.’

‘About as easy as pulling teeth from a rabid elephant, if there’s such a thing,’ Angela says. ‘Anyway, I heard nothing for a few weeks after that. I was beginning to
think that was the end of it – and wondering if he’d stop coming to see Dee, just to spite me . . . Then he turned up out of the blue, about a week ago, and told me that, if I wanted to
make a clean break, then he’d rather we made our separation . . . official.’ She makes a face.

‘But isn’t that better, Angela? Isn’t that what you want too?’ Lizzie says gently. She can imagine that Angela’s feelings must be terribly mixed; it’s one
thing to say you want to put your marriage behind you and make a fresh start, and another to actually do it.

‘He said we should get a divorce.’ Angela picks up her cup, then puts it down again. ‘He said we should do it properly – get a solicitor each, and divide everything up
between us.’

‘I suppose it makes sense, really – as long as he keeps up the contact with Deirdre.’ Dee is obviously close to her father; it would break her heart to be cut off from him.

Angela frowns. ‘Yes, I’m sure he’ll see her like he always has; that’s not what I’m worried about. But Lizzie, if we divide everything up between us, that includes
this place – the restaurant. My livelihood. He’s probably entitled to half.’

Lizzie looks at her in alarm. ‘Half this place? But – no, he has no right. This is all
your
work,
you
set it all up.’

‘Yes, yes, I was the one who opened the restaurant,’ Angela says impatiently, ‘and I was the one who stayed up half the night for the first six months, trying to make a go of
it. But it was his place to begin with; he already had the house and the video shop when we got married. I just moved in.’

She pulls a hand through her hair, and Lizzie suddenly sees how tired she looks. ‘I don’t know exactly what he’s entitled to at this stage, but one thing’s for sure
– there’s no way in the world I can afford to buy him out, whatever his rights are.’

‘But he can’t just come along like that and demand –’

‘Actually, I’m afraid he can. I haven’t really talked to my solicitor yet – I’m meeting her in the morning – but on the phone she didn’t hold out much
hope. She said he’d definitely be entitled to “a substantial share”, whatever that is.’

Lizzie’s head is buzzing. Everything Angela worked for, all her efforts to keep going after John walked out . . . It seems incredible that he might be able to come along and claim half
– and, in the process, ruin her. What kind of justice would that be?

No wonder Angela seemed distracted; she must be going out of her mind with worry.

Lizzie tries to gather her thoughts. ‘Look, wait and see what the solicitor says when you meet her. It mightn’t be as bad as you think; I mean, surely a lot would depend on what kind
of income John has now, wouldn’t it? And Deirdre is living with you, so that’ll be taken into account . . .’

But, even as she says it, she knows that Angela is probably right: if this place originally belonged to John, he must have a strong case for claiming at least half. And, of course, he walked out
on his livelihood – the video shop – when he left, so chances are he’s not rolling in it now.

Angela smiles thinly. ‘Watch out, Lizzie – Dee and I could well end up moving into the caravan. You might have to make room.’

Even though it’s meant to be a feeble joke, Lizzie feels a very selfish stab of fear at the thought that the caravan might be taken from her. Mammy sends her back to Merway, and
she’s evicted a week later . . . how ironic would that be?

She lifts the teapot, but Angela shakes her head. ‘No, thanks; I think I’ll turn in. Sorry – not much of a welcome back for you, was it? . . . Oh, and not a word to Dee –
I haven’t mentioned this to her yet. I dread to think how she’ll take it, actually.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that – kids are resilient.’
Except that she’s not a kid any more; she’s a teenager, probably full of the insecurities and
uncertainties that I remember from that age
. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, I will; you know that. Now that I’m not working in Joe’s any more, I can be around
here as much as I’m needed.’

Angela gives her another weak smile. ‘I know, pet. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s a darn thing you can do to get me out of this one.’

As she goes through the door into the hall, Lizzie looks thoughtfully after her.
Actually, you might just be surprised.

The following morning, Lizzie walks to Blooming Miracles after breakfast. Big Maggie’s head pops up from behind a display of seed packets as the door opens.

‘Lizzie, how lovely; Angela said you were coming back this week. Any excuse to take a break from cleaning is very welcome.’ She takes Lizzie’s hands and presses them gently
between hers. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry about your poor father.’

Lizzie is touched. ‘Thank you, Maggie – and thanks for your Mass card; it was very thoughtful.’

‘Not at all, dear – the least I could do. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I had a big wedding order that day.’ She drops Lizzie’s hands. ‘Now, have you time
for a cup of tea?’

‘That’d be lovely, Maggie. I think I could spare a few minutes – and you can bring me up to date on what’s been happening around Merway.’
Because if anyone
knows, you will.

So Lizzie hears the news – a spate of break-ins within days of one another; a new boutique about to open; a near-drowning a few miles down the coast; Maggie’s own plans to redecorate
and possibly extend the garden centre.

Lizzie wonders how long before the name she’s waiting for comes up. ‘Anything else strange?’

‘Well, I suppose Angela has already told you that Dominic is off to the States next month. Some big offer of work from the man he deals with there.’ Lizzie hadn’t heard; Angela
had other things on her mind the night before. ‘Yes, it seems he could be gone quite a while – two or three months, maybe. He told me he’s asked Joe McCarthy to keep an eye on his
house for him.’

With an effort, Lizzie looks innocently over at Maggie. ‘Oh, I see.’ And then she waits.

Maggie leans over and puts a hand on Lizzie’s arm. ‘I hope you’re going to be working with Joe again, dear, now that you’re back. Take your mind off things.’

And give you something fresh to talk about.
Lizzie shakes her head firmly. ‘Oh, no, Maggie – that was only a temporary arrangement, just to give Joe a hand for a few weeks.
No, I’ll be helping Angela out more in The Kitchen, actually; I’ll have my hands full there.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Maggie looks faintly surprised. ‘I thought you were a permanent fixture in Joe’s shop; you seemed to get on very well.’

‘Ah, no, I wouldn’t really fancy that kind of work; not my cup of tea at all.’ Lizzie smiles. ‘I’m much happier baking for Angela . . . Anyway, Joe has Charlie to
help him if he’s stuck.’

‘That fellow?’ Maggie says in disbelief. ‘He wouldn’t last a day there; he doesn’t know the meaning of work.’

So Lizzie was right: Charlie was simply Joe’s excuse to let her go. It’s painful for her to accept the truth – but at least now, she hopes, Maggie doesn’t think
she’s pining for Joe.

They talk some more, and then Lizzie looks at her watch and remembers that she should be getting back to help Angela. She thanks Maggie for the tea, and buys two bunches of freesias.

She heads towards the beach; she’ll walk back to The Kitchen that way. She’s not in as much of a hurry as she led Maggie to believe, and the day is fine.

It’s got nothing to do with the fact that, this way, she won’t have to walk past Ripe. As she crunches across the pebbles, she tells herself that she’s not avoiding Joe; of
course not. It’s just that she’s not quite ready to face him yet. Give her a week or so, to get back into the swing of things in Merway, and she’ll be able to chat away to him and
be perfectly friendly and natural.

She hopes.

As luck would have it, every time Lizzie turns around, over the next week or so, Charlie is there. He saunters past The Kitchen one afternoon, hands in the pockets of the one
pair of scruffy jeans he seems to own. She sees him coming out of Doherty’s another day, and heading into Dignam’s one evening. If he sees her, he doesn’t let on, and she’s
glad that she doesn’t have to pretend to be friendly.

One day she drives past a chipper in Seapoint and sees Charlie talking with a girl in a blue top. She looks awfully like – Lizzie slows down and cranes out the window – yes,
it’s definitely Deirdre, deep in conversation with the most unsavoury character in Merway. She’s sharing his newspaper bundle of chips, or whatever, and laughing at something he’s
saying. Lizzie is amazed that they even know each other, but then she thinks:
Why shouldn’t they? They’ve been living in the same village for nearly a year
.

After deliberating for a while, she decides to say nothing about it; Angela has other things on her mind these days.

Or, at least, one other thing.

Today she’s visiting her solicitor for the second time in a week. Today she’ll be told whether John Byrne is going to bring about the end of her business. Lizzie wants to go with
her, but Angela insists on going alone.

‘If I’m delayed, you’ll need to make a start on the dinners – Dee will be around to give a hand if you need her. At least, I hope she will; she’s been out a lot
lately.’ Angela looks pale and worried, and Lizzie feels a knot of anxiety for her.

‘Look, just wait and see; it mightn’t be as bad as you’re thinking.’

Even as she says it, Lizzie knows that this is a fat lot of good to Angela, who has a head on her shoulders and a pretty good idea what her solicitor is going to say. But Angela nods and climbs
into her car.

Later, as Lizzie comes out of the caravan
,
she sees Deirdre coming through the gate from the beach.

‘Hi, Lizzie.’ Her usually pale cheeks are slightly flushed, presumably from having rushed home from wherever she was. She looks up towards the house. ‘Wonder if Mum is back
yet.’

Lizzie shakes her head. ‘She said she’d ring me when she’s on her way home. I was just about to go and make a start on the bread.’

Deirdre nods – ‘Shout if you need me; I’ll be in my room’ – and walks quickly up to the house.

Looking after her, Lizzie wonders how much she knows, or guesses, about what’s happening between her parents. She’s been out more than in since Lizzie got back. Maybe she prefers the
company of her friends at the moment, with Angela so distracted – and who could blame her, poor thing? As long as she’s not seeing too much of Charlie McCarthy . . .

She glances at her watch: two-fifteen. If Angela gets back in the next half-hour, they’ll have time to chat before they get too busy.

Enough time, Lizzie hopes, for her to find out what she needs to know.

‘You must be out of your mind.’

Angela looks incredulous. Lizzie smiles gently back. It’s eleven o’clock that evening, the clear-up is finished and they’re in the kitchen.