‘I wouldn’t drive back if I were you,’ he said. ‘Not right now, anyway. The fog is really thickening and that lane is precarious, even when it’s clear.’
‘Really, I’m fine. I’ve driven in Italy for years, this is nothing.’ She made for the car.
Taran watched her go. ‘You know, I do remember you from school,’ he said, then chuckled. ‘Didn’t you have pigtails?’
Daisy turned round. ‘I’m sure I didn’t have pigtails.’
‘Or plaits. They could have been plaits.’
She laughed. ‘I think I’d prefer you didn’t remember me at all!’
He shrugged. ‘Sorry. It came to me later.’ He whistled for the dogs. They chose not to hear him and trotted off into the garden, disappearing into the fog. ‘Why don’t you wait a little. Come in and have a coffee. I’d never forgive myself if you had an accident in the lane on account of Mother’s Christmas puddings.’ He flashed his megawatt smile.
Daisy laughed in that carefree way of hers, as if she hadn’t noticed it. ‘I hope you enjoy them,’ she said, climbing into the car. Then she rolled down the window and waved. ‘Happy Christmas.’
Taran watched her drive away. He had been alone in the house all day, wishing he was in Toronto. It would have been nice to have had the company of someone his age. Christmas promised to be grim with his father’s enormous family, and he was counting the days until he could leave. Daisy would have been a welcome respite. He was a little put out that she hadn’t taken up his offer. He made a fine cup of coffee.
He didn’t remember her at school at all. He’d looked up his old class photograph in his parents’ album and spotted her immediately in the front row. Round-faced, smiley, plaits or pigtails. They’d been in the same class until he’d left at eight to go to boarding school. However, she had remembered him, he thought, cheering up.
He whistled for the dogs and, when they finally appeared, he went back inside. He couldn’t understand why she had declined his cup of coffee.
Chapter 6
Marigold kept the little notebook in her pocket and wrote everything down, even things she thought she would never forget, like where she’d hidden the Christmas presents. She noted every special order taken in the shop, Tasha’s requests for time off, Nan’s requests for biscuits, Dennis’s mid-morning cup of coffee, which she liked to bring him when he was working in his shed, and all the little demands Suze made without realizing she was being demanding. Daisy demanded nothing, but Marigold wrote down a mid-morning cup of coffee for her too, which she took into the sitting room, because she didn’t want her to feel overlooked. Her notebook was her lifeline in the fog that all too often drifted into her mind; the lifeline that no one knew she needed.
It felt good to be in control, to feel confident that she could hide her growing forgetfulness from her family with this very simple method. Every time she went to the loo she looked in her notebook, reassured that everything she needed to remember was in there. She hung a big calendar on the fridge in the kitchen and wrote things on that too: Suze out for dinner with Batty. Batty dinner here. Take cottage pie out of freezer. The good thing about living next door to the shop was that if she forgot to buy something, like cream to go with the apple tart, she could just nip next door and help herself. Her main concern was concealing her fears from her family. She did not want to worry them.
Marigold’s family were very busy. Daisy was working hard at her easel in the sitting room. Marigold had seen the preliminary sketch of Bernie in charcoal and it was impressive. She’d always known her daughter had talent and it gave her pleasure to see her doing not only something she was good at but also something she loved. She sensed it was helping to heal her broken heart. Daisy didn’t talk about Luca and she put on a good show when she was with people, but Marigold knew her well enough to know that beneath it all she was hurting and being creative helped soothe that hurt. In times of sorrow Dennis would withdraw into his shed, seeking solace in creativity, just as Daisy was doing now. Although Dennis was comforted by rock music and Daisy by the likes of Hans Zimmer, two very different styles but both equally therapeutic for the heart.
Dennis was still busy making Marigold’s Christmas present. He was clearly pleased with it because he came in at the end of the day with a big smile on his face. He kissed her affectionately on the forehead, as he always did, but in the run-up to Christmas he held her a little longer and that meant a lot to Marigold. Perhaps he sensed her anxiety, or perhaps they were just appreciating each other more. She didn’t know. Anyhow, she looked forward to her jigsaw. This year it mattered more, because it was going to exercise her brain.
Suze worked away in the café, writing pieces on fashion for magazines and local newspapers, and spent hours in town taking photographs for her Instagram account @Suze_ontrend. Batty seemed to have enough spare time in the day to talk to her endlessly on the phone, then when they met in the evenings, they still found something to talk about.
Nan didn’t think that Daisy should stand so long at her easel. She said it would give her varicose veins when she was older. She thought Suze should do something more interesting than photographing the rings on her fingers or her cup of coffee for her social media accounts. She thought Dennis worked too hard and would likely suffer a heart attack if he didn’t slow down. She said Tasha was lazy and without a work ethic and Eileen was a gossip, even though ‘the old bat’ started sentences with ‘I’m not one to speak ill of people’. Even her son Patrick, who lived in Australia with his family, came in for criticism because he never flew to England, not even for Christmas, and this one could very well be her last. Nan sat in the kitchen, dipping chocolate biscuits into her tea and finding fault with everything. She found no fault with Marigold, however. She didn’t realize how hard her daughter was working on hiding her forgetfulness and her fear, and making such a success of it.
At last Christmas arrived. The rain turned to snow and the puddles turned to ice and Nan said she wouldn’t go to church unless Dennis drove her right up to the gate, because she really would slip and break her neck this time. So Dennis did as he was told and drove both Nan and Marigold while Suze and Daisy were happy to walk.
The lights of the church blazed through the falling snow as Daisy and Suze approached the church doors. They could hear Eileen’s organ-playing floating out and smell the familiar scent of candle wax and Christmas. Daisy had always loved Christmas because it was the same every year. Marigold gave them both a stocking, just as she had done all through their childhood, leaving it on the end of the bed, where it lay heavy and full of promise. They had breakfast together in the kitchen, which Marigold had festooned with tinsel and shiny baubles, and opened their stockings with gasps of delight. They had all decorated the tree this year, with the same decorations they used every year, pulling them out of the box that was kept in the attic and reminiscing over where they had come from. Nan had said the baubles looked a little tired and wasn’t it time they bought some new ones, but Suze and Daisy had insisted on everything staying the same and so stay the same it did.
Suze loved Christmas because of the presents. She loved presents more than anything. The big present-giving event was always after Christmas lunch, which Marigold cooked beautifully. She was very good at Christmas lunch. The turkey was always succulent, the roast potatoes crispy, the bread sauce and gravy delicious and the Christmas pudding juicy and full of five pence coins, which as children they had been eager to find. Nan said the coins should be bigger because it was easy to choke on a small five pence coin, but again, the girls had insisted that nothing change. Christmas was all about tradition and their family traditions were the most important of all.
The girls entered the church. It was crowded with not only the locals but also their families and friends who had come for Christmas. Candles flickered, the gold plates and candlesticks on the altar gleamed, the Christmas tree glittered with all the sparkly decorations the primary school children had made and the displays of holly, red berries a
nd fir, which were arranged in each window, sparkled with battery-operated tea lights. Outside, the snow continued to fall. Inside, the atmosphere was festive and excited, because there is something very magical about a white Christmas.
Dennis was in the aisle, talking to Sir Owen. Daisy and Suze slipped past them, greeting Sir Owen politely and wishing him a Happy Christmas. Suze made it into the pew but Daisy was detained by a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Taran, in a heavy coat and cashmere scarf, his hair swept off his forehead, his face darkened by stubble. ‘Hi,’ he said and smiled. ‘I take it you got home okay the other day.’
‘I did, thank you. Luckily no one was coming the other way.’
‘Mother stayed with friends until it had lifted. She was there until eight.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to have crashed into her on my way down the lane. That would have been embarrassing.’
His laugh was deep and croaky, like his voice, and she noticed how green his eyes were. ‘Mind you, the snow is worse. It would have been more sensible to have skied here.’
‘Yes, but you can’t ski back up again.’
‘That’s true, but you always enjoy the downhill more if the uphill has been a challenge. It makes it more precious.’
Daisy was about to say that she wouldn’t know, because she didn’t ski, but she noticed people sitting down and a silence falling over the pews and realized it was time to join her family. She sensed Taran was a little regretful to end the conversation and was flattered. She remembered him being quite pleased with himself as a boy and assumed he still was. Handsome men, in her experience, had a sense of entitlement. If she ever managed to get over Luca she would avoid falling in love with a handsome man.
The carols brought tears to Marigold’s eyes. Dennis took her hand. His was rough and calloused, the hand of a carpenter. Hers felt comfortable there, in that warm, familiar place. Marigold was relieved that he was here to look after her. More than any other year the carols made her nostalgic for the past, for the time before fear had slipped in and cast a shadow over her present. Before anxiety had cast an even greater shadow over her future. She felt more appreciative of her family than ever. More appreciative of life. Of today, Christmas, and the many blessings God had given her. She wanted to hold on to it, this precious day.
She looked around at the familiar faces of people she had known for years. There was her friend Beryl, who caught her eye and smiled. Eileen at the organ. Recently widowed Jean Miller, who gave Marigold a little wave. She noticed Cedric Weatherby, who noticed her too and winked. She smiled with gratitude for the Christmas puddings he had given her and he smiled back, dapper in a yellow bow tie and orange waistcoat. She saw their neighbours, John and Susan Glenn, and poor Dolly Nesbit. And so many other friends besides. Marigold was grateful for all of them on this Christmas Day, which somehow didn’t feel like any of the others. It felt different, as if she were watching it play out from a distance. Only Dennis’s hand gave her a sense of being fully present. A hand anchoring her to the moment as the fog in her mind grew thicker.
After the service they went into the hall for Christmas drinks. Marigold usually let Dennis wander off on his own to talk to people, but today she stuck beside him. She patted her handbag, thankful that she hadn’t left it in the pew. She wasn’t that bad, she reassured herself. Surely she was just being paranoid.
Mary Hanson weaved through the crowd to talk to her, holding a plastic cup of mulled wine. She wore a knitted hat, which was meant to look like a plum pudding, and a wide smile. ‘Ah, there you are, Marigold. Goodness, doesn’t Daisy draw well. She’s shown me her early sketch and it’s caught my darling Bernie to perfection. She’s so clever.’
‘That’s nice to hear. She’s been working very hard,’ said Marigold. ‘There’s barely enough room in the house for all of us, but she manages to find a little space of her own somehow.’
A man appeared and stood next to Mary. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he said to Marigold.
Marigold put out her hand and smiled. ‘Happy Christmas.’
The man looked at her hand, then at Mary, and they both laughed. ‘That’s very formal of you, Marigold,’ he said. Marigold felt the ground spin away from her. The way he said her name indicated that he knew her, but she couldn’t for the life of her recall who he was.
‘Silly of me,’ she mumbled. ‘Habit, I suppose. My mind is on the turkey.’
‘Of course,’ the man agreed. ‘Mary put ours in at eight this morning.’
‘It must be a very big one,’ said Marigold.
‘It’s enormous,’ said Mary. ‘But we have Brian’s sister and her family coming for lunch.’
Ah, Marigold thought. Brian. Of course. Brian is Mary’s husband. How could she have forgotten that? She felt her face flush with embarrassment that she had put out her hand as if she had never met him before. Then came the cold, prickly sensation, creeping across her skin. The icy damp fear. The dizziness. The sense of helplessness. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I think I need to sit down.’
Dennis sensed his wife wilting beside him and took her hand. ‘Are you all right, Goldie?’
‘I feel a little light-headed.’
‘Not too much mulled wine?’
‘I haven’t had any.’
‘Come, let me find you a chair and I’ll get you some. You’re probably just hungry.’ He led her to a chair at the edge of the room. She sank into it with a moan. Then he left her a moment to fetch her a drink.
‘Are you all right, Marigold?’ It was Beryl. She pulled up a chair and sat down, resting her walking stick against the wall. ‘There, that’s better. My legs are aching after standing for all those carols. Some of them are much too long, don’t you think? People of our age don’t want to be on our feet for hours.’
‘I agree,’ said Marigold, who didn’t really mind the standing.
‘I’ve got a house full of people, but I left Martin in charge. As you know, he doesn’t like church.’
‘Very convenient having Martin at home to look after the lunch.’
‘Not that he can be trusted. He’s hopeless in the kitchen. But with my hip I can’t do it all.’ Beryl carried on, telling Marigold about her son who had promised to help and her grandchildren, who she hoped would not make a mess of the house. All the while Beryl chatted Marigold tried to steady her pounding heart. All her joy at the magic of Christmas had died, leaving nothing but an aching terror. How could she have forgotten who Brian was? Brian, whom she had known for twenty years.
‘Here you are, Goldie,’ said Dennis, handing her a cup of mulled wine. Marigold took a large gulp and waited impatiently for it to reach her stomach and calm her nerves. She took another. Dennis looked down at her with a concerned expression. ‘Stay here a minute. I’ll be back.’
‘I know how you feel,’ said Beryl.
‘You do?’ said Marigold, surprised. Did anyone know how she felt?
‘Christmas is tiring. To think of all this fuss just for a couple of days.’
Dennis waded through the room in search of Daisy and Suze. He found Daisy talking to Taran. ‘Hello, Taran,’ he said. ‘Might I have a word with Daisy?’
The light in Taran’s eyes dimmed with disappointment. ‘Of course, no problem.’ He moved away reluctantly.
‘Daisy, I need you and Suze to help Mum at lunch today,’ said Dennis. ‘I don’t think she’s feeling very well.’
‘I don’t think she’s felt well for a while,’ Daisy replied. ‘She needs a rest, Dad. She works too hard.’
‘You’re right, she does. I wonder whether she’d agree to have someone else help her in the shop.’
‘You’d have to be very careful how you worded that. She’s very proud. She thinks she can do it all. But she’s not getting any younger.’
‘And Tasha is very unreliable.’
Suze appeared. ‘Shall we go home? I’m bored.’
‘Yes, time to go home. I’ll go and get your mother,’ said Dennis.
‘Where’s the Grinch?’ said Suze with a grin.
Daisy laughed and pointed. ‘Over there.’ Nan was deep in conversation with a group of people neither of them knew.
‘Being her usual chirpy self, I see, wishing everyone a miserable Christmas. She’d find fault with an angel,’ said Suze. ‘Too good. Too holy. Not enough of a sense of humour.’
‘Shall you extricate her, or shall I?’ Daisy asked.
Suze lowered her voice. ‘I think there’s someone who wants to talk to you.’
Daisy raised her eyes and saw that Taran was hovering nearby. She found it curious that he should want to speak to her, but then there were very few people their age in the hall. Suze left to go and rescue the poor visitors before Nan had ruined their Christmas cheer and Daisy hesitated a moment, unsure whether to follow her, or wait for Taran. She decided to do neither and made to leave. She’d meet her parents, Suze and Nan by the door.
‘Hey, Daisy.’ It was Taran.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.
‘Sure. Listen. Have a good Christmas.’
‘You too.’
‘I’m sure we will. Those Christmas puddings look delicious.’
‘Don’t choke on the coins.’ He frowned. ‘My grandmother always worries that we’ll choke on the five pence coins,’ Daisy explained. ‘Mum always puts them in the mixture.’
‘I see. I’ll make sure everyone knows.’
She turned to go.
‘Hey, Daisy, can I have your number? You know, to keep in touch. I know it’s been, what, over twenty years since school, but it would be nice to see a friend when I come home. I’m usually stuck with the parents and bored!’ He pulled a face.
Daisy laughed. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll put it in for you.’
He handed it to her. She typed in her name and number and handed it back. ‘Let me know that no one’s choked on a five pence piece, won’t you?’
He held up his phone. ‘Gotcha.’
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