Marigold’s eyes were full of fear, which made the vice on Suze’s heart squeeze tighter. ‘I’m not sure how I got here . . .’
‘Mum, you walked here.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. We had a fight. I said some horrid things to you on the phone. I’m so sorry.’
Marigold searched her mind for a memory of those horrid things, but her brain was full of porridge, she couldn’t find anything. She shook her head. She couldn’t find the words to explain the porridge feeling. She gazed at her daughter blankly. Suze gathered her into her arms and held her tightly. ‘Oh Mum, I’m so sorry,’ she repeated.
Marigold didn’t know why she was sorry, but she forgave her anyway, because that’s what one did when someone apologized.
‘Come, let’s get you home,’ said Suze gently, linking her arm and leading her away from the cliff and back to the path. ‘You’re soaking. We don’t want you to get a chill.’
Marigold smiled feebly. ‘That’s what I used to say to you when you were a little girl. “Get out of those clothes at once or you’ll catch a chill.” You’re wet too, love.’
Suze began to cry. ‘You frightened me, Mum.’
‘Did I?’
‘I thought you were going to jump.’
‘Now why would I do a silly thing like that?’
‘Because I was horrid to you.’
Marigold shrugged. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Well, that’s one good thing about forgetting things,’ said Suze and Marigold was pleased that Suze had found a silver lining where she had failed to.
The porridge in her mind began to subside and snippets of memory began to peep through like sunshine through cloud. Marigold looked around her and recognized the path and the rocks and the landscape. Her breathing began to slow and her heart rate returned to normal.
‘I forgot your fitting, didn’t I?’ she said, wondering why she should remember that now.
‘It’s okay, Mum. There’ll be another one.’
‘I really want to see you in your dress, Suze.’
‘You will. I’ll make another appointment and take you there myself.’
Marigold patted her hand. ‘Oh, would you? That would be wonderful.’
‘But you have to do something for me first.’
‘Of course. What do you need?’
‘I need you to see a doctor.’
‘But I’ve already seen a doctor.’
‘You need to see him again.’
Marigold sighed. ‘I doubt he’ll say anything different.’
‘I’m going to come with you.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I want to.’
And as it turned out, Daisy and Dennis wanted to as well.
The four of them sat in the doctor’s surgery a week later. Dr Farah brought up Marigold’s notes on the computer and looked at them closely. ‘Have you had another fall?’ he asked, peering at her over his glasses.
‘No, but she forgot where she was recently,’ said Suze. ‘I found her on the clifftop, bewildered and confused, and if I hadn’t found her I dread to think what would have happened.’
Dr Farah nodded at Suze and then looked at Marigold. ‘And this has happened before, hasn’t it?’ He scanned his notes.
Daisy answered for her. ‘At Christmas. She forgot where the car park in town was, didn’t you, Mum?’
Marigold nodded. ‘It’s as if a mist comes in and hides everything. If I wait and breathe, the mist eventually lifts and it all comes back.’
‘And how do you feel in yourself?’ the doctor asked.
‘Some days are fine, others are difficult. Some days I just want to stay in bed because I feel so tired and my brain is slow.’ She turned to Dennis. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m finding your puzzle a bit of a challenge.’
Dennis put his hand on hers and smiled. ‘That’s all right. It’s meant to be fun. Perhaps Daisy and Suze can help you with it.’
‘Of course we will,’ said Daisy.
The doctor continued to ask questions. He took her blood pressure and then another blood sample. Finally, he took off his glasses and sat back in his chair. ‘I’m going to send you off for a brain scan and refer you to a clinical psychologist,’ he said. ‘She’ll be able to test your memory.’
‘Do I have dementia?’ Marigold asked suddenly. She hadn’t wanted to. She’d been too frightened to open that up as a possibility, but now, sitting in front of the doctor, she decided she’d be brave.
Dr Farah shook his head and frowned. ‘I don’t like to speculate without having all the facts in front of me. For certain your memory is impaired, but to give you a diagnosis without being in possession of all the facts and test results would be unprofessional.’
‘Of course you haven’t got dementia!’ said Dennis.
‘You’re going to be fine, Mum,’ said Daisy.
Suze knew from Daisy’s forced smile that she didn’t believe it.
When they got home, Marigold and Dennis sat at the kitchen table with Nan. ‘They’re sending Marigold off for an MRI and referring her to a clinical psychologist,’ he told her.
‘I know what an MRI is, but what’s a clinical psychologist?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dennis. ‘But they’ll do some memory tests and hopefully find out what’s wrong.’
‘You’re just getting older, Marigold,’ said Nan in a tone that suggested she thought the whole idea utterly absurd.
Marigold was tired of being told that. She poured hot water into the teapot and brought it over to the table. ‘I just want to find out what’s wrong with me and to be given the correct medication to get better.’ She smiled wearily. ‘I want to feel like myself again.’
Nan pulled a face. ‘You’re making it worse by being anxious,’ she said. ‘If you didn’t make such a thing out of it, you’d probably find it went away by itself.’
‘You mean, if I forgot about it?’ said Marigold with a smile. Dennis smiled back at her. Then they both laughed. ‘Sadly, the only thing I’m unable to forget about is that,’ she said and sat down. ‘Now, let’s have a nice cup of tea and talk about something else.’
‘Good idea, Goldie,’ said Dennis.
Marigold poured the tea. ‘What’s wrong with now?’
Nan’s face softened and she smiled tenderly at the thought of her husband. ‘Nothing’s wrong with now,’ she replied and Marigold nodded with satisfaction.
‘Nothing’s wrong with now,’ she repeated and put down the teapot.
That evening, while Nan nodded off in front of the television and Dennis made miniature pews for his church in the kitchen, Marigold, Daisy and Suze sat at the table in the sitting room and worked on the jigsaw puzzle. With their heads down and their bodies almost touching, they pieced together the picture that Dennis had so lovingly crafted. Instinctively, Daisy and Suze conspired. They collected clusters of pieces that went together and casually placed them in front of their mother. Oblivious to what her daughters were doing, Marigold studied the pieces, compared them for colour and form and, with a rush of pleasure, fitted them together. To her surprise and delight, she was able to complete a small section of the picture on her own. ‘It’s a cat slipping on the ice,’ she gasped, staring down at the black-and-white cat. ‘He looks just like Mac. Do you think that’s why Dennis chose the picture?’
Daisy caught Suze’s eye and they both smiled. ‘I think Mac would be just as useless on the ice,’ she said.
Marigold laughed. ‘If Mac’s in the picture, Dennis can’t be far away. I’m going to look for him now.’
‘They’re inseparable, aren’t they?’ Daisy mused with a chuckle.
‘Where there’s one, there’s always the other,’ Marigold added.
‘This is fun, isn’t it, Mum?’ said Suze, sliding the pieces that made up a couple in front of her mother.
‘Thank you for helping me,’ Marigold said. ‘I couldn’t do this without you.’
‘We’re a good team,’ s
aid Daisy.
‘Ah! Look what I’ve found!’ Marigold seized upon the pieces in front of her and snapped them into place with growing confidence. ‘A couple!’
‘You and Dad,’ said Suze.
‘Could be, couldn’t it?’ Marigold agreed.
‘They’re holding hands, just like you and Dad,’ said Daisy.
Marigold’s smile wavered a little. ‘Trust Dennis to find such a beautiful picture.’ She traced it with her fingers. ‘He’s good like that, isn’t he?’
‘He is,’ Daisy agreed. ‘He’s the best.’
‘Now we have to find me and Daisy,’ said Suze.
‘And Nan,’ Daisy added with a giggle.
They glanced over to where Nan was asleep on the sofa.
‘She’ll be on her back in the snow, having slipped,’ whispered Suze.
‘Complaining,’ Daisy added.
The three of them laughed and Marigold felt normal again. Perhaps Nan was right, after all. If she stopped being anxious, it might just go away.
Chapter 16
Daisy spent the next few days playing with Julia Cobbold’s terrier in preparation for his portrait, and helping Lady Sherwood with the funeral arrangements. She did the seating plan for the church and printed labels for those who required reserved seats. She kept up with the growing list of those wanting to come and proofread the order of service. On top of that she walked Lady Sherwood’s dogs and managed to entice Taran to join her, even in the rain. Taran was not interested in talking about the farm, the woods or the beauty of the countryside, so Daisy gave up trying to steer him in that direction and hoped that, by being exposed to it, he might grow to love it as she had. After all, it belonged to him now. However, he never discussed his inheritance, or what he intended to do with it. They chatted about many things and enjoyed a light banter, but Daisy soon realized that, in spite of the time they spent together, she knew Taran little better than when she had first met him. He just wasn’t someone who enjoyed talking about himself and his feelings. He didn’t talk much about his father, either. He deftly skirted around the subject with what appeared to Daisy to be a well-practised art of avoidance, and she wondered whether he had developed that skill over years of eschewing emotions. The British stiff upper lip wasn’t something she had encountered until now. Taran was funny, charming, witty and kind, but he could also be remote and cold.
Daisy compared him to Luca, who was fiery and emotional, with a penchant for drama and exaggeration. Taran was phlegmatic and dry-humoured, and she doubted he exaggerated anything. Both men were creative and intelligent, however, with a strong sense of who they were and who they wanted to be. She had always liked that about Luca. He wasn’t a crowdfollower and he wasn’t concerned about what other people thought. He was unashamedly himself. She sensed Taran was like that too.
She was gazing out of the studio window, thinking of Taran and how unfathomable he was, when her phone rang. She had recently chosen a dog-bark ringtone and it gave her a sudden shock. For a split second, she thought there was a dog in the room. She was surprised to see Luca’s name on the screen. After a moment’s hesitation she picked up. She had nothing to lose; after all, she’d already lost everything.
‘Ciao, Luca,’ she said and sat down.
‘Ciao, Margherita,’ he replied, using the name he’d given her when they’d first met, which was a direct translation of daisy. ‘Thank you for taking my call. I thought you’d never speak to me again.’
‘I’m not angry anymore,’ she replied, savouring the sense of her old self as she slipped into speaking Italian again. It brought Italy and Luca back to her more acutely.
‘It’s good to hear your voice, my love.’
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘In my life or in my heart?’
She smiled in spite of herself. She could just picture him standing there looking at her with sheep’s eyes, a fist banging his chest for emphasis. How like Luca to be dramatic.
‘Let’s start with your life,’ she suggested.
He sighed. ‘Good, I suppose. Work is busy, as always. You remember Carlo Bassani?’
‘Yes.’
‘He still wants me to do the photography for his book.’
‘The one about interiors?’
‘Yes, I’m not sure . . .’
‘But you were quite into the idea.’
‘I was, but now you are gone, I’ve lost enthusiasm for my life. Which brings me on to my heart.’
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that it’s hurting as much as mine.’
‘You broke my heart, Margherita. I never wanted you to leave. Don’t forget that. And it has always been in your power to mend it. You only have to come home.’
‘Not entirely true, Luca, if you remember rightly.’
‘We could have each other and together conquer the world.’
‘I don’t want the world. I want a family.’
There was a long pause.
‘I would give everything to have you back in my life, but that is too high a price to pay. I thought you might have missed me.’
‘I have missed you. I miss you still, a lot.’
‘A lot, a lot! What does that mean?’
‘The same as you, Luca. I’ve missed you but not enough to compromise on what I want. I’m sorry.’
‘We are the two biggest fools, you know,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Two big fools who can’t see how good they are together.’
‘I can see it, Luca. I was with you for six years because I knew how good we were together, but I feel incomplete. Running back to you will not make me whole.’
There was another long pause. The silence was so heavy Daisy wondered whether he had cut off.
‘Then there is nothing more to say,’ he said at last, and his voice had lost its vigour.
‘Perhaps not.’
He chuckled bitterly. ‘You have become English again.’
‘I’ve always been English.’
‘No, you became Italian, but now you’re English.’ She sensed that was not a compliment. ‘You don’t sound like my Margherita anymore.’
‘That’s because I’m not, Luca. I’m my Daisy.’
He didn’t ask what that meant. ‘So, it is goodbye then.’
‘I suppose it is,’ she answered.
There was another heavy pause. Daisy waited for him to speak. She sensed his annoyance. He always liked to be in control. Now he wasn’t.
When he finally spoke his voice was soft and full of feeling. ‘Just because I don’t want to marry and have children does not mean I don’t want to be with you or that I don’t love you. Do you understand?’
‘As I said, Luca, we both want different things.’
‘No, you are wrong. We both want each other.’
‘I have to go, Luca.’ Daisy was weary of the argument.
‘Think about it, Margherita.’
‘Goodbye, Luca.’
When she hung up, she realized he hadn’t asked her about herself at all. She wondered whether he had always been so self-absorbed. I’m my Daisy, she repeated to herself. It was true. She didn’t need anyone to complete her.
Yet, as she turned her gaze to the big studio window, the view was blurred by a film of tears.
Suze made sure that the arrangements for her wedding were all in hand. She double-checked everything that her mother had ticked off on her list, just to be sure. Daisy had been helping her, but now she was busy with Sir Owen’s funeral she didn’t have time to oversee the wedding as well. Much to Suze’s delight, she had gained many more followers on her Instagram site due to all the posts she was putting up about her wedding. She had curated some beautiful photographs of flowers, invitations, underwear and jewellery, none of which were her own, but taken in wedding shops and at the fairs she’d gone to for inspiration. The companies had been so delighted with her posts that they had offered her discounts.
Marigold agreed to give Tasha more responsibility in the shop, and to take on a school-leaver
part-time to help. This was a challenge for Marigold. It was difficult relinquishing control and putting her trust in someone who had, historically, been fantastically unreliable. But Tasha assured her that she would not let her down. Marigold had no choice but to give her a chance.
The morning of Sir Owen’s funeral dawned with a luminous beauty that would have pleased him. It was the end of spring and she was giving her very best before she stood aside and allowed summer to take her place. The horse chestnut trees that sheltered the church from the sea winds were now in full flower. The leaves were an almost phosphorescent green, the candles thick with white blossom, the birds that nested among them vociferous in their farewells to the departing season. The heavens were as blue as lapis and the sun flooded the village in a warm golden radiance, promising a long and hot summer; the day could not have been lovelier.
Nan complained of hay fever and kept wiping her nose with a tissue and sneezing loudly. ‘I really shouldn’t go out,’ she said at breakfast. ‘But Sir Owen is only going to be buried once and I don’t want to miss it.’
‘You need to take an antihistamine,’ said Suze.
‘Oh no, they make me sleepy and I don’t want to nod off during the service. When your grandfather was buried his aunt Mabel nodded off and snored like a warthog during the prayers. I’ll never forget it. I don’t want to be like Aunt Mabel, remembered only for snoring like a warthog during the prayers.’
‘I’m sure that wouldn’t happen,’ said Dennis. ‘You’ll be remembered for your wonderful sense of humour, Nan.’ He had a twinkle in his eye and Marigold smiled into her teacup.
Nan nodded. ‘I’m able to take a joke,’ she agreed humourlessly. ‘Occasionally, I make one.’
Suze couldn’t think of a single joke her grandmother had made, at least, not intentionally.
‘Have you ever heard a warthog snore?’ she asked.
‘Warthogs snore,’ said Nan emphatically.
‘Daisy left early,’ Suze said, changing the subject. ‘Lady Sherwood keeps her busy, doesn’t she.? Considering she doesn’t pay her.’
‘But she gives her the use of the barn, rent-free,’ Dennis reminded her.
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