‘She’s such a comfort to Lady Sherwood,’ said Marigold proudly.
‘That’s right, Goldie. Sylvia popped into the shop yesterday and told you.’
‘Yes, she did,’ Marigold replied. But she didn’t remember Sylvia at all.
They walked to the church in the sunshine. Nan complained all the way about her hay fever. ‘The horse chestnuts are the worst,’ she whinged. ‘The pollen gets into my eyes and throat and makes me want to scratch them. But if I scratch my eyes I’ll smudge the mascara and then I’ll look as if someone’s hit me. I wouldn’t want to have to explain to everyone who asked that it was just hay fever and not domestic violence.’
‘They’d all be so disappointed,’ said Suze. ‘They love a drama in this village.’
Marigold had slipped her hand round Dennis’s arm and they walked slowly, side by side. Marigold was not having a good day. Her head was fuzzy, as if it were full of wool. It took her longer to focus, longer to respond, longer to recognize the world around her. But Dennis was patient and didn’t rush her. Even Suze, who could be irritable, was being kind. Nan seemed not to notice.
Daisy was at the church doors when they arrived, greeting people, handing out orders of service and showing family and close friends to their reserved seats. She’d been at the church all morning, putting the names in the pews and overseeing the florist, assisted by Sylvia who was little help snivelling into a wet handkerchief. Marigold’s breath caught in her chest when she saw the flowers. The smell was heady, like a bouquet of lilies and gardenia pressed up against her nose. She blinked in wonder at the candles. There were hundreds of them, their little flames dancing on every surface, each one radiating a bright aura of gold. Dennis took her hand and led her into a pew at the back where David Pullman, the farm manager, was sitting with his wife and two daughters. They shuffled up so that Suze and Nan could join them, and saved a space for Daisy at the end.
But Daisy didn’t need a space. Lady Sherwood had insisted that she be seated with the family, and had placed her at the end of the second pew against the wall, right behind the front row, which was reserved for herself, Taran and Sir Owen’s sisters. Daisy didn’t feel comfortable sitting there, when her family was at the back, but she was too grateful to Lady Sherwood to move.
Eileen began to play the organ. Her fingers skipped lightly over the keys and moved the congregation to silence. It was then that Lady Sherwood made her way slowly down the aisle, leaning on her son, who walked tall with his shoulders back and his chin up and his face set in a solemn, impassive mask. Daisy watched him in fascination. In his dark suit and tie, Taran looked dashing. He betrayed no emotion, however, unlike his mother who was struggling to hold back her tears. He didn’t catch anyone’s eye, but walked on at a stately pace. He took his seat in front of Daisy and she noticed the stiffness in his jaw and guessed he was controlling his feelings there, blocking them in like a dam. Her heart went out to him.
Daisy opened the order of service and looked at the photograph of Sir Owen in his tweed cap and wondered where he was now; where his consciousness was. Was he in the church, watching them all mourning him as her grandfather had believed? ‘I won’t have any of you wearing black at my funeral,’ Grandad had said. ‘The heavy black vibrations will just make it harder for me to reach you and I want to be there to hear what you all have to say about me.’ He had laughed. Daisy remembered his laugh, deep and infectious, and she marvelled at how certain he had been that death was no more than a waking up from a long dream. She wondered whether Sir Owen had awakened from his long dream and whether he was here, waiting to hear what his family had to say about him. She realized then that the entire congregation was wearing black. Perhaps those heavy vibrations would make it impossible for him to come. Everyone had worn colour at Grandad’s funeral and at the end of the eulogy the candle in front of his photograph had gone out, supposedly all on its own.
No candles went out at Sir Owen’s funeral, but there were lots of tears, shed by the women in his family who perhaps wanted to make up for the lack of tears in the eyes of the men. Lady Sherwood’s shoulders shook and Taran put an arm around her to comfort her. The sight of them together stirred something in Daisy and a lump lodged itself in her throat and her vision misted. She had only met Sir Owen half a dozen times, but it wasn’t for him that she cried, it was for Taran and Lady Sherwood. One didn’t cry so much for the deceased as for those who would have to continue living without them. If her grandfather were to be believed, mourning the dead was pointless. One should really only grieve for those left behind, he had said.
After the service there were drinks and tea in the village hall. It was an ugly room with no redeeming features and Daisy had had a hard time filling it with flowers and bay trees to conceal the plain white walls and distract from the cold white strip lights. No expense had been spared and Lady Sherwood was pleased at how beautifully it had turned out. ‘You’ve done a marvellous job,’ she said to Daisy when they had a moment alone together. ‘I hardly recognize this place with all the flowers.’
‘I really had nothing to do with it,’ Daisy replied. ‘The florist should take all the credit.’
After that it was impossible to get near her, for everyone wanted to pay their respects and tell Lady Sherwood how much Sir Owen had touched their lives. Nan and Marigold had taken advantage of the seats and small tables set up around the edge of the room and sat down, just the two of them. Nan did not want to talk to anyone and Marigold was afraid to, in case she failed to recognize them. They both watched the slow movement of people as they mingled. Dennis mingled more than anyone. He was an arch-mingler, and because he was so genial and kind everyone felt better for having spoken to him.
Daisy found herself searching the faces for Taran’s. She wanted to check that he was all right. She imagined how much of a trial an occasion like this was for someone who preferred to keep people at arm’s-length. She weaved through the crowd, smiling graciously at Sir Owen and Lady Sherwood’s friends as they stepped aside to let her pass. She saw Eileen and swiftly changed direction; she did not want to engage in a long conversation; Eileen did like to talk. At length she realized that the only place Taran could be was outside. She left the hall and found him smoking a cigarette in the car park.
‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ she said, approaching him.
He grinned. ‘I don’t. I bummed one to keep me going. I’ll be very happy when everyone goes home.’
‘It was a lovely service, though.’
‘Uncomfortable,’ said Taran, inhaling deeply before letting out a stream of smoke. ‘I hate funerals at the best of times.’
‘Well, they’re not the most fun, I agree. How was the cremation?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Unspeakably awful. There’s something chilling about the industrial nature of a crematorium. One after the other, into the oven—’
‘Don’t,’ she stopped him.
‘He should have been put in the ground. Less shocking somehow.’
‘Both are unappealing, if you ask me.’
‘It’s hard to think of him like that. In a coffin. Hard to picture it.’
‘I wouldn’t try, if I were you.’
‘I can’t help it. Morbid fascination. The mind keeps going back to it.’ Taran took another drag and blew out the smoke. ‘Dad was a force of nature. Strong, capable, ebullient and charming. It was terrible thinking of that life force lying extinguished in a wooden box. I just can’t imagine him like that.’
‘You have to remember him at his best.’
‘I know. Of course I do. But like I said, the mind keeps going back to it. Do you want to go for a drink?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Now?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, perhaps not right now. Later? We could go to the pub. I’ll be leaving for Toronto tomorrow.’ He looked at her steadily, waiting for her to decline, as she had declined at Christmas.
‘Sure,’ she replied, surprising him. ‘This evening is good.’
‘Great. I�
��ll meet you there at six.’
Daisy laughed. ‘Have you been to the pub before, Taran?’
‘Well, not this pub.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
‘Do they bite in there?’
‘No, it’s a friendly crowd. A little dull perhaps for someone who lives in Toronto.’
‘I’m not going for the crowd.’
His green eyes twinkled. Daisy’s laugh was a defence mechanism. She knew she shouldn’t read too much into his flirting. ‘I’ll see you there at six,’ she said. ‘I’d better check on your mother. She’ll be needing a whisky, I suspect.’
He put his hand in the small of her back and escorted her into the hall. ‘Make that three,’ he said. ‘We all need one.’
Daisy was relieved when the funeral was over and everything had gone smoothly. Lady Sherwood thanked her profusely, embracing her with a warmth of which Daisy had not thought her capable. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you,’ she said, eyes filling again with tears. ‘If Owen were here I’d tell him how wonderful you’ve been, but he’s not, so I’ve got no one to tell.’ Daisy thought of Taran and Lady Sherwood added, as if she’d read her mind, ‘Taran already knows how wonderful you are.’
That remark stayed with Daisy as she made her way home. Her parents, Nan and Suze had left the tea a long while before and she was alone with her thoughts. Taran already knows how wonderful you are. Was that simply a throwaway line? She couldn’t believe he really thought that. She imagined he flirted with girls all the time. It meant nothing. He was just feeling vulnerable because his father had died.
When she got home her mother had returned to the shop. Suze was sitting at the kitchen table with Nan, discussing the funeral. ‘There’s nothing pleasant about a funeral,’ Nan was saying. ‘They just remind you of where you’re going to end up. That’s the only certainty in life, isn’t it? Death. It’s the great equalizer. It will come to us all, no matter who we are.’
‘I love your positivity, Nan,’ said Suze, hugging a mug of coffee. ‘Really, you are a beacon of light in these dark times.’
‘There’s no point in hiding the truth, Suze. We’re all waiting in line to drop off the end of the world.’
‘You could possibly sugar-coat it a little.’
‘I am what I am, Suze. I’ve been a sourpuss for eighty-six years, I’m not going to change now.’
Suze looked up at Daisy and registered her glowing face. ‘What’s going on with you?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ Daisy replied quickly.
Suze narrowed her eyes. ‘I know you well enough to know when “nothing” means “something”.’
‘Taran’s asked me for a drink.’
Nan sucked the air through her lips. ‘Where’s he taking you?’
‘Like a date?’ Suze asked.
‘It’s only at the pub. Nothing special and no, it’s not a date.’
Suze grinned mischievously. ‘Just two friends going for an innocent drink. Sure it’s a date, silly!’
‘A date!’ repeated Nan, looking uncharacteristically positive. ‘About time you got back into the game, Daisy. After a break-up like yours the trick is to only look forward, never to look back.’
‘And you know about that, do you, Nan?’ said Suze, arching an eyebrow.
‘You could say I’m something of a dark horse, Suze. If I had looked back, I’d never have married your grandfather. I’d have married little Barry Bryce – he was always called “little” even though he was over six feet tall.’ She screwed up her nose and shook her head. ‘Barry went off to live in Bodrum and got eaten by a shark, I think. Never look back, Daisy. I’d have been a widow at twenty-six and Grandad would never have known my charm and wit.’
Daisy laughed and went off to change out of her funeral clothes.
‘Where’s she going then?’ asked Nan.
‘Forward,’ said Suze. ‘She’s going to show Taran her charm and wit.’
Chapter 17
Daisy arrived a little late at the pub. She hadn’t intended to, only Marigold had lost something and they had all had to help her search for it. The trouble was, she couldn’t remember what it was that she had lost, just that it was important. This had made the search almost impossible. It wasn’t her phone, or her keys, or her handbag. They couldn’t imagine what it could be.
Daisy had gone through her mother’s pockets and found a little notebook in one of her cardigans. When she had shown it to her, Marigold had held it in her hands as if it were a wounded bird. ‘That’s it,’ she had said, the worry expelled in a breath. ‘I won’t lose it again.’ But even she had known that wasn’t likely.
When Daisy appeared in the pub, Taran was perched on a stool at the bar with what looked like a glass of whisky in front of him. He had changed into a dark grey T-shirt and jacket. He smiled, the same dashing smile he had given her before his father’s death had diminished it. ‘You came,’ he said, looking surprised.
‘Of course I came,’ she replied. She took the stool beside him.
‘What’ll you have?’ he asked.
She would normally have gone for a glass of wine, but there was something about Taran that made her want to drink something less conservative. ‘A G&T, please,’ she replied.
Taran called the barman over. The barman, who Daisy knew from growing up in the village and attending the same secondary school, greeted her enthusiastically and with some surprise. It was the first time she’d been into the pub since she’d come back from Italy. ‘Are you here to stay?’ he asked, looking at her appreciatively.
‘I’m not sure,’ Daisy replied, recalling her conversation with Luca. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, it’s nice to see you back,’ he said and went to make her drink.
‘I think you’ve unintentionally become Mother’s personal assistant,’ said Taran with a grin. ‘And I don’t imagine she’s paying you for your services.’
‘I just helped out for the funeral. She won’t need me now.’
‘Oh, I expect she will. She thinks you’re marvellous.’ The barman put the G&T in front of her. ‘You’ll be even more indispensable now, as she’s going to be lonely without Dad.’
Daisy frowned at him. ‘Why don’t you move back so you can be close to her?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve made my life in Canada.’
‘You can always change your life.’
‘I can, but I don’t want to.’
‘You have one of the most beautiful estates in England. I know, I walk there every day, and your mother won’t be around for ever.’
‘I know that.’ He made a face which alluded to things he wasn’t prepared to discuss. ‘It’s difficult,’ he said.
She took a sip of her drink. ‘Look, it’s none of my business. I’m just very pleased I came back from Italy at a time when my parents needed me.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are they okay?’
‘Mum’s not great. She’s becoming very forgetful and disorientated. I fear it’s the start of something serious.’
Taran nodded, guessing what she feared but not wanting to articulate it. ‘Life gets more serious the older we get, doesn’t it?’ he said softly. ‘I mean, when we were young we only had to think about ourselves, but now we have our parents to worry about. It’s a total role reversal and one I’m not very comfortable with, to be honest.’
‘You’re an only son, which is tough. Responsibility rests on your shoulders alone. At least I have Suze, although my sister’s not really very capable. She only thinks of herself.’
‘You’re going to end up looking after all the oldies,’ he told her with a mischievous smile. ‘My mother included.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she replied. ‘You’re going to look after your mother, Taran.’
‘I’ll always be there for her. It’ll just take me about nine hours to reach her.’
They remained in the pub until it closed. They had ordered more drinks and some food and chatted with the ease of old friends. The fact
that they had grown up in the same village and been in the same class at school gave their growing friendship roots and the illusion of familiarity. Daisy forgot all about her conversation with Luca as she laughed with Taran. When the bill came, Taran insisted on paying.
By the time they left the pub, Daisy had lost count of the amount of drinks she had had. Taran had drunk a lot too and was a little unsteady on his feet. A pregnant moon hung low and heavy in the sky, drenching the landscape in a luminous silver light. Daisy didn’t think she’d ever seen it so big or the stars so bright. They were mesmerizing. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she suggested impulsively.
‘What? Now?’ Taran asked. ‘You do realize it’s night-time, don’t you?’
‘It’s beautiful. Come on, let’s walk around the fields. It’s too lovely to sleep through it.’ She tugged his sleeve. ‘It’ll be over in a few hours.’
‘I suppose I should sober up,’ he conceded. ‘I don’t want to wake Mum by crashing through the house.’
‘The fresh air will do us both good.’ And I want to show you just why your father loved it so much, she thought to herself a little drunkenly, setting off the way she went every morning with a purposeful stride.
They left the village and headed up the farm track towards the woods. Daisy’s heart expanded at the sight of the trees silhouetted against the deep indigo sky and the fields of wheat and oilseed rape, which lay silent and still beneath it. It was as if they were stepping into a parallel world. A more beautiful world. A serene and secret world, full of the gentle rustling of small animals and the eerie hooting of owls. ‘Have you ever seen it look lovelier?’ she asked in delight, inhaling the earthy smells that rose up from the ground and lingered in the cool night air.
‘I remember once, when I was a teenager, having a party and taking a girl for a walk just as the sun was beginning to peep over the horizon. It was lovely then too.’
‘Do you remember who she was?’
‘Haven’t a clue.’ Taran laughed, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘But I remember where we kissed.’
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