by Emma Davies
She lifted her head as the familiar sweet smell drifted past her again. What was that? She took a couple of steps forward, before stopping dead. As the crowd suddenly parted in front of her, she saw the candyfloss stall straight ahead, gasping as a rush of memories almost overwhelmed her. The smell filled her nostrils, such a wonderful sweet sugary smell, and in a split second she was seven again, tugging on her mother’s arm. Oh, she craved it so much… just a taste, that’s all she wanted. Angry voices buzzed in her ears, voices which got louder and louder. She felt a rough yank on her arm and, seconds later, a hand slapped her cheek hard. It took the breath from her body, the sharp sting turning into a hot bloom of pain that overrode all else. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry.
9
Monday 9th December
Sixteen shopping days until Christmas
‘Daisy? Are you okay?’
She looked up, stunned to see Bertie’s face in front of her, his hand on her arm, eyes full of concern.
‘Daisy?’ he said again.
She shook her head and looked around her, confused. Her path was criss-crossed with people, the gaudy helter-skelter rose tall into the sky ahead of her, the lines of twinkly lights still blew in the breeze. All was as it had been before, but for a minute she had been… where exactly?
She touched a hand to her cheek, feeling the memory of the pain she had felt there as a child, the shock of the stinging blow from her mother’s hand. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her breathing. The smell of the candyfloss was still strong, but mercifully she could feel the memory begin to loosen its grip.
‘I’m fine,’ she managed. ‘Sorry. I just came over a bit dizzy there for a minute.’
Bertie had caught hold of her other arm now and was holding her firmly in front of him, searching her face anxiously.
She smiled. It was a bit feeble but the best she could come up with. ‘I think maybe it was coming back out into the cold after the heat of indoors. I got that sudden whoosh of light-headedness.’
‘I used to get sick in department stores all the time as a kid,’ said Bertie. ‘Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re okay?’
‘I think so.’ She nodded. She was beginning to feel better, but she needed some space. ‘Could we just walk for a bit?’ she asked. ‘Sorry, I think I need to clear my head.’
Bertie looked around him. ‘Sure… I tell you what, why don’t we walk along the canal for a bit? It’s not far from here. I can’t guarantee it’s all that scenic, but it will be quieter.’
She smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you. I didn’t realise there was a canal here.’
He grinned. ‘Neither did I until I nearly fell in it once after a night out. I was a little bit tipsy if truth be told…’
‘Ah.’ She smiled and took the arm he was offering, grateful for the support as they began to walk.
‘I often think I’d like to live on a canal boat,’ she mused.
‘Then why don’t you?’
‘Well only because I have my cottage. If I didn’t then I think a canal boat would be the next best thing. My house is only tiny, but it’s mine and very special to me. My grandma left it to me when she died and it used to be the lock-keeper’s cottage when such a thing existed. I played there as a child. In fact, you probably know it…’
‘No, I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never even been to the canal.’
She stared at him, shocked. ‘How can you have never been? It’s right in the town.’
He pulled a rueful face. ‘Too busy doing other things? I dunno really… just never thought about it, I guess…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t really ever walk, or rather I don’t ever go for a walk, just for walking’s sake.’ He paused when he saw the look on her face. ‘Has that shocked you?’
She tipped her head on one side. ‘I’m a little surprised, yes. I can’t really understand how anyone would choose not to do that. I walk every day, even when it’s pouring with rain; not always far, but it’s a bit like breathing. I’m not sure I could get through the day without it.’
He nodded. ‘Perhaps I might have to try it some time.’
‘We’re walking now,’ she replied, raising her eyebrows.
‘So we are…’
They fell silent for a few minutes, both lost in thought, until they turned the corner of a road and came to a little footbridge that crossed the canal. Bertie led her up onto it and paused for a moment, his arms resting on the railing.
She followed suit, staring at the dark ribbon of water that threaded its way through the city. She pointed. ‘Look…’
Below them, tucked into the side of the canal was a narrowboat. It was painted cherry red and a deep, almost navy blue. A tiny Christmas tree sat on the stern, a wire trailing from the lights that circled it, over the door hatch and back inside the boat. Further loops of lights hung around the windows and from the metal chimney a coil of scented smoke rose into the still air. Daisy breathed it in.
‘Don’t you love that smell? It’s a winter smell, like steam trains too… It makes me feel so nostalgic, what for I don’t know, but still…’
Bertie lifted his head to stare down the length of the canal, inhaling deeply. ‘I’ve often wondered how you keep those things warm in cold weather.’
‘Squirrel stoves, they’re called. Little pot-bellied wood burners, they keep everything toasty and warm. You really can live on the boats all year round, they’re very comfortable.’
‘But where would you put everything?’
She gave him a long look. ‘I think the idea is that you travel light. But they have lots of little cubbyholes, and cupboards tucked away. Seats lift up for storage, that kind of thing.’
‘Yes, but I’d never get half of my stuff in there. In fact, probably not even the contents of one room.’
‘And all those things are an absolute necessity, are they?’
He frowned at her. ‘Well I guess that depends on what you call a necessity, doesn’t it? But they’re certainly things I wouldn’t wish to live without. I mean, I have a fifty-inch TV for starters, where would that go?’
She didn’t answer for a moment, her eyebrows raised in amusement.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re dying to put me straight about my materialistic tendencies.’
‘No, I just wondered why you need to have so many things. Is it the need to own things because they make you feel better about yourself – obvious symbols of your wealth and status – or is it just for practical reasons?’
‘Blimey, Daisy, don’t pull any punches, will you?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound judgemental, I’m genuinely interested. There’s a man that lives on a narrowboat a little further up the canal from me – we say good morning to one another every day. He has a little garden on his roof, and grows vegetables all year round. He has a bike if he needs to go anywhere, a little shelf of books and a well-used library card, and he shops from the local market every day, buying fresh food from local growers. And he can change the view from his windows any time he wants to. It strikes me that he has not only everything he could possibly need, but everything he could possibly want as well.’
Bertie’s eyes were twinkling. ‘I bet he doesn’t have a job though.’
She smiled. ‘He’s a writer,’ she replied. ‘So yes, he does. A very successful one actually, but he chooses to live a simple life. I admire that.’
‘Yes, but how possible would that be for the majority of people? Folk who have no choice but to work in factories, nine to five, or night shifts? Doctors, nurses, people with mortgages, children… What you’re describing isn’t realistic.’
‘I didn’t say it was a perfect argument,’ she replied. ‘But it comes down to choice, doesn’t it; what kind of life you want to lead? The cost of living is so much less on a boat, so you need to earn less. Maybe too many of us are caught like the proverbial hamster on the treadwheel – we want bigger houses, so we need to earn more. We want better
jobs, so when we get them and we earn more, we spend more but then somehow we still need more, and so it goes on… it’s a vicious cycle. And that’s absolutely fine if you’re happy with that, all I’m saying is that some people want different.’
‘And you’re one of those people?’
Daisy nodded. ‘I had my house given to me. I know I’m lucky, but yes, I like things… simple.’
She shivered suddenly and Bertie touched her arm. ‘Come on, let’s keep walking,’ he said. They crossed over the bridge and down onto the towpath, heading away from the town.
‘It’s an interesting subject,’ added Bertie when they had taken a few steps. ‘And I’ll admit not something I’ve ever really thought about. But then, in my defence, inheriting a fat wodge of money from my father when I turned eighteen meant all I learned was how to spend it. I’m not trying to excuse my way of life, but having that kind of money at so young an age was a big responsibility to place on young shoulders. I’m not sure I dealt with it particularly well. Looking back, I could have done all kinds of things with the money, used it for real good, but I guess I wasn’t old enough to even know what that was.’
‘You could now though.’
He paused for a moment. ‘Yes, I guess I could.’ He fell silent, clearly thinking about her words, but then looked back at her with a grin. ‘Now might not be a good time to mention this with all the talk of materialism, but may I remind you that you do work in a shop which sells purely decorative items that cost thousands of pounds.’
‘Yes, but if I had my way, we wouldn’t sell things like that. I can admire certain aspects of them, certainly, but I hate what Buchanans jewellery stands for – that unless you’re wearing something hugely expensive, its worth is somehow devalued. And Christmas is the worst possible time of the year where that’s concerned. You’ve seen folks in the shop, buying jewellery that costs a fortune, sometimes even asking for whatever is the most expensive ring or necklace, as if that will somehow bestow more love, or be a better gift. It isn’t at all, it’s the worst kind of thoughtlessness. And then on the other hand there are people like this man I know who—’
She stopped dead. She had just been about to tell Bertie about Amos, and his quest to find the most perfect present for Grace. ‘Oh well, that doesn’t matter, it’s a long story, but no, most of what we sell is cold and heartless and if I had my way Buchanans would be very different.’
‘Then why work there if you hate it so much?’
Daisy looked at Bertie, weighing something up. ‘No, I can’t tell you, you’ll think I’m stupid.’
‘No, I won’t.’ He elbowed her gently. ‘Come on, tell me.’
‘Well, if you must know it’s because nearly everyone who comes in is buying a gift.’ She sighed. ‘I’m a sucker for a good love story…’ She snorted with laughter at his expression. ‘No, I really am!’
He stared at her, trying to decide if she was having him on or not. ‘There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Daisy Turner, did you know that?’
She blushed slightly. ‘Is there?’
They had reached another bridge and Daisy indicated that they should walk up onto it. ‘Let’s get back to the fair,’ she said. ‘I think I could be ready for a spin on a merry-go-round now. After all, you’ve brought me all this way and we’ve ended up walking by the canal, something we could do back home.’
‘True, but it is lovely here,’ replied Bertie. ‘Peaceful.’ He stared back down the length of water. ‘I might even have to take a walk myself sometime. How’s that for a change of tune?’
‘Excellent,’ she replied. ‘I heartily approve.’
‘You hated every minute of that, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t hate it,’ retorted Daisy. ‘It’s just not what I’m used to.’ She took his hand as he helped her up from where she was sprawled on a pile of mats at the base of the helter-skelter. It had taken pretty much all of her courage to get up there in the first place, but she had agreed to it in a mad rush of exhilaration after actually enjoying the carousel.
She had wondered whether her anxiety would get the better of her again as they neared the fairground for the second time that day but, although the clamour of noise and smells was momentarily disconcerting, there were none of the awful flashbacks of before. Instead she was able to enjoy the sights and sounds around her of something she hadn’t seen since she was a child.
‘But you don’t want another go?’ asked Bertie mischievously.
‘No, I’ll pass,’ she replied. ‘But there is something else I’d quite like to do…’ It was another memory from her childhood, but from happier times, after…
‘Oh, God, please tell me it’s not the waltzers,’ moaned Bertie. ‘I am definitely too old for those.’
Daisy shuddered, the thought of being whirled around at what felt like one hundred miles an hour not in the least appealing. ‘No, something else. I spotted it when I was up there.’ She pointed high in the air, smiling at the memory of what she had seen. It had looked like a fairy tale.
‘Lead on then.’
She threaded her way through the crowds of people, checking every now and again to make sure that Bertie was still with her. There was something bubbling in her stomach that felt like excitement, but, surely not… Still, what would it be like? she wondered. Would she even remember how? It was such a long time ago.
Almost breathless, she reached the edge of the square, her hands resting on a barrier as she stared across the space. ‘Oh, look… isn’t it magical?’
In front of her was an expanse of sparkling ice with bodies twirling this way and that under a canopy of stars. The stars weren’t real of course but made up from strings of lights that criss-crossed the space and, although it wasn’t dark, she could imagine how it would look if it were. Just like it had one magical Christmas the year after she had gone to live with her grandma and grandad.
She turned to look at Bertie. ‘Can we have a go?’ she asked. ‘Please?’
It was the first time she had seen his face fall the entire day. ‘Would now be a good time to confess that I have absolutely no sense of balance?’ he said. ‘It took me twice as long to ride my bike as all the other kids at school, and don’t even get me started on roller skates…’
She pulled at his arm. ‘I’ll help you,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Do I take it you’ve done this before?’
‘Oh yes,’ she breathed. ‘A long time ago mind, but I’m hoping it’s like riding a bike.’ And to her amazement she found herself winking at him.
Bertie groaned. ‘A low blow,’ he complained.
A few minutes later they were all kitted out and Daisy stepped out onto the ice. All at once she was nine years old again, standing on the frozen surface of the canal as it shimmered under the light of a full moon and hundreds of twinkling stars. She looked up. This was something she could do.
Bertie was still clutching at the barrier, his feet moving even though he had no wish for them to. He waved at her. ‘You go off, if you like. I’ll just stand here looking pathetic.’
‘I haven’t done this in years, Bertie. As soon as I try to move, I’ll probably be flat on my back.’ But she wouldn’t be, she could feel the excitement under her feet, that feeling of utter freedom. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she said. ‘Let me get my balance a bit and then I’ll come back for you.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be right here…’
She gave a tentative push off with one leg, remembering how to hold her weight, not to look at her feet. And then the other. It felt strange, but there was a feeling of weightlessness that felt so wonderfully familiar. It was as if her body, no longer encumbered by her feet gluing her to the ground, had found what it was like to fly; the slightest movement spun her round, or moved her forward and, even if it wasn’t where she wanted to go, she went with the flow.
It was tentative at first, a few wobbles as her centre of gravity shifted, but then she was able to lengthen her
stride and glide into each movement. She could feel her smile widening as she looked upwards, remembering what it had felt like to skate under the stars. A young boy and his father turned in front of her and she recognised the scared wonder on the boy’s face, knowing how it would feel when the fear receded. She grinned at them, almost feeling her grandad’s hand in hers as she took her first baby steps.
Still grinning with excitement, she made her way back to Bertie, her fingers outstretched.
‘You have done this before!’ He was laughing. ‘Blimey, Daisy, that was amazing. Where did you learn to skate?’
‘Would you believe on the canal back home?’
His eyes widened.
‘Yes, I know… it would never be allowed now, but my grandparents were great believers in flouting conformity, plus of course my grandad had tried out the ice first; he didn’t just let me go regardless. It’s funny but the canal rarely freezes over now, but back when I was little it was a regular thing…’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Or maybe I just remember it that way. Anyhow, the one stretch of water between the locks made the perfect skating rink, just the right size for a little girl.’
Bertie looked her up and down. ‘I can just picture you, twirling round and around.’
‘He used to take me out at night, can you imagine? No light, save for that of the moon. It was the most magical thing. So quiet, everything glittering like it was made from stardust. I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything more beautiful.’
‘That’s a lovely memory.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she replied. It was one of the ones that had almost made up for what had gone before. She paused for a moment, her head full of them. ‘It’s funny, but I haven’t thought about that in years. Thank you for bringing me here, Bertie.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, his smile warm. ‘It was worth it just to see the look on your face.’