by Emma Davies
A sudden flush rose up Daisy’s cheeks. ‘I don’t drink,’ she said. ‘Ever.’ She paused and swallowed. ‘Sorry, what I meant to say was, that sounds lovely, but I’d rather have a soft drink if you don’t mind. Actually, just tea would be lovely.’
Kit’s smile was warm. ‘Just tea it is.’ He held her look for a moment before slipping from the room, leaving Daisy rolling her eyes. For goodness’s sake, she scolded herself, just relax, Kit’s a friend. She bent down to pull off her wellies and, after depositing them by the door as instructed, wandered back into the main room and then through the archway to her left. Something had caught her eye earlier and she was intrigued.
Her face lit up as she entered a room lined with bookshelves. The orange flash of colour she had seen was exactly what she had thought it was; row upon row of old Penguin books. They were all here: Emily Brontë, George Orwell, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck… She ran a finger lightly along the spines, saying hello to old friends, and then she stood back to look around the rest of the room. There was a whole section devoted to books about sustainable building, technical manuals, and books on subjects Daisy knew nothing about. Many of these were new, but only she suspected because they weren’t available second hand. Apart from these, pretty much every book in the room had already been loved, and clearly a great many by Kit himself. Two squishy armchairs covered in a rich tweed-like cloth were positioned either side of a tall window. A woollen throw was placed over the arm of each, and Daisy could imagine that, winter or summer, it would be the perfect place to read. She pulled one of her favourites from a shelf and sat down, turning to the last page. Her lips turned upward as she read the final lines – a message to the reader that it was futile to try and move forward when everything was connected to the past. If only she could recapture hers. Done things another way. How different her life might have been.
Daisy was still lost in thought when Kit found her with a cup of tea.
‘I wondered if I might find you in here,’ he said.
She looked up, a query on her face.
‘I thought you must be a big reader,’ he explained.
‘Well, yes I am… How did you know?’
He smiled. ‘Call it an educated guess.’
Her brows drew together but Kit shook his head and would say no more.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve seen you so many times with a book in your hand at Buchanans but…’ She broke off, pulling a face. ‘But I always thought they looked incredibly boring, sorry. I never imagined all this…’
Now it was Kit’s turn to take a book from a shelf. ‘I probably had my head stuck in the mysteries of… Wind-Powered Water Pumps… a playful little number if I remember rightly.’ He slid the book back where it belonged. ‘But it’s amazing how if you pick the right book, no one will talk to you.’ He grinned at her, a knowing smile that saw right to the heart of Daisy’s own subterfuge on occasion. She blushed, but there was something rather lovely about their shared similarities.
She replaced the book she had been looking at and held out her hand for the mug. ‘I’ll come through, shall I?’
He nodded and she followed him through to the kitchen, her jaw dropping not only at the size of it but the skill with which Kit had put it together. Fitted kitchen it was not, but all the better for it in her opinion. Beautiful old tables and cupboards ranged around the room together with a painted dresser which held crockery of all shapes and sizes. A multitude of pots and utensils hung from a length of chain above an enormous range.
One thing was very clear upon looking around the room.
‘You obviously like cooking?’
Kit followed her gaze. ‘I like growing, I like cooking, and I like eating,’ he replied. ‘The three seem to follow a natural progression.’
Daisy narrowed her eyes. ‘Growing, I’m okay with…’
He looked back at her. ‘You know, if you and food don’t exactly get on, the best way around that is to learn to cook. That way you get to eat things you like, cooked just the way you like them. And you can be adventurous in your own home too – try things you never normally would, because who’s to know if you spit something halfway across the room because it’s disgusting. I started growing my own vegetables for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because I didn’t want to keep eating processed foods. I didn’t plan it that way but the more I cooked, the more I realised I loved food.’
The way Kit described it made it sound the simplest thing in the world, and Daisy wanted to believe him but… She looked around his kitchen. Maybe it was that simple. Daisy had a big garden, and she liked to grow flowers and shrubs, why not vegetables? She had thought that her biggest barrier to eating was that she didn’t like many of the things you could buy, but perhaps that was just it; perhaps she just hadn’t found the things she liked yet, because they weren’t things that could be bought.
‘I can teach you, if you’d like?’ offered Kit. ‘Sometimes it’s more fun that way. Or I can just be on hand to ask me anything you want to know.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, there is one thing I’d like to know,’ she replied. ‘And that’s quite how you’ve managed to get inside my head. There seems to be an awful lot about me that you know, and yet I don’t remember telling you.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m observant, that’s all.’ And when she pulled a face, he continued. ‘Daisy, you bring your own lunch to work every day, and every day you eat the same things. Cheese sandwich, carrot sticks and a yoghurt. It’s not that hard to work out.’
She gave a sheepish smile. ‘Maybe I’m just not used to people being observant,’ she said.
‘Of course, it also helps that I’m interested,’ added Kit.
She looked up, catching Kit’s eye as her heart added in an extra beat somewhere. She hadn’t a clue what to say.
‘So I thought, today, that I’d start you off gently with something I know you like. Well it has cheese in it, and carrots, so I’m hoping it’s a goer, otherwise it may well be a sandwich after all.’
His smile was so warm, Daisy wondered if she might actually melt, but she was incredibly touched that he had put so much thought into what to cook for her.
Daisy took her tea across to the table and sat down. She couldn’t trust herself to say anything, but instead busied herself watching Kit’s back as he prepared their food. He was still turned away from her when he spoke again.
‘Actually, I also wanted to apologise for something, or rather explain about it. When we were out the other day, I mentioned that I’d walked past your house before but never said anything about it to you. I know you weren’t aware I even knew where you lived and I wondered if I had made you feel uneasy. It came across as if I was stalking you or something.’
Daisy smiled. ‘You’re not really the stalkerish type, are you?’
Kit turned quickly and flashed her a cheeky smile. ‘I might be,’ he said, and then his face grew serious again. ‘No, not really… The thing is, though, when I mentioned it I also said how odd it was that we never really spoke, but we didn’t finish the conversation. It wasn’t until I’d been home a little while that I realised why that was.’
‘What, that we didn’t finish the conversation? Or why it’s odd that we never really spoke much before?’
‘Stop avoiding the subject,’ said Kit. ‘Why we never spoke.’
‘Because I’m antisocial?’
Kit smiled. ‘No… I asked you once about your family, when you first came to Buchanans, do you remember?’
Daisy shook her head, feeling a little flicker of anxiety. She had no memory of it at all.
‘I don’t remember exactly what you said, but it was basically “none of your business and don’t you dare ask me about them ever again…”’
‘I was seventeen,’ replied Daisy. ‘And obviously going through my final years of being an obnoxious teenager.’
Kit was watching her, a soft look in his eyes. That, more than anything, was making her feel nervous. It was a
n inviting look, full of empathy.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But sadly I think I took you at your word and didn’t really speak to you much at all after that.’
Daisy dropped her head. ‘Yes, I know it was my fault.’
‘Hey…’ he said gently. ‘I wasn’t being critical, Daisy, quite the reverse in fact. I’ve been just as guilty of dodging conversation. You’ve had a bellyful of my family over the last couple of weeks, and because I’ve spent a huge amount of time in my past trying to work out how I fitted in between them all, my head has been stuck in the sand so long sometimes I forget it’s there at all. Of course being tongue-tied, flustered and painfully self-conscious around you hasn’t helped in the slightest. But, no excuses, I should have been a better friend.’
He’d been flustered and self-conscious around her? She thought back to all the times she had thought him rude or uncommunicative… and suddenly it all began to make sense. He was just the same as she was and the more time she spent in his company the more she realised what kindred spirits they were. The thought that she might at last be able to share certain things about her past with another person was almost overwhelming, but that didn’t mean that Kit was necessarily ready to hear them. Or that she was quite ready to share them.
‘Me too,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not sure I know how. I don’t really have any friends, so…’ She wasn’t sure how to continue.
‘Neither do I…’ He grinned at her. ‘We make a right pair, don’t we?’ He turned back to the counter and, after a few seconds, turned back around holding a ceramic dish. ‘Twenty minutes in the oven to finish off and it will be ready. Do you want to slice some bread for me while I just wash up a few bits?’
She sidled from the table. ‘Okay, but let me wash up, I don’t mind.’
Kit waved a bread knife at her. ‘Nope. You can wash up after dinner if you like, but not before!’
He collected various pots and pans from where he’d been standing and carried them to the sink, leaving the counter empty apart from a chopping board and the knife. ‘The loaf is in the bread bin on your left,’ he added. ‘And when I said slice, I meant great thick chunks, so we can have it with our food.’
She nodded, pulling out a round loaf that smelled heavenly. It was a far cry from the sliced loaves she ate at home.
‘Did you make this?’ she asked.
‘Yep, when I got home from work. It’s soda bread, so no faffing about with yeast and proving and all that. Try a bit.’
She cut a small slice off the end that was virtually all crust and was just about to nibble a bit when Kit strode across to her, a butter knife in his hand. He pulled a dish towards him.
‘You’re really not good at this eating lark, are you?’ he said, swiping the crust from her hand, stuffing it in his own mouth and then nudging her out of the way with his hip. He cut a huge chunk from the end of the loaf and slathered it in butter before taking a bite. ‘Oh, that’s heaven,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of bread. ‘Here…’ And before Daisy could object he thrust the same chunk of bread at her, so close to her lips that she had no choice but to take a bite.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
‘Ha! I told you it was good,’ he said, taking another bite himself before offering it back again.
Daisy swallowed, reeling. The bread was good. It was soft and salty, rich in flavour, but she had also eaten something that had just been in Kit’s mouth too and that just wasn’t something she would normally do. She looked up at his face, split by a grin as he enjoyed his food and she laughed. What did it matter anyway? She opened her mouth to accept the last piece of bread, rolling her eyes.
‘That is gorgeous!’ she managed after a moment.
‘Told you. I can teach you how to make it if you like, it’s dead easy.’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’ And for some reason Monique’s words echoed through her head. One small extravagance every day… ‘Do you know how to make macarons?’ she asked. ‘Only I had them recently and I thought I should try and have a go myself.’
‘No, I’ve never made them but I’ll certainly have a recipe in one of my books. We can have a look after tea if you like.’
Daisy nodded firmly, and turned back to slice the bread, in thick chunks this time.
‘So what are you going to be doing for Christmas?’ asked Kit after a few minutes. ‘I’m guessing something fairly quiet, or will it just be recovering from all the shenanigans at the shop?’
‘Hmm, something like that.’ She thought of the pieces of jewellery she had yet to finish, the success of which might well help her to decide what she was going to do in the future. And of course all that also depended on who would end up running Buchanans too. ‘I have a few decisions to make,’ she said lightly. ‘But yes, it will be quiet, they always are. How about you?’
There was silence for a moment and Daisy wasn’t sure that Kit had heard her question, but then he suddenly turned around.
‘Would you like to spend Christmas Day with me?’ he asked. ‘Here I mean…?’ He broke off, looking embarrassed. ‘Sorry, that just sort of came out. I had a bit of a speech all rehearsed, but...’
‘I’d love to.’ The words shot out of Daisy’s mouth before she even realised it was open. She stared at Kit, both of them looking rather surprised, until the corners of Kit’s eyes began to crinkle and a smile spread over his face. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m glad.’
‘I should imagine that Christmas might be a bit different for you this year?’ she said.
Kit grimaced in reply. ‘We normally all go to Mum’s on Christmas Day but I really don’t think I could bear it this year. I can’t imagine it’s going to be the jolliest of occasions and it struck me that I could either do what I normally do and try to keep a low profile, or actually do something I might stand a chance of enjoying.’
Daisy blushed slightly. ‘If Lawrence wins he’ll be absolutely insufferable…’
‘And if I win, I’ll end up with a knife in my back,’ finished Kit. ‘If it’s Bertie he’ll just do what he normally does anyway which is to get sloshed and pretend we’re just one big happy family. Weird things, families…’
Aren’t they just, thought Daisy.
‘And yours won’t mind if you don’t spend the day with them? Sorry, I don’t even know where they live? Are they local?’
Daisy swallowed and looked at the bread she had just eaten, at the man who wanted to teach her how to cook, who had just offered to share his Christmas with her, and who wanted to be her friend – no, was her friend.
‘I don’t see my family…’ she began, her throat closing as if to keep the words from being said. ‘I have a brother, actually he’s my half-brother, but he doesn’t live near me and so I speak to him, but I haven’t seen him for years. It’s complicated…’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Kit had stopped what he was doing, and turned back towards her, his hands dripping water onto the floor. ‘Daisy, the other night when I walked you home, you mentioned your dad playing with you on the swings, but then you stopped as if you didn’t want to remember it. Did something happen? I don’t want to pry but…’
‘I was five when my dad left, and I haven’t seen him since. It wasn’t his fault, not really, he just couldn’t take the fighting any more.’
Daisy was trembling, but she clenched her nails into her palms and forced herself to speak. If she didn’t say these things now, she feared she would never say them.
‘Shortly after that my brother got taken into care, and I was left… with my mum.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Until I was nine when I went to live with my grandparents at the lock-keeper’s cottage.’
Kit had taken two steps towards her. ‘What happened?’ he asked gently.
‘I had no one to look after me.’ She could feel the familiar wave of pain beginning to build within her, because the reality was that she’d had no one to look after her for years before that. She thought of the endless days when she had come home from school to an
empty house, and an empty fridge. Or worse, her mother passed out on the settee. Because at least if her mother wasn’t there, there would be no angry shouts, no beatings as she came around, crazy for more booze or another hit. Even being cold and starving hungry was better than that.
‘I had no one to look after me,’ she repeated, ‘because my mother died from a drug overdose and so my grandparents took me in and they saved my life.’ A slow tear began to roll down her cheek. ‘Until I was seventeen, when they died, and I was alone again.’
20
Monday 16th December
Nine shopping days until Christmas
There was a moment when everything seemed to stand still, when Daisy held Kit’s look as if she couldn’t tear her gaze away. And then the next second she was in his arms, her head cradled against his chest as she gulped for air.
He didn’t say a word, but held her, rocking her gently, and it had been so long since anybody hugged her that she hugged him right back, letting the feeling of warmth fill her up. She didn’t think about what it might mean, only how it felt. Her tears flowed freely but she let them fall. She was safe here.
‘Daisy, I’m so sorry,’ he murmured, his lips against her hair. ‘I never knew…’
He didn’t say anything else, but his arms held her close until her past receded and her tears simply melted away. There was no need for them in the present. Not when she could finally begin to look towards the future.
Eventually she pulled away, amazed that there was a smile on her face. ‘I was going to apologise,’ she said. ‘But instead I think I should thank you. I’ve never told anyone about my family before.’