‘Daisy, I …’
I put the phone down and stare ahead. Uncle Terence has gone.
The phone beeps with a message. ‘Will you be okay? Be back home tomorrow eve, earliest flight I can get x’
‘Will be fine x’ I put the phone down, then pick it up again. ‘Are you? Xx’
‘Fine. Can you go to your parents?’
I feel numb, as though this isn’t happening to me.
Maybe I will get up tomorrow and discover it was a dream.
9.30 a.m., 1 January
Uncle Terence did make it to New Year’s Eve, he must have hung on until the last firework had lit up the sky and dropped to the ground. He hung on until the last chime of Big Ben bid farewell to the old year and welcomed in the new. And then, very quietly, like the gentleman he was, he told the nurse on duty that he felt as fit as a flea. He closed his eyes, smiled and he died.
I swear he still has a soft smile on his face when I see him.
Vera is sat at the side of the bed, looking distraught, Charles looks very upright and in control. I feel like I am intruding.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t, I just wanted to …’ I shouldn’t be here. I’m not family.
Vera looks straight at me, but her eyes are clouded over, and I don’t think she really knows it’s me.
‘He would have wanted you to come.’ Charles’ voice has a lightness I don’t expect, and when I look at him there’s a faint lift to the corner of his mouth. It reminds me of Ollie. ‘He wouldn’t have wanted to go quietly, unnoticed.’
We share a smile. He knows what Terence was like. They were brothers, after all.
‘Ah yes, he left this for you.’ He picks up a letter from the bedside cabinet, hands it over almost reluctantly, his hand lingering until manners make him let go.
‘He left us all a little note.’ Vera blinks, not seeming aware of the tears on her cheeks She gulps, grasps his hand. Strokes it. ‘He was such a lovely, kind person. Oh Charles.’ She looks up at her husband, her face twisted with pain and he pulls her tight against him.
I blink away my own tears. Feel like I shouldn’t be here.
I take one last look at him. He’s not Terence any more. His face looks different, slightly puffy around his jowls, the edges of his face softened. No longer animated. His skin is so pale, his lips slightly parted as though he has more to say. But his eyes are shut and he’s still. So still it fills me with a hollow, emptiness inside.
I sit at a small table in the canteen and open the letter. The writing is spidery, faltering in places, letters slightly smudged and written over twice where the first time they were faint, leaving a ghost image.
‘My darling Daisy, these words are for you. Please humour an old man, and at least read to the end.
You asked who my heart ached for, who I’d made my choices for, who it was about. It was Vera. Ah, you are not shocked! I saw the look in your eye, I knew you’d heard. I knew at the party you’d seen something you recognised but hadn’t been able to put a name to.
That name is love my dear! Love, romance, infatuation! Passion!
Vera was my day, my night, my stars, my sun. The day she stepped into my life she sowed a seed inside my heart – even if that love was doomed, and we could never be together.
You should have seen her when she was young. So beautiful, such poise and yet so kind. Not unlike you, my darling Daisy.
Which brings me to the point of the ramblings of an old man.
Listen to your heart, Daisy. Don’t let somebody else steal your happiness away and leave a hole that cannot be healed. Never ignore the tiny things, Daisy. Never let them grow unheeded and realise too late. They fill you with regrets each day, and sap your strength, and leave you floundering for answers that will never solve the problem.
When you were a tot you sat on my knee and asked about all the pretty ladies, and why I didn’t stay with them. I didn’t stay with them because they didn’t hold the key to my heart, darling girl. And it would have been wrong to have pretended they did. My God, I tried. I tried to live a full and happy life, and I loved every one of my beautiful wives. But I wasn’t in love with them, Daisy. And they knew, they knew so they let me go with their blessings because they knew I wasn’t leaving them for somebody I would love more. They knew that this old romantic held a torch for another man’s wife. An unrequited love. I never thought that Charles would ask her to marry him! I thought he was just having fun. But you know what thought did. The day they announced their engagement was the day my world stopped, the day I had to don a façade to hide my heart from the world. So, this is my message to you, my dear. Think not, Daisy. Act!
You have a passion inside you, I have seen it. Now give yourself up to it, and don’t let anybody or anything stop you. In work, in play, in life! Do not try to live up to other people’s expectations, live up to your own.
It has been bloody hard work writing this down without my reading glasses, so do not disappoint me. And look after my nephew for me. He has been like a son to me.
And now I have other notes to write and then I can move on to whatever is in store for me next. After, of course, I have had a little nap!
T xx’
I close my eyes and can see him on the hospital bed. The half-smile on his lips, and I like to think his last thought was of Vera, the one he loved and lost. That they’re holding each other close, dancing to the music. He can smell her perfume, hear the tinkle of her laughter, and know she loves him, too.
8 p.m., 1 January
I’d got home from the hospital in shock, and just curled up on the sofa with my knees to my chest and stared at the wall for a while. I was glad I’d gone to see him, that I knew he’d gone. That the man I had adored was just not there any more.
And then I’d started to cry.
I couldn’t stop.
Who was going to read over my reviews and give them the thumbs up? Suggest new books I should read? Tell me that I was good at what I was doing?
What was going to happen to the lovely apartment I was living in?
Who was going to agree that Tim was an arse, and laugh at my dress sense? Take me for afternoon tea, and make me and Ollie laugh with his easy sense of humour?
I was crying because I felt adrift. I’d been so certain that I was finding my way. I’d got a new job, was comfortable in the apartment, had owned up to stealing Stanley and officially adopted him (I had responsibilities), had held down the same job for long enough to know I liked it.
Now I wasn’t sure I was sorted at all. What was I going to do without him? And how I could not disappoint him?
Ollie wasn’t there to talk to, but I knew just who would listen to my wailings, hug me, offer me wine and talk common sense. The person who always had. Before Terence. Before Ollie.
Frankie.
‘Oh, Daisy! Shit! What a surprise.’ Frankie stares at me in surprise. ‘Did I miss a call? What’s up?’
I bowl into the apartment as though I still live there. It’s a hard habit to break. Slump down on the sofa then stare.
There is a man sitting on the other sofa. With a beer in his hand, and a crisp part-way to his mouth. And it is not Tarquin.
‘Tim!’
‘Hi!’ He waves his crisp half-heartedly, stuffs it in his mouth and looks a bit queasy. I don’t think it’s the crisp that has upset him. Maybe I have just forgotten how washed out he is? I’ve got used to Ollie, all tanned and healthy looking.
‘Meat free flavour!’Tim grins weakly. I blink. Did he always grin like that? Or did he have a full-on cheeky grin with dimples, like Ollie has.
This is wrong. Why do I keep comparing him to Ollie? For one, Ollie is not my boyfriend, and for two, neither is Tim – he is my ex. So, I frown to cover up my confusion.
Then I realise that this is a lot more confusing than the mess in my head. ‘Why are you here?’ I look from one to the other, they both look a bit uncomfortable. ‘You two don’t even like each other!’ Oh God, they’re not …
‘I didn’t say I don’t like him,’ says Frankie, and slumps into a chair, ‘I said he’s a bit wacko.’ She picks up her glass, and looks at me, her head tilted on one side. As though it’s me that is the weird addition here.
Tim looks a bit taken aback. ‘Wacko?’
‘Freaky?’
That doesn’t seem to go down any better.
‘In a nice way. Normal is so bloody boring. Are you okay, Daisy? You look a bit pale.’
‘Where’s Tarquin?’
She shrugs again. There’s a lot of shrugging going on, considering how much Frankie likes to talk. ‘Shit, you two aren’t?’ I motion between them. ‘You are.’ I feel a bit queasy myself. ‘Fuck! Frankie!’
I’m trying to drag the door open without opening the latch properly when she catches up with me. I’m blowing hot and cold, a sweat has broken out on my brow.
‘How long have you …?’
She grimaces. ‘Got chatting at that dog thing I guess. We clicked, what can I say, and it was a bit tedious.’
‘Tedious? It was not, it … You said all kinds of stuff about him, you didn’t like him!’
‘Love, hate.’ She shrugs. Again. It’s fucking annoying. How can she be so bloody nonchalant about this? All the time I was going out with him, she was putting him down. And now …
‘You just wanted him for yourself! We’re supposed to be friends!’
‘Friends?’ She looks at me blankly, and there’s a dull ache in the middle of my chest. ‘We were flatmates, Daisy!’
‘But we went out, you came to Mum’s party, to Uncle Terence’s, you helped me, you …’
‘It was a laugh. Oh, for God’s sake, Daisy, listen to yourself! We had a good time, then you moved out, moved on, started going on and on about the pompous prick.’
‘I did not!’
‘Yes, actually you did. All the bloody time. And your new job. It’s always about you!’
I gasp. Mouth open. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘How can you say that?’This hurts, I thought we were friends. I had no idea this was what she thought.
She shrugs. ‘You’re always so fucking perfect.’
‘Me?’ I blink at her.
‘Some of us have to put effort in, and you know what, it fucks me off that you’re such a mess and you still have half the men after you. Well now, darling Daisy, Tim is after me! Turns out I’m his type, and you’re not.’
I stare back at her; my brain has been emptied of words. Then I finally manage to wrench the door open and storm out. I am shaking. Really shaking, pretty violently actually, even though I’m clutching the door of my car. Which is a bit scary.
Frankie was never my friend. I was entertaining. I was her flat-mate.
Which means … I close my eyes. Feel the cold metal beneath my fingers. Try to take those measured in-out breaths they tell you to do at yoga, the ones that normally make my head spin because I’ve overloaded on oxygen. Right now, I’m not very good at it, so I’m not overdosing on fresh air. It’s actually helping.
My chest isn’t about to explode any more.
My teeth aren’t chattering.
I take a couple more breaths. I can let go of the car without falling over. Which means I can get in. Sit down. Hang onto the steering wheel instead, which is less likely to give me frost bite.
Did Frankie ever say anything for my benefit?
Frankie told me that small ads were my thing, not to try to step out of my comfort zone. Frankie wasn’t pleased when I told her about my new much better job. I nearly turned it down because of her!
Frankie wasn’t pleased about me launching support for Carrie – the only time she did help was when it meant she could stand next to Tim. Were they seeing each other even back then? Because they both told me to concentrate on my review job, not try to move into features. They both had a chip at the little self-confidence I had.
Frankie is a complete fraud. A selfish bitch who has never actually given me any real support, even though I thought she was.
I don’t want to be like Frankie.
It’s not just the nastiness, it’s the high heels – all day – and the need to hold your tummy in, and take your makeup off EVERY single night, and iron your hair.
And, basically, only think about yourself.
Terence was right. And at that thought the tears well up in my eyes again and I start to cry. But these tears are different to before. They feel good. They feel healthy, if that’s a thing? Healthy tears. I need to be more like me, like Terence told me to be.
Oh God, I miss him.
10 p.m., 1 January
‘Bloody hell, Daisy. Are you alright?’ Ollie jumps up from his spot on the sofa and places his warm hands on my upper arms, as though he thinks I might fall over.
‘Do I look rough?’
‘Total mess.’
I can’t help but smile, which is probably what he intended. ‘Total?’
‘Total. Smudged make-up.’ He wipes the ball of his thumb under my eye gently. ‘Eyes as red as an albino wombat.’
‘Do you get albino wombats?’
‘Yup. Drenched clothes.’ He slips my coat off my shoulders, which sends a shiver through me. I’m not sure if it’s the dampness, the air against my shoulders, or the brush of his fingers against my skin. ‘Rat’s tails.’ He twirls a lock of my hair round his finger, which brings me closer to him. I stare into his eyes. Sadly, his are not black with lust, more warm with concern. Which is good. Falling into his arms would just be a rebound, a shock reaction after all that’s happened.
‘What happened?’ He read my mind. ‘Apart from losing …’ He doesn’t finish the say the name, but he doesn’t need to. He also obviously knows this is not grief at losing the man we both loved. This is a different type of grief. An anger. It wouldn’t take a psychologist to spot it, I think I am still fuming so much there is steam coming out of my ears as well as off my damp clothes.
‘Frankie.’ I scowl. ‘Frankie happened!’
‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean, ah?’
‘Well, just …’
‘You knew she was fucking Tim!’
‘No!’ He looks startled enough for me to know it’s the absolute truth. ‘You have to be kidding me. She isn’t?’ I nod vehemently, and the water flicks off my hair onto his face. ‘How long’s that been going on?’
I shake my head sadly. ‘Not a clue. I thought she was my friend!’ I eye him up thoughtfully. ‘Did she try and get off with you?’
‘Nope.’ He half-smiles, which is cute. My heart does a little flip, obviously because I am relieved nothing has happened between them, no other reason at all. ‘Should I feel slighted?’
‘You must have been a decoy!’
‘Oh great, thanks for that. You really know how to boost a man’s ego!’
‘She did say you were hot, and she did mean it.’
‘Maybe she thought I was out of her league?’ He winks, so I thump his arm.
‘Your ego does not need boosting!’
‘Feeling a bit better now?’
‘Yeah.’
He takes my hand and leads me over to the sofa. We both slump down in our favourite spots and stare at the blank TV screen.
‘It was just a shock, and on top of …’ I sigh. ‘I needed somebody to talk to, and you weren’t here and …’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
‘So,’ I give him a puzzled look, ‘why are you here now? You’re supposed to be in Scotland, you couldn’t get a flight until tomorrow!’
‘I hired a car and drove back. I thought maybe you’d want some company, seeing as you didn’t go to your Mum’s.’
‘How do you know I didn’t go to Mum’s?’
‘I asked her.’
‘Oh.’ I snuggle a bit deeper into the sofa, feeling a little bit pleased and warmer inside. ‘Well I’ve got work, and Stanley, and …’
‘You wanted to be here?’
I nod. I’d just been trying to explain, but he’d said
it for me. I’d wanted to be here, the place Terence brought me to. ‘I used to think I wanted to be like Frankie.’
‘Oh, you don’t, you really don’t.’
I smile. ‘I know. Uncle Terence said that. He said I need to be, no not to be, I need to want to be me.’
‘Wise man.’ Says Ollie.
‘He was.’ I realise our fingers are linked. He squeezes. I squeeze back.
He let’s go of my hand, and I feel lost, then he drapes his arm over my shoulder and suddenly I feel safe.
‘I know a lot of people who’d want to be you, Daisy.’ I look up, and he’s studying me, then he drops a kiss on my forehead. Feathery light. I want to put my hand up, touch the spot, but I don’t. ‘Gorgeous, strong, clever, funny.’
I stare into his eyes. Swallow hard. ‘Er, is this okay? I mean, I,’ I try to pull away a bit, but his hold is firm. ‘Should you be with Juliet, it’s not fair …’
‘What’s not fair?’
‘On,’ I gulp, ‘her.’
‘Daisy, why’s this not fair on Juliet? What’s she got to do with …’
‘Well, if you’re getting married.’ I realise I am pleating my top with my hands. He stops me. We have a bit of a silent tussle as he tries to free my clothing from my fingers.
‘I’m not marrying Juliet.’ He rakes his fingers through his hair, distracted. ‘It’s all in her head, she likes to imagine stuff. My God, who’s she told?’
‘Just me I think.’
‘I bet she hinted at Mum when she went round for present ideas, thought she was acting a bit edgy.’
‘So, you’re not?’
‘I’m not.’
‘Oh.’ I blink away the tears that are threatening. I will have rivulets etched into my face if I carry on like this. I should have asked him straight away, I should have followed my instincts, made up my own mind. Not followed Frankie’s advice. She probably didn’t want me to know the situation, she didn’t want me to find out if Ollie was single or not.
There’s still a hard lump in the middle of my chest, like bad indigestion, so I’m blinking like mad and breathing a bit heavily, but I feel relief. He’s not getting married! I’m not cosied up next to somebody else’s fiancé, wishing he’d kiss me.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 23