Daisy Does it Herself

by Gracie Player

  My own eyes were drawn to the letter he’d folded on the tablecloth. ‘You’re opening your mail now,’ I said. ‘That’s good. At least you can see what you’re faced with.’

  Alex looked down at the letter as well. ‘There’s no way of avoiding this one.’

  He made it sound so ominous that a little shiver passed through me. ‘Why? What does it say?’

  ‘That I have ten days to pay back the full balance of the commercial remortgage or the bookshop will be repossessed.’

  I put a hand over my mouth, horrified, unable to answer. ‘Surely they can’t do that,’ I said finally. ‘Not in ten days. Some kind of extension must be possible?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve had all the extensions they’re going to give me. They can do whatever they like.’

  Alex was struggling to maintain his composure. I saw that he was close to tears. I took his hand, slipping it into mine.

  I took a deep breath. ‘What if I told you there was still an outside chance of finding the money?’

  He smiled and brushed back my hair.

  ‘You never give up, do you?’

  I shook my head vehemently.

  ‘Daisy, I can’t raise 60k in ten days. It’s over.’

  ‘Okay, listen,’ I said. ‘Don’t be cross, but we have a plan.’

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘When you say we…’

  ‘Me, Cece, Jim, Rosie, Noah and, um, Liam.’

  ‘When on earth did you get a chance to hatch this?’

  ‘I met them in the pub last night.’

  ‘Did you now? And where was my invite?’

  ‘Don’t be cross with the others. It was all my idea.’

  His eyes crinkled up, he looked more amused than angry.

  ‘And this plan of yours? I think you’d better fill me in.’

  I told him about Tom Benchley and my madcap scheme.

  ‘I’ve done the maths,’ I said to a very incredulous looking Alex.

  ‘You’re just going to turn up outside his property, have him buzz you in, and say “Hi Tom, I know you’re a famous recluse who’s never seen in public, but I have this one tiny favour I need to ask you…”’

  ‘Nope,’ I said. ‘I’ll be masquerading as a landscape gardener, and so will you.’

  Alex snorted laughter. ‘Daisy, you’re a bloody maniac,’ he said.

  ‘So, will you do it?’ I asked hopefully.

  He looked down at the letter again, reminded of its stark promise.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I love that you’re trying, I appreciate it – you – so much, but I feel like this is the end of the road.’

  ‘Don’t say that, please. We keep going until the last second if we have to.’

  Alex bit his bottom lip, then held both hands up – more a sign of surrender than one of willingness. ‘Okay. You win. Just don’t expect any miracles.’

  I knew he was agreeing more because he didn’t want to disappoint me than because he believed in my hairbrained scheme. For once I didn’t feel guilty about using his good nature against him. I realised that I had never felt more fiercely determined about anything in my life. I was going to save the bookshop, even if it bloody well killed me.

  Thirty-Four

  Thursday came around quick. It was the hottest day of the year so far, news anchors across the country rhapsodised from within their air-conditioned studios, not a hair out of place. The same could not be said for me. Alex, Noah and I were squeezed into the back of Liam’s van amongst his strimmers, chainsaws, spades, trowels and garden hoes.

  I fanned myself ineffectually with my hand. It was hot as an oven. I’d tied my hair up in a messy ponytail, now curls sprung wildly from it, sweaty strands sticking to the side of my face. A trickle of sweat ran down my back and pooled unpleasantly in the waistband of my knickers.

  The atmosphere was tense and awkward, and I was starting to regret getting us into this. I guessed I wasn’t the only one wondering if today was going to wind up with all of us being thrown into the slammer.

  Sensing our doubt, Liam piped up from the front seat as we stopped at a T-junction. ‘I can drop you off here,’ he said. ‘You could walk back to the village in next to no time. What do you say?’

  ‘Just drive,’ Alex said, wiping the sweat from his forehead, though he kept staring out the back window as if he wanted nothing more than to follow Liam’s advice.

  ‘All right. Just saying. You lot don’t seem all that sure about this to me,’ Liam said, taking a hairpin bend at speed. I slid down the seat and clunked sweatily into Alex.

  Five hot, uncomfortable minutes later, we pulled up to an imposing wrought iron gate, bristling with security cameras. The tense nervous ball in my stomach tightened.

  ‘Take a look at the state of that lot,’ Liam said, laughing and pointing towards a huddle of people standing a little way back from the gate. ‘Look at him on the left; is he dressed as some kind of elf?’

  ‘A Wyrlon,’ Noah corrected him.

  ‘What?’ said Liam.

  ‘He’s dressed as a Wyrlon, not an elf.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, he looks a right plonker.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Noah said, ‘he’s got the ears all wrong for a start.’

  Liam rolled the window down and pressed on the buzzer. He stared down the barrel of the CCTV camera for what seemed like an age before the gates relented and we rolled forwards. Too late to turn back now.

  The van made its way down a winding lane, through lush scenic grounds, before Liam pulled into a small glade of beech trees. He jumped out the front seat, came around the back, and opened the door for us. ‘Right. Let’s get this over with then.’

  We all climbed down, stretching out our limbs. As I worked the cricks out of my neck, I caught sight of a large imposing mansion with ivy clinging to its stone facade. A newer annexe jutted out of the back, looking out onto a circular patio and the rolling lawns beyond it.

  ‘Is that the room you were talking about?’ I asked Liam.

  He nodded. ‘Any time I’ve ever caught a glimpse of Tom, he’s always been in there. So what’s your plan of attack?’

  ‘We thought we’d play that part by ear,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, that’s just marvellous. I’m dealing with a bunch of amateurs.’

  ‘We can’t all go en masse,’ Noah said, ignoring him. ‘He’d probably think we were a band of marauding Gyrthsters and call the police. Much as I’d like to meet my hero, I think it should be you, Daisy. You managed to talk all of us into this, after all. Maybe you can work your magic on Tom Benchley too.’

  I gulped. He was right, I’d gotten us into this. It was up to me to see it through.

  ‘I’m not sure about this, Daisy,’ Alex said. ‘I don’t want you to get into trouble.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, plastering on a confident smile. ‘Right then, here goes nothing. See you all in a bit.’ I set off across the lawn before Alex could try to talk me out of it again.

  I crossed the patio and peered in through the glass door. I recognised Tom Benchley instantly, although he looked a lot less dishevelled than he had in the pictures I’d seen on the internet.

  The author was sat at a huge desk behind an old-fashioned typewriter, although there didn’t seem to be much typing going on. His arms were down by his sides, away from the keys, and he was staring blankly at the wall.

  I gently rapped on the glass and he half jumped out of his skin, shooting up from his chair. I smiled and gave him a little wave, trying to look as sane as possible. He peered back at me, wondering, I imagine, who the hell was standing uninvited on his patio.

  I mimed digging a hole with a spade, which was probably not the best idea under the circumstances. Changing track, I worked a pair of invisible shears instead. Nope, that was worse.

  Tom Benchley watched m
e do this for another dozen seconds. My plan of not looking like a crazy woman was not proceeding well. Thankfully, I must have looked harmless, because the author’s curiosity got the better of him. He approached the double doors and slid the left one open.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  My heart hammering in my mouth, I said, ‘I certainly hope so.’

  He peered over my shoulder uneasily at the surrounding treeline. ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Just four,’ I said.

  ‘So what can I do for you?’

  ‘You’re sure I’m not taking you away from your work?’ I asked, nodding at the typewriter, noticing as I did so that the paper inside it was blank.

  Tom Benchley let out a slightly despairing laugh. ‘No worries on that score.’

  ‘Nice place,’ I said peering nosily into his study. It was lined with dark oak panelling. Shiny awards lined the walls, next to a picture of him exuberantly hugging Oprah.

  ‘Yes, well, it’s far too grand for me,’ Tom said. ‘And far too big. But you know,’ he shrugged. ‘Why have money if you’re not going to spend it?’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ I said, laughing nervously. I got the feeling he was stalling for time. Pleased for the distraction from the non-writing. I wondered how to bring the conversation around to my agenda.

  ‘And what brought you to Upper Finlay?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t sound like you’re a local.’

  ‘No. I’m a cockney through and through.’

  ‘So why Derbyshire?’

  Aha here was my chance. Don’t blow it, Daisy.

  ‘Well, let me see. A few weeks ago I was fired from my job and then I came home and caught my boyfriend cheating on me with this horrible woman called Francesca. After that I got myself into a bit of a state. I don’t really remember much about the next part only that I ended up at the train station, got on a random train and fell asleep. When I woke up I was in Upper Finlay. Long story short, now I’m living in a bookshop, temporarily anyway. Which is, um, actually why I’m here.’

  Tom whistled, ‘Quite the tale.’ Then he did a double take. ‘Hang on a minute. I thought you said you were the gardener?’

  ‘Well…I didn’t technically say that,’ I replied, wincing. Tom’s whole demeanour instantly changed.

  ‘Enough with the tall stories,’ he said, his mouth flattening into a thin line. ‘You’re one of them, aren’t you?’ he said with venom. ‘Will you people never tire of hounding me? I’m an author, not a show pony ready to perform on demand. An author,’ he repeated, blinking rapidly, his voice rising.

  ‘An artist cannot be expected to turn it on on demand. The blasted book will be done when it’s done.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, backing away.

  He peered at me, ‘so what are you, a journalist, network executive, a fan – what? Actually never mind. There’s only one way to deal with the likes of you.’

  He picked up the telephone, a vintage landline with a rotary dial. Oh God, my knees were practically knocking together with fear. This was possibly the worst idea I’d ever had in my life. Alex was going to be mortified, Liam was going to get fired. We were all going to jail!

  ‘Hello Tony, it’s Tom. Yes, yes that’s all fine. No Dottie’s fine. No, she’s not been getting at the coy carp again. Tony, for the love of Pete, will you please let me speak? Right, yes, sorry. It’s just we’ve got another one. Over by the beech trees. Well I did try, only you keep interrupting. Right you are. Sorry Tony. See you in a tick.’

  Tom slammed down the phone.

  ‘Now you’re for it,’ he said, stomping across the room and grabbing hold of my arm. ‘Come on, move it.’

  He frogmarched me across the lawn, over to where the others stood, looking on aghast. This was going about as badly wrong as it was possible to go. As I trotted along beside Tom, I tried to explain myself, but he was having none of it.

  ‘Don’t waste your breath, I’ve heard every excuse under the sun,’ Tom said. ‘I really thought I was having a normal conversation for once. But no. Not possible. Everybody wants something from me.’

  With a flush of guilt, I realised he was right.

  We pulled up in front of the beech trees and I stumbled a little, my arm pinching where Tom still gripped it firmly.

  Alex strode forward, removing Tom’s hand from my arm and stepping in front of me. Tom Benchley stepped back and looked up. Alex glowered down at him, but he was quite calm when he said, ‘I’m sorry that we’ve intruded on your privacy like this. But touch her again and we really will have a problem on our hands.’

  Tom seemed to deflate.

  ‘Oh, who am I trying to kid with the tough guy act. I’m sorry,’ he said to me, ‘it’s the artistic temperament, you know. Mother always said I was a hothead. Let’s just wait for security to get here and they can escort you off the premises.’

  ‘So, you won’t press charges?’ I said from behind Alex’s shoulder.

  ‘Not this time, young lady. But be warned, if I catch you on my property again, I will sue you and whoever it was that sent you for every dime I can get.’

  To be honest, he was sounding rather lacklustre, as though having wound himself up like a kettle on the boil, he was now running out of steam.

  As Tom spoke, his eyes kept drifting over to Alex, lingering on him with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Ah, Tony, there you are.’

  Holy mackerel. The largest man I had ever clapped eyes on materialised from behind a flowering hydrangea. He was dressed from head to toe in black, his eyes covered by reflective sunglasses that were almost as shiny as his bald pate.

  Tom Benchley glanced at Alex again as Tony advanced, presumably to bundle us into a van with blacked out windows, never to be seen or heard from again.

  ‘Right, let’s be having you,’ Tony said. I gulped.

  Tom held out his hand, looking puzzled. ‘Just wait one moment.’

  ‘With all due respect, Mr Benchley,’ Tony said. ‘I told you I was on my tea break.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Tom said, ‘but this is most peculiar.’ He looked at Alex, then back at me.

  ‘You never did say exactly what it is you were doing here.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘We do want something from you. But I’m not a journalist or some network executive. I’m not some crazed fan. I’ve never even read your books.’ In my peripheral vision, I saw Tony wince.

  ‘You haven’t?’ Tom said, looking put out.

  ‘She doesn’t know what she’s missing,’ Noah piped up.

  ‘Quite,’ Tom said, slightly mollified. ‘So I’ll ask you again, why exactly are you here?’

  ‘Mr Benchley,’ I said, ‘we urgently need your help.’

  Tom glanced at Alex again.

  ‘Do I know you? You look ever so familiar.’ Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Daniel,’ he said. ‘Daniel Dean, you look just like him. The spitting image.’

  Alex blanched.

  ‘You knew my dad?’

  Tom’s whole face lit up.

  ‘Are you Alex? Daniel’s son?’

  Alex nodded.

  ‘I knew your father well. Of course, you won’t remember me. You were barely out of nappies as I recall.’

  ‘Um, okay.’ Tom was only five years older than Alex so this seemed like a bit of an exaggeration.

  ‘Now it all makes sense,’ Tom said. ‘Your chipper young friend over there.’ He gestured in my direction. ‘She mentioned Upper Finlay and some frankly odd story about a bookshop. I just needed to see you to put all the pieces together.’

  ‘How did you know my dad?’

  Tom sighed, his eyes going misty. ‘Simpler times in many ways. We had nothing of course, Mum worked two jobs and still it wasn’t enough. Your father, well this is a little embarrassing, he caught me shoplifting one Saturday afternoon when Mum w
as at work, she was cleaning this place as it happens. Instead of calling the police, he took one look at what I’d snaffled – some utter boys’ adventure tosh – and recommended that I try The Hobbit instead.

  ‘I’d always been a voracious reader, but that book opened up a whole new world for me. If I’d never read it I doubt I’d be standing here today.’ He gestured towards his mansion.

  ‘After that I’m afraid I made rather a pest of myself. But your father never seemed to mind. He took me on quite the journey. Let me read whatever my greedy little heart desired for free.

  ‘Your father was the kindest man. I only wish…Of course the TV show was just starting to take off, so I was in America when he passed. We’d lost touch by then, my fault. I didn’t even hear about the accident until I came home and, well honestly, as I’m sure you’ve heard, I was not myself, shall we say. Still, I should have come to call after everything he did for me. Your father was a good friend. A good man. What a shame,’ Tom said, shaking his head.

  ‘Actually, Alex runs the bookshop now,’ I said, sidling out from behind him.

  ‘How about that?’ Tom said. ‘I thought they’d sold it on after Daniel passed away.’

  ‘Nope. Still in the family. At least for another few days.’

  That pulled him up short. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ I said. ‘We would never have intruded on you like this if we weren’t totally desperate. The bookshop is in terrible trouble, Mr Benchley, and we need your help to save it.’

  ‘In that case,’ Tom said, ‘I think you’d better come inside.’

  Thirty-Five

  Liam was well and truly in the doghouse, so he remained outside while Noah, Alex and I retired to Toms study and drank tea. A fat, massively fluffy cat wound her way around Tom’s legs, purring aggressively. I leant down to give her a pet and she hissed at me, bearing fangs.

  ‘Now, now Dottie,’ Tom said.

  ‘Err do you have any other cats?’ I asked, thinking about the rumours of him having several hundred.

  ‘You’re quite enough for me, aren’t you Dottie?’ Tom crooned. Dottie leapt onto Tom’s lap with an audible thump and settled in. He winced as she dug her claws into his thigh and then looked up at him as if to say go on, say something. I dare you.