by Paige Toon
I turn to Holly. ‘He’s not, is he? Tell me he’s going to be okay!’
She shakes her head at me.
‘TELL ME HE’S GOING TO BE OKAY!’ I scream.
‘Daisy! People will hear!’
Her words are like a slap in the face. I stare at her in shock. She comes over to me and takes my hands. I let her sit me down on the sofa. Neither of us speaks as I look off into space.
Finally I break the silence. ‘Where is he?’
‘His body is at the hospital.’
‘His body? Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .’
She places her hand on my arm to still me.
‘Where’s Luis?’
She looks surprised at my question. ‘I think he’s with Simon. He won the race,’ she adds and immediately looks mortified as I stare at her with bewilderment. And then I start to cry. I curl up into a ball on the sofa and press my face into a cushion to muffle the sound of my sobs. Thoughts and memories spin fast around my head, so fast that they make me dizzy. Will helping me pick up my scooter in Melbourne after I crashed it . . . Will standing on the landing outside the lift in Bahrain where I handed him his cap . . . Will staring across the table at me as we waited for Holly in Barcelona . . . Will on the stone terrace looking out over the mountains at my nonna’s house . . . Will last night . . . Will last night . . . Will last night . . .
I vaguely register a knock at the door, but I’m too caught up in my thoughts to care who it is. I stay curled up on the sofa with my face pressed into a cushion as I hear Holly talking to a man – it sounds like one of the mechanics – followed by a shuffling sound. The man leaves and, after a while, Holly puts her hand on my arm.
‘Why don’t you come back downstairs to the kitchen?’
‘No.’ I shake my head and look up at her. ‘Where’s his bag?’ Panic throbs through me as I see the empty room. ‘Where’s his bag?’ I ask again when she doesn’t immediately answer.
‘Karl took it for his family.’
‘But his T-shirt! I want his T-shirt!’ I need his T-shirt. I have to have his T-shirt. It’s MY T-shirt! It’s all I have of him!
‘I’m sorry!’ she cries.
‘Stop saying you’re sorry!’ I scream at her, and she backs off. ‘I NEED HIS FUCKING T-SHIRT!’ I scream again.
‘Daisy, please! It’s gone! His bag’s gone!’
‘BUT I NEED IT!’
‘What’s going on here?’ Frederick suddenly storms in. ‘Enough! We’re ALL upset! Go home, Daisy.’ He turns to Holly. ‘Take her home.’
‘But—’
‘Get her out of here!’ he shouts.
I don’t remember what happens next. It’s all a muddle. I vaguely remember Holly speaking to a doctor. I vaguely remember taking the pills she told me to take. I vaguely remember sitting in a car as we crawled bumper-to-bumper out of the car park, and then staring out of the window at greenery flashing past. I vaguely remember being in my own bed in my flat on Camden Road, surrounded by bags ready for my forthcoming move. I vaguely remember Holly checking on me during the night and giving me another pill to take in the morning.
When I finally come out of my drug-fuelled daze, it’s Tuesday, and she’s asleep on the sofa.
The flat is bright and warm, light spilling in from the south-facing windows. Holly didn’t pull the curtains last night, and for a moment I bask in the heat of the sun, completely unaware of what happened just two days previously. Then reality sinks in and I feel my throat close up with the pain.
‘Holly!’ I try to rouse her as tears fill my eyes. ‘Holly!’
‘Yes?’ she mumbles, before reality sinks in for her, too, because she shoots upright in bed.
‘When’s his funeral?’ I demand to know. ‘When’s his funeral?’
‘Today. This afternoon,’ she replies, rubbing her eyes.
‘Where? In Cambridge?’ That’s his home town.
She nods groggily. I climb out of bed.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks, alarmed.
‘Getting ready for his funeral! Jesus, how the hell are we going to get there? Can you ring the train station to find out about tickets? Or would a bus be better?’
‘No, Daisy, wait.’
‘Come on!’ I shout. ‘We’ve got to hurry!’
‘Daisy, wait!’ She climbs out of bed.
‘What?’ I’m annoyed now.
Her expression is pained. ‘You can’t go to the funeral.’
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
‘It’s for family and close friends only.’
‘What do you mean?’ I cry. ‘I’m a close friend! I was almost his girlfriend!’
‘I know, but . . .’ She puts her hands on my arms. ‘No one knows about you. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Laura is the one he left behind.’
Laura is the one he left behind . . .
I collapse down on the sofa, too shocked even to cry. I can’t go to Will’s funeral? I can’t say goodbye to him?
‘Who else is going?’ I ask. ‘Is Simon going?’
She looks shifty. ‘Yes, I think so.’
That means she knows so. ‘What about Luis?’ My tone is hard.
‘I think he’s going with Simon.’
I stare at her angrily. I don’t know why. It’s not her fault. But I so want to shoot the messenger right now. She doesn’t meet my eyes, looking balefully down at the bags on the floor.
Oh, God. I was going to go and stay near Will.
I fall to my knees and burst into tears, sobs coursing through my body as I place my hands on one of my bags.
‘Daisy, it’s okay,’ Holly says. ‘You can move in with me.’
And then my tear-blurred vision makes out the tiny corner of a newspaper poking out of Holly’s bag.
I rush over, tugging it out amid her protests.
A LOVE LOST
The headline screams out from the front page, and underneath it is a picture of Laura, tear-stricken and anguished.
I scan the story. It’s all about Will and Laura, how they grew up together, how they fell in love, how they were destined to be wed. The journalist recalls Will’s answer on the grid to the marriage question, and how he flashed a mischievous grin at the interviewer, implying that a wedding wouldn’t be far off. Only I know that he was avoiding the question because of me.
I suddenly see his face – quite clearly – staring after me regretfully as I climbed the pit wall before the race. I didn’t even wish him good luck! And then his face goes blurry.
No! Not this! Not this, now! Where is he? I hastily turn the pages of the paper until I come to the continuation of the story. There are pictures of the crash – the remains of Will’s destroyed car – and there! There is a picture of him and Laura dressed up to the nines on their way to some do or another. I bring the page in close and study it, trying my hardest to ignore the image of Laura at Will’s side. He looks kind of familiar, but no! It doesn’t capture what he’s really like.
‘Daisy?’ Holly interrupts my thoughts. I look up at her, tears streaming down my face. And then another memory comes back to me. Luis. Luis angrily stalking over to Will before the race started.
What did he say to him? I have to know. And then another thought strikes me.
‘Luis will take me.’ I leap up and grab my mobile phone from my bag.
‘Daisy, what do you mean, Luis will take you?’
‘Luis will take me. He can pretend I’m his girlfriend, I don’t give a shit! But I am going to that funeral!’
The phone rings and rings, and eventually he picks up.
‘Luis, it’s Daisy.’
‘Hello!’ He sounds surprised to hear from me.
‘What time are you going to Will’s funeral?’
‘Er, it starts at two o’clock, so we’ll be leaving in an hour, I think. Why?’
‘I need you to take me with you.’
‘But I, we, there won’t be enough room in Simon’s car.’
‘You’ve got a car, haven�
�t you?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘So drive that.’
‘Daisy,’ he says reasonably, ‘have you thought this through?’ Holly is tense beside me. ‘Laura . . . Will’s parents . . . Do you think it’s that appropriate—’
‘Luis,’ I interrupt, steel in my voice, ‘if you don’t take me to his funeral, I never, ever want to see you again.’
He’s silent for a moment and then he speaks. ‘Give me your address.’
Even up until the point he rings on the doorbell, Holly tries to talk me out of it. I ignore her, putting on a black dress and brushing my hair before leaving it down, the way Will liked it. I don’t bother with make-up.
I manage to mumble a brief thank you to Luis when I answer the door, but I can’t meet his eyes and hope that will be enough to convey my gratitude for the time being. We barely speak during the car journey on the way up to Cambridge. I know we have a lot to say – there are still unanswered questions in my mind – but that can wait. Right now, I just need to focus on the job in hand.
The funeral is being held in one of the grand university churches and from what I can see, Will had a lot of so-called close friends and family.
I spy Simon, Catalina, the team’s technical and financial directors and their wives, plus a couple of important sponsors. They’re standing together in a group on a pathway near the church entrance, but Luis keeps our distance, waiting for the church to fill before leading me in to a pew at the back. I don’t argue with him. I’m not going to make a scene.
It’s the most surreal feeling. I feel like I’m in another person’s body, experiencing another person’s emotions. I’m not tuned in to what’s happening at all. There’s a coffin up at the front of the church, and it’s covered with white flowers. Will’s body is inside.
Will’s body is inside! Oh, my God, Will is dead! My throat closes up and I put my hand on my chest to steady myself. Luis looks across at me in alarm, just as the priest begins to take the service. I try to listen to what he’s saying, but I can hear stifled sobs reverberating through the church. The sound of other people’s pain calms me, bizarrely, and if I don’t think about what is making them cry, I might just be able to get through this.
A blond man in his early thirties gets up to do a reading. He looks sort of familiar.
‘Is that Will’s brother?’ I ask Luis. He glances at me and nods. I know the priest must’ve introduced him, but I can’t concentrate. I don’t take in his words, but instead crane my neck towards the front of the church. There’s a little girl sitting on the second row. Is that Will’s niece? The one who likes In the Night Garden?
‘Why didn’t Will’s brother or sister come to any of the races?’ I ask Luis.
He shrugs.
‘But your family came. Why didn’t Will’s?’ I ignore the looks I’m getting from other mourners listening intently to the reading. ‘I don’t understand,’ I continue.
‘Maybe it’s because of his job,’ Luis whispers. ‘Isn’t his brother an important banker or something?’ A woman in front of us shuffles in her seat and tuts.
‘What about his sister?’
‘High-flying lawyer?’
‘Would you be quiet?’ the woman in front of us turns around and hisses before facing forward again. I stare at the back of her head, nonplussed. I’m back in someone else’s body again. She can’t hurt me. No one can.
More prayers, another reading . . . What should I have for dinner tonight? I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. I haven’t eaten in days! A woman takes to the stand at the front of the church. Who’s this, now? I wonder indifferently. And then she turns around, and even though her face is half-covered with black netting, I know instantly that it’s Laura.
‘I’ve known – sorry, I knew William most of his life . . .’
She called him William?
‘. . . and he was the kindest, sweetest, most loyal guy you could ever meet . . .’
My fingernails are digging into my palms. I wonder if I can draw blood?
‘I hated the racing. I always hated it. And William knew that. It’s why he forgave me for my absence at so many Grands Prix. But he loved it. With all his heart and soul he loved racing so much, and I loved him. I still love him. I’ll always love him.’
Her voice breaks and she puts her head down as her body starts to shake with silent sobs.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologises, her voice unsteady. ‘He died doing what he loved best . . .’ She can’t finish her sentence. She collapses into sobs again as Will’s brother steps up to the altar to lead her away. The church echoes with the sound of people weeping.
What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here. Suddenly I’m on my feet and rushing out of the church, not caring that the doors will bang behind me. I run, run, run down the gravel path to the gate.
‘Daisy!’
Luis grabs my arm to stop me, spinning me around.
‘No, no, no!’ I shout. ‘NO!’ My knees buckle beneath me and I crumble as Luis tries to hold me up.
‘What did you say to him?’ I cry. ‘What did you say to him before the race?’
‘Daisy, now is not—’
‘Tell me!’ I claw at his arms as I try to tear him away from me. ‘Tell me, right now!’
He looks overwrought. ‘It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t mean to upset him!’
I stare at him and take deep breaths, one after the other. When I finally speak, my voice sounds deadly calm. ‘What. Did. You. Say.’
‘I was angry with him. Over his treatment of you.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was angry because he hadn’t told Laura about you.’
‘Why?’ I snap. ‘I was okay with that!’
‘Were you?’ He gives me a hard stare.
‘What else did you say? What exactly did you say?’
‘I told him . . . I thought he was . . . a prick.’
‘How could you?’ I feel like something has just rushed through my head. Suddenly white rage fills every pore in my body. ‘YOU KILLED HIM!’ I find myself screaming. ‘YOU! IT WAS YOUR FAULT!’ I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I start to slap at him, pummelling his chest and his arms.
‘Stop!’ he shouts, trying to calm me down.
‘GET AWAY FROM ME!’ I scream, backing away. ‘I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!’
And then I turn and run. I don’t know where I run, but I can’t stop. Tiny shop windows blur past me as I run down narrow streets lined with cream stone buildings. I run across a bridge and I am vaguely aware of punters on the river below as I leave the city centre and enter a green field opposite one of the picture-postcard college buildings. Exhausted, I come to a stop in front of an enormous oak tree and collapse down on the dirt between its roots. And then I cry. I cry until I feel like I have no more tears left in me.
‘Are you okay, miss?’
I look up to see a man in his forties walking by with a brown and white springer spaniel.
‘I’ve lost my boyfriend,’ I find myself telling him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘He’ll come back.’
I nod and smile and let him go on his way, then stare ahead in shock.
I don’t know what time it is. The funeral will be over by now. I guess I’d better find the bus station. But I don’t want to go back to my flat. I don’t want to go to Holly’s. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere.
I have no one. No one. No one.
My phone rings. It sounds distant, far off. In a trance I get it out of my bag, pressing the green button to answer the call. I don’t speak, just put the phone to my ear and listen, breathing heavily.
‘La mia stellina!’
My little star. Nonna.
And then the tears return.
‘Oh my darling girl, I know, I know . . . I’ve been waiting for you to call.’ I sob down the line, unable to catch my breath as my grandmother makes soothing sounds.
‘How did you get my nu
mber?’ I ask eventually. I haven’t given it to anyone except the people at work.
‘I tracked you down through your boss at the team’s headquarters,’ she explains. ‘Are you still in England?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, trying to catch my breath.
‘Have you spoken to your parents?’
‘No.’ I rest my head on one hand in despair and cradle the phone to my ear as the roots at the base of the tree dig into my backside.
‘Your mother called me,’ Nonna says.
‘Did she?’
‘She hasn’t been able to get hold of you.’
That was my intention when I didn’t give out my number.
‘Have you called her recently?’ Nonna pries.
I don’t answer.
‘I think you should,’ she continues. ‘She wants to hear from you.’
My tears slowly come to a stop.
‘What will you do, now?’ Nonna asks.
I look around at the green field and nearby river and it sud denly becomes very, very clear.
‘I think it’s time to go home,’ I reply.
Chapter 19
The yellow taxi cab pulls up outside the tall building on Fifth Avenue. I hand the driver some money and tell him I don’t need help with my bags. I have just one suitcase – the rest I left with Holly, who promised to send them on later. I only need to reach into the trunk before the doorman waiting under the gilded canopy comes running to my aid. He pulls out the suitcase and then turns to me, before leaping back in shock.
‘Miss Rogers! I wasn’t expecting you!’
‘Don’t worry, Barney, no one was,’ I reassure him as I lead the way into the marbled lobby. He hurries after me. ‘Just leave it there, Barney. Thanks,’ I tell him as I reach the elevator. He starts to protest about accompanying me, but I firmly assure him there’s no need. I step inside and put my key in the slot on the elevator panel – the only slot there is – and the elevator doors whoosh closed. Floor after floor I shoot past until I finally reach the very top. The penthouse. I hear the buzz of the intercom as the doors begin to open, and know that Barney has hurried to inform my parents about my arrival, but I get there first, and the look on my mother’s face as I step out onto the landing inside my parents’ apartment – once my home – is a sight to behold.