Sex without love. It was just a function. He’d never thought of it that way. For him, always, there had been the thrill of the chase, followed by sweet surrender, a meeting of minds, the frisson of a look exchanged that touched the soul. It had been like that with Martina, early on. Later, it felt as though he’d held their relationship together more through a determination not to fail, but at least there had been a connection. Challenging, frustrating, but real.
This … thing … he had with Lizzie … was empty at the core.
Ben watched as another small flurry of petals drifted softly to the earth. Perhaps he would finish things with Lizzie. Perhaps Daisy had been wrong about Jack Hedderwick. Maybe she was deluding herself. And if that was the case, there might, just possibly, be a chance for him.
Chapter Twenty-four
Jack’s front door was green. Not a lovely, rich forest green, nor even a spring-fresh bright green, but a kind of light sage. Daisy didn’t like it. It was the shade she called ‘old people’s green’, the colour that seemed to be universally favoured by decorators of public lavatories.
She was standing in front of the door, dressed in her finest Jack-catching outfit (chosen so carefully with Sharon’s advice) and plucking up the courage to ring the bell. It was eight o’clock on Thursday evening and she hadn’t seen Jack for nearly two weeks. She’d been working so hard on the Provost Porter story that her schedules had been seriously disrupted. But now was the time to go for it. Her confidence was high, thanks to her new slimline figure and the success of her work at the Herald. She needed to capitalise on that before the Ben/Lizzie situation began to get her down, because there was a real risk of that.
It was nothing to do with jealousy, she told herself. She didn’t mind Ben and Lizzie being together. She was pleased for them. Rather, it was the difficulty of the situation – sharing the cottage with Lizzie, being there when she brought Ben home with her, knowing they were together in the next room, feeling … feeling so isolated in the face of their obvious happiness. It wasn’t jealousy, because it was Jack she ached for, not Ben.
Jack Hedderwick. Jack of the baby blue eyes and the feather-soft golden hair. Jack, who she was going to offer herself to right now. Dressed in the micro-length black satin dress, with its plunging back and deep cleavage, the pieces held together only by the slim halter looped round the back of her neck, her luminous purple heels so high she was seriously nervous about falling off them, she was the absolute image of sexiness. She knew that because Sharon had assured her it was so, despite her slight doubts about looking tarty rather than sensual.
‘You wanted a man-catching outfit, and that’s exactly what this is, Dais,’ she’d said, admiring Daisy in the harsh light of the changing room of the high street store. ‘Team it with purple accessories and a bit of bling and you can’t fail.’
‘Really?’ Daisy had been dubious.
‘No doubt about it. You’ve lost so much weight recently, you’re looking breathtaking.’
‘Promise?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
So she’d gone for it. But after Sharon had gone upmarket and bought a slim, calf-length skirt, twin set teamed with Mallorca pearls, immaculately cut wool slacks, and a pair of flat brown leather loafers, she’d voiced her reservations again.
‘Are you sure that dress isn’t tarty, Shar? I want to be sexy, not trollopy. Perhaps I should get something a bit less flashy.’
‘Trust me, babe. You look hot.’
She looked different, that was for sure. In all her life Daisy had never worn a dress made of so little fabric. Closing her eyes to blot out the ghastly green of the door, Daisy drew a deep breath, raised her hand, and pressed the doorbell. Nothing. She couldn’t even tell if the bell had rung and she was just lifting her hand to push it again when the door was pulled open. There was Jack, looking divine in a sky blue shirt that exactly matched his eyes, and with a flush on his cheeks that gave him a healthy glow.
‘Hello, Daisy!’
He was surprised to see her, naturally. She’d never called round before and she hadn’t told him she was coming. ‘Hello Jack.’ She gave him her sweetest smile and waited.
‘You’re looking … you’re looking …’ Jack didn’t seem to be able to find the words to describe how she was looking.
‘Delicious?’ she supplied hopefully.
‘… different. What are you doing here? Did Iris invite you?’
‘Iris? Invite me?’ For the first time, Daisy was dimly aware of the hum of noise from behind a door in the hallway. Like voices. A lot of voices. Jack wasn’t on his own. The realisation dawned on her in the same instant as the living room door flew open and Iris appeared, wearing something long and floaty and floral, her hair swept up in a loose coil, her face flushed with excitement, looking prettier than Daisy had ever seen her look.
‘Who is it, darling? Oh, hello Daisy. Are you coming in?’
She’d picked the wrong night. It was Thursday. It was cookery class night, She’d checked and double checked that, but for some reason, Iris hadn’t gone to the class. They were having a party instead. Pink with embarrassment, Daisy hovered uncertainly. Her every instinct told her to run. Swivelling on one very high purple heel, she started to turn. Then her ankle, wobbling with nerves, twisted over to one side and she crashed to the ground, arms akimbo, legs splayed, her micro skirt riding up the last inches of her thighs to reveal the flimsy purple silk knickers she’d selected so carefully to match the bag and shoes.
‘Careful! Daisy! Are you all right?’
Her head had banged backwards onto the border at the edge of the neat lawn. Rain earlier in the day had dampened the earth and she could feel small lumps clinging to her hair. Hastily rearranging her legs and trying to tug her skirt down, she rolled onto her knees.
‘Here. Let me help you.’
Jack was standing above her, looking alarmed. Behind him she could see Iris, her face concerned. One of her shoes had gone flying. She took Jack’s arms and hauled herself up slowly. Her right leg was some four inches shorter than her left and she felt as though she was lurching at an alarming angle. ‘I’m fine. Sorry. Listen, I was just … I thought … I’ll head off. Sorry …’ she mumbled, her embarrassment now excruciating.
‘Here’s your shoe. Are you sure you’re all right?’ Iris had found the shoe that had gone flying and had laid it neatly in front of her foot so that she could slip it back on.
‘Thanks. Yes. Thanks. I’d better … Ouch!’ Her ankle seemed to be swelling rapidly. ‘Damn!’
‘Listen, come in. Bring her in Jack, she’s hurt, poor thing. And looking so nice for our party, too. What a shame. We’ll get you cleaned up, Daisy, don’t worry. One of my friends is a nurse, I’ll get her to look at that ankle for you.’
Iris was chattering on, being solicitous. Being nice. Daisy didn’t want her to be nice. She couldn’t bear it. She liked to think of Iris as a cow, the woman who’d stolen her Jack. If she was nice it would make it much more difficult – in so many ways – to win him back again.
‘And it was so sweet of you to come to our engagement party, wasn’t it Jack? I’m so glad you asked her.’
Engagement party. The noise from inside the house was loud now. Someone had put on music and people were spilling out of the living room to see what the excitement was outside. Jack, still supporting her weight on his arm, was looking down at her with the oddest of expressions. He hadn’t asked her – and now he knew that Iris hadn’t asked her either. She’d got it all wrong. Realisation flooded into her numbed consciousness with a sudden clarity, like walking out of a patch of damp fog into an icy landscape where the air was pure and bright and shiver-makingly cold. Jack Hedderwick didn’t love her at all. At least, not in the wanting-her-back, still-really-loving-her kind of way that she’d imagined.
He was getting married.
To Iris Swithinbank.
She had lost him.
For ever.
‘Sit down, Daisy.’
Jack’s touch was as gentle as his voice. But she knew now that it wasn’t love she was hearing, it was pity. All the time, at the gym, he’d just been being nice to her. Fucking, fucking nice. Nice because of what they’d had in the past. Nice because he was sorry for what he’d become at the end of their relationship. Maybe even nice because he was sorry for her. The full horror of her misjudgement seemed to hit her behind the knees because she collapsed onto a chair in the dining room, where he’d brought her, blinking away the tears. She would not cry. She absolutely would not cry. Instinctively, her hand went to her pocket in search of Tiny Ted.
Only she didn’t have a pocket.
And she didn’t have Tiny Ted.
She didn’t have Lizzie.
She didn’t have Ben.
She didn’t have Jack.
And very probably, she wouldn’t even have a job in the very near future.
Now she was shivering for real. The stark reality of her situation had moved somehow from her knees to her solar plexus and she started to feel very sick. She had nothing. She was not going to cry.
‘Here. Put your ankle up on this.’ He pulled across another chair and eased her leg onto it. ‘That’s not looking too great. Let’s get it cleaned up.’
‘No really … it’s OK … sorry … I need to get home …’
‘You can’t drive. Not yet anyway.’ He looked at her again. ‘You’re shivering.’
‘I’ll get her a wrap.’ Iris’s voice.
‘No really … I’m …’ But her teeth were chattering.
She looked down at her leg. There seemed to be a great deal of it. She wasn’t used to short skirts. Her knee was covered by a large greeny-brown smudge. Pushing back her hair, Daisy glanced down at her hand. It was smeared with earth too. What a sight she must be. At least he hadn’t taken her into the room where all the action seemed to be.
‘Can I help? Oh, it’s you, Daisy dear.’ Hell. It was Jack’s mother. She hadn’t seen Mrs Hedderwick since the night, a whole year ago, that she’d raced round to her in floods of tears, hysterical, begging for her help to get Jack back.
‘Arthur?’ Mrs Hedderwick called to Jack’s father, who appeared at her shoulder. ‘Look who’s here.’
‘Daisy. How nice.’
Daisy tried to smile, without success. Of course. It was an engagement party. It would be just her luck if the whole Hedderwick tribe appeared soon. She was right. Within minutes, Jack’s two sisters and their respective partners, four cousins, and assorted nieces and nephews had all crowded into the dining room and were milling around, their greetings surprisingly friendly and concerned. She couldn’t bear it. She simply couldn’t bear it. She’d known them all so long, they felt like her family. They had been more of a family to her than her parents had ever been. But the truth was they weren’t her family. And now they never would be. With each greeting, Daisy felt her mouth growing more and more numb, her words more and more asinine, her head more and more dizzy. And when, finally, Jack’s favourite little niece Emily, five years old now and the spitting image of her uncle, put her chubby arms up for a hug and lisped, ‘Love you, Auntie Daithy,’ her mind imploded completely and she felt the world grow dark.
When she came to, she was on the carpet. Someone had covered her with a blanket and put a cushion under her head. The room had been cleared of people. Mercifully, it was perfectly quiet. A small table lamp had been left on in the corner of the room. Daisy lifted her head a fraction and looked around. The dining room door had been closed. From behind it, she was dimly aware of the hum of conversation. So the party was still going on.
She sat up, carefully. What was she wearing? In the semi darkness, she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as she remembered. The tarty dress. She’d kill Sharon. Why had she ever trusted her? When Jack’s parents had come in she’d felt like a whore – or at least, what she imagined a whore must feel like. In comparison with Iris, so tastefully covered from head to toe in a pretty floral silk, she felt cheap and shabby. She had to get out of here, now. Tentatively, she rolled onto her knees and tested her ankle, then yelped with pain. Fuck. She really had twisted it.
‘Here. Let me help.’
A woman’s voice, one she didn’t recognise. She looked up.
‘I’m Carol. I’m a nurse. Here.’ The girl who was speaking was young, petite, auburn-haired and she positively radiated calm authority. Her mind still in complete turmoil, Daisy relaxed gratefully into her care and allowed herself to be helped onto a chair.
Carol inspected the injured leg. ‘It’s quite swollen. Can you waggle it?’ Daisy waggled. Carol tested the area gently, feeling with her fingers. ‘That’s good. I don’t think it’s broken. Let me clean it up a bit, then I can put a bandage on it. Iris had one in her first aid kit. How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ Daisy lied, allowing Carol to sponge the dirt away. Of course Iris had a bandage in her first aid kit. Of course she had a first aid kit. Iris would be organised, efficient, ready for every eventuality, the kind of girl that Jack really wanted, not a shambolic, forgetful, indecisive worrier like Daisy Irvine.
‘Dizziness gone?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, more truthfully this time. ‘Listen, you’re very kind, but I have to get home.’
‘Can you stand?’
‘Not very well,’ Daisy admitted, trying.
‘Can someone come for you?’
Daisy sat back down on the chair and looked around for her purple handbag. It looked ridiculous to her now, cheap and plastic. She found her mobile and reluctantly dialled her parents’ number. No answer. She tried her mother’s mobile, but without much hope. Janet Irvine hardly ever had her phone switched on. Damn. What was she going to do? She absolutely had to get out of here. Lizzie. She’d have to phone Lizzie. She dialled the number but the cottage phone rang out and she remembered that Lizzie had talked about staying with some friends over Melrose way. Sharon. She’d got her into this mess, she could bloody well get her out of it. Sharon’s mobile switched instantly to voice message. She finished the call without bothering to leave a message.
‘I’d take you myself but I’ve had too much to drink,’ said Carol sympathetically. ‘What about a taxi?’
Daisy tried two local taxi firms, but one had three drivers off sick and the rest all out and the second firm had a block booking and no spare cars.
Ben. Ben Gillies was the only person she could think of to call. She wasn’t too keen on the idea, but better calling Ben than staying here. His number was still on short dial. She pressed the button and was connected at once.
‘Hi, Daisy. You all right?’
Relief flooded into her as she heard the familiar timbre of his voice. Then finally, unable to hold back any more, she burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Circulation’s dropped.’
Sharon was perched on her desk, her legs swinging rhythmically, her fingers drumming on the desk top.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Shar, stop that noise will you?’ Murdoch, trying to file a story, was irritated.
‘What?’ She looked pained, but the drumming stopped.
‘Who says?’ Daisy asked from her corner. She’d had to take a week off after her disastrous attempt to win Jack back. Her job was more or less impossible if she couldn’t drive. The Stoneyford Echo had lent their trainee, who had succeeded in achieving quite a presentable portfolio over the week, much to Daisy’s chagrin. Since then she’d been subdued, depressed. Her world had imploded. She’d spent the week at her parents’ house, unable to bear the idea of Lizzie tending to her or, worse still, Ben. Even with the ankle mending, she was finding the sheer effort of getting through day by day a daunting one. The fight had gone out of her. She felt deflated and defeated. There was no point in anything any more. No point in going to the gym. Why, if she couldn’t use it as an excuse to be with Jack? No fun in sharing meals with Lizzie – to say that their relationship had become strained was an understatement. As for work, she felt defeated th
ere too. Everyone could see the writing on the wall. Sharon’s bleak statement was no surprise.
‘Figures are just in.’ Sharon picked up a piece of paper and waved it disconsolately. ‘Chantelle says advertising’s down too.’
Dave was angry. ‘But why?’ he exploded. ‘The Messenger’s crap. Their journos can’t write, their photos are practically non existent –’
‘– they get all the celeb gossip from the mothership with half the pages laid out for them and their overheads are really low,’ Murdoch broke in.
‘You and I know the writing’s rubbish, Dave,’ Sharon said gloomily, ‘but half the neighbourhood doesn’t seem to care. It’s free. It’s not great, but it’s not bad for free.’
Silence fell. Daisy packed her camera and limped out. She had a school class to photograph over at Main village. Planting trees. It would be no surprise to find one of the freelancers flogging their photos to The Messenger there, trying to out-think her, grab a cuter image. The Echo she could handle. That, in a way, seemed like a fair fight. This was grim, because she was not alone in feeling they had lost the battle already. Hungry freelance or no, she was pleased she had a shoot. Going anywhere was better than being in the office.
The Hailesbank Herald survived for exactly eight weeks after the Messenger was launched.
Of course they all knew the end was coming. Chantelle and the advertising team did their best, but in a small town there simply wasn’t enough money to go around. Curiosity drove the locals to pick up the freesheet, which had been supported by a massive promotional programme, including give-aways of chocolate bars and DVDs. Their competitions had great prizes, making the Herald’s look inferior. The dejected staff of the Herald had to admit that the content, design, and photography of the Messenger were actually not bad. The Hailesbank Herald simply did not manage to sustain its advertising revenue and circulation figures in the face of competition from the new freesheet. A last-ditch attempt at salvaging the ailing paper was made in the form of an appeal to the locals. The staff took their places outside the offices holding sad-looking placards reading ‘Save our Paper’ and ‘Don’t let The Herald Fold’, but they were unable to stir up enough feeling to get a full-on campaign going.
Maximum Exposure: The Heartlands Series Page 16