by Beth Thomas
My phone quacks again, jerking me back to my surroundings, so I pull it out of my pocket with one hand, while retrieving the thrown packet of cigarettes with the other.
Abby Marcus Daisy Doo! What you doing? I’m soooooo boooooored!!!
Daisy Mack Hi Abs. Well guess what? Right now, I’m kneeling on the floor in your and Tom’s bedroom, having just been rummaging through all your private things, only to find exactly what I was expecting and dreading to find, in a carrier bag, inside your box of Tampax under your bed. Have you got anything to say for yourself? Because quite frankly, given my current circumstances and the reasons for them, I’m disgusted in you.
I don’t say that. Of course I don’t. I’m not going to judge Abby, whatever she does. She never judges me, and God knows she’s had reason to lately. But now that I’ve got this little piece of information, I have no idea what to do with it. I don’t even know why I was so desperate to find out in the first place. It was probably just to know if I’d sussed it right or not. Yay, well done, Daisy, give yourself a pat on the back.
Quickly I re-roll the cigarette packet up in the carrier bag and shove it back in the tampon box under the bed, before tiptoeing out of the room and closing the door.
Back in my own room I sit on the bed and decide what to reply to Abby. I can’t think of what to tell her, so I fudge it a bit.
Daisy Mack Hi Abs! Why are you soooooo booooooored?
Hopefully that will engross her in telling me about her day and she’ll forget all about wondering what I’m doing.
Abby Marcus Aha. I sense a deliberate avoidance manoeuvre. Why aren’t you answering me, my young friend? Something to hide? Hmm?
Shit. Why do I so often forget about Abby’s amazing psychic ability to look into the depths of my soul and see my darkest thoughts?
Abby Marcus I’m just fucking about!
I’m not convinced. I once read an article in a magazine that said the things people say as a joke are actually what they’re really thinking. Because obviously they’ve had that thought, haven’t they? It was in their head, and accidentally came out when perhaps they didn’t mean it to, and the only way they could think of taking it back was by pretending it was a joke. Or was it people who are drunk? I can’t remember. The point is that I’ve now got to tell Abby in great detail what I was doing that will also explain why I initially tried to avoid the question. After a moment’s thought, I come up with the ideal solution.
Daisy Mack OK, sorceress, you’ve looked into my mind again. The truth is, I was just about to open the letter from Owen and Lake. I’ve got it here in my hand.
Quickly I leap the one step to the dressing table and seize the letter that’s propped there. I can’t bear lying to Abs.
Daisy Mack Feeling a bit tense about it, but I’ve got to do it sooner or later, haven’t I?
Abby Marcus Wow, are you really? Well good for you, Daze. I’m really proud of you. You know that don’t you?
Daisy Mack Yeah, I know. Thanks Abs.
Abby Marcus Good. Xxx So let me know what it says, then, yeah?
Which means, of course, that I am actually going to have to open it now.
Daisy Mack Will do. Later on, OK? When you get home. Xx
Abby Marcus Of course, fathead. I wouldn’t expect you to reveal all on bloody Facebook. *Glances nervously upwards* I meant no offence, Gods of Facebook.
Daisy Mack I think I know what it’s going to say anyway.
And that’s actually true. My stepbrother Darren has already taken great delight in telling me that Graham has left me out of the will, so I’m sure this is just a letter from Mum’s solicitors confirming it. Which means I have nothing to fear from it. In fact, once I get it open and read, it will cease to have any power over me and I can move on with my life. My fingers run over the stuck-down flap on the back of the envelope, and as they do I glance up at the giant ‘TO DO’ list on the wall. Opening this letter is on there, but it’s right at the bottom, in slightly smaller letters. Abby had to add it on to the end because it arrived after she’d already made the list. This time, my eyes don’t bounce straight off the list, like two matching poles of a magnet. They linger there a moment – long enough for me to read the item immediately above. It’s ‘Call Naomi’. Yeah, I knew that was on there. But for the first time now, I notice that there are some smaller letters squashed underneath, that say: ‘She lost her mum too’. And then there’s a smiley face. How strange. I’ve never noticed that before. Has it been there all the time? I stare at that smiley until my eyeballs start to dry out, as the realisation sinks in for the first time that Naomi is also grieving.
No, no, that’s ridiculous. I never thought she wasn’t grieving. Of course she’s grieving: her mum died, followed swiftly by the stepfather she adored. Who wouldn’t grieve, in those circumstances? Christ, even Norman Bates didn’t cope too well when his mum died. No doubt Naomi is in a mess, just like me.
Except she’s not in a mess, just like me. She didn’t give up her job, or her home, and is not now homeless and unemployed. Not that I blame her for that. Of course it should be me who did that – I’m unmarried and had no mortgage. It made sense. But each time I’ve seen her or had any contact with her since November, she’s seemed remarkably together. Her grief was conspicuous by its absence, I have to say, although I didn’t really give it a conscious thought at the time. I suppose I just dismissed the possibility that she might be grieving. No, not even that. The thought that she might be grieving didn’t even enter my head. It was me who was grieving, me who had lost my mum, me who was swallowed whole by a blackness I couldn’t even lift my head out of. Naomi just got on with going to Tesco and voting on X Factor.
Now, staring at that smiley next to Abby’s words, it hits me for the first time that Naomi’s grief may not have been visible – least of all to me, a person who couldn’t even see that it wasn’t winter any more – but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Whatever she’s like, she did love our mum, and was pretty distraught the day it all happened.
That’s it. My mind is made up now. Naomi is my sister, she’s in a mess – not like me, but a mess nonetheless – and she needs me. I’m going to stop prevaricating and ring her. After I’ve opened this letter. I drop my eyes to the envelope in my hand and after only a second’s more pause, I push my finger under the flap and force it open.
When Abby arrives home from work in the evening, I’ve got dinner ready on the table. It’s only sausages and mash, and the sausages are a bit black on one side – the outside – but she stares at the plates on the table as if they’ve been enchanted by a beautiful sorceress and are now dishing the food out onto themselves. Perhaps that’s easier for her to believe than me doing it.
‘Wow!’ she says, circling the table in wonder. ‘You’ve made food for us.’
‘It’s not that amazing, Abs. I have done it before.’
She nods at me with a warm smile. ‘I know that, Daze. It’s just been a while.’ She pulls out a chair. ‘Which one’s mine?’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Tom?’
She shrugs. ‘Nah, let’s have it now. God knows what time he’s getting in.’
‘OK.’
She cuts into a sausage enthusiastically. ‘So. You finally opened the letter today. What did it say?’
God. Not even five minutes have passed since she walked through the door, and already the moment I’ve been dreading most of the day is here. How can I tell her what the letter said, when doing that will involve me explaining to her why it said what it said? And doing that will inform her finally of the sort of person I really am, which is bound to lower her opinion of me. The entire time I was out walking with Danny this afternoon, I was pondering how I would explain this to her. I was so preoccupied, I barely noticed anything he said or did.
‘Try to pull your buttocks and abs in really tight as you walk – it will harden you up.’
OK, one or two things filtered through. But I didn’t enjoy the walk as much as usual, even t
hough Danny’s incredible buttocks and abs were right there next to me, within reaching distance.
The letter, as I anticipated, is simply a confirmation from Mum’s solicitor that Graham has left me out of the will. Well, I say left me out. What he’s actually done is leave me a ‘very generous’ legacy of five thousand pounds. Which is five thousand pounds more than I was expecting to get, so the letter should have been a pleasant surprise. A nice little windfall that will help me get a flat and some furniture to put in it. But it wasn’t. It was more like being hit in the face by a wrecking ball. The fact that you’ve seen it coming from a great distance, slowly getting larger, its shadow increasing steadily and covering you in darkness, doesn’t lessen the impact when it finally does hit. Not one bit. After I’d opened the envelope and unfolded the letter this morning, I didn’t read the words immediately but spent a few moments steeling myself for what I thought they would say. Graham had reason to want to hurt me, he would do it, I knew he would. Darren had already made that clear. But you can’t prepare for the impact of a wrecking ball. No amount of armour will protect you from that. Eventually my eyes moved onto the words on the paper and WHAM! It flattened me. I fell sideways from the blow and curled around myself, clutching my stomach with both hands, the letter forgotten on the bed next to me. My mum’s face, her poor, wretched, skeletal face came into my mind, trying to smile at me with thin lips as she proudly told me that I would be well off when she died, the feelings she had about that plainly visible. It wasn’t joy; that was impossible. But it was the nearest she could get to joy in the final days of her life. She couldn’t stop what was happening to her. But she knew her two girls would be secure forever because of it, and it gave her some peace.
That peace was an illusion. Her own husband had other plans.
‘Daze?’ Abs says now. I look up at her and find her staring at me worriedly, the food forgotten. I’m guessing from her expression that my face is telling her all is not well. ‘What was it, Daze? What did it say?’ Her voice is so soft, so gentle, it brings tears to my eyes again. In an instant Abby is up and round the table to kneel at my side, wrapping her arms around me, cradling my head on her shoulder. ‘God, Daze, tell me – what the hell has happened?’
TWELVE
Abby Marcus
Sometimes you just gotta wonder at the fucking nerve of some of the fucking arseholes in this fucking world. Unbe-fucking-lievable!
Wendy Harber likes this.
Wendy Harber You crack me up!
Suzanne Allen What’s this all about Abs? PM me. xx
Tom Wilson Try to stay calm sweetheart. x
Beth Sheri Whatever it is, Abigail, forget about it. Be happy!
I’m a little bit worried about Abby. Since I told her about Graham’s will, she’s been a little bit … I don’t want to say ‘odd’. That’s not really right. Let’s say fucking insane. Let’s say unhinged. Let’s say that she looks like she spent the first twenty-eight years of her life pretending. She was beyond furious when I told her what was in the letter, and went from kneeling by my chair, cuddling me and stroking my hair to full-on mushroom cloud in less than half a second. She practically exploded in front of me, leaping to her feet so forcefully it was as if the ground had expelled her. She started stomping around the kitchen, clenching her fists, lowering her body weight, thinning her lips.
‘I don’t fucking believe it!’ she started saying. ‘Unbe-fucking-lievable!’ She turned on the spot and glared at me. ‘Can you believe it, Daze? Because I can’t. I seriously fucking can’t. Your mum’s money? Not going to you? Her own daughter?! It’s unbelievable! It’s unbe-fucking-lievable!’ She didn’t really stop saying that for the next couple of days. At least, every time she saw my face she said it. She may not have been going on like that with all her driving clients, or when she was in Sainsbury’s. But whenever we were together, she seized me and shook her head with her lips pressed together.
I’ve decided to give her a couple of hours’ peace by keeping my face out of her line of sight for a while, so I crept out of the house nice and early this morning for a walk with Danny. It’s Saturday, so Abs would normally come with me, but as well as her needing this break, I also don’t want to let Danny down. After all the effort he’s gone to to help me out and get me going, it would just be rude if I suddenly said, ‘Oh, no, sorry, I don’t need you today, I’ve got someone else.’ Wouldn’t it?
The sky is a gorgeous clear blue today and as I make my way to the canal bank the air is full of Saturday summer noises: lawnmowers whining, radios playing, shouts of children, the odd extraordinarily loud bee bumbling suddenly past my head. Life going on as normal as it always seems to, regardless of what else is happening. My mind is a seething confused mess, so I put my magic trainers onto automatic pilot and sort through what’s in there as I walk.
Obviously engulfing everything is black, wretched misery; also, no surprises, anxiety and purposelessness. Then new from yesterday, a large portion of betrayal and shock, mixed with disbelief and, oddly, resignation. (How can I not believe the thing I’m resigned to?) But just breaking in at the side is a thin streak of silver, gleaming in the otherwise murky darkness. For all its tiny size, it’s nonetheless making its presence felt and it gives me a little boost as I acknowledge its existence. It’s called Danny, and as I arrive at the sunshiney canal bank, I can admit to myself that I am looking forward to seeing him.
He jogs into sight now and I’m immediately embarrassed to be seen wearing the same new Pineapple leggings as yesterday, while Danny has turned up in matching yellow shorts and top with neon yellow piping that I’ve not seen him wear before. Even his black and yellow trainers tone in nicely, and his sunglasses are attached to a neon yellow cord that goes around the back of his head. Oh God, why didn’t I buy more than one outfit? Serious athletes like us have to have a new outfit for every day of the week. Because they train every day of the week. Obviously.
‘Morning,’ Danny says, arriving at my side with a lovely smile. ‘How are you today?’ His face looks tanned and healthy, obviously from being out in the sunshine so much. He even seems to have got more tanned since I saw him yesterday. It makes his teeth and eyes seem whiter and more brilliant than ever.
‘I’m great, thanks,’ I say, with a gauche grin. Danny is jogging comfortably by my side as he looks at me and for some reason it makes me start swinging my arms. I feel about eleven.
‘Excellent,’ he says, finally coming to a stop. ‘Shall we get going then?’ He starts up again.
I adopt an overly dramatic American accent and say, ‘Let’s do this thing.’
Danny gives me an odd smile and squints a bit at me. ‘Yes. Let’s.’
As we walk, I notice that he’s aggressively blowing the air out of his mouth and pumping his arms in time with each step. It’s very impressive and makes him look even more powerful and sexy. I wonder if I should do it, and discreetly have a go, but it makes me feel a bit dizzy. And a bit of a dick to be honest, so I stop. My normal inhale/exhale technique has always been quite sufficient, so maybe I’m not quite as serious an athlete as he is.
‘So, how long is it now until your big challenge?’ he asks between puffs.
‘Um, let me think. What’s the date today?’
‘Today is Saturday ninth of May. All day.’
‘Right, yes, of course. That means it’s exactly three weeks today.’
‘Right. And do you feel ready?’
I’m distracted by the piston-like action of his arms, pumping down forcefully with each step. I can’t stop looking at them. It’s in such contrast with my own arms, swinging gently by my sides. ‘Er …’ I drag my eyes away and make myself focus on his face. ‘Ready?’
‘Because with only three weeks until E-day, you should be in tip-top condition by now and ready to go.’
‘E-day?’
He smiles at me kindly. ‘Event day, Daisy. The day you’re preparing for. What all this is about.’
‘Oh, right. Yes, of cours
e. Well, I suppose–’
‘Now is not the time to slack off. But you know that of course. We athletes don’t need much preparation for serious undertakings really, do we?’
‘No–’
‘When I ran the New York marathon in 2010, I was already covering ten miles most days, in not much more than two point five, so stepping up to the twenty-six miles was no hardship really. That’s the kind of fitness you want to aim for.’
‘Right …’
‘And you’ll find that as you increase your speed and distance, you’ll want to do more and go further and be faster, and you’ll enjoy the sensation of all your muscles tearing apart and filling with blood to make them larger and harder to propel you on, as you get leaner and more efficient with every step.’
‘Jesus–’
‘You know that the more exercise you do, the bigger your heart gets? Of course you do. So not only will we live longer and better and more comfortably, we will also show more heart to our fellow man. We can be more tolerant, more generous, more kind and giving, just through exercise and fitness.’
‘Um, I’m not entirely sure that …’
‘How are you feeling now, Daisy? You’re doing so well, you really are. I’m very impressed and proud. You might want to just pump your arms a bit, it will help you go faster. And tone up those bis and tris too.’
‘Right …’
‘And, while we’re on the subject, a little bit of fake tan on those legs wouldn’t go amiss. You know, if you’re going to be seen in shorts a lot.’ He indicates his own deep-brown thigh, which I now notice is smoothly shaved. ‘Between you, me and the ducks, I’ve been doing it for years. Just until I can get some proper sun on them.’ Then he taps the side of his nose and winks. ‘Word to the wise.’