by Beth Thomas
‘Wow,’ she says, as eventually we calm down, ‘if only I’d known such depressing tales of woe would make you so happy.’
The second ten miles go by in a flash. I feel so light-headed and almost delirious, the best I’ve felt for years, that I practically float home. The monstrous thing I’ve been hiding from Abby for our entire friendship is now out, and she’s still my friend. Still my best, the best, friend in the entire world. I remember an old film where someone defines love as when that person knows the worst thing about you, and it’s OK. I guess Abby must really love me. Unless this isn’t the worst thing about me. Maybe my mum dying of cancer was just that: she died of cancer. Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all. I need to think about that properly, later, when I’m on my own.
When we come back along Abby’s road to her house, it’s quarter to four in the afternoon. It’s taken us seven and a half hours, including stopping for Evelyn and lunch, but we’ve done it. My hips are aching a bit and the soles of my feet are hot, but I have no blisters or sore areas anywhere. I’m bursting with energy and feel like I could slay dragons.
‘We’ve just walked twenty miles, Abs.’
She nods, grinning. ‘I know! It wasn’t even that hard. I reckon we could run a marathon, you know.’
‘Ooh, bloody hell, we’d better start preparing straight away.’
‘Yes. Quick, buy shorts.’ I look at her and she’s pulling a very straight and serious face, but I start giggling and before long we’re holding each other on the pavement, laughing so hard our sides hurt and our eyes are watering.
Then I see Naomi’s car.
‘Oh shit. I’d forgotten she was coming.’
Abby touches my arm. ‘Doesn’t matter. Remember, you are definitely not responsible for your mum’s death. It was a random disease. That’s all.’
I nod. ‘OK.’
‘You know what I think? Graham was a miserable, bitter old man by the time he died. He got revenge on you for something that happened over ten years ago, completely ignoring the wishes of the wife he claimed to love. That was wrong, he shouldn’t have done it. All the other children had the chance to put that right by asking the executor to divide the estate four ways equally. They chose not to. Your sister could have argued on your behalf to persuade the others to do the right thing. Or she could have honoured the pact you made and given you half of what she got. She chose not to. All of these ghastly people have justified keeping your share of your mum’s half of the estate by convincing themselves that Graham was right, you don’t deserve it. Because you did something stupid when you were a teenager. And the worst thing is, they made you believe it too. It’s absolutely disgusting.’
I nod slowly. It’s a good feeling, starting to accept it. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Too right I’m right. Now you go in there and tell her that.’
We link arms and go into the house together, and as I walk into the living room and Naomi stands up to greet me, I remember suddenly the ‘TO DO’ list on my bedroom wall.
‘Oh, Daisy, there you are. I’ve been waiting ages. Abby’s boyfriend let me in.’
‘Hi, Naomi.’ We hug, but I don’t feel like clinging this time. ‘Sorry, I was training again. How are you?’
‘Getting there,’ she says. ‘Slowly but surely. Distracting myself with other things, you know. Like you and your walking.’
‘Well it’s not really a distraction, to be honest. It is in aid of breast cancer.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. You said. How’s it going?’
I nod. ‘Yeah, good, thanks. Just walked twenty miles.’
‘Wow. Very impressive. You look well on it. Have you lost weight?’
‘Don’t think so. Maybe.’ We both sit down in the same seats we were in last time. The image of the ashes comes into my head but I push down the molten magma rising inside me. No point getting angry about that. ‘So how have you been distracting yourself, Nomes?’
She grins and scoots forward on her seat a little. ‘Well, about a couple of months ago, Russell met this guy at a work do, and he’s … Doesn’t matter. Long story short, the guy knows someone who’s set up a little business. And we’ve invested.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I was expecting her to say Sudoku or am-dram.
‘Yes, I know, not usually the sort of thing we would do but it’s such a great opportunity – almost too good to be true, really. We’re expecting something like forty percent profit on our initial investment.’
‘Wow. That sounds good.’ That’s not what I’m really thinking. ‘Actually, Nomes, isn’t that a bit risky?’
She shrugs. ‘Maybe. But you know, you’ve got to take risks if you want to make a decent return. And seeing as we’ve just …’ She hesitates at this point and glances away. I’m confused for a nanosecond, then realise with a flash of clarity that she was about to mention how they’ve just come into some money. Of course they have. She’s just had quite a substantial inheritance.
‘You’ve what?’ I ask in a very Abby-like way. I feel much more like my old self these days.
She fidgets a bit, fiddling with the edge of her jacket, and it’s interesting to note that she does still have a moral or two in there. Not enough to make her behave any differently unfortunately; just enough to make her a tad uncomfortable with her behaviour. ‘Oh, we’ve just, erm, had some plans drawn up for a new conservatory,’ she says now, nodding off-handedly. ‘But we might not get it done after all. Haven’t decided yet.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I want to press it, make her say it, the way that Abby would. I glance at the door, wishing Abby would burst in suddenly on some pretext, and say something cutting and Columbo-esque, but she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. Although no doubt she’s out there listening to every word.
‘Anyway,’ Naomi says into the awkward silence. ‘I’ve got something for you. Thought it would be safest to bring it to you in person.’ She opens her handbag and fishes out a smooth, white envelope, which she hands to me. When I open it, I see it’s a cheque made out to me for five thousand pounds, signed by Darren; and another envelope that says ‘Daisy Duck’ on the front. It’s my mum’s handwriting, but scruffy and badly formed. My throat clenches and I look up again.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. What will you do with it, do you think?’
I ignore the question. ‘Naomi, how much did you get?’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘Why do you want to know that?’
‘Out of interest. Don’t pretend you don’t understand how I’m feeling. I presume you, Darren and Lee have awarded yourselves a third each?’
‘We didn’t award ourselves, Daisy, it was in Graham’s will.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m aware of the will, thank you.’ Naomi flinches a little at my cold tone. She’s not used to this from me, particularly recently. ‘But you know as well as I do that, as executor, Darren could have altered the will. Done the right thing and made sure I got what Mum wanted me to have. By following Graham’s wishes unswervingly, you’ve pretty much awarded it to yourselves.’
She uncrosses her legs. ‘Well, you think what you want to think.’ She crosses them again. ‘We all know what’s been going on.’ She picks up the hem of her jacket again, examining it closely.
I watch her carefully as she fidgets. ‘“What’s been going on”? What does that mean? What has been going on?’
‘I’m not prepared to talk about it. I just don’t see why I should suffer as a result of your actions.’
‘Suffer? What do you mean? Suffer how? What actions? Why don’t you explain it to me?’
She doesn’t answer, just sighs and looks away. And then it suddenly hits me like a windfall. ‘Oh, no, wait a minute. I do understand. You mean you don’t think you should get less money, by some of it coming to me. That’s it, isn’t it? You like the sound of a third much more than you like a quarter, so why should you be made to give any of that up? Right?’
‘Daisy, don’t pretend. I know all about what you
’ve been saying.’
‘What I’ve been saying? What have I been saying?’
Again, she doesn’t answer, just shakes her head and looks away, opening her handbag and peering inside, rummaging. I’m frowning to myself, thinking back, trying to remember what I’ve been saying, if anything, and to whom. But the only people I’ve spoken to in the past three months are Abby, Tom, Danny and Felix. Apart from the odd person in a shop, or a few comments on Facebook. And I haven’t said anything even remotely controversial to them. I haven’t even thought anything controversial. Well, apart from wishing I could take some of the photos and things out of Mum and Graham’s house before I left it. And secretly sniggering about Darren and Lee’s pudding-bowl haircuts. But surely she can’t mean that? I remember when she and I used to snigger about that together. So what on earth is she talking about?
And then Abby’s words come back to me from outside just now. ‘All of these ghastly people have justified keeping your share of your mum’s half of the estate by convincing themselves that Graham was right, you don’t deserve it.’ I stare at Naomi’s face, flawlessly made up, while she fidgets and fiddles with her handbag, and I understand completely. They want to keep my share; they also want to sleep at night. So they’ve cooked up some spurious misconduct of mine, apparently something I’ve been saying about something to someone, to justify sticking to Graham’s instructions in the will. His original decision was flawed because it was for revenge, for something that happened years ago, and they could have put it right. But they got pound signs spinning in their eyes when they realised how much more a third of four hundred thousand is than a quarter. It suits them very nicely to keep me out of things. And if I’m the evil party, they can all sleep and Naomi can eventually stop fidgeting.
‘So are you going to tell me what I’ve been saying, Naomi?’ I know she won’t. She can’t. ‘What heinous thing means I don’t deserve to have what Mum wanted me to have?’
‘Ugh.’ She stands up briskly. ‘I knew you would be like this. It’s too hurtful, Daisy. I don’t want to talk about it.’ She brushes herself off, as if she’s got covered in dust or something just by being there. ‘I need to leave.’
‘There’s nothing, is there? You haven’t actually got a single thing on me. There is absolutely no justification for sticking to Graham’s will, and you know it. In fact there is no real justification for Graham doing what he did in the first place.’
She starts shaking her head. ‘No, now come on, we both know, we all know, that what you did back then–’
‘What I did back then was bad, yes. But nothing worse than thousands of teenagers put their parents through all the time. And certainly not the reason for Mum dying.’ There’s a moment’s hiatus at this point while we both wait for me to be struck by lightning, but nothing happens. Except I’m sure I hear a voice outside the door saying, ‘Fuck yeah!’
‘You’re wrong,’ Naomi says, but offers no more explanation. ‘And I’m leaving.’
She looks at me defiantly, while I stand in front of her, sweaty and dusty and aching. I have no money, no home, a low-paid job and no husband. But I’d still rather be me, a hundred times over.
‘You know what else you are, Naomi,’ I say, moving a little closer to her so she can smell my sweat. ‘You’re a selfish bitch.’
She smiles. ‘Careful, Daisy. Your envy is showing.’
‘You can tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better. We both know that this is wrong, and you do actually feel bad about it. Not enough to give up the money, but enough to invent something bad that I’m supposed to have done, to justify it. And you can tell yourselves I’m bitter about the money but I’m really not. It’s upsetting because it was the one thing that gave Mum some peace in her final days, and it was the last little bit of her love and protection she could give, to keep us safe. But you keep it. I’ll be fine, my conscience is spotless. You and the others go ahead and spend what you all know my mum wanted me to have. Good luck to you, I hope it makes you happy. It probably will, actually, because quite clearly money is the one thing you value above everything.’
‘You might want to consider being–’
‘Good luck with your get-rich-quick scheme.’
‘Daisy, you think you know–’
‘Or rather, your next get-rich-quick scheme.’
‘You can’t even–’
‘Bye, Naomi.’
She widens her eyes at me, then glances critically around Abby’s cosy little living room. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going.’
‘Excellent.’
Her mouth opens but incredibly she doesn’t say anything else, just walks past me and back through the door to the hallway. Through the open door I see Abby standing there, grinning. She doesn’t bother to show Naomi out, and a second later we hear the front door slam.
Abby rushes in. ‘Oh my God, Daisy, you did it! I’m so proud of you!’ We hug briefly but I push her away.
‘I need to do something,’ I say, and walk quickly back to the hallway and over to my bedroom door. Abby follows me and stands in the doorway while I head straight to the ‘TO DO’ list, collecting a pen from the dressing table on the way. At the list I bend down and delightedly score a thick line through ‘Call Naomi a bitch’. Then I turn back to a grinning Abby in the doorway and hold the pen in the air like a trophy.
‘Done it!’
TWENTY-TWO
Daisy Mack
has suddenly got nothing TO DO
Georgia Ling no need to shout lol xoxox
Abby Marcus Not entirely true, Daisy, but I’m not quibbling. Proud of you
Jenny Martin lucky thing, wish I didn’t
Rachel Pimms Read a book, its good for the sole xxx
It’s Thursday, the day after our twenty-mile walk and I’ve woken up this morning to a blank wall. It looks very bare and desolate over there, now that the ‘TO DO’ list has gone. No, not desolate; more, I don’t know, waiting, maybe. Primed, like a canvas. After I crossed off ‘Call Naomi a bitch’ yesterday, I also scored through the things about smiling and the future, much to both Abby’s and my hysterical delight, which left only ‘Find a flat’ on there, and that’s already a work in progress so I took it down. It’s in a crumpled heap on the floor now – I suppose I should throw it away but I’m not quite ready for that yet. I’m not looking at the map any more, but at least I know it’s there in case I get lost again.
On my dressing table, where the unopened letter from Owen and Stiles used to stand, is the letter from Mum that Naomi gave me yesterday. I haven’t opened it. I’m definitely not ready for that yet either. I pick it up and hold it to my face, breathing in deeply. It smells of her somehow. Or is that my imagination? I stroke the surface of the envelope, knowing that traces of her must linger there still, feeling as if I’m almost touching her. The spidery, uneven scrawl on the front makes my throat ache when I picture her trying to form letters and sentences with a body and mind filled up with morphine. A single tear drops onto the paper so quickly I blot it dry and put it safely back on the dressing table, out of danger.
Right. Must get ready. It’s Spa Day today.
Two hours later, Abby and I are neck-deep in hot bubbling water. I feel like a boiled potato. Actually I look a bit like one too, bobbing around, but Abs of course looks amazing, even with damp hair plastered to her head and no make-up on. She’s wearing an ice blue bikini and two percent body fat. I’m … not. I’m more of a fifteen percent kind of girl, and have got on an ancient navy blue one-piece with a scoop neck and various strategic transparent areas where the fabric has rotted a bit. But it doesn’t matter because there is no one else here at eleven o’clock on a weekday morning so we’ve got the whole place to ourselves.
After Naomi left yesterday, Abs and I decided to glad-rag ourselves up and hit the town for a slap-up meal and a night of fun. I’d never felt more like going out and celebrating, big time. I wanted to dance and sing and jump around. We started out with a fantastic meal in a place called B
ella Donna’s, and after our seven-hour exercise session earlier, we really carb-ed it up. Pasta, garlic bread, tiramisu and lots of wine. Not a carb but still an indulgence. We staggered out of there at nine thirty, clutching our tummies. My legs had started to stiffen up by this time, but I certainly wasn’t going to let that spoil our evening. After about twenty-five thousand reps earlier in the day, my calf muscles in particular were now screaming with the effort of keeping me upright in heels when my whole body wanted to tip forward.
‘Right,’ Abs said, ‘where now? Hit a club? Casino? Bowling alley?’
I paused. ‘Dance the night away?’
Her eyes flinched a bit when I said it, then she nodded slowly. ‘Could do, could do.’
‘Get a taxi down to Basicz? Hit the shots?’
‘Good idea. Jägermeister?’
‘Defo. Sours?’
‘Doubtless. Shall we go then?’
‘What are we waiting for?’
‘Nothing. Let’s go.’
‘Can’t wait.’
We immediately made absolutely no move to find a taxi. Abby looked at me.
‘Your feet hurting?’
I nodded. ‘Like fuck.’
She flicked her eyebrows up. ‘Home?’
‘Oh God yes.’
So that was our big night out. On the sofa in our PJs by ten, watching a bit of Hugh and Julia. Tom was conspicuous by his absence, but I didn’t ask where he was. Didn’t want to draw attention to his non-appearance. Well, that’s not strictly true. In actual fact I didn’t want to talk about his non-appearance, and if I mentioned it, we would undoubtedly talk about it. So we sat there, both pretending there was a giant elephant in the room that we weren’t talking about.
‘Isn’t this amazing?’ Abby yells to me now.
‘Wonderful,’ I shout back. It’s an effort to be heard above the loud rumble of the water jets and the resultant furious bubbling and churning. The water is extremely active, whirling and thrashing around, moving past us and around us and under us, working incredibly hard and giving us its all to make our visit there as relaxing and tranquil as possible. Abby is standing stiffly in the middle staring down at the writhing bubbles around her, her arms rigid at her sides.