Saving Daisy

by Phil Earle

  ‘That’s just it, though, isn’t it?’ There was a touch of panic in his voice, a new strength to his grip. ‘What just happened back there … well, it needs to remain between us. If anyone finds out about it, well … I’ll be in real trouble.’

  I felt tears bubble at the corners of my eyes, at the depth of the situation I found myself in.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone, sir,’ I sobbed. ‘I promise. Why would I tell anyone? You were only here because of me, weren’t you?’

  ‘I know that, of course I do.’ His free hand was tugging at his hair with a desperation matched by the strength of his grip. ‘But look at you. You’re upset. Who knows what you might say to your dad when you’re upset like this. It’s risky, Daisy, it’s just too risky. For you as well as me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tears were escaping down my cheeks. I was desperate now, scared by the threat in his words.

  ‘Come on, Daisy. You must know what I mean. If you were to tell anyone about what went on here, the police would come after me. And they’d want to know all about you, about why you were spending so much time with me on your own. They’d start digging, they’d find out about you skipping school, because I’d have to tell them, and then they’d be asking a lot of questions about your dad too. You do realize parents can find themselves in court, in prison even, if their kids are caught absconding. You don’t want that, do you? Neither of us does.’

  A long raking sob left my mouth as I tried to rip my arm from his.

  ‘You wouldn’t tell them, would you? About the wagging off?’ Horrific thoughts ran rampage. ‘They’d get social services in. They’d take me away from him!’

  He leaned in closer. ‘And that’s why we HAVE to keep this quiet, Daisy.’ His voice dipped in volume, but the intensity was just as strong. ‘If we keep this quiet, then we’ll both be safe. Neither of us will be under pressure and neither of us will let things slip. Do you understand?’

  I nodded, too terrified and out of my depth to do anything else. I felt his grip slacken slightly, but I daren’t try and pull away, not yet.

  ‘It will be fine, Daisy, really it will. Everything that’s going on, it will pass in time.’

  I nodded again, wiping a tear away as if I was pulling myself together, hoping he’d see it as time to finally let go.

  ‘And if it doesn’t, you can still talk to me. Knowing what I know now, I can help, can’t I?’

  With that he took out his handkerchief and pushed it into my hand, the one he was still holding tightly. With a smile and a final squeeze of his fingers, he let go, leaving me to stagger on, desperately trying to figure out just what had happened and what I could possibly do about it.

  Chapter 12

  The steaming spray hammered at my arm, taunting the cut as it washed it clean. I bit down on my lip and rested my forehead against the shower screen, waiting for the pain to pass.

  I squeezed Hobson’s hankie in my hand, watching as my fist turned red. I’d stared at the hankie the previous night for what seemed like hours. The house had been empty when I’d got home and I’d been unsure how to feel. The relief of not having to explain to Dad why I looked like I did sat alongside the terror of having to be on my own, waiting for the fear to descend.

  Because of course it did descend and there seemed no point in putting off the inevitable. What other option did I have?

  There was a fury to it all last night, an intensity that forced me to press harder, thinking the blades would have to go deeper to pull me back from the depths of the panic I was lost in.

  And, as always, it worked.

  But at a cost, since the blood refused to clot in the same way, escaping instead through the lint that I’d pressed against it. I had no idea how long it had continued, long enough for me to have no choice but to use Mr Hobson’s hankie as my last line of defence.

  The room fell silent once the pounding in my chest ceased, leaving my mind free to cast new self-doubts and accusations. How everything that had gone on by the river was my fault; how I’d managed to expose Dad through my truancy, putting his future and mine together at risk. I fought for answers, solutions, but got only the same repeating loop of thought.

  That everything was screwed, out of control and my fault.

  It was late by the time I dropped off, and it was one of those still nights that makes sleep fitful. The fact that I kept rolling on to my arm didn’t help either, the sharp stabs of pain knifing me awake more times than I could bear.

  Dad failed to wake me in the morning, though: further evidence that he was still rightly livid with me.

  I’d just stepped out of the shower when I heard the front door slam and his car drive away, and felt a twinge of disappointment as another chance to put things right slipped by, right when I needed him most.

  By the time I reached my wardrobe to find all of my long-sleeved shirts in the wash, I was ready to pull the duvet back over my head and write the day off before it began. In fact, if my phone hadn’t buzzed impatiently at me, I would’ve done just that.

  It was Dad, which was a surprise. He’d never been big on texting, and when he did send them, they were more like letters. In fact his message was so long it got split in two.

  Sorry to miss you today of all days. Thought we could spend the afternoon together. Don’t worry about school. I’ve told them you won’t be in. Meet me on Grafton Street at 11.30. Really looking forward to having some time with you. Hoping we can talk a bit. Love you Dais, Dad x

  It took me a sec to work out what he meant about today of all days, and it was another kick in the teeth when I clocked the date on my calendar: 3 July.

  Mum’s birthday.

  I swear the realization started my arm bleeding again, and I felt my head spin at the prospect of restaunching it.

  How had I managed to forget Mum’s birthday?

  I never had before. It was etched into my brain as firmly as my own.

  Dad and me had a routine, a tradition I suppose, of buying each other a present, to cheer us up as well as thinking of her.

  I prayed that he’d forgotten, like I had. Either that, or he’d decided not to bother as a way of punishing me.

  I jammed a piece of toilet roll on to the weeping cut, gingerly eased my arm inside my dressing gown and made my way to the kitchen.

  And there it was, on the table, a small gift-wrapped box with my name on the tag.

  My instinct was to pick it up and hurl it at the wall, to prove to Dad that I was worthy of nothing, but the fear of upsetting him further stopped me.

  Instead I read the inscription on the tag (I thought you could use a replacement, follow your dreams, x) before tearing the paper off.

  It was a digital camera, one I’d mentioned to him months ago, with the ability to take film footage as well as photos.

  He knew I wanted it, knew I wanted to start playing around properly, to mimic the films we’d watched for so many years.

  My camcorder was old. Dad had picked it up on eBay in case it had just been a teenage whim. But him buying this? Well, it meant he believed in me, and wanted me to succeed.

  And how had I repaid his faith?

  I’d shouted, lied and hid everything that was important from him.

  Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I put the camera back on the table and climbed the stairs to my room.

  I had to find a way of putting this mess straight. And I had to make a start today. The only problem was, where on earth should I begin?

  His shirt fitted me really badly, but I didn’t care. If I wanted to try and grab him a present before meeting up, there was no time to buy any new clothes.

  I’d looked for the oldest, softest one in his wardrobe, something that wouldn’t rub against the plasters on my arm, and had settled on this old blue gingham thing.

  It buried me.

  I could have put a belt around my waist and worn it as a dress, but at least the
sleeves hid everything, my hands included. I’d turned up the cuffs and gripped them inside my fists, and strangely I felt comforted by the whole thing.

  Although Dad hadn’t worn the shirt for months it still smelt of him, and as I waited for the bus I couldn’t resist lifting the sleeve to my nose and breathing deeply.

  By the time I got to town I was low on time and it quickly became clear that I wasn’t going to find his gift. I’d headed straight to HMV and the DVD racks, but the usual ease I had in choosing him a film was replaced by acute panic. Despite knowing his collection off by heart, I couldn’t settle on anything, started doubting my own memory, which in turn caused my forehead to sweat and my heart to palpitate. In the end, in fear of losing it right there in the middle of the world cinema section, I turned my back and headed speedily for the door.

  Grafton Street was on the far side of the town centre, as far from the shopping centre as it was possible to be, and as I half-marched, half-stumbled towards it, my mind had time to fire a new round of accusations at me.

  How on earth had I managed to forget Mum’s birthday?

  What sort of person was I to let such a thing happen?

  Dad would be gutted when I turned up empty-handed, and what on earth was he going to say about me wearing his clothes?

  The paranoia bubbled and spewed to every corner of my brain, forcing sweat to pour from my forehead and my limbs to ache.

  I felt drained, empty of everything but the need to get to Grafton Street. If I was late for him as well as everything else, then it really would hammer home what a terrible daughter I was.

  Turning on to Grafton Street, I held my breath, head flitting up and down the road until I was sure his car was nowhere to be seen. Once I knew the coast was clear, I exhaled quickly, bending double to my knees to force the tension out. But just as my hands came to rest, a horn sounded behind me, startling me upright and tense.

  It was Dad, a smile glinting off the windscreen, more in hope than anything else.

  Unfortunately the shock of the horn made me edgy, and instead of swallowing it down and launching into an apology, I marched straight up to his window and laid into him.

  ‘What did you do that for? You scared me to bloody death, Dad. Have a word with yourself, will you?’

  His smile dropped to the floor, replaced by a lined brow. I could see his best intentions evaporate, as my anger did the same thing, leaving behind a new depth of shame.

  But instead of apologizing and throwing myself at him through the window for a hug, I marched round the car and climbed into the back seat. It was the most childish thing I could have done. What would it have taken to get in the passenger seat like a normal person?

  But, as with everything at the moment, doing the right thing was beyond me. And the deeper I waded, the less able I was to turn anything around.

  As we drove through the streets, the only sound was the weather forecaster on the radio warning of storms within the hour. I sat and hoped that somehow the rain might help clear the air.

  Chapter 13

  The parking sensor squealed as the bumper edged closer to the wall, echoing the tension that bounced around my body.

  It had been an uneasy five minutes since I’d climbed into the car. As hard as I’d tried, I couldn’t find a way to backtrack and apologize, so instead I sat there like a petulant kid, feeling Dad’s eyes on me as he tried to work out who’d kidnapped the daughter he thought he had.

  When we got out of the car, he noticed properly my odd wardrobe choice.

  ‘I’ve not seen that shirt for a while. Looks … er … well, it looks better on you than me, that’s for sure.’

  I grabbed at my damaged arm, paranoid that he’d seen the real reason for me wearing it.

  ‘Yeah, sorry. I’m a bit behind on the washing.’

  Lame, my head told me, that is so lame.

  ‘Not exactly ideal for this weather, though, is it? Look at you, you’re dripping.’ His hand reached for the sweat on my forehead, but I batted it away, grimacing at the sudden movement.

  ‘No, it’s fine. It’s not the shirt. I’ve woken up with a bit of a temperature, that’s all. Must be with end of term coming up. Bit knackered, I think.’ I shuffled away from him, far enough for him to know not to touch.

  ‘I didn’t realize you had so few clothes, Daisy. If it’s difficult keeping stuff clean, we could always go out and get some more.’

  The thought of bleeding on clothes that weren’t even mine freaked me out. ‘There’s no need, honest.’

  ‘Well, all you have to do is ask. There’s no need to be covering yourself in my rags in this heat.’

  He chose to leave it there, and I could hear the cogs turning as he tried to find a new line of conversation.

  We ambled down the street, my eyes rarely leaving the floor. The exertion of lifting my head seemed too much, and the sweat continued to pour off me, leaving me thirsty and leaden-limbed.

  It wasn’t until we arrived at our destination that I realized how weary I was, as I’d failed to notice we were at the Ritzy.

  We’d done the same walk from the car park dozens of times in the past and I’d always felt this brilliant, growing excitement as the neon sign came into view.

  Today, though, nothing but fear.

  ‘I know we can’t do a lot of talking while we’re in there, but afterwards we can chat about whatever you like. You know, Mum and that.’

  I didn’t know where to start, or even if I could. I just wanted to crawl into a ball.

  ‘Look,’ he began, ‘I know things have been a bit bumpy the last few weeks, and I know the bumps have all been down to me …’

  I tried to interrupt, but for a man not used to talking about how he felt, he was suddenly on a roll.

  ‘It’s true I’ve been ignoring you and the stuff you need to know, so starting today, I’m going to change. I know I’ve got to, because it’s not been fair. I’m sorry, Dais, really I am.’

  It was so hard to stand there and listen to him talk like that, because it wasn’t his way and because, in my head, he had nothing to apologize for. After all, I was the one who’d taken Mum away from him in the first place. I should’ve been apologizing to him.

  I started to formulate the words in my head, but they were nowhere near my lips before he went on.

  ‘So I know today is Mum’s day, but in a way it’s not. It’s all about you. Whatever it is you want, or anything you need to know, today, it’s yours. You understand?’

  The words jarred in my ears. It wasn’t what I deserved.

  ‘You got the present, didn’t you?’ he asked eagerly. ‘The thing I left on the kitchen table?’

  I nodded, tears of shame pricking behind my eyes.

  ‘Did you like it? It was the right one, wasn’t it?’ There was almost a pleading to his voice. Why was he trying so hard when I was the one at fault?

  ‘I love it, Dad, but maybe you should take it back.’

  He looked stunned. ‘Take it back? Why would I do that?’

  ‘It’s not like it’s my birthday or anything. And it must have cost a fortune.’

  ‘Don’t you be worrying about what it cost. You’ve wanted it for ages, and if it puts a smile back on your face it’s got to be worth every penny.’

  I forced a grin, the goofiest one I had left, but I had no idea if it looked even remotely genuine.

  We paused by the entrance and I scanned the schedules to see what we were going to watch. But there was nothing on.

  The earliest matinee didn’t start until two thirty, leaving us a couple of hours early.

  It didn’t seem to bother Dad, though, who hadn’t broken stride. Instead he stood at the door, holding it open in a weird theatrical pose that served only to make me feel more uncomfortable.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked as I dragged my heels up the steps towards him. ‘There’s nothing on fo
r ages. Don’t you want to go and have a walk first or something?’

  Could I really tell him? About the report or my arms or Hobson or any of it?

  ‘Why would I want to go for a walk? Me and you are going to spend a couple of hours with some old friends instead.’

  I stopped as I reached him, too nervous for some reason to walk inside.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, prodding me in the back. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  It was empty in the foyer, and pretty dark, and for a second I was on the path, beneath the bridge, with Mr Hobson in my ear instead of my dad.

  It took another gentle push from behind to persuade me to go further, one push too many.

  ‘Why are you shoving me like that?’ There was a mixture of anger and fear in my voice, enough for Dad to pick up on.

  ‘Whoa, sorry.’ His eyes were wide with surprise, and he immediately removed his hand from the small of my back. ‘It’s just, well, I’ve never had to force you into a cinema before.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve never got me to bunk off before to a cinema where there’s nothing showing. What’s going on?’ The sweat was really starting to pool on my face now, and I could feel my heart motor, sending shockwaves to my brain.

  ‘There’s nothing going on. Just be patient and trust me, will you?’

  He led me through the empty foyer and up the stairs to the screens, leaving me none the wiser. He hadn’t stopped for tickets (not that there was anyone in the box office). Instead he opened the double doors to the main auditorium and shepherded me inside.

  It was empty and dark, save for the faint red glow on the screen. Not even a hum of music in the background to take the edge off the eeriness, which was messing increasingly with my head.

  I felt Dad take my hand and steer me down the aisle to the front row, and there in the middle of it was a small table on which stood two large mugs of tea and a packet of Rich Tea biscuits.

  ‘Take a pew,’ he grinned, the yellow-white of his teeth guiding me to my seat.