by Isabel Wolff
‘Oh, Daisy.’
‘Well, you see,’ she began, ‘I was on my way back from the Tyrolean traversing yesterday. And I was driving through Rochester and I saw this lovely wedding-dress shop, and I was feeling so happy so I just thought I’d have a little look…’
‘Show me.’
She opened the bag and pulled out several layers of tissue, then a long veil, as light as gossamer and spangled with sequins. ‘Oh, Daisy.’
‘I know,’ she shrugged. ‘But I was so totally convinced that Nige was going to pop the question last night, and the shop was having a sale. And I’d just been paid and I was in such a good mood…’
‘How much?’
‘Ninety-five pounds. But there was twenty per cent off it,’ she added.
‘Well, thank God you didn’t spend any more.’ And now I noticed that Daisy had a very odd expression on her face. The kind dogs have when they know they’re in trouble. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘What else?’
She sighed, then padded down the hall to her bedroom. I followed her, she opened the door, and we went in. I couldn’t, at first, see anything out of the ordinary. Then she shut the door behind us and I heard a sudden swish and a light thump. I turned. Hanging on the back of the door was a claret-coloured velvet dress bag, of the kind used for ball gowns. I felt my jaw go slack.
‘I just couldn’t resist,’ Daisy wailed. ‘It was in the window. And it was just so, so beautiful. Look!’ She pulled the ribbon, and the velvet bag slithered to the floor, revealing a wedding dress of, admittedly, exquisite loveliness. It was a Fairy Princess confection of white silk netting, the skirt as layered as a millefeuille, and, above, a fitted satin bodice which sparkled with tiny, hand-sewn crystals. ‘It’s just so beautiful,’ she sniffed again. ‘So I decided to try it on. And I looked so fantastic in it, Miranda. I really did. And I knew that no other dress would ever do. So I simply had to buy it. Can’t you understand that?’
‘No. How much?’ I asked as I stared at it. ‘A thousand?’
‘Twelve hundred—but marked down from fifteen.’
‘Twelve hundred pounds! That would pay your mortgage for three months! Daisy, please don’t think me cruel, but I feel I should point out that you are not yet engaged.’
‘I know that,’ she whined. ‘But I will be. Quite soon. I mean Nige is going to ask me, I’m sure about it. So, I do think it’ll, you know…come in…handy…’ her voice trailed away. ‘Do you want to see the shoes?’
‘No!’
‘Don’t be cross, Miranda.’
‘I’m not cross—I’m worried.’ She bagged the dress up again. ‘You’d better hide it,’ I added. ‘In case Nigel sees it.’
‘Hmm, that’s true. Not that he ever comes here that much.’
‘Daisy,’ I said, as she hung it in the wardrobe. ‘Let’s talk about this.’
‘Okay, but can we have lunch first? I’m starving—and I really need that glass of champagne.’ As she opened the freezing compartment I looked at the snaps on her kitchen pin-board. There was one of us at Bristol, in our flat, arms round each other, laughing; and one on a Greek holiday we’d had. There were several of Nigel, looking typically solid, and a few of her mum. There were a number of Daisy in action—beaming, begoggled, into the camera; in free-fall; bungee-jumping, head first, off a bridge; white-water rafting down a raging ravine; at the controls of a glider, thumbs up. On the dresser was a framed studio portrait of her parents—Daisy looks exactly like her dad. He’d been killed, at forty-two, just crossing the road one Sunday morning to get a newspaper. That’s her dilemma, I realized, as I gazed at his face. She knows how fragile life is, so she wants to take risks—but at the same time she’s insecure, and needs to feel ‘safe’.
‘Daisy,’ I said, as she twisted the cork off the bottle, ‘you have got to pin Nigel down. The uncertainty is clearly driving you mad. The premature purchase of a wedding dress proves that.’ I imagined her going into the shop in her climbing gear and helmet.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, as she got down two glasses. ‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right.’
‘You’ve got to talk to him. It’s time.’
‘Yes, it’s high time,’ she sighed. ‘I know that.’
‘You’ve been very patient, after all.’
She nodded dismally. ‘I have. Patient Griselda, that’s what I’ve been. But now I’m feeling a bit “Grisly”—and more than a little “Elda”,’ she added with a snort of dark laughter. ‘So, okay, I will definitely ask him.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘When?’
She looked at me blankly. ‘Oh. I don’t really know. But…soon.’
I nodded. ‘Great.’
She smiled a brave smile, then anxiety pleated her brow. ‘But what if I do pin him down, and the answer is no?’ She looked stricken. ‘Then what would I do?’
‘What would you do? Well, although it’d be horrible—for a while—I think that, ultimately, you’d be fine. And if it doesn’t work out, Daisy, maybe it’s because it’s actually your destiny to meet someone else.’ She looked at me for a moment while she absorbed this. ‘Don’t you ever think of that?’ I asked. ‘That there might be someone out there who won’t take the best part of six years to make a commitment to you?’
‘No,’ she said, shifting slightly. ‘I don’t. And the reason I don’t is because I want to be with Nigel.’
‘But does Nigel want to be with you? That’s the awful question you will have to confront, Daisy, if you do want more from him than just being his girlfriend; and if it becomes obvious that you’re not going to get it, then I really think you’ll have to be brave and move on.’
She looked at me, then looked away. ‘I know that’s true. Of course I know. And I will have to be brave,’ she sighed. ‘But maybe, on the other hand,’ she lifted her glass, ‘things with Nige will work out. Anyway, chin chin, Miranda.’
‘Chin chin,’ I replied. ‘And chin up.’
‘I mean, you were brave,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘About Alexander.’
I lowered my glass. ‘Brave? You think I’m brave?’
‘Yes. When I think what happened to you—or rather, what he did,’ she corrected herself crossly. ‘But, yes, you were incredibly brave—and you’re being brave now.’
‘I’m not brave at all,’ I said quietly. ‘Far from it.’ Daisy gave me a puzzled look. We sat on her patio in the warm sunshine, amongst the pots of shocking-pink geraniums, with our smoked-salmon sandwiches and bubbling Bollinger, just chatting. I felt some of my stress ebb away.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ Daisy said, with a large sip of champagne. ‘I can’t discuss Nigel with anyone else—and especially not my mum because she’s already so negative about him. She says he’s “behaving badly”.’
‘Hmm.’
‘You’re the one person I can really talk to about my problems,’ she went on, with another sip. ‘You’re my safety valve. You’re the one person I can expose myself to—’ she giggled tipsily and waved her glass at me. ‘I mean, who I can really open up to without feeling I have to be careful, or that I might regret what I said. With you I don’t feel I have to show you only my “good” side, but my ugly side too.’
‘You don’t have one,’ I said as I watched the bees buzzing about in the lavender, their legs fat with pollen.
‘I mean my unattractive side. When I’m feeling negative and low, like I was this morning—or desperate. Everyone else thinks I’m always upbeat—Daisy the happy party girl—but I can let my emotional hair down with you.’
‘You can.’
‘I feel that you’d never think badly of me, whatever I told you.’
I fiddled with the stem of my glass. ‘That’s right.’
‘I know I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it.’
‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘I won’t.’ A small dragonfly skimmed past, a blur of blue iridescence.
‘You’re not nearly as open with me,’ she observed with another sip of c
hampagne, ‘but I don’t mind. I never have—I know you’ve always preferred to keep your own counsel.’ I nodded. It was quite true. ‘Anyway,’ she said brightly. ‘How was the fete?’
‘Oh…it was…nice. The dog show was fun.’
‘And the house?’
‘It’s fantastic. Like a smaller version of Gosford Park.’
‘Well they say she’s worth squillions. And what about him? The hubby.’
‘The hubby…’
‘I’ve seen photos. He’s losing his hair, but he’s rather a dish. Tipped for high office, apparently. Did you meet him?’
I stared at the crazy paving. A column of ants was flowing out of a crack in the concrete. ‘I did meet him actually… Yes.’ I know I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it.
‘Apparently he’s charming,’ I heard Daisy say. ‘More champers, darling?’ She leaned over with the bottle.
‘He is charming,’ I said. ‘He’s incredibly charming. He’s one of the most charming men that you could meet.’ I feel you’d never think badly of me, whatever I told you. I looked at her—then made a sudden decision. ‘He’s also a shit.’
Daisy lowered the bottle. ‘Is he?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Well, lots of politicians are,’ she shrugged as she batted away a wasp. ‘I guess it goes with the territory.’
‘It’s much more than that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do,’ I said bitterly.
‘But how?’ There was silence. ‘How do you know that?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Because I’ve met him before.’
‘Really?’ she said. ‘When was that then?’
‘Sixteen years ago.’
‘When you were living in Brighton?’
I nodded. ‘He was a student there.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ she said, her eyes widening. ‘He was your boyfriend. Is that it?’
‘Sort of. I was infatuated with him—put it that way.’
‘Blimey. Small world,’ she breathed. ‘And he treated you badly?’ she asked, with another sip of champagne. ‘Bastard!’
I smiled at her retrospective loyalty. ‘He treated me very badly, Daisy—but not in the way that you think.’
‘What did he do then?’ she asked, clearly intrigued.
‘Well…he did something…very…shocking, and he involved me in it, and it’s haunted me ever since.’ Daisy was looking at me, spellbound. I stared at the ground.
‘Well, whatever it was,’ I heard her say, ‘remember that you were only sixteen. You were very young.’
I sighed. ‘That’s true. But even so, the memory still fills me with shame.’ I put down my glass. I had a pain between my eyes.
‘Anyway, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. We all do things we regret,’ she went on tactfully. ‘Silly things. Unkind things. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Miranda.’
There was a knife-like pain in my throat. ‘I’m not being hard on myself—it was that bad. In fact, it was dreadful. It was absolutely dreadful.’ I felt my eyes suddenly fill. ‘You said I’m brave just now, Daisy, but I’m not.’ My hands sprang up to my face. ‘If I were I’d have done something about it years ago, but I never have.’ I felt a warm tear slide down my cheek.
‘What was it?’ I heard her ask gently. ‘You can tell me.’
I shook my head. ‘You’d despise me if you knew.’
‘I wouldn’t, Miranda. You’re my closest friend.’
‘You would—you’d judge me. You wouldn’t be able to help it.’
‘I promise you I won’t judge you, Miranda, whatever it was, any more than I know you’d judge me.’
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. ‘I’ve never got over it,’ I croaked. ‘The knowledge that I hurt someone so much.’
‘You hurt someone?’ I nodded. ‘You mean, physically?’ I nodded again. ‘But who?’
‘This…boy,’ I replied. ‘Well, young man. He was twenty then. His name was David.’
‘What was he like?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know what he was like?’ I shook my head again. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ve never met him.’
She looked confused. ‘You’ve never met him—but you hurt him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t understand. Was it by accident?’
‘Sort of. Or rather, no—it wasn’t. It wasn’t an accident.’ Daisy was staring at me as though I were speaking in tongues. ‘It was a crime,’ I whispered. There was silence, punctuated only by the soft roar of a distant plane.
‘A crime?’ she repeated softly. I looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.
‘It was…’ I drew in my breath, ‘…very bad.’
‘Was it drugs?’ Daisy asked quietly, after a moment. ‘Did you give someone drugs?’
‘No. I’ve never got involved with that.’
There was a pause. ‘Then…was it like what happened to my dad? Is that what it was, Miranda—a hit and run?’
‘A hit and run?’ I echoed. ‘No. Although, yes, it was like that—in a way—yes—except that it didn’t involve a car.’
Daisy’s bewildered-looking face began to blur as my eyes spilled over again. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
Now I took a deep breath, as though I were about to dive underwater.
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ I whispered. ‘I will tell you. I need to tell you. But you must never tell anyone else.’
‘I absolutely swear not to.’
I glanced next door. ‘Can we be overheard?’
‘No. My neighbours are all away.’
And so, in a low, cracked voice, I told Daisy what had happened half my lifetime ago.
‘Gosh,’ she murmured, when I’d finished. There was silence. ‘Gosh,’ she said quietly again.
‘I did say it was shocking, didn’t I?’
I heard her inhale. ‘Yes.’ She breathed out again. ‘You did.’
‘Do you feel differently about me now?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. Because it wasn’t your fault. He is a shit,’ she remarked, as though the thought had just struck her. ‘He did it, Miranda—not you.’
‘But I shouldn’t have got involved in all that…stuff. I shouldn’t have got involved with him. I was naïve, at best. But I would have done anything for him—I used to write him these pathetic love letters—loads of them—and he exploited my obsession; and as a result, this guy David got hurt.’
‘No wonder it’s troubled you for so long,’ she said. ‘What a huge thing to have to bear.’ She laid her hand on my arm for a moment. ‘And you never saw Jimmy again?’
‘No. Not until last week.’
‘Is that why it’s all come up again now?’
‘Partly—the shock of seeing him again—but actually, Daisy, it’s always been there. It’s always haunted me. And recently it’s been on my mind a lot for some reason—and then, by some strange stroke of synchronicity—or Fate—I met Jimmy again. And now I just can’t get it all out of my head.’
‘I know what’s happened,’ Daisy said quietly. ‘I think the fact that you were hurt recently has brought it all up—after all, you were a victim too. And that’s made you more aware of the hurt you once caused.’
‘Maybe,’ I whispered. ‘It’s quite possible. All I know is that it’s overshadowed a big part of my life. Sometimes I think it would have been better if we’d been caught, and punished, then I could at least have moved on.’
‘But if you had been, you might well have gone to prison, Miranda.’
‘I still could,’ I said bleakly. ‘So could he.’
‘He’d certainly lose his seat. And I don’t think he’d ever have been selected if they’d known that about him—it’s much too serious.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘And that’s why he spoke to you,’ she said, more animatedly now. ‘He’s kept it hidden all these
years, then suddenly you turn up again. What a nightmare for him, Miranda—he took a huge risk going into politics—and you’re his smoking gun. He’s probably terrified that you’ll try and black mail him.’
‘I think he did think that. He said I could get in “a lot of trouble” if I told anyone, which was obviously a counter-threat. Anyway, there it is,’ I whispered. ‘My terrible secret. Now you know. I’m glad you know,’ I added quietly. ‘I’ve been in torment for so long, and there was no-one else I could trust.’
Daisy laid her hand on my arm again. ‘I understand certain things about you now,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I understand why, when we first met, you seemed so guarded. I had to work hard to be friends with you. You seemed, yes…rather secretive, you always have actually. Now I know why.’
‘Yes. Because I did have a secret. A really dreadful one—and I was terrified that I’d be exposed. I lived in constant fear that one day someone would find out—and that my life would be ruined. It still might be,’ I added dismally.
‘I just wish you’d told me this before.’
I heaved a painful sigh. ‘There have been many, many times, over the years, when I have wanted to tell you. But you were my one and only close friend, Daisy, and I didn’t want to risk that.’
‘But I hate to think of you having carried such a big thing alone. It makes me feel sad.’ Her sympathy made my eyes fill again. ‘And you must have felt…lonely,’ she added. ‘Not being able to tell anyone.’
‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘I did.’
‘Well, I’m very glad that you’ve told me. But the question is…what now?’
I looked at her blankly. ‘I don’t really know.’
‘Do you want to punish Jimmy? Is that it?’
‘No. Although his lack of shame fills me with rage.’
‘Then what do you want to do?’
I stared at the ground and there was silence for a few seconds while I considered the question. ‘I want…to try and make amends.’
‘You mean you want to be forgiven?’
My heart did a somersault. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do. I want to be forgiven. I want to be…absolved. Sixteen years ago I did something terrible to someone, and I want to put it right.’