Here and Now

by Santa Montefiore

  The shop was quite busy when Lady Sherwood came in. Elegant in a loden coat and matching green hat, she smiled at Marigold. Although the two women were of similar age, Lady Sherwood looked a decade younger. Her skin was smooth, her make-up carefully applied and her shoulder-length blonde hair had no sign of grey. It was obvious to Marigold that she had it dyed, but it appeared natural nonetheless. Marigold wondered whether her effortless glamour was due to her being Canadian. She imagined women from that part of the world were naturally glamorous, like film stars. Marigold had never crossed the Atlantic and Lady Sherwood’s Canadian accent gave her a thrilling sense of the exotic.

  ‘Good morning, Marigold,’ said Lady Sherwood agreeably. However, as friendly as her manner was she still succeeded in maintaining a certain distance, due to their very different stations in life, she the wife of a squire and Marigold the wife of a carpenter. Though, as Nan liked to point out, ‘There was once a simple carpenter . . .’

  ‘Good morning, Lady Sherwood,’ said Marigold from behind the counter. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Are you making Christmas puddings again this year?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Would you like one?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like two, please. My son’s coming over from Toronto and we’re going to be a lot of people. They went down very well last year.’

  ‘Oh good. I’m happy to hear that.’ Marigold pictured the

  Sherwoods’ grand dining room filled with elegant people eating her Christmas puddings and felt a rush of pride.

  ‘And I’d like a couple of books of first-class stamps while I’m here. Thank you.’

  Marigold gave her the stamps and carefully wrote the Christmas pudding order in her red notebook. She noticed Lady Sherwood’s fine leather gloves and the gracious way she moved her hands and thought her the most stylish woman she’d ever met. When Lady Sherwood departed, leaving a lingering smell of expensive perfume, Eileen leaned on the counter and lowered her voice. ‘As you know, I’m not one to gossip, but I’ve heard that father and son don’t get along at all,’ she said. ‘That’s why the lad went to live in Canada.’

  Marigold put the red book beneath the counter. ‘Oh dear, that’s sad. There’s nothing as important as family,’ she said, her heart warming once more at the thought of seeing Daisy. She’d be on her way to the airport, she suspected.

  ‘I don’t know what will happen to the estate when Sir Owen pops off,’ Eileen continued. ‘I gather Taran makes a lot of money in Canada.’

  ‘If Sir Owen lives as long as you, Eileen, Taran won’t inherit for another fifty years!’

  ‘He’s the only child. It will be his duty to come back and run the estate. Sir Owen’s a man who understands the countryside, like his father, Hector, did. Now he was a good and decent person and let my father live in one of his cottages rent free when he lost his job and took months to find a new one. I don’t think Taran is like them. I think he’s one of those banking people who only think about making money.’

  ‘How do you come to that conclusion, Eileen?’

  ‘Sylvia’s not a gossip, but she lets the odd thing slip out,’ said Eileen, referring to the Sherwoods’ housekeeper, a good-natured, slow-moving fifty-year-old who had worked for the family for over a decade. ‘When Sir Owen pops off there’ll be trouble.’ And she licked her bottom lip at the thought of such excitement.

  Marigold tried to get on with serving people while Eileen shared the village gossip. She had something to say about everyone who came into the shop. John Porter was squabbling with his neighbour Pete Dickens over a magnolia tree which had grown too big, and Mary Hanson’s St Bernard had killed Dolly Nesbit’s cat, causing Dolly to drop into a dead faint in the middle of the green. ‘She’s still in bed recovering,’ said Eileen. ‘Mary has offered to find her a new cat but Dolly says her Precious is irreplaceable. If you ask me that dog should be put down. No one should have a dog the size of a horse running loose about the village.’ Jean Miller, who had recently been widowed, was struggling to cope with living on her own. ‘Poor dear. I can tell her that you get used to it after a while and there’s always the TV for company. I love Bake Off, especially, and Strictly Come Dancing, but there are all sorts of things to watch these days. That nice Cedric Weatherby, you know, the one who’s just moved into Gloria’s old house, made her a cake and took it round. It had enough brandy in it to put her out for a week!’ Then there was the Commodore, who lived in a much-admired Georgian house with his wife Phyllida, and had resorted to shooting moles from his bedroom window. ‘He tried gassing them with a pipe attached to his car exhaust but that backfired and he nearly gassed himself,’ said Eileen gleefully. ‘He says they’re a plague, putting mud hills all over his lawn, but since reading Beatrix Potter as a child I’ve always been rather partial to the furry little friends.’

  At midday Nan wandered in, complaining of the cold. ‘It’s Siberian!’ she said as she hurried through the door, bringing snow in on her shoes. ‘Ah, lovely and warm in here.’ She waited for Marigold to finish serving and then reminded her about the digestive biscuits.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mum. I forgot. Eileen’s been distracting me,’ she said.

  ‘Our Daisy’s coming home today,’ said Nan with a smile. ‘Suze is none too happy about it. They’re going to have to share a room.’

  ‘She’s home a bit early for Christmas, isn’t she?’ said Eileen.

  Before Marigold could make something up, Nan had told the biggest gossip in the village about Daisy and Luca’s split.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll kiss and make up,’ said Marigold, struggling to do some damage control.

  But Nan shook her head. ‘I think over means over, Marigold,’ she said. ‘You don’t break up after six years and then get back together. Mark my words, it’s done.’

  Suze came into the shop in the early afternoon with a bag of parcels to post. In order to keep buying clothes and make-up she had to sell things she no longer wanted. She had a site online for selling second-hand things and was making a small business out of it, although not one that would ever be in profit. She was still furious about her sister coming home and hadn’t moved anything out of her bedroom to accommodate her. ‘Like I said, she can sleep on the sofa,’ she repeated. Marigold was relieved that Eileen had eventually gone home so she didn’t pick up on the impending feud.

  ‘It’s between you and Daisy. I’m not getting involved,’ said Marigold. ‘Although I think a little kindness would not go amiss, considering.’

  ‘Who chucked who?’ asked Suze.

  ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say. She just said they want different things.’

  Suze grinned. ‘Luca doesn’t want to get married and Daisy does.’ Then she added provocatively, ‘Marriage is so old-fashioned.’

  ‘I’m glad your grandmother isn’t around to hear that,’ said Marigold.

  ‘Oh, I’ll happily tell her to her face. Times are different now.’ With that, she flicked her hair and skipped out of the shop, leaving her mother to weigh and pay the postage for all her packages.

  Tasha had left. The place was quiet. Marigold looked outside. Night came early now. She sat on the stool behind the counter and took a deep breath. She felt tired. It must be the weather, she thought, those dark mornings and dark evenings sap one’s energy. The sun hadn’t come out at all today, so although the snow remained there were no diamonds to sparkle and glitter. The roads were icy. She thought of her mother declaring that she’d slip and break her neck today and hoped she had done the sensible thing and spent most of the day indoors.

  When she locked up at closing time she saw Suze’s parcels still waiting to be posted. She frowned and stared at them as if seeing them for the first time. She was sure she had sent them off. But no, there they were, and they hadn’t even been stamped. Marigold felt a strange prickling sensation creep across her skin. It took a while for her to recognize what it was, but when she did, the realization that she was afraid made the prickling sensation even more intense. She
felt fear, deep and cold and unmistakable: something was wrong. She’d left her handbag in church the day before and now she had forgotten to post Suze’s parcels. Marigold was not a vague person. Quite the opposite. She was someone who could be relied upon to organize things efficiently. Her entire life she had defined herself by her sharp and lucid memory. Manning the shop and the post office, with all the demands that that entailed, required her mind to be quick and her powers of recollection razor-sharp. They hadn’t, until now, let her down.

  Marigold stepped out into the dark and locked the door behind her. Then she walked carefully across the icy courtyard towards the house, feeling strangely unsteady. The lights inside were golden and she could see her mother and Suze through the window, sitting at the kitchen table. The packet of digestive biscuits was open beside her mother. Her spirits sank as she remembered she had forgotten those too. I really am losing my marbles, she thought to herself despondently. She resolved to exercise her mind as Eileen had suggested.

  When she went through the back door, Nan was halfway through a story and Suze was hovering in the doorway, trying to escape. Marigold glanced out of the window. The lights in Dennis’s shed were still on, blazing through the darkness. He’d been in there all day. She knew he was making her Christmas present and wondered what the picture would be. The thought of it made her smile and she began to feel brighter. She was tired and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was getting older. It was perfectly normal to forget things at her age. She’d just have to make more of an effort to remember.

  At seven the front door burst open and Daisy fell into the hallway, all tousled brown hair and big puffy coat, dragging a large suitcase behind her. Marigold dropped the wooden spoon she was using to stir the sauce and rushed to embrace her.

  ‘Darling, what a surprise! You should have called. Dad would have picked you up at the station.’

  ‘I got a cab,’ said Daisy.

  ‘You look exhausted!’ Marigold exclaimed, maternal instincts kicking in fiercely at the sight of her daughter’s waxen face. ‘Come in out of the cold at once.’

  Dennis, who had just shut up his shed, smiled broadly. ‘Let me take that,’ he said, relieving Daisy of her suitcase. ‘What have you got in here? The Crown jewels?’

  ‘My life,’ Daisy replied, smiling weakly. She wrapped her arms around her father and began to cry.

  ‘You’re home now, pet,’ he said, patting her back. ‘Where you belong.’

  ‘We’ll look after you, love,’ rejoined her mother, taking in her daughter’s unkempt hair and the purple shadows beneath her eyes that were bloodshot and full of pain. She longed to run her a hot bath and give her a good meal to restore her back to health.

  Suze appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a sheepish look. ‘Hi,’ she said, without making a move to approach her. ‘Sorry about Luca.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Daisy replied, but her attention was diverted by Nan, making her way down the hall towards her.

  ‘You’re too good for him,’ she said, hugging her grand-daughter. ‘Italian men can’t be trusted. We need to find you a nice Englishman.’

  Daisy laughed in spite of her heavy heart. ‘I don’t think I want anyone right now, Nan.’

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ said Dennis.

  ‘What you need is a nice cup of tea,’ said Marigold.

  ‘You’ll be back together by the end of the week,’ said Suze, fervently hoping that they would.

  Daisy lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want him back,’ she replied crisply. ‘It’s over. I’m home.’ She looked at her mother and smiled wanly. ‘Now, where’s that tea?’

  Chapter 3

  ‘I have a plan,’ Daisy said. She was sitting at the kitchen table beside her father and Nan, and opposite Suze, who looked at her from under her long fringe, trying unsuccessfully to feign interest. Her sister, with her sensible nature, independent life and talent, had always made her feel unworthy.

  Marigold was at the stove. How typical of Daisy to have it all worked out, she thought proudly. She had always been organized and self-sufficient. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve saved enough money to do what I’ve always wanted to do,’ she said, a shy smile creeping onto her face.

  ‘What’s that then, dear?’ said Marigold.

  ‘I’m going to draw and paint. I mean, not as a hobby – I’ve been doing that for years – but as a profession.’

  ‘About time too,’ said Dennis happily. He’d always wanted Daisy to be an artist. It’s what she was good at. What she was born to do. In his opinion she’d been wasted working in a museum instead of allowing her creativity to blossom.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, taking a deep breath, as if nervous of the risks. ‘I’m going to give it a go.’

  Nan pursed her lips. ‘I doubt if painting will make you much money,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think Hockney would agree with you, Nan,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Or Peter Doig and Damien Hirst,’ Dennis added with a smile.

  ‘Who’s Peter Doig?’ asked Suze, screwing up her nose.

  ‘But think of the thousands of painters out there who no one’s ever heard of,’ Nan continued. ‘Penniless, living off the kindness of family.’ She gave Marigold a meaningful look. Marigold pretended she hadn’t seen it. She knew her mother would have a lot to say if she and Dennis ended up having to support both daughters.

  ‘We all have to start somewhere, Nan,’ said Daisy. ‘I’ll never know if I don’t try.’

  ‘What are you going to paint?’ asked Suze, anxious now because her sister really did sound as if she had no intention of returning to Milan.

  ‘Animals,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m going to paint animal portraits. I’m good at those. Then, when I get my confidence, I’ll do people as well.’

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ enthused Marigold.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘Have you quit your job then?’ Suze asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they just let you go? Just like that?’

  ‘They did.’

  Suze raised her eyebrows. ‘Won’t the place fall apart without you?’

  Daisy laughed. ‘I was working in a museum, Suze, not running the country!’

  Suze’s shoulders slumped. ‘So you really are here for good?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not going back.’

  ‘We’re happy about that, aren’t we, Goldie?’ said Dennis cheerfully.

  ‘Very,’ Marigold agreed, feeling her heart swelling with happiness, leaving no room in her chest for concern and doubt. She untied her apron and held up a wooden spoon. ‘Dinner is ready,’ she announced. ‘And I think we should open a bottle of wine, don’t you, Dennis? To celebrate Daisy’s homecoming.’

  ‘I’ll raise a glass to that!’ said Dennis, getting up.

  ‘And I’ll lower a glass to Luca,’ said Nan, pulling a face. ‘I never liked him in the first place.’

  After dinner Dennis hauled Daisy’s suitcase upstairs and put it in Suze’s room, silently and decisively declaring an end of the discussion. Suze had to bite her tongue and accept that her sister was moving back in, for now. There was always a chance that Daisy and Luca would reconcile their differences, or that Daisy would find her new living quarters claustrophobic and look for somewhere to rent. Suze certainly did not envisage sharing her room for long. The fact that Daisy did not even attempt to unpack her clothes gave her hope. She watched her burrow about for her pyjamas and did not offer to clear a few shelves. She barely had enough space for herself.

  Later, when the two girls went to bed and turned out the light, Suze’s heart mollified at the sound of Daisy softly crying into her pillow. Selfish by nature did not mean Suze was unfeeling. ‘I’ll move my things tomorrow so you have some space,’ she whispered, knowing she’d regret saying that in the morning.

  ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t expect to have to share your room, did you?’

  ‘That’s okay. We’ll make do for a while. It’s not for
ever, is it?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘How’s it going with Batty?’

  ‘Good. Very good. What happened with Luca?’

  ‘He doesn’t want to get married and—’ Daisy took a ragged breath. ‘He doesn’t want children.’

  ‘Oh.’ Suze hadn’t expected that. ‘You really do want different things.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I know just the animal for you to paint,’ she said brightly. ‘A dog. He’s massive, as big as a horse, and he’s just killed a cat so he’s got a mean and hungry look, which will make it more fun for you.’

  ‘Did he really kill a cat?’

  ‘Dolly Nesbit’s cat, to be precise.’

  ‘Oh, that’s bad. What was it called? Precious? She must be heartbroken.’

  ‘She fainted. Actually, she might die.’ ‘Oh, Suze! You can’t say that.’

  ‘Well, she’s old, isn’t she, and old people can’t take shocks like that.’ Suze giggled. ‘She looked half dead before. Now I’d say she’s pushing three quarters dead.’

  Daisy laughed with her. ‘You are funny.’

  ‘I know.’ Suze sighed heavily. ‘I should be a comedian.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Anything would be better than what I do,’ she added. ‘Mum and Dad and Nan think I should get a proper job.’

  ‘I don’t think they’d consider a comedian a proper job.’

  ‘Still better than what I do.’

  ‘You should write a book. You always wrote stories when you were little. You’re good with words, and you’re talented. You just lack belief in yourself.’

  Suze chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t know what to write about.’

  ‘Draw from your experience. Isn’t that what writers do?’

  ‘I don’t have much experience, Daisy. Unlike you, I have spent all my life in a small village by the sea and nothing very exciting has ever happened to me.’