And I have to admit that I like the grown-up version much more than the annoying child. In fact, every now and I again I can’t help myself wondering whether we’d have repeated that kiss under the mistletoe last Christmas if we’d both been single.
I blush. I really shouldn’t be thinking this way at all – we’re supposed to be sharing a flat. Purely as friends!
No snogging. Just friends. He will have his girlfriends, and I have a potential date.
‘Splendid, splendid.’ Terence grasps my hand in both of his, gives it a squeeze, and stands up. ‘Now if you’ll both excuse me, I have a wonderful woman to propose to!’
1 p.m., 6 April
‘Fancy lunch and a glass of something fizzy? You know, to celebrate? If you’ve got time?’
‘I’ve got the rest of the day off. What about you? No major surgery planned?’
‘Nope. And the sun seems to be coming out, funny kind of weather for April.’
‘It’s Christmas, delayed. Because I didn’t have anything to feel good about in December.’
‘Oh? You arranged it?’Ollie grins. ‘What do you mean, nothing to feel good about, you saw me for the first time in years!’
‘Hmmm.’
‘What is that supposed to mean? According to our mothers you’ve missed me!’ His grin slips, probably because I’m not smiling back. Well, I’m trying, but I bet it’s a pretty weak attempt.
‘Well, it was nice to see you.’ I sigh. Ollie and I were always honest with each other. ‘But you’re a bloody hard act to follow.’
‘You were always harder!’
‘Were being the operative word. I’ve been flapping about for a bit.’
He frowns. ‘But you’re sorted now? The job sounds good.’ He’s watching me carefully, which is making me wriggle in my seat a bit, and forget all about my job offer, and the lovely Tim. ‘Don’t you want it?’
‘Job, er, yes. Yes, I reckon this could be good for me.’
‘It should suit you, something you really want to do.’ There’s a pause. ‘Better than writing dog obits and trying to re-home old people.’ The corner of his mouth twitches.
‘You read that!’ I can’t help but grin back.
‘I did. Excellent piece of reportage.’
‘Small ad, not reporting. Poor Gerald, the dog that is.’
‘Close enough. You can write my obit any time.’
‘Well you probably will expire before me.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Statistically, and,’ I say, pausing, grinning, ‘if you call me a twallop again, or leave the toilet seat up, well, who knows …’
‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to hit me over the head with Jesus again. Or a book. God, what was it you slapped me with? War and Peace or something? All I did was beat you at spelling!’
He chuckles, it’s a grown-up chuckle that starts somewhere deep inside him and warms up something deep inside me. I glance down and study the bubbles in my glass.
It’s odd being together like this. Just the two of us. Totally different to swapping jokey emails. When he laughs like that it feels intimate. And I’m back to that ‘wondering what it would be like to kiss him’.
‘I’d forgotten about that! It was Black Beauty.’ I frown. ‘That was ages ago, we were still at Primary school.’
‘Then you rapped me on the knuckles with a ruler when I beat you in the algebra test.’
‘You never did beat me! You cheated. I saw you and Jordan copying each other.’
‘Never.’ He shakes his head. ‘We were collaborating, important part of development, not that you’d know Miss Competitive.’
‘I was not.’ I was though. Especially where Ollie was concerned. Oh God, I’d forgotten just how determined I used to be to be best at everything. But it was fun, I’d enjoyed the challenge, the hustling. I’d been motivated, and just look at me now. I’ve let myself become even more of a wet lettuce than I’d realised. It really is a good job that I’ve finally given myself a talking to and taken the first step along a new path. ‘I was just cleverer than you, and I worked harder.’ I laugh, a slightly nervous laugh, to cover up my embarrassment. Because I am embarrassed. Truly.
‘Dais?’ He looks me in the eye. His long fingers twirling the stem of the glass. There’s a long pause. I just know he’s going to say something I don’t like. ‘Tell me if it’s none of my business.’ Another pause. I’ve got a feeling that whatever he is about to ask will indeed be none of his business.
I stare out of the window. The sun is breaking out from behind the clouds, sending beams of light to warm the flower buds that had never been prepared for the chill. ‘The sun’s coming out!’ I smile, but don’t dare look at him. ‘I hope the cold doesn’t kill the magnolia.’ My own gaze is fixed on the beautiful tree that grows just outside the café. Its branches laden with large, open white flowers that are tinged with pink at their centres. ‘The tips of the flowers will go brown.’
‘They will. Daisy, I can’t not ask, can I?’
‘Can’t you?’
I do look at him now, and his warm brown eyes hold questions that I’m not sure I’m ready to answer.
‘No.’ His voice is soft. ‘What happened? Why did it all go wrong?’
Uh oh. He’s no idea what he’s asking, how massive a question ‘why’ is. ‘Shit grades.’ That’s the easy answer. ‘Go directly to Clearing, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds.’ We used to play monopoly together, he’d get the reference. I try to make light of it, but inside my stomach is clenching.
I can’t tell him what happened. Not the full story. I’ve not told anybody. For a long time I just tried to pretend it never happened – I pushed it out of my head, pushed anybody who wanted to talk about it away. Then I got angry, angry at myself for letting it happen, angry at Josh. And then I just felt sad.
I try to push it out of my head every time it threatens to pop up, because I know if I let myself think about the past the waves will hit again. I don’t understand what happened, why it happened, it just makes me want to cry. It makes me feel empty inside, useless. A failure. Out of control, all of those things I don’t want to feel.
I’ve got this now, I really feel like I’ve got this and am moving on. I’m scared to talk about the past though, unless I jinx the whole thing.
‘Clearing?’ Ollie is staring at me, he looks shocked. Which is good, because he’ll just put my hopeless-years down to a slip up on the revision front. He never knew just how bad my grades were, just how much of a mess I was in. We’d hardly seen each other after that Christmas snog. We had different friendship groups, different teachers. It was a big school.
‘Clearing.’ I nod. ‘They were seriously shit grades.’ Concentrating on the grades is a good distraction. It’s black and white, no emotion involved – apart from humiliation.
‘But, why?’ He looks mystified, though not disappointed. Seeing him disappointed would make me feel even more of a loser. It would hurt, big time. I don’t want Ollie to feel sorry for me, to pity me. ‘You were such a swot, you were cleverer than me, than all of us.’ The corner of his mouth lifts gently, not a smile, a nudge. It shouldn’t, but it’s making my stomach churn, my palms are suddenly clammy, damp. ‘If we’re going to be living together, surely we should be honest with each other?’
I shove my hands between my thighs, out of sight. ‘Ha-ha, don’t push it. We’re not living together, we are inhabiting the same apartment. Well it’ll be mainly me doing the inhabiting.’
‘Dais?’ He’s not going to let me wriggle out of this one, any more than he used to let me wriggle out of his armlock when I nicked his last sweet. Even as a boy he was as tenacious as a bloody terrier. ‘Please?’ It is soft, not demanding. And that’s why I feel the barrier start to crumble. He’s not trying to knock it down, he’s just chipping a little hole. Just asking for a glimmer.
‘Okay.’ I draw the two syllables out, down what is left of my Prosecco, and he tops the glass up. I take a deep
breath. ‘Josh.’
‘Josh?’ He looks at me as though I’ve just sprouted an extra head. ‘You flunked your exams because bloody Josh didn’t want you to go? You did it for him?’
The way he says him makes me blink. I’d never realised he didn’t like him. I mean he did warn me off when we were eighteen, but I’d just taken that as a casual comment. ‘No, not exactly.’ This is awkward. Harder to say than I thought it would be. Humiliating, sad, embarrassing.
‘You’re not trying to tell me you just didn’t want to revise? I don’t buy that, Daisy.’ He’s giving me a reproving look. ‘You wouldn’t. You were conscientious, you were the person who always did your homework.’
I look back down at my drink and watch the bubbles clinging to the side. They daren’t let go and rise. I can sympathise. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t want to revise, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t concentrate.’ He leans in, because I’m mumbling.
There is a silence. It stretches on so long that in the end I glance up at him. He’s waiting for more. But I can’t do it. I can’t give him more.
‘I think I better go now, if that’s okay, thanks for the …’ I wave my hand at the drinks and grab my coat. I’m halfway to the door when I feel his presence behind me.
‘Daisy, stop, don’t run off.’
‘You need to pay, go back.’
‘I’ve paid. Daisy?’
‘I have to.’ I’ve been running from my catastrophic past since it happened, but I just can’t do it right now. I can’t turn around and face it.
‘Daisy, please.’ He grabs my arm and it halts me in my tracks, I spin round and stare at him, but he’s blurry. Everything is blurry.
Even thinking about what happened back then makes me feel queasy, makes me want to bawl like a baby. Part of me wants to tell him, part of me wants to share. But I daren’t. He wouldn’t understand. What the hell would he think of me if he knew what happened?
Ollie and I are two totally different people these days.
Who have to now find a way to live together.
Bugger.
‘I’ve got to go.’ I tug my arm free, and he lets me. To be honest I don’t quite know how I feel now I’ve told him the tiny bit of the puzzle that I have.
I think I feel scared.
Scared of what he’ll think if he finds out the rest.
I was quite enjoying getting to know the grown-up Ollie. I was quite getting to like him. I want him to like me too. I don’t want to ruin whatever this is between us.
Chapter 12
2.00 p.m., 8 April
‘You are shitting me?’ Frankie stares. I haven’t seen her since she went off to celebrate her birthday with Tarquin, and now she has returned looking slightly less good-living goddess, and slightly more queen-of-shag.
I have been so bursting to announce my news, I’ve leapt on her as she comes through the front door. Which is probably why she’s so taken aback.
‘No! They offered me a job! Just like that. I could be chief reviewer by next Christmas! And maybe even start doing features!’ I grab her hands and do a little jig. She doesn’t join in.
‘Wow.’ She frowns. ‘Look, you know I’m not one to rain on your parade, hun, but is this what you want? Telling the world to watch shit movies?’
‘And books.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Books?’
‘Yeah, you know, those things that are piled high in my room! I didn’t mean I have to tell the world to read shit books, I meant I’ll be writing about them, books as well as movies, though obviously not shit ones. It’s about telling the world not to watch the shit ones, just the good ones.’ I think my lower lip is sticking out. ‘I like watching movies and reading books.’
She suddenly grabs me in a hug. ‘Aww, sorry, I didn’t mean to be off. That’s great!’
‘It is?’ I stiffen.
‘If it’s what you want, then it is! It was just a bit of a shock, I thought you were going to be advertising manager, you know, start at the top!’
‘Oh.’
‘But if this is what you want, that’s fab. Starting over is good, it just seems a shame to waste what you’ve achieved. But let’s celebrate!’
I’m not sure an entry in the obit column has ever been much of an achievement. ‘I know it’s starting at the bottom, but there will be opportunities this time, I’ll get proper training. I’ll have a career, rather than a dead end, ha-ha.’
‘Brilliant! You’ll get there, I know you will.’ For the first time she smiles properly. ‘Oh, ignore me, I’m so knackered, I so need some space, Tarquin has been on me twenty-four/seven! Literally!’ She leers. Then hugs me again. ‘I’m so pleased for you. Honest.’
‘I, er …’ I need to get this all out at once, I cringe a bit hoping for a minimal reaction – ‘will be working in Stavington, so I’ll have to move out I’m afraid.’
‘God, you mean I’ll have to let Tarquin move in?’ Her eyes open wide in mock horror.
‘Afraid so.’
‘You really are getting your shit together! You go girl! Don’t forget me, will you as you zoom to the top?’
‘Never! You can’t get rid of me that easily, I need you.’ I grin, but I mean it. Frankie is good for me, she makes up for the positivity I lack.
‘So have you found new digs? I can ask around.’
‘No need, Uncle T’s got a place he lets out, he said I can stay.’
‘Cool.’
‘With Ollie.’ If I don’t tell her, and she finds out (which she will) I’ll never hear the end of it.
‘Fuck me,’ I knew she’d say that. ‘I’m not surprised you took the job!’
She is gone before I can protest and tell her that living with Ollie is not the reason I took the job. But I’m sure she’s kidding.
She sticks her head out of her bedroom door. ‘How about I come there every week?’ She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and I can’t help but laugh. Even though I’m still smarting a bit about the job comments. ‘Get my feather duster out?’
‘He’s hardly ever there!’
‘Oh yeah, pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’
I’m not quite sure if she’s pleased for me, or pissed off with me, until she pops out of her room one more time and blows me a kiss. ‘What are you waiting for? Get your glad-rags on babe. There’s no way are we not celebrating this. It is MEGA.’
‘It’s only two o’clock.’
‘I need to keep partying, if I stop now that’ll be it for the day. Maybe even for the week.’
1 p.m., 16 April
‘Hi babe! Cool Easter?’
Stanley’s back end is flapping about like he’s a fish on dry land. He is ecstatic. Carrie has this effect on dogs.
‘Great thanks. What about you?’ I say this slightly hesitantly. She declared a few years ago that she wasn’t going to do any kind of celebrating any more, especially not if it has religious connotations. Which pretty much rules the majority of bank holidays out.
She started up the re-homing centre after her girlfriend Evie died of breast cancer, and she decided that dogs were nicer than any of ‘the stupid twats who tried to pick me up while I was still in bits’. They’d been madly in love, and for a long time she was too broken to do anything but hug the puppy that Evie had handed over to her when she knew she only had days left. She still refuses to date, she says she gets enough love from the dogs. The kind of selfless love that no human but Evie had ever given her.
So I don’t push the issue. She needs time, not turkey and tinsel, or chocolate Easter eggs.
‘Not bad.’ She mumbles from her position on the floor, covered in dog. Stanley is currently trying to French kiss her, which makes talking difficult. ‘Stanley been behaving himself?’
‘Oh yes, he’s brilliant. Everybody loves him. Do you want a coffee?’
‘I’m in a bit of a rush to be honest.’
She stands up, lifting Stanley into a cuddle. He’s still licking her face. ‘Sorry to spring this on you, but th
ose peeps that came to see Stan just before the hols are definitely up for adopting him. They check out, great house, garden, the lot.’ She hugs Stanley harder. ‘You’re such a lucky doggie.’
‘Fab!’ I try to smile, but my face feels stiff. Stanley is going, somebody has offered him a home, we’ll only have a few days left together.
‘I suppose it fits in great for you, now you’re moving?’
‘Well I would have—’
I was about to say, ‘taken him with me’, but I don’t get chance.
‘I am really soz to spring this on you, but the sooner he settles in with them the better.’ She squeezes my arm. It’s then I realise she’s still holding Stanley.
‘You’re taking him now?’ What about our private goodbyes I want to say, his last chance to wee on next door’s tree, our last walk by the canal, our last shared supper of cheese? What about all his belongings – the tin full of his favourite treats, and the bouncy ball he’s totally mad about?
I don’t know what it is about Stanley, but I don’t want to let him go. When I foster, I always know I’m a stop gap, and I’ve always been thrilled for the dogs when they find a permanent home. But this time it feels different. I just hadn’t seen this coming, some part of my brain thought he’d be with me forever.
‘Sure, he’ll be off your hands, you’ll get the bed to yourself tonight!’
Carrie is happy, but I am not. It’s her job to find good homes for the dogs, and she’s done it. I’m glad for Stanley, but I’m so, so sad. I love him. I want to cry.
‘I’ll be in touch next week?’
Oh my God. I mustn’t cry. I really mustn’t. It will make Stanley sad, he won’t understand.
Why does life have to do this? Everything was going so well. I’m friends again with Ollie, I’ve got a brilliant new job. Things are amazing.
And now this. This is crap. This is so unfair.
I don’t want the bed to myself. I want Stanley on it.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 11
