by Linda Huber
Daria’s Daughter
Linda Huber
This edition produced in Great Britain in 2021
by Hobeck Books Limited, Unit 14, Sugnall Business Centre, Sugnall, Stafford, Staffordshire, ST21 6NF
www.hobeck.net
Copyright © Linda Huber 2021
This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this book are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Linda Huber has asserted her right under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the copyright holder.
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-913-793-23-4 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-913-793-22-7 (ebook)
Cover design by Jayne Mapp Design
Printed and bound in Great Britain
Created with Vellum
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To Jim, and in loving memory of Helen
Contents
Day One – Friday 17th April
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Day Two – Saturday 18th April
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Day Three – Sunday 19th April
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Day Four – Monday 20th April
Chapter 9
Day Five – Tuesday 21st April
Chapter 10
Day Six – Wednesday 22nd April
Chapter 11
Day Seven – Thursday 23rd April
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Day Eight – Friday 24th April
Chapter 14
Day Ten – Sunday 26th April
Chapter 15
Day Twelve – Tuesday 28th April
Chapter 16
Day Thirteen – Wednesday 29th April
Chapter 17
Day Fourteen – Thursday 30th April
Chapter 18
Day Fifteen – Friday 1st May
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Day Eighteen – Monday 4th May
Chapter 21
Day Nineteen – Tuesday 5th May
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Day Twenty - Wednesday 6th May
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Day Twenty-One – Thursday 7th May
Chapter 26
Day Twenty-Two – Friday 8th May
Chapter 27
Day Twenty-Five – Monday 11th May
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Day Twenty-Seven – Wednesday 13th May
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Day Twenty-Nine – Friday 15th May
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Day Thirty – Saturday 16th May
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Day Thirty-One – Sunday 17th May
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Day Thirty-Two – Monday 18th May (morning)
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Day Thirty-Two – Monday 18th May (afternoon)
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Day Thirty-Four – Wednesday 20th May
Chapter 50
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
About the Author
Also by Linda Huber
Hobeck Books – the home of great stories
Day One – Friday 17th April
Chapter 1
They would miss their flight if the taxi didn’t come in the next five minutes. Daria stood at her first-floor living room window, peering up the street. And, oh, glory, as if there wasn’t enough to worry about – look at those clouds! Her shoulders slumped as the sun vanished abruptly and fat raindrops spattered across the window, transforming the dusty Glasgow street below into a slick dark stripe, punctuated by scattered hailstones that melted to join the torrents scudding along in the gutters. Daria rested her head on the windowpane. A rainstorm when she had to get her daughter, along with everything the two of them would need over the next two weeks, into a taxi, out again at the airport, into the terminal building and through departures – it was exactly what she didn’t need.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ Four-year-old Evie pushed in front of Daria’s legs to see outside, her pink ‘ready for the taxi’ jacket matching the hot little face under her beloved bobble hat.
Daria held out her hand. ‘Come on, we’ll wait downstairs. Daddy’s at a conference in Stirling – remember he said ’bye-bye yesterday? Got your rucksack?’
Evie ran to fetch the pink elephant rucksack she’d left on the sofa. ‘Daddy’s in Stirling?’
They had been through it a million times, but what did Stirling mean to a child who’d never been there? Daria dredged up a calm-Mummy smile.
‘That’s right. And today we’re going to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Spain, and Daddy’s coming to join us next week.’
And how good it would be to escape the coldest spring on record for a little while. Daria pulled out her compact and checked her make-up. She would do. Okay – case, daughter, handbag, travel bag. Come on, Daria, you can do this.
Downstairs, they stood in the shelter of the doorway, Evie leaning out to catch stray raindrops on her tongue while Daria fumbled for her phone. She was still scrolling down her contacts for the minicab company when a blue-and-white taxi screeched around the corner and pulled up by the gate. At last. Thank heavens the airport was a mere fifteen minutes away; they would make it. Daria grasped Evie’s hand and wheeled the case down the path to meet the taxi driver, who was standing beside his vehicle glowering at them. He heaved the luggage into the boot, and Daria opened the back door.
‘In we get, Evie, love.’ She fastened the child’s seat belt, then her own. Evie was a slight little thing and it was never a good feeling being in a cab with no child seat. Another reason to be thankful the airport was so near. Daria sat tapping her fingertips together as the driver organised his meter and turned on the engine. Come on, come on, we have to go.
The rain intensified as they crawled along to the main road and joined a column of blurry red lights as every commuter in the city headed homewards for the weekend. A band of tension tightened around Daria’s head. They had less than twenty minutes now and they were inching along at a speed she could have matched on foot.
‘We’ll take the back road.’ The driver pulled into a side street, and Daria breathed out. Traffic was flowing here, albeit slowly, but they were on their way at last. She put an arm around Evie and the little girl beamed up at her, then reached across to take Daria’s hand and, oh, it was so lovely to be travelling with her daughter. They were picking up sp
eed all the time; it was going to be all right. The taxi cut round the back of the cemetery and came to a wider road. This was better.
Daria leaned over to kiss Evie’s damp little forehead, then jerked back in horror as a long, deep horn blared and headlights from an approaching lorry swept through the cab. A single, sickening scream left Daria’s soul as Evie’s rucksack scratched across her face. The taxi skewed sideways, only to be hit from behind and flipped skywards. Daria’s arms opened in search of her girl, but she was pitched across the car, twisting in the air as metal screeched and tore around her and—
She was flying. Daria clutched at empty air then crashed down, rolling over and over on something hard, more screams coming from a distance. Hers? Her leg, her arm… Oh, please, Evie.
Silence. Stillness. Pain. Daria sank into darkness, but far, far away, something was buzzing. Find Evie, you have to find Evie. Swirling grey shapes replaced the darkness. Breathing was agony and she couldn’t move her leg. Darkness was hovering; God, no, she mustn’t die here. Stinging rain was soaking through her hair, running down her cheeks, her neck. Far off voices screamed behind her, Evie’s high-pitched wail the nearest.
Evie, oh, baby, Mummy’s here.
Daria fought to call to her child, but black pain was all around now. No, no, she was going to pass out. Her fingers splayed and met wet plastic: Evie’s rucksack. Howling sirens swooped closer as Daria fought to stay awake. Please, somebody, come…
The voices shouting in the background were still too far away to help when the choking smell of petrol reached her nose. And everything went black.
Chapter 2
Oh, for an umbrella. Margie pulled up her collar and stepped out of the food bank into driving rain, her bags of groceries banging against her legs as she scurried along. Dear Lord, she was going to be soaked through by the time she got home. This coat had stopped being waterproof years ago, but her pension went nowhere these days and the rent was due next week. The food bank at the main road was worth a wet walk, though – for one thing, you didn’t need a voucher there, and they usually had the right cat food, too. She turned left at the corner and bent her head against the rain, now lashing ever more viciously from the new direction. Her hat was soaked through; she should have waited until the storm was over, but the kits needed their tea. Marmaduke and Tallulah would be prowling around the kitchen yowling by this time, and li’l Tabitha needed good square meals, now she had kitties on the way. Margie gripped her bags more firmly and squelched on.
A car sped past, throwing a wave of water over her legs. Margie yelped, then moved under the dubious shelter of an over-large fir tree at the gates to the college grounds. Inconsiderate beggar, who did he think he was? Soaked through to her skin, she was, she—
Dear God in heaven—
Horns blared, and Margie shrieked as a lorry skewed across the wet road, slamming into an approaching taxi. Another car bumped up on the pavement behind her then skidded away to slam into the back of the pile up of lorry – no, it was a petrol tanker – and taxi. Margie fell to her knees, still clutching her precious bags, her head thudding against the tree trunk and then the ground as the taxi flipped into the air and smashed down again, slamming into the other vehicles and shuddering to a halt just yards away. Fog swirled through Margie’s head. Oh, that hurt.
She put a hand up to touch warm wetness running down her face and mingling with cold rainwater. Her head, oh, her head. The world was swaying around her. She pushed herself up to her knees, rubbing her eyes and fighting to regain clarity. Where was this?
A speeding car… the screech of brakes… her own voice shrieking, ‘Bridie, Bridie, where are you?’
Margie gaped wildly at the chaos in front of her. Someone should help – where was everybody? But apart from distant yells coming from the main road, there was no sign of life on the street.
Bridie, her baby, where was she?
A thin wail came from her left. Margie scrambled to her feet and stumbled over to the remains of the three vehicles. The back door of the taxi had been wrenched off, and piercing wails were coming from the floor behind the mangled passenger seat. On the other side of the car, the driver was slumped over the steering wheel. Oh, my, he wasn’t of this world any more. God rest his soul.
Bridie’s eyes were staring in terror, and Margie reached in for her. ‘Come on, my lovey, let’s get you out of here.’ The moment she touched the child’s shoulder, Bridie screamed. Margie pushed at the front passenger seat, but it was jammed, and the back seat was half-collapsed against it. She straightened up and looked back. There was no one nearby to help her, though people further along the road were running in this direction. Maybe she should wait until—
A pungent stench filled the air, and Margie’s breath caught. Petrol. No. This was wrong. There was no time to wait.
‘We need to go. Quick!’ She gripped a handful of the child’s jacket and pulled. Bridie tottered out onto the road, her face twisted in a silent scream, one arm cradling the other. Margie searched around for her bags, then lifted both in one hand and took hold of the child’s sleeve. The smell was getting worse.
‘Run! Across the road! We’ll fix you up in a minute.’
Bridie tripped along beside her, a constant high-pitched keening leaving her throat all the time they were lurching across the street to the cemetery gates. Pain twisted through Margie’s shoulder and back; this was too much. Sirens screamed behind them, and the rain was driving down, and oh, no, she had lost a shoe. This was as bad as anything had been since – but no, no. She was getting muddled. Bridie wasn’t gone, she was here. Margie stopped to wipe warm and sticky wetness from her forehead, then dragged Bridie into the cemetery. On and further on. Under the big willow tree, quick. That would give them some shelter.
They weren’t quite under the tree when a flash of orange from behind lit the skies, illuminating ancient gravestones in a snapshot of terror. The explosion roared through the air, and for a second, the ground shook. Margie dropped her bags and clung to Bridie, the child’s scream cutting off abruptly as she gaped at the inferno beyond the cemetery gates.
Oh, my. Smoke was billowing towards them; it was time they weren’t here. Margie gave her eyes a rub with a soaking sleeve and bent over Bridie again. Poor li’l soul she was, rain running down her face and her mouth half-open in an anguished wail.
‘Come on, lovey. We’ll get you home and fix you up. You’ll be right as rain in no time.’
Bridie’s blue eyes opened wide. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ Her teeth were chattering.
‘Mammy’s right with you. Quick as we can, now. Is it just your arm, or does anything else hurt?’
More tears. ‘My head. And my leg. And my face. I want Mummy!’
Margie wiped Bridie’s face with her sleeve. Now they were both blood-smeared, but it was all in the family. More sirens were wailing behind them, and Margie lifted her bags. Time to go.
‘Dangerous, those cars are. Listen, that’s the fire brigade here to sort things out. Come on. Sooner we’re home, sooner we’ll get you fixed.’
‘I feel sick.’
‘A nice hot drink’s what you need. Give me your good hand. We’ll be home in five minutes.’
Five minutes was hopeful to say the least, but the rain was easing off and cracks of lighter sky were visible beyond the rainclouds as they hurried through the cemetery. Margie stopped at the east gate and checked right and left along Burn Street. She didn’t want any nosy parkers staring at the state of them both. Bridie was flagging, eyes half-closed and legs staggering all over the pavement; they’d have come to a complete halt if Margie hadn’t pulled her along. This was the last crossing, though, here was their street – and they were home. She led Bridie down the side of the house to the back door and into the kitchen, where all the cats were circling around yowling for food.
Margie abandoned her shopping by the sink and bent over Bridie. What a sorry little picture she was.
‘Come on, my lovey. Let’s get you into be
d and I’ll bring you a nice drink.’
‘Mummy?’
Margie bent over, blood and rain dripping from her hair onto the floor. She pulled off Bridie’s hat and eased the soaked jacket over the child’s good arm, wincing as a shiver ran through the little body. ‘Mammy’s here, darlin’. Up we go.’
But Bridie’s legs gave way, and Margie only just managed to back her onto a kitchen chair. Dear Lord, she would have to carry the maid upstairs. It didn’t matter; she’d done it so often before. She took a firm grasp of Bridie’s narrow shoulders and knees and straightened up, trying to ignore the pain that flashed through her back at every step. This didn’t feel like carrying Bridie upstairs; this was – a marathon. A war. Because she’d banged her head?
