Daria's Daughter

by Linda Huber

  ‘He’s not at work this afternoon. It’ll be a nice change from the hospital, don’t you think? And shall we come back to the park on our way home afterwards?’

  ‘To feed the ducks!’

  Frith skipped along, wispy blonde hair flying in the breeze, and Liane hugged herself. It was springtime, she had a decent shot at a new job, and she was out with her daughter to meet a very nice man. A good afternoon.

  Heat from the café hit them the moment Liane opened the door. Frith unzipped her jacket of her own accord and ran across to Steve, who was sitting at a table near the bar. Liane followed on. The café was all imitation red leather seats, Formica tables and funky lamps, and could have come straight from the sixties. She’d never been here before, but look, there was a little stage up the back so they must have live music sometimes.

  ‘Ladies. Good to see you.’

  Steve wasn’t the same person out of uniform. His dark blond hair – rather like Tony’s, now she noticed it – was falling over his forehead, and the black sweatshirt he wore made his eyes look bluer. Liane hung Frith’s jacket over the back of the little girl’s chair and sat down. She wasn’t used to meeting good-looking men in cafés. Steve’s fingers were tapping his other arm – was she late? Or was he nervous? Or regretting this?

  Steve handed her a menu. ‘Okay. Frith and I are having a competition to see who can enjoy their ice cream most. Would you like to join in?’

  Liane relaxed – sort of. ‘I certainly would. Look, Frithy, they have banana splits.’

  After ten minutes’ chat about ice creams and other favourite desserts, Liane’s fingers were tapping too. Nothing was more conversation-killing than your four-year-old making eyes at the man who’d invited you both to said conversation. The arrival of the ice creams gave Frith something more important to concentrate on, and Steve winked at Liane over the little girl’s head.

  ‘Got your list of intelligent questions to ask at the interview ready?’

  She hadn’t, but the following half hour gave her several ideas. This was Steve the nurse; he was just being nice. Nothing about the way he was talking was different from the professional she knew at the hospital. Not a date then, which did make things less complicated. Liane made copious mental notes, and had almost finished her Honey and Walnut Swirl when the last voice on earth she wanted to hear today spoke beside them.

  ‘Having a good time? Spoonful for Daddy, Frithy-baby?’

  Frith beamed and offered up a minute spoonful of chocolate ice cream while Liane cringed. Of all the times and places for Tony to turn up at, this was about the worst. He was going to make all kinds of innuendos, she could see them coming, but there was nothing she could do except introduce the two men, as Tony didn’t appear to have twigged that this was one of the people who’d cared for his daughter in hospital – which showed how often he’d been there.

  Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he treated Steve to a mocking grin. ‘A nurse, eh? That must be, ah, challenging.’

  Liane swallowed a few pithy words. What a scumbag he was.

  But Steve was more than equal to Tony. ‘Not if you know what you’re doing. Join us for coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I have some business to attend to. See you two soon.’ He patted Liane’s shoulder, made a show of kissing Frith, and wove away through the tables to the bar before being ushered out the back somewhere.

  ‘Sorry.’ With Frith there too, it was all Liane could say. The little girl had finished her ice cream and those ears were waggling again.

  Steve signalled to the waiter. ‘No probs. Coffee? Then I should get going. I’m playing squash at five.’

  ‘And I have to write down everything you’ve said. If I get this job, I’ll have you to thank. I don’t suppose you do a line in flats, too?’

  He laughed. ‘I leave that to my brother. He has an expanding portfolio. Why – do you need a new flat?’

  Liane leaned back as the waiter arrived with coffees. ‘Sort of. The place we’re in is expensive for what we get, and the landlord does nothing in the way of upkeep.’

  ‘I can let Jon know you’re looking, if you like. How many rooms?’

  ‘Thanks – two bedrooms, garden share if poss. I pay a hundred and thirty a week for the place we have, and I wouldn’t want to go above that.’

  ‘Got it.’

  Thankfully, they managed to leave the café without encountering Tony again. Frith waved happily as Steve strode off up the road, then she gripped Liane’s hand as they crossed at the lights and headed for the park.

  ‘Can we visit the ducks now? Except we didn’t bring bread.’

  ‘They won’t be ready for dinner yet anyway. Come on!’

  Back at home, Liane’s thoughts wandered while she sat with Frith as the daily dose of CBeebies flashed over the TV screen. It would be great if Steve’s brother could find them a new flat. If he was anything like Steve, he wouldn’t be a slimeball who ignored all her pleas about hot water and drains. The sound of an email pinging into her phone had Liane diving through to the kitchen and into her email account. Wow, oh wow – she had an interview at the hospital on the 3rd of May!

  She abandoned her phone and danced through to the bedroom to decide on the best interview outfit. Should she go for a Paula’s reject, or something more casual? The grey wool dress someone had returned to the shop with an unshiftable make-up stain around the neckline looked good on her, and some funky jewellery would hide the mark okay. Liane grinned at the dress, remembering how Paula’s rage had simmered beneath the surface all the time she was assuring the customer that of course they’d exchange it for the black. When people were paying northwards of five hundred quid for dresses every couple of weeks, they could more or less do what they liked, and thanks be she was out of all that now. Liane thrust the dress back into the wardrobe. She would wear her black linen trousers with her black and green top and feel more comfortable.

  She plumped down beside Frith again to message the good news to Janine, Steve and Sister Annie: I have an interview!

  Janine and Sister Annie sent their congratulations and good luck messages almost immediately, and Liane sent back flower and heart emoticons.

  Her phone buzzed again, a call this time. Ah – Steve was giving her his congrats in person. Interesting…

  Day Seven – Thursday 23rd April

  Chapter 12

  Every day was the same and they were all unbearable. Daria left Noah still asleep and went for a shower before Mum and Dad started to get up. Having them here was good in one way because they loved her, and being loved was what she needed, but it was hard to be with them too, seeing the grief and helplessness in their faces all day. Mum would bustle around the flat, cooking meals Daria struggled to swallow, but none of them had anything real to do and it was… it was the worst time of her life and each new day was a mountain to climb. After six days of numbness, today was day seven since Evie’s death, and something was different. It was the end of the first week Evie had never seen.

  Perched on the bathroom stool, Daria pulled on trousers and fastened her boot around her leg. The pain was bearable now, but everything took ten times longer than it normally did when you were on crutches, and her foot was still bruised and swollen.

  Moving slowly, she swung her way down the hallway. Past the study, where deep silence told her Mum and Dad were still asleep, past her own room, and—

  She stopped dead. Evie’s room. The door had been firmly shut when they returned from the hospital on Sunday and it was still closed. But the longer she left this, the harder it was going to be. Daria inched close and pressed the handle down.

  It was as if Evie’d been gone for months. A thin layer of dust covered everything, and the Snow White bedding on the junior bed was immaculate. Evie’s toybox was frozen in time in one corner while her sheep mobile above the bed shivered in the current of air Daria had made opening the door. It was like a catalogue photo of a child’s room. They’d tidied before leaving for Spain, of course. Cold fingers
of fear snaked around Daria’s heart – Evie would never be here again. Unshed tears smarted behind her eyes and it was pitiful; even wiping her eyes was difficult. One of her crutches banged to the floor.

  Her mother was behind her. ‘Daria? Are you—’

  Daria took a deep breath. She had to do this. ‘We’ll organise a memorial for her, Mum. And I want to mark her life in some way. Not a gravestone or anything like that, something that’s alive – a tree. We can plant a tree for her in a beautiful place.’

  Ellen George hugged her. ‘That’s a lovely idea, darling.’

  Daria leaned her head on her mother’s broad shoulder. Nothing was lovely, but this was something she could do for Evie.

  After breakfast, when her parents had departed for the supermarket, Daria sat with her leg stretched out on the sofa and opened her laptop. Where could you plant a tree for someone? And what kind of tree should it be, for a beautiful little girl who’d loved life? Evie’s face flashed into her mind, and Daria suppressed a sob. It was silly to think like this, but the last child she’d touched hadn’t been her girl. The memory of Frith’s happy smile was stinging. What a painful moment that had been, and she hadn’t even told Liane about Evie. Frowning, Daria tapped into Facebook. Liane had sent her a friend request and Daria had accepted, but they hadn’t communicated otherwise yet. Liane’s timeline was full of photos of Frith, and – no. Daria tapped out of social media. She wasn’t ready for a friend with a child. The only friend she’d been in contact with was Kit, her best friend since primary school and Evie’s godmother. Kit would want to come to the memorial too. Daria googled plant a memorial tree, and blinked at the number of hits that appeared.

  Noah came in and peered over her shoulder. ‘Looking for a place to plant the tree? Any ideas?’

  ‘I’ve just started. What kind of tree shall we get? If we can choose?’

  He shrugged. ‘I guess it’ll depend on where you want to plant it.’

  Where she wanted…? ‘Don’t you want to as well?’

  ‘I wanted her to live. Not this.’

  His voice tailed away, and Daria slumped. ‘I so wish she’d been flung from the taxi too.’

  ‘I guess the car seat stopped that happening. How ironic is that?’

  ‘She wasn’t in—’

  He jerked away from her. ‘She wasn’t in a car seat? How come?’

  Had he never been in a cab with Evie? ‘They don’t carry child seats, Noah. It’s perfectly legal as long as the child’s belted up in the back seat.’

  ‘Legal or not, it wasn’t bloody safe, was it? You should have taken ours with you.’

  ‘And done what with it at the airport?’

  ‘I’m sure they have left luggage lockers somewhere.’

  Daria buried her face in her hands, then realised. ‘But she wasn’t thrown out anyway. It made no difference.’

  He turned his back on her, shoulders hunched. ‘She wasn’t thrown out, no, but she’d have been thrown around the taxi. A little thing like Evie, can you imagine what that would have done to her? A car seat would have spared her that.’

  Daria’s world collapsed. Was he right? If she’d taken the car seat, would their daughter still be alive today?

  ‘I’m sorry! Do you think—?’

  Noah jumped back, stumbling into the coffee table, his eyes huge in a sheet-white face. ‘I think she’s dead, Daria. “Sorry” doesn’t cut it.’ Clutching his head, he strode into their bedroom and slammed the door.

  The worst pain in the world stabbed through Daria as she cowered on the sofa while images of Evie lying crumpled in a wrecked taxi seared through her head. Or Evie, flying through the windscreen, her beautiful face bloody and torn. No.

  Her daughter’s death was all her fault.

  Chapter 13

  Grey daylight was flooding through the window when Margie woke up. No sun today, then, and up you get, Margie. She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her bony chest to get rid of the wheeze. Nice deep breaths, lovey, you’ll be right as rain in no time. But the sick, dizzy feeling was slow to move on this morning.

  The sound of a metal bowl scudding across the kitchen floor spurred her downstairs. The girls and boys wanted breakfast. Bridie was sitting in the corner playing with Socks and Tallulah and an old tea towel. She jumped up to have her trousers fastened, and Margie’s back twinged as she bent to push the reluctant button through the buttonhole. Her back couldn’t be doing with rainy days.

  ‘Let’s get some toast on the table. Look at that rain, and us needing shopping.’ Margie opened the bread bin. Only one slice left, and they’d run out of milk, too. A trip to the shops was a dire necessity, but… she fumbled in her purse, fingers trembling. Not much left here. And the kits were running short of food too.

  Misery clutched at Margie’s throat. She didn’t have enough money to get everything, so she was going to have to go to the post office and get some from her account and that was always so complicated. They’d given her one of those cards for the machine, but it was easier to go inside and talk to a person. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the woman who turned her nose up, dopey madam that she was. Still, the maid was getting better, that was the main thing.

  She gave Bridie the toast and sat for a while with a cup of milkless tea to see if the rain would go off. If anything, though, the clouds were getting darker and eventually Margie gave up. The sooner she went, the sooner she’d be back. She put her head into the living room, where Tallulah, Bridie and Socks were curled up on the sofa. Now there was an unlikely sight for you; Socks wasn’t normally one for snuggling with the girls. Margie went to say goodbye, stroking each furry head as she passed and dropping a kiss on Bridie’s.

  ‘’Bye, lovey girls. Socks, young man, mind you’re a gentleman.’ The other kits were all outside and a nice mess they’d make when they came in later with muddy paws. But never mind. That was cats for you.

  Margie battled her way along the road and around the corner. This was miserable – her umbrella was useless in a wind like this. And for pity’s sake, if it wasn’t one thing, it was another – water was seeping into her left shoe, making every second step a cold, uncomfortable squelch. She’d already lost one shoe this month, so she was down to her last pair. Come on, Margie, grit your teeth and carry on. Here were the shops, so while she might not have a dry inch of skin on her body, at least her trip was halfway over. Margie grappled in her purse for her post office card and glared at it. Cards and machines you couldn’t work were no use when you had a family to feed.

  She trailed into the post office, waited in a long queue of steaming jackets and sour sniffy faces, then shouted her way through a conversation, a pane of glass separating her from Mrs Toffee-nose. Money tucked into her inside pocket – they might snatch her bag, but they wouldn’t snatch her cash – she left the post office and stood in the rain to plan.

  The food bank was half an hour away, much too far when she was feeling rough. Margie coughed, then shuffled into the little convenience store on the corner. It was run by a lovely Indian family and it was certainly convenient, but the prices were enough to make your eyes water. Still, a tin of beans and some soup wouldn’t break the bank, and sometimes they had bread from yesterday on half-price. She had to save where she could.

  Margie wrestled a basket from the pile by the door and started off down the left-hand side where the cat food was. A large-sized box landed in her basket. The kits loved this one so it was worth the extra money. She’d get it in the food bank next time, and some more of that tinned tuna Bridie liked. It was lovely with some rice. The kits enjoyed it too. Round to the next aisle and here was the tuna and the beans – pity she wasn’t more full of beans today, hah! – and she’d get some tomato soup, too. Bridie’s favourite. A glance at the bread shelves told her there were no old loaves today, so she splashed out on a packet of morning rolls. And milk. There, that wouldn’t ruin her, and she’d be home in ten minutes. Coughing, Margie rounded the corner to the solitary cash desk and took her p
lace in the queue.

  A voice came from behind her. ‘You okay, love? You’re looking a bit peaky.’

  Margie jerked round and oh, gracious, it was a big policeman cradling two packets of sandwiches and two cans of Irn Bru. Margie’s mouth went dry. Why did you always think you’d done something wrong when you saw a policeman? He was waiting for an answer, too.

  ‘I’m just fine. Looking forward to the warmer weather coming in.’

  He chortled. ‘Aren’t we all?’

  He was staring at her basket, and Margie changed it to her other arm where he couldn’t see it so easily.

  ‘You want to feed yourself as well as you feed your cat, love. That’s the expensive stuff you’ve got there.’

  ‘And worth every penny. Don’t you go worrying about me. I did the big shop yesterday.’ She ignored the glance the policeman exchanged with young Abhi on the till – it was none of their business. Margie kept her head down. Good, it was her turn now. She stuffed her shopping safely into her bag as soon as it was scanned, then a smile to Abhi, a nod to the policeman, and she was outside. Home, Margie, quick as you can.

  This rain… you’d think it was December. Her foot had gone numb with the cold and the wet. Margie limped along, fighting with the umbrella until it blew inside out and flew out of her hand. It skittered across the road and ended up under a hedge, and it could stay there, too, useless thing that it was.

  A car drew up beside her and the tall policeman wound down his window.

  ‘You’re getting wet, love. Want a lift home?’

  He was kind. Her grandma had always said, if you get lost in the city, find a policeman. But she wasn’t lost and she certainly didn’t want a nosy-parker do-gooding copper in her house upsetting Tabitha.

  She forced a smile. ‘Home’s half a minute around the corner. No worries. Thank you.’ Quick march, Margie, look fit and business-like, and he’ll leave you alone.