by Linda Huber
The washing kept Liane busy for the rest of the morning and, judging by the commentary coming from upstairs, Frith was playing with her doll’s house. Footsteps thundered down the stairs a microsecond after Liane called that lunch was ready.
‘Are you still cross?’ Frith took her place at the table.
Liane passed over a slice of quiche. ‘No, I’m not cross. Do you understand about telling me where you’re going?’
Violent nods from the other side of the table. ‘Are we still going to the park?’
‘Sure. I want to pop by Bridie’s house on the way. And Frithy, I had a little chat with Margie the other day. She’s not Bridie’s mum, she’s her grandmother. I guess Mammy’s what Bridie calls her, like some kids say Nana or Granny.’
Frith tilted her head to one side. ‘Or Grandma.’
‘Yes, exactly. I knew a girl once who called her grandparents Mumsmum and Mumsdad, but that’s a bit unusual.’
Frith giggled. ‘Can we ask if Bridie’s allowed to come to Rouken Glen with us?’
‘Why not? We’ll see what Margie says.’
Liane watched as Frith demolished her quiche and salad, her heart full. In a way, this morning’s disobedience and punishment were a milestone in Frith’s journey through life as a normal child. An everyday situation for most families, a first for Frith and her mum.
When the meal was over, she sent the little girl upstairs to get ready, and at two o’clock they were walking up to Margie’s front door – not across her garden, or it might look as if they were using the place as a short cut to the bus stop.
Liane pressed the bell. Silence – was it working? She tried again with the same result, then knocked, Frith bobbing up and down beside her. More silence.
A voice came unexpectedly from the other side of the low fence dividing Margie’s property from the one next door. ‘She won’t answer. She never does.’
An elderly woman was standing by the door of the neighbouring house, obviously on her way back from somewhere. Liane stepped over to the fence. ‘Oh? I mean, hello – I’m Liane Morton and this is my daughter Frith. We moved into Grace Street a week or so ago.’
The woman gave them a grim smile. ‘Jan McGarry. Margie Donohoe’s the bane of my life – or her cats are, anyway. Messing the place up and digging in my vegetables. She really lowers the tone around here, I’m afraid.’
Frith’s eyes and mouth were round with astonishment, and Liane hid a wry smile. Oh, dear, hopefully Mrs McGarry wouldn’t notice a new cat, once they had one of their own. She ended the conversation as quickly as she could.
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs McGarry. We have to go for the bus now – we’re off to Rouken Glen for ice cream, aren’t we, toots?’
Frith brightened. ‘I’m having a 99.’
Liane grabbed the child’s hand and ran down the path with her before the other woman started on about sugar or spoiling children. Thank goodness Mrs McGarry wasn’t living next door to them.
Day Twenty-Nine – Friday 15th May
Chapter 32
Kit’s flat was on the far side of the Botanic Gardens, near the busy West End. Daria waited in front of the building, gripping her crutches, her bag looped over her head and left shoulder. Staying with Kit for a while had been a good idea. Without the accusatory vibes streaming out of Noah all the time he was at home, she had the peace and quiet to come to terms – how impossible that sounded – with what was happening in her life. She’d moved into her friend’s spare room on Monday evening. For the first two days Noah had sent frequent whiny texts, but after the first one, Daria hadn’t replied. They both needed space. And as no new text had come since Wednesday, Noah must have realised that too.
The taxi pulled up by the pavement, and the usual pain speared into Daria. It was a gut-wrenching reminder, being forced to go everywhere in a cab. Today’s destination wasn’t even somewhere she wanted to go – but she had to. She should have done it long ago.
‘Broome Street Cemetery, please.’ She got into the back of the minicab. And, oh, God – not only was she in a cab again, with the memory of that fatal journey uppermost in her mind, today she would be retracing some of that journey.
In a macabre way, it was fortunate that the site of the accident was so close to the cemetery – the taxi driver was unlikely to start an unbearably jolly conversation if he thought she was going to a funeral or to visit a grave.
They drove to the South Side in blessed silence. Daria rubbed her face as they joined the road that taxi had taken on the afternoon of the accident. Along the main road… and this was where she’d cuddled Evie and Evie had smiled that last gorgeous smile at her. Now they were turning the corner into the side road, driving towards the motorway and—
Sweat broke out on Daria’s brow. The site of the accident. Her old life had stopped here.
‘This okay for you, love?’ The driver pulled up outside the cemetery.
‘Thank you.’ Daria leaned forward to pay. ‘Can you pick me up here in half an hour, please?’
The driver shook his head. ‘Sorry, love, you’ll need to call central.’ He handed over a card. ‘Here’s the number. Don’t worry, this time of day someone’ll be with you in minutes.’
Daria stuffed the card into her pocket, then gripped her crutches. As soon as the taxi drove off, she turned her back on the cemetery and swung to the edge of the pavement. Over there.
It was easy to see where the crash had been. Skid tracks criss-crossed the road, and a large patch of tarmac was scorched black. A tall fir tree at the college gate diagonally opposite was badly burned; a wonder they hadn’t removed it. Maybe they were going to, of course. It hadn’t been a month yet. And this was it. She was standing within feet of the place where, four weeks ago today, the path of her life had changed and Evie’s had ended.
Daria crossed over and stood beside the tree, staring around as cars drove past. There weren’t many pedestrians – it wasn’t the kind of road you walked along to go anywhere, unless you were a college student or going to the cemetery. She thrust her hands into her pockets. Somewhere nearby she’d lain on the ground, Evie’s cries in her ears. Then they’d come and moved her away, so her poor girl’s cries must have been silenced by then. Before the explosion. Why, why couldn’t she remember more? Daria’s throat closed in despair. This was unbearable; she should never have come here.
‘Are you all right, hen?’ An elderly woman clutching a bunch of flowers stopped beside her, peering into Daria’s face with a concerned expression. ‘Can I help you?’
Get a grip, Daria.
‘I’m fine. I was in an accident here a few weeks ago, and it struck me…’
The woman finished for her: ‘…how lucky you were. I saw it on the TV. It was dreadful.’ She stared curiously at Daria. ‘Were you in a car, then?’
There was morbid fascination in the woman’s eyes, and Daria pulled her jacket shut around her neck.
‘Yes. Thanks, I have to go.’
She smiled briefly, moving away while the woman crossed over to the cemetery. Daria pulled out her phone. Thank heavens she didn’t have to wait half an hour for the taxi.
Back at Kit’s, Daria pushed the front door open and manoeuvred herself inside. Home, except it wasn’t. She didn’t have a home any longer.
Kit’s flat wasn’t unlike hers and Noah’s, in a once-elegant but now aged and converted detached house. This one was smaller and on the ground floor, though, which did make things easier when you were on crutches. Daria flopped onto the sofa. The visit to the accident site had brought her nothing, not even the relief of tears. How relentless time was, passing and passing, taking Evie ever further away from her. Here she was, alone in an achingly empty flat, and it would be another two hours before Kit was back.
Tonight would be hard; the two of them were going to the class reunion. Daria had refused point-blank at first, but Kit had talked her round. Her theory was that Daria had to face people someday and getting it over with for all her old school friends
on the same evening would make things easier. Daria had given in. What Kit said was true, and she could make her leg an excuse for leaving early. The event was being held in a hotel a little further along Great Western Road, so five minutes in a taxi would have her back here again. No one was likely to stop her leaving – a bereavement like hers wasn’t what you wanted to think about at your class reunion, was it? Oh, dear – she should never have said she would go.
Daria made coffee and slumped into a chair at Kit’s kitchen table. In a perfect world, she and Noah would have been going together to the reunion, with Evie excited to be having a sleepover at Millie and Roger’s. The memory of her daughter’s joy on similar occasions flooded into Daria’s head before frustration seared in after it. What the fuck had she ever done to deserve this, and what had Evie done? Nothing, nothing at all, and it was all so hopeless and so—
She rose, shoving her chair back. It clattered to the floor behind her. In one swift movement Daria swept her coffee mug, the wooden fruit bowl and a little pile of coasters to the floor, an almost-silent high-pitched scream escaping from her throat. She couldn’t even scream properly. Her heart was going to burst with the horror of it all because everything, everything she’d ever loved was gone, and she didn’t know how, or why. What good were memories? They were driving her insane. The memory of her own child was destroying her.
‘Daria? Are you okay?’
Kit was standing in the kitchen doorway, her eyes round. She took two steps forward and pulled Daria into a bear hug. Daria held on for dear life, the shriek she’d been unable to form before ringing in the air.
‘You’re okay, I’ve got you. Let it out, Daria.’
Her legs – they were barely holding her up. Daria leaned on Kit, her head pillowed on the other woman’s shoulder while howls shook her body. Kit edged her down on a chair and pulled up another beside it, holding Daria tightly but saying nothing as she fought for control.
Slowly, slowly, the horror abated. Daria pulled away. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I guess you’ve needed to do that for a long time. How about I make us something hot to drink?’
Daria sat there, waves of anguish flooding through her while Kit cleared up the mess of fruit and coasters from the floor, then made tea when the kettle boiled.
Daria gaped at her blearily. ‘It’s hit me – I’ll never have clarity about what happened.’
‘I guess realising that is enough, for the moment.’ Kit’s expression was agonised, but she didn’t say more.
Daria was silent too. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to be. She straightened her back and let air flow into her lungs. ‘Thank you. You’re the best friend I have. Why are you back so early, anyway?’
Kit grimaced across the table. ‘To give us time to get ready for the reunion. I guess that’s a bad idea now.’
Daria screwed up her face. This was where she could prove to the world that she was strong enough to get through this. ‘No, I’ll come. I won’t stay late, though.’
‘You’re a trouper. But don’t decide yet, huh?’
Daria sipped her disgusting sweet tea. She would go for an hour at the start, say hello to a few people, see Liane, if she was there, and then come back here and leave them all to discuss what had happened to her. Was that the right thing to do? Who knew? But the class reunion had turned into a kind of personal challenge. If she could get through this, she could get through the rest of her life.
The Birches Hotel was an elegant Georgian building in a side street off Great Western Road. The taxi left them at the entrance, and Daria started up the three wide steps. She’d been to a wedding reception here a couple of years ago; they’d probably be in the same room tonight – an old-fashioned, wood-panelled ballroom with chandeliers and stucco pillars. An expensive choice for a class reunion, but apparently the manager was someone’s father-in-law.
Kit put a hand on Daria’s back as they went into the hotel foyer. ‘I think we’ve got it right, coming together. Plus-ones at a do like this can get in the way.’
Daria shrugged. Noah would have headed straight for the bar and left her to as many catch-up conversations as she wanted, if things had been normal. A woman with a list was waiting at the entrance to the ballroom – Ruby Clark, recognisable by her long dark hair.
Kit handed over their tickets. ‘Hi, Rubes. Kit Johns and Daria Geddes reporting for duty. You look great!’
Ruby immediately put a hand on Daria’s arm. ‘Daria, I’m so sorry about your daughter. I don’t know what to say. You’re very brave.’
No, she wasn’t. Daria pressed her lips together. More people arrived, and she and Kit moved on into the ballroom, where – oh, no. Forty people at least were standing around chatting animatedly in groups, clutching glasses, the plus-ones with more distant, polite expressions.
Daria hissed in Kit’s ear. ‘Does everyone know about Evie?’
‘I’m not sure. Ruby and Mhairi organised this, and I told them. I thought it would be easier if you didn’t have to tell everyone yourself. But I’m here, my love. I’ll help you.’
Small tables were set out along one wall, and they settled down at a corner one before Kit went to fetch drinks. Daria waited, trying to control her breathing and not catch anyone’s eye until she was back in control. It was a drinks and canapés do, so a lot of people were going to end up absolutely sloshed. Which of these people had noticed her and were already whispering about how terrible it was and how they’d never be able to cope? That was a killer-remark if ever she’d heard one, a stab in the back every time. If they were in her situation, they would ‘cope’ too, because what was the alternative? Going mad? She was mad already.
Kit returned with two glasses of Prosecco and a carafe of water. ‘Here you go. Let’s make a toast – to old friends, huh?’
Daria clinked and sipped. She would hide in this corner for another half hour; that would be enough. She should never have agreed to come, she…
‘Kit! And Daria! So sorry, Daria, darling. I heard about your new job, Kit, that must be—’
It was Lisbeth, who’d been hockey captain in their final year and still had the same jolly voice. Daria twitched her lips in the right places – at least the conversation was going on without her. More people were arriving now, and she recognised some of them as teachers – how many were coming, for heaven’s sake? A plate of mixed canapés arrived on the table as more people joined them, and Daria sat sipping more water than she wanted because the action gave her an excuse not to talk. Was Liane here yet? She didn’t seem to be, but there was another large group at the other end of the room so it was hard to say. It was the kind of party people might well choose to come late to, too.
Lisbeth was passing round photos of her latest holiday, real photos, which almost seemed pretentious. Beautiful beaches followed by perfect sunsets followed by two perfect children beaming behind their sandcastle. To do the woman justice, she whipped that one back before it reached Daria, but a glimpse was enough.
Daria gathered her bag and her crutches and smiled at Kit. ‘I’m off to the loo – no, you stay here. I’ll be fine.’
Mercifully, she arrived at the cloakroom without having to speak to anyone, and reclaimed her jacket. With any luck she’d be able to grab a taxi on the street. No one was arriving as she left the hotel, and thanks be, now she was outside in the cool air of a Glasgow spring. Daria stood at the bottom of the front steps, and sure enough, here was a taxi. It belched out a family of four, so not reunion guests for her to face, and Daria got in and gave Kit’s address to the driver. This was the coward’s way out, but oh, how glad she was to be driving away from her classmates. Too much, too soon.
The driver gave her a grin. ‘Nice sunset tonight, love.’
Daria ducked her head to see the pink and orange glow shimmering over the buildings to her right. ‘Lovely.’
It was, too. And timeless. Like her love for Evie.
Chapter 33
Liane kissed Frith goodbye,
an odd little lump in her throat. Frithy’s first sleepover – or the first that wasn’t taking place in hospital, anyway. Frith dived into the garden to join Jon and Ella’s two kids on the trampoline, and Liane turned to Ella.
‘You will phone straightaway if she has any problems getting off to sleep, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will. She’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
Ella saw them to the door, and Liane settled into Steve’s car. This was their us-time, but it was still tough, leaving her girl.
The sun was going down as they emerged from the Clyde Tunnel and arrived at the north side of the city.
‘We’re going to be fashionably late,’ said Liane. ‘I wonder if Daria decided to go.’
‘We’ll soon see.’
Steve raised his eyebrows at her and Liane stuck out her tongue. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be nice.’
Her phone rang in her bag, and she grappled for it. Was Frithy okay? No, bummer, it was Tony. Timing… her ex had it in spades.
‘Tony, this isn’t a good ti—’ Liane broke off. Better not go into detail about where she and Frith were right now.
‘Just wanted to give you some news. I have a job, starting next month.’
Liane cast her eyes heavenwards. Whoopee – this would set Frith up for life. Or not.
‘Congratulations. You’ll want to organise maintenance payments, I expect. What is it – the job, I mean?’
His usual petulant tone was back. ‘You can be so mean and stingy. I’ll be doing stage-building for the theatre festival this summer, at different venues. If it works out, it could lead to a permanent job.’
