by Adele Parks
If I could, I’d just turn around and go home right now, but how would I persuade Millie to leave? I do what is expected of me. I plaster on a smile and push on. In the kitchen I find not only a new, cool-looking couple – presumably Jess and Kyle – but also Lucy and Peter. I glare at Connie, but she studiously avoids my eye and pretends not to notice when I grit my teeth as Lucy and then Peter – my ex brother-in-law! – lean in to kiss the air that floats about my ears. Connie busies herself with preparing smoked salmon blinis.
Jess holds out her hand for me to shake. I am grateful that she’s at least sensible enough not to try to air-kiss a stranger. Her partner barely looks my way. He’s deep in conversation with Peter, talking with some passion about the latest Netflix show that everyone is watching but I have yet to download. Because he doesn’t pause to be introduced to me, I peg him as a sexist dick and wonder how I’ll struggle through the evening. Luke is opening wine. He stops, folds me into a hug that somehow conveys a level of sympathy and support. Then he returns to his task, leaving me to Jess.
‘Are you another one of Connie’s university friends, like Lucy?’ Jess asks. She’s a petite, well-groomed woman, with glossy hair. She’s likely to be in her mid-to-late forties but could pass for early thirties. Connie’s media friends all age well. She stares at me as if she’s waiting for me to perform a trick or burst into song. I’m clearly the object of some interest and it makes me wonder what perky little edit Connie introduced me with.
‘Yes,’ I reply but I don’t elaborate. There’s a certain kudos to having known Connie for ever, I’m aware of that. She’s the sort of person people want to claim but I can’t be bothered to exploit it right now. I’m too irritated with her for springing a dinner party on me. Connie no doubt senses my awkwardness and feels compelled to ease it. She leaves the blinis and flings an arm around my shoulders.
‘Daisy was the first friend I made,’ she declares, beaming. I notice her arm is soft and smooth. I can vaguely smell her body lotion. It’s Mademoiselle by Coco Chanel. I lean my head back a fraction and inhale, we’re comfortable with one another.
It’s bizarre to think that I met Connie at university, when we were younger than Henry and Sebastian are now. That seems unbelievable because my twin nephews, whilst over six foot tall, still seem like fledglings to me and yet when I started university I thought of myself as so adult. Grown up. Not that I believed I knew everything, far from it, but I did believe that I had to stand on my own two feet, that I was on my own. Out there. For better or worse. It’s something I’ve always believed, and I’ve been proven right. Seb and Henry still expect Rose to do their laundry at the end of each term, they expect Craig to pick them up from parties and for Peter to pay their bills.
‘Did you take the same course?’ demands Jess. I know how this works. She’s working towards asking me what I do for a living, but she’s trying to be tactful about it. She wants to know if I’m a useful person to know. I’m not especially, unless she has kids doing SATs. If so, then she’ll ask for my twitter handle. Connie’s arty friends are ruthless.
‘We did,’ gushes Connie. ‘Daisy helped me find my way. She’s been one of my best friends for ever.’
‘And what do you do?’ Jess demands imperiously.
‘I’m a teacher.’
‘Oh, how very noble. Marvellous profession.’ I’m unconvinced that she believes this because at that moment the doorbell rings and she offers to answer it, with the sort of eagerness that indicates she wants to shake me off.
Connie however beats her to it. I busy myself by accepting a glass of wine from Luke and letting Jess turn to chat to Lucy.
I can’t believe my eyes. I feel like I’ve been cattle-prodded. He’s standing in their kitchen, all smiles and charm and bonhomie. He hands Luke a bottle of champagne – not prosecco – real champagne, Tattinger no less. He hands Connie an enormous bouquet of peonies. The heavy scent of them makes me feel dizzy, sickly. Connie beams at him, comments that they are beautiful, asks him what he wants to drink and then she launches into the introductions. ‘This is Jess and Kyle.’ I notice that Kyle breaks off his conversation to shake hands this time. Of course he does. Daryll Lainbridge is the sort of man who commands a room. People want to shake his hand, to be noticed by him, to be his friend. ‘And you know everyone else,’ says Connie with a beam.
‘Absolutely. Old friends. Lucy.’ He leans towards her but doesn’t actually kiss her. Lucy only allows air kisses. Daryll may be charming and smooth but Lucy is celestial and there is, and always will be, a pecking order. Daryll stretches out his hand towards Peter. They grasp one another firmly. Almost a grip. Quite certainly a competition. They look one another in the eye and pump away. I’m frozen to the spot. I glance at Connie and she’s beaming at me. She flings a small, flirty wink my way and grins. I’m dazed. Slow. Daryll is leaning into me now. He kisses first my left cheek, then my right. I don’t move. I feel the kisses land, firm. Almost territorial. One of his hands is on my shoulder, the other on my elbow. Practically an embrace. I feel everyone watch us. As he pulls away his hand that was on my shoulder, it grazes the side of my breast. I’m sure it does.
‘How’s your finger?’ Daryll asks.
‘My finger?’ I look at my hands. I’m still wearing a plaster. It was a nasty cut, I almost certainly should have gone to hospital. I remember that I told him about the cut. ‘Fine,’ I reply stiffly.
He reaches down and takes hold of my hand. He draws it to his lips and then gently kisses the plaster. ‘There, all better.’ He squeezes my hand, which hurts, because of the cut and because of the tightness of his grip. I pull my hand back from him. Alarmed. It is starting again. I look around the room, startled. Has anyone else noticed? They haven’t. Or if they have they are politely pretending not to, giving us some space. I don’t want space. I’ll fall down the void, but no one understands that. People are talking about what to drink, deciding whether to accept a blini, telling one another about the troubles they had finding a parking spot.
And I’m stood alone. Breathless. Blistered. Terrified.
34
Chapter 34, Daisy
‘Shall we sit down?’ Connie nods towards the dining table that is beautifully laid with glassware, napkins, candles and an extravagant vase of white flowers. She’s certainly made an effort. ‘Everything’s ready.’ She beams widely.
I follow the others as we trail towards the table, exclamations of delight about the delicious smells coming from the oven and the brilliance of Connie’s table-laying make the process tediously slow. I have been in her kitchen, with Daryll, for forty-five minutes now. Every minute has felt like ten. Thankfully, Daryll has mostly chatted to the men and Lucy, although sporadically he’s tried to draw me into their conversation. ‘Isn’t that right, Daisy?’ he asked at one point. I had no idea what they were talking about but found myself nodding like a puppet. He smiled, pleased with me, and I wondered what I’d just agreed to or with. I can’t concentrate on what’s being said because all the conversations, the tasteful background jazz music, and the noise from the street that’s drifting in through the open windows, are blurring into one distorted cacophony. All I can hear is the thud of Millie and Sophie’s footsteps coming through the ceiling, as they run around upstairs. The sound of their occasional squeals and giggles punctures my consciousness. I want them to be quiet. I want Millie to hide. My little girl is just above us. So close. Daryll also seems to be hyper-aware of that fact. At one point, after a particularly loud burst of girlish laughter, his eyes flick to the ceiling. ‘The little girls certainly seem to be having fun,’ he comments with a big, friendly grin.
‘Oh yes. They adore each other. There’s always lots of laughter, until there’s tears, that is!’ says Connie. I feel as though Daryll is a ticking bomb, a bomb that’s right underneath my daughter. What is he going to say next? Is he going to announce to the room that he’s Millie’s father? That seems like insanity and yet I fear that’s exactly what he’s planning.
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br /> ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, there isn’t a seating plan. Sit where you like,’ instructs Connie.
I drop into the seat closest to me, reasoning that at least if I’m sitting down, I can’t fall down. Daryll immediately pushes past Jess and sits next to me. I knew he would. I can hardly move to another chair, it would draw too much attention and anyway, he would probably follow me. He glances about and seems to notice that the table is only set for eight. ‘Oh, aren’t the girls going to join us?’ he asks, disappointed.
‘Fran and Flora are out at friends, and Sophie and Millie were promised pizza in their bedroom as a treat. Luke has already taken it up,’ explains Connie. ‘You’ll thank me later, if they join the table their ears flap. Then they tend to repeat everything that we’ve said, out of context, and at the most awkward moment,’ she laughs. ‘There’s no such thing as a secret around a nine-year-old.’
‘Like what sort of secret might you be trying to keep?’ Daryll asks with a grin.
Connie pauses, considers his question. It is an off question, she must see that. I can barely breathe. ‘Well, nothing really,’ she smiles. ‘Just the odd indiscrete comment about a teacher or another friend, you know.’
‘Ah, they repeat your gossip, I see.’ He laughs but it’s awkward because his comment seems like a judgement. Connie shrugs and starts to hand around the bowls of salad and rice.
‘It’s quite a hot chili, be warned,’ comments Luke, trying to kickstart the conversation in another direction. He’s sat the other side of me and I’m grateful. His proximity is a help.
‘Shame that they’re not joining us, I’d really liked to have the opportunity of getting to know Millie, and Sophie too,’ adds Daryll, obviously Sophie is an afterthought. I pick at my bread but can’t bring myself to put it in my mouth.
‘How was work this week, Daisy?’ asks Luke. ‘Wasn’t there a music concert or something?’ I nod. ‘Did it go well?’ I nod again. Then I clear my throat and prepare myself to start talking about how Mrs Dubrad dropped the sheet music and didn’t seem to notice that she’d gathered the pages up in the wrong order, she just carried on playing regardless. It would be an amusing enough anecdote. I could throw it out there. I could pretend everything is normal, march on with my secret, I’ve done it before. But—
‘Does Millie play an instrument?’ asks Daryll. I shake my head. Silenced.
‘Sophie plays the violin,’ Connie chips in. Then in a stage whisper, she adds, ‘Horribly! Do not ask for a demonstration, whatever you do.’ Everybody laughs as they are supposed to. Connie can poke gentle fun at Sophie’s skill set because she’s practically perfect in every way. I never laugh at Millie. She has a scar running from her waist to her knee, she walks with a severe limp and her hips ache if she stands for too long. These things mean she’s not as able to be ribbed. Still, she’s practically perfect in every way. To me.
I try to eat. The food really does look wonderful and it’s not much of a compliment to Luke, the chef, that I just push it around my plate. But I think if I swallow I might throw up. I try to join in with the conversations but find my brain is lagging behind. It’s all I can do to laugh when everyone else does, fake it. Like I did before. Act as though nothing is wrong, as though I’ve nothing to hide. I try to walk the fine line between polite enough and not at all encouraging when Daryl asks me question after question about my life and about Millie. With each detail I give him I feel I am sinking in quicksand. Yes, she’s pretty good at sciences. No, we don’t have a pet. Yes, she does seem to be quite good at French, but she’s very young, it’s too early to call her a linguist. They are just learning colours, numbers and the seasons. No, I hadn’t realised he was a fluent French speaker.
I can’t refuse to answer him because Connie is sat opposite Daryll and she’s clearly thrilled by the attention he’s showing me. She keeps throwing me meaningful looks, flashing eyes, her demeanour is entirely nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Slowly, because I’m not firing on all cylinders, I start to understand what is happening here. Connie is trying to pair me up with Daryll. For months now she’s been saying its time for me to think about my relationship with Simon, reminding me that I haven’t seen him for nearly three years. She often suggests I should go and visit him, discuss our future. I’ve told her I’m not ready to make a decision.
I’m not interested in dating and I thought my friends had gathered as much. I see now that Connie has decided to take the matter into her own hands. To speed things along. When I try to talk to Luke, Connie pulls the conversation in a way that means I have to speak to Daryll again. She asks Luke to top up glasses, to hunt out the sour cream so he has to leave the table. Leave me to Daryll.
Then Daryll slips off his shoe and places his socked foot on top of my foot. I’m only wearing sandals, so no socks or tights. I can feel the warmth of him pulse through me. My stomach lurches. I’m pinned.
At nine fifteen, Millie and Sophie wander into the kitchen. They’re looking for pudding.
‘So, this is Millie!’ Daryll jumps to his feet and moves towards her quickly. I want to spring to my feet and fling myself between them, but I don’t. How would I explain that? For one dreadful moment I think he is about to pick her up or hug her, such is his enthusiasm. I’m relieved when he settles for putting out his hand for her to shake. Bewildered, she does so but she looks at me quizzically. I think everyone must notice he doesn’t acknowledge Sophie at all. Millie is used to getting more than her fair share of attention; some of it wanted, some of it not. For many months after the accident she received gifts of toys and chocolates from people who had heard she’d been hurt. Sometimes the gifts were from quite distant acquaintances. Everyone felt sad and sorry and wanted to do something to cheer her up. Then, after the trial and Simon’s imprisonment, she received invites out of the blue from all and sundry. It quickly became apparent that these were inquisitions dressed up as playdates. People wanted to quiz her: was she planning on visiting her father in prison? Would she make a full recovery? Did she still want to dance? Basically, they wanted to know whether she was scarred: physically or emotionally. Until all of this, I hadn’t been aware what a huge draw other people’s misery was to some. Millie withdrew for a while, understandably she objected to being made to feel like a circus act. She became timid and preferred to hang out with family friends. Her skin has thickened over time and she’s learnt to accept, or rather ignore, curious glances and impertinent questions. However, that was all a long time ago. I see by the way she catches my eye that she is wary of Daryll, his enthusiastic greeting seems a little off to her. He’s staring at her with an inappropriate intensity. I hold my breath, utterly terrified he’s about to claim her right now, right here. In front of everyone.
‘Wow, you are a beauty,’ he states. His eyes are sparkling, possibly wet with emotion, he looks every inch the proud father. Millie blushes, she doesn’t answer him but skips over to Luke.
‘What’s for pudding?’ she asks.
Daryll turns to me and beams. ‘Really, she’s a beauty.’
‘Like her mother.’ This comment comes from Lucy. I snap my eyes towards her. She’s staring at me with a steady power and I wonder if she’s been watching me all evening. Her comment is quite out of character, she doesn’t often fling compliments about.
I check my watch. ‘Oh, look at the time. Come on Millie we have to go. We have an early start tomorrow.’
‘We do?’ Millie looks confused. ‘Why?’ she asks.
I’m being slow. I should have known she’d ask why. I quickly try to think of an excuse and eventually say, ‘It’s the school summer fair. I’m helping out.’
‘But your summer fair was three weeks ago,’ says Connie.
I curse her surprising attention to detail, who knew she listened so closely to me? I rack my brains and, luckily, I remember an invite my sister proffered. ‘Not my summer fair. We’re heading over to Craig’s school.’ I turn to Jess and Kyle. ‘My brother-in-law is a headmaster at a school that’s just around
the corner. The one Connie’s girls went to. Sophie still goes there actually.’
‘You are coming to our school fair?’ asks Connie, no doubt surprised I’ve never mentioned as much to her.
‘Yes. It’s a family three-line-whip that we show up and support. Rose says it’s all hands on deck.’ I think that by mentioning Rose I might make Peter and Lucy uncomfortable, and that might hasten my exit. However, I realise I’ve walked myself into a trap.
‘Why don’t you stay over?’ suggests Luke. ‘It seems crazy to trail all the way home only to have to return early tomorrow. Have another drink.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I don’t have anything with me. Nothing to wear,’ I’m quite a different body shape to Connie so there is no danger of her offering to lend me clothes. However, just to make sure, I add, ‘I said I’d loan them our school’s hook-a-duck kit. I need to pick that up.’ This isn’t true but that’s the problem with lying, one leads to another. ‘In fact that’s why I have to go now. I need to check that is all clean and ready to go. Come on, Millie, get your jacket.’
‘Millie could stay here though,’ points out Connie. Ever the generous hostess.
‘Oh yes, yes!’ yells Millie.
‘You can pick her up tomorrow on your way to the fair,’ adds Sophie happily.
‘We could all go to the fair,’ chips in Luke. ‘Do you fancy that, Sophie?’
If the truth be known, Sophie is a bit too sophisticated for school fairs, but she does adore my daughter. ‘OK, if Millie can stay.’
