Daisy Jacobs Saves the World

by Gary Hindhaugh

  The bit of me I still inhabit works easily and well, but it’s only a tiny part of my true self. I want all of me. But at the moment, Quark has most of what makes me Daisy Jacobs. He’s everywhere in me, not just in my head, but in my veins too — and throughout my body. Like a disease running through my blood. A head cold. A virus. A potentially deadly infection. My own personal pandemic! Ridiculous that the thought hadn’t occurred to me until now. Because two can play at that game. Maybe what’s been happening to him in this last, what?— day or so? — maybe that’s me: my humanity coming out in him. Corrupting him like he’s corrupting me. He’s infected me; so why can’t I have the same effect on him? Why can’t I give him a virus?

  I’ve been in despair about my impending death, but as this idea radiates through my tiny little mind, I feel a faint glow of optimism kindle within me.

  Chapter 28

  BIRDS, BEES AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE

  How is Quark feeling? Furious — again! — that’s how.

  It comes from ‘Daisy’ not doing as she’s told.

  “Come on, Daisy,” Dad cajoles, “your turn to help me with breakfast.”

  “No! I do not want to. I am reading in this news magazine about a female singer, seen out in public with a female sport’s star. It is quite interesting and the suggestion is they both might be gay— like Amy Porter.”

  “You don’t usually read magazines like that,” said Daisy’s Mum. “It’s all a bit prurient, isn’t it — delving into people’s lives like that? What does it matter who does what with whom? And who’s really interested, anyway?”

  Quark’s fury subsides, momentarily. This subject is even more interesting than impotent rage. “I think human sexual relations are fascinating.”

  Luke laughs. “Sex!” he said in that ‘oooooohhh’ way that ten-year-olds have. His parents — and Quark — give him a look and a sad shake of the head.

  “That’s as maybe,” said Mr Jacobs, “but if you’re not going to help me in the kitchen, you ought to finish your homework.”

  “That is unjust! This is just so typical of a patriarchal society. You are picking on me to do so-called female work, whilst the young male person,” Quark points at Luke who regards Daisy as if she were speaking a foreign language, “is just sitting there on his ar—”

  “Daisy!” Daisy’s dad took a deep breath. “I don’t even know where to begin with that nonsense. Let’s see: I’m cooking and I’m a man. Next, that ‘male person’, your brother, Luke — remember? — a) has just finished tidying, and b) is not just sitting there on his … bottom, he is actually doing his homework.”

  Daisy’s parents are increasingly worried about her, because — outwardly at least — nothing has changed. She’s their girl. There’s less sparkle in her eyes and more slump in her shoulders, but ignore her utterly abhorrent behaviour and she’s the same Daisy. Being parents, they’re having a hard time discounting so called bad behaviour, though.

  Daisy’s mum stepped in, forestalling any argument and taking over the role as peacemaker. Daisy’s parents frequently tag-team in this way. “Why not at least lay the table, Daisy, then you can finish the rest of your homework before you go to school.”

  “That is so not fair! I have a hard day at school to come and want to sit and enjoy my social commentary magazine.”

  Her parents overlap. “Social commentary!” (Dad.) “How long has Glam been social commentary?” (Mum.)

  “Why are you suddenly so argumentative?” asked her mum.

  “I’m not arguing, mother, I am simply explaining why I am right.”

  “‘Mother’!” Daisy’s mum spluttered, “since when did you call me that?”

  “Since now. There is too much informality around here. I think it must be something to do with unruly hormones.”

  Too surprised to comment at all, Daisy’s mum and dad just stared at their daughter in open-mouthed amazement.

  A little while later, after they’d eaten the breakfast that Daisy refused to help her father prepare, her parents silently considered that while science might explain why so many teenagers exhibit uncontrollable mood swings and inexplicable temper tantrums, it doesn't make everyday communication with individual teenagers any easier. They know from very recent experience of ‘peak Daisy’, as her dad had taken to calling his favourite girl-child’s current behaviour, that Daisy did not seem to greatly appreciate displays of anger, worry or even warmth from them. On the contrary, all of a sudden, any overt emotion freaks her out.

  As to her irrational decision-making, little did they know it had barely started and what was to come would freak them out …

  “What shall we do at the weekend, Daisy?” asked Daisy’s mum.

  “I would like to try animal flesh, mother.”

  “What?!”

  “I mean … meat. A cow’s bottom.”

  “Cow’s —? You mean rump steak?” She said over Luke’s sniggers.

  “Indeed mother, that is exactly what I mean.”

  “But Daisy, you’re a vegetarian.”

  “I am?” Quark paused in momentary confusion. “Of course I am!” he said, recovering (for him) quite swiftly. “I simply want to … to expand my repertoire. Wanna try new things, new experiences.” Daisy’s voice seemed to stumble over the “wanna,” as though this too was something she wanted to try out.

  “Really?”

  While the universe is only 13.8 billion years old, it doesn’t act in the random way of a child, or handle the maelstrom that is the world of the human teenager. Though young, the universe is structured and logical. This explains why Quark, who, of course, is as old as the universe, struggles to cope with the chaotic contents of Daisy’s head — let alone what’s going on in her body. The universe is not emotional. And Quark is in the very early days of learning how to make decisions. At the moment there’s not so much of the weighing up of pros and cons; he’s more of the school of random, scatter gun, say the first thing that comes into your head approach.

  “I think I may be gay as well.”

  There was an explosion of cornflakes as Luke went into paroxysms of coughing. Mrs Jacobs, her GP training allowing her to remain utterly unperturbed, calmly patted her son’s back, while cooly regarding her daughter.

  “Is this some more social commentary on human sexual relations?” asked Daisy’s father, who received an A-Grade scowl in return.

  Daisy’s mum poured oil on troubled waters once more and continued to talk as if Daisy’s non sequitur was the most obvious conversational gear change she’d ever heard. “Really? So you’re coming out as a carnivore and gay? And all before —” she checked her watch — “0755?”

  Quark wondered how humans could trust emotions. Emotions have no basis in logic; they barely even have any basis in reality. In fact, humanity tries to bend reality to fit their version of the way their emotions tell them it should be. After all, why trust logic, mathematical precision and rigorous scientific theory, when you can base key life decisions on the alignment of the stars or what the chemical balance of your hormones tells you is for the best? Even though tomorrow they might tell you something completely different. Quark, for example, has no real clue as to why, when he was feeling so perky when he got up, now felt as though he was on the verge of an explosion.

  “Why have you suddenly decided to be gay?” Daisy’s mum asked.

  “Oh you know. I thought I’d just give it a try.” Actually, Quark had no idea why he threw the last two conversational grenades into the breakfast mixer.

  “‘Give it a try’? Based on what? You can’t just randomly decide to give it a try, Daisy. That’s not logical.”

  “Why not?” And why, Quark thought, would a supposedly clever human adult, who not only must have at one stage in her life gone through adolescence, but who also makes a living in medicine, think that logic would have any impact whatsoever on the decision-making capability of a teenager?

  “Sexuality is not just some
thing you pull on and off like a party dress or a pair of trousers.”

  “Oh …”

  “Darling, if you’re telling us you are gay, that’s fine. We love you. It doesn’t matter what you are or what you do, we love you.”

  “Right. That is good.” Quark shifted in his seat, hoping that this love talk would not lead to more hugging. Physical contact made him so uncomfortable!

  “But don’t feel pressured into it. You don’t have to be anything or anyone you don’t want to be. You don’t have to be anything or anyone but you.” Daisy’s mum paused and considered, exchanging meaningful looks with Mr Jacobs on the other side of the table. With these two, a look, a few mouth twitches, some head tilts and a nod could constitute an entire conversation.

  “We know you are fourteen, sweetheart — nearly fifteen,” Daisy’s dad added swiftly, knowing how sensitive she was on the matter — “and that you need to be allowed to make your own mistak— decisions, but we wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t try to help you. To advise you.”

  Her mum nodded. “This isn’t like you, my love. We’re just worried that’s all. We expect a few bumps through the teenage years, but recently it’s like a stranger’s moved in with us. You’re like a completely different person.”

  Mr Jacobs continued. “You’re acting … well, a little out of character …”

  “Really?”

  “Is there something you want to tell us?”

  “You mean apart from wanting to be a carnivore?”

  It’s Mrs Jacobs turn. She smiled, “yes and trying out being gay. Is anything wrong — at school, for example?”

  Quark frowned. “I do not think so.” He is a girl. He is a teenager. But he thinks he’s missing a few connections along the way and so may be failing at simply being human.

  “Well, your father and I will, of course, support you in any lifestyle choices you may make, Daisy. But you’re not yourself, and these decisions seem quite sudden and arbitraryss.”

  “You do not trust me? You think I am a teenage girl and I will not act in my own best interests?”

  “No, Daisy, that’s not what we’re saying at all. But the detentions, the answering back — at school and at home — failing tests, the obstreperous attitude and now this; it almost seems as though you’re randomly picking things to try out or experiment with. We’re worried you might be using — that you might have tried —” Mrs Jacobs paused, as if wondering whether to go further. “We’re just worried about you, sweetheart.”

  “You think I have tried some sort of pharmaceutical, is that it?”

  “No!” Mrs Jacobs claimed, her eyes seeking those of her husband, who silently nodded and mouthed, “go on …” She sighed and did so. “You haven’t … have you?”

  Both parents stared anxiously at the being they still assumed was their daughter as the silence lengthened and become uncomfortable.

  “How little you know me,” Daisy said, finally.

  Both parents gasped in relief. “Well, in any case, I think it’s a bit early in the day for life-changing decisions,” Mrs Jacobs said with a tight smile as she set off upstairs to get ready for work.

  Chapter 29

  TEENAGE DIRTBAG

  Inside, I’m already curling up in shame, wanting to hide away from the conversation with Mum and Dad. I just want to “la, la, la” over the top of it and pretend it’s not happening, but I’m scared this is just the start; I bet there’s loads worse to come.

  And I can’t stop it.

  I am so not gay! I mean, honestly who cares — Mum and Dad don’t and would love me whether or not I was. But the fact is, I’m not. Amy’s my best friend, she’s gay. I hadn’t mentioned this before Quark outed her to you, because why should I and why would I? What does it matter? It’s not relevant at all. She is wonderful, I love her dearly, she’s gay, I’m not. So what? It’s no big deal. She’s my bestie and that’s that. I don’t want, as Quark said, to ‘try the experience’, thank you very much!

  And I don’t want a steak either!

  Quark has now finished my breakfast and is preparing to leave for school.

  Mum comes back downstairs dressed and ready to go to the surgery for the start of her morning practice. She’s wearing the dress she bought last time we shopped together. It’s short-sleeved, asymmetrically cut, knee-length in soft blue linen. It’s also … well, close fitting. She’d said it was great for her job as a GP — “business like, but comfortable and very stylish”. I’d not been quite so sure, thinking that though she looked great, the dress emphasised her curves maybe a little too much for work.

  She hesitates as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, and as soon as I see her again — through Quark-controlled eyes — I realise that, if anything, I feel almost worse now. The world is utterly tantalising. I’m sure I can see more clearly, but I still can’t touch or fully sense anything that’s happening around me. But this is Mum. I so want to talk to her myself — as myself. I want to tell her what’s going on and have her make the bad stuff go away — like she used to when my problems were manageable and not planet-sized. More than anything, I wish she’d just hug me so I could feel her arms around me, pulling me in to the all-encompassing embrace that takes everything else away.

  But it’s not to be, because I can’t take part in my own reality. I’m a mere observer, a powerless passenger forced to remain an outsider as my life ebbs away. I know that outside the window the blackbirds are squabbling like — well, like stroppy teenagers. I know that the orange juice on the table before me is sweet and tangy. I can see the flowers Mum’s brought in from the garden and placed in the Moorcroft vase in the centre of the kitchen island, and I can vaguely appreciate a dim version of their brilliant colour, but I can’t revel in their early summer scent.

  I want to tell her this. But she just adds to the torment: she gives me a brilliant smile as her eyes meet ‘mine’, holds her arms out wide and gives me a twirl, “what do you think, Daisy?”

  Quark looks up, tuts, shakes his head, sighs dramatically and says, “did anybody lie to you and say it looks good?”

  Uh, oh — awkward! There are three audible intakes of breath. Mum bursts into tears. Even Luke looks stunned, and he wouldn’t know fashion if it rose up and stamped all over his Lego.

  “Daisy, how could you?!” Dad asks, shocked to near apoplexy. There’s a pained expression in his eyes, and his cheeks are red with a fury I have never seen. “I can’t believe you —” He shakes his head, looks at me, and then turns and walks over to embrace mum. “Apologise to your mother, Daisy Jacobs,” he says.

  “Using my full name — now that has got to be bad news!” Quark says with a sarcastic smirk.

  “That’s it! Leave now, go to school. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Why? What have I done wrong? It really does not suit her, does it? I mean, the words ‘mutton’ and ‘lamb’ spring to mind.”

  “DAISY! ENOUGH! GO! RIGHT NOW!” Dad’s positively screaming at me, his words like nails hammered into my heart. But he’s not talking to me at all, is he?

  I hear myself give a heavy, exaggerated sigh. As if it’s all too much. As if my brain can’t cope with even the tiniest extra smidgen of angst Dad is imposing on me. As if I might explode with the sheer unfairness of it all. And I must, reluctantly, admit I’m in two minds (no irony intended) about this. Firstly, this is not at all how I behave: I am reasonable and usually thoughtful and considerate of other people’s point of view. And would in no way diss Mum’s dress, even if Quark is — sort of — right about the cut not really suiting her gorgeous curvy figure. I’d tried to find a subtle way to tell her so in the department store where she bought it, and either Quark’s picked up a hint of this from somewhere in my brain, or he’s being stereotypically teen — and atypically me — because there’s no way I would hurt her feelings like he’s just done. For all I know, he could have taken lessons in advanced brat-dom from Ellie Watson!

 
But secondly, there’s just a teeny bit of me (only a fraction of the me that is still me) that thinks he’s starting to get the hang of this teenage thing. Clearly he went way too far and came over like an utter, dragged up cow, but right until that moment … good skills, Quark. He may not be becoming more ‘me’, but he’s getting the whole Teenage Dirtbag thing down to a T!

  I mean, come on, you know what we’re like — we’re unpredictable. We keep the grown-ups on their toes. We need to keep their minds active, thinking of ways to surprise them, shock them, and (my personal favourite) embarrass them. I love Mum and Dad with all my heart, but gently winding them up is one of life’s great pleasures. Until Quark arrived on the scene, I never pushed it too far, and I have to say, becoming a lesbian carnivore is a tad too far for me, but up to then he was getting the gist of it.

  Going through the whole hormonal roller-coaster thing is a nightmare. So sharing your problems with people who love you is natural. They’re so much older than us that I reckon they’d just ossify if we weren’t around to keep them young.

  If they don’t both keel over from heart-attacks in the next few minutes, the shock of this morning’s little episode may have added years to their lives. Their hearts are probably racing as though they’ve been jogging instead of eating jam and toast!

  My normally unflappable mum is clearly upset. She looks pinched and tired and nothing like her usual staunch and resolute self, but then who is nowadays …