She pulled away from her mother, sniffing loudly and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘It hurts now, but give it time,’ her mother repeated. ‘Get some distance, and you’ll realise you never really did love him. Not true love.’
I did love him, Daisy went to say, then paused.
Did she really?
Yes she was hurting, and yes she was heart sore, but she wasn’t devastated. She wasn’t looking at the future and wondering how she could live in it without Freddie at her side. Instead, she was wondering how soon she’d be able to scrape together enough money to put a deposit on a little place of her own. She certainly wasn’t contemplating the end of the world because her boyfriend had dumped her.
Her mother was staring steadily at her, waiting for the penny to drop. And drop it did, with a ruddy great clang.
Daisy didn’t miss Freddie – what she missed was having someone to share things with, and she wasn’t talking about the electricity bill or taking turns to put the bins out. She missed having someone to laugh with, and to snuggle up with at night, and tell her worries to. But it didn’t necessarily have to be Freddie. It wasn’t him she missed, but the idea of him. She missed playing happy families and being able to say she lived with her boyfriend, but she wasn’t pining for Freddie himself.
Did that make her as bad as he was? Had she, too, been living a lie by not being honest with herself? Had she been guilty of holding back as much of herself in their relationship as Freddie had?
Perhaps that’s what had drawn him to her – he may have sensed she wasn’t giving all of herself, which gave him carte blanche not to either.
An abrupt stab of envy lanced her in the chest.
Freddie was in love. He was happy. He’d found what he’d been looking for and it had given him the courage to be true to himself.
She realised she wasn’t jealous of Carl, because she’d never really wanted Freddie at all. What she’d wanted, and still did want, was a man she could give herself to, heart and soul, one who’d give the same back to her.
Yeah, good luck with that, she thought.
Chapter 8
Daisy crept into Red Deer Close like a really bad spy on a not-so-secret mission. She was aware she could only look more suspicious if she was sporting a fake moustache and a false nose. Her only hope was that neither Freddie nor Carl would be at home, and if they were, neither of them would look out of the window.
Her other hope was that the rest of her possessions hadn’t been left out for the bin men to take.
She puffed out her cheeks when she realised that Freddie’s BMW was absent and so was the blue Ford. Of course, Freddie’s car hadn’t been on the drive on CITA (Caught-In-The Act) Day, either, but when she managed to think clearly, she’d realised he must have left it somewhere so as not to risk Mandy next door making a comment about Freddie being home, and dropping him in it. Daisy guessed her ex must have been sneaking about for weeks, before finally getting caught.
Gripping her keys so hard they dug into the palm of her hand, she parked on the drive and got out, looking around for witnesses. Technically, she was aware she shouldn’t be entering the house without asking Freddie’s permission first, and if one of the neighbours spotted her she might be challenged if they knew she no longer lived there.
She shoved the key in the lock, turned it, and was relieved when the door swung open. She’d half expected him to have changed the locks.
‘Hello?’ she called.
Silence. No Freddie. No Carl.
Just a pile of boxes stacked neatly in the narrow hall.
She opened the nearest. It appeared Freddie had erased every little sign of Daisy ever inhabiting his house – he’d even rounded up the box of tampons which had been on a shelf in the bathroom cabinet.
She wondered just how soon after she’d left, that Carl had moved in, as she eyed the boxes sadly. At least it saved her the bother of finding all her stuff and packing it into the plastic bags she’d brought with her.
Defiantly, she did a quick tour of the house anyway.
The downstairs was immaculate: no used mugs on the little side-table next to the sofa; no crumbs on the kitchen worktop next to the toaster and no dirty dishes in the sink. It seemed to her that even the windows sparkled, and she guessed Carl had cleaned them.
Upstairs was much the same. Even the toilet seat and lid were demurely down. She opened the cabinet door. Nothing of hers was in there, though she did do a double-take at the selection of cosmetics on display. Carl owned more than Daisy did, and they were all expensive brands – no supermarket specials for Carl!
In the bedroom, the wardrobe was divided into clothes she recognised (Freddie’s) and those she didn’t (Carl’s).
Daisy had taken an instant dislike to him, but she found it difficult to say whether it was the circumstances under which she’d met him (Daisy suspected she would instantly hate anyone she caught in bed with her boyfriend – though technically the pair of them had been standing upright in the spare room), or whether it was Carl’s brashness which was responsible for Daisy’s aversion to him. Daisy had ongoing issues with the way Carl had been so in-her-face, as if the whole situation had been one of Daisy’s making.
That was the real beef Daisy had with him – Carl was the “other woman”. He’d knowingly hooked up with a man who was already taken, and whether Carl was male or female made no difference (or mostly, no difference) to Daisy. Cheating was cheating.
And the same went for Freddie.
After cramming the boxes into her car (she honestly hadn’t realised she had so much stuff) Daisy walked slowly back into the house she had once lived in, went into the living room and took a long, slow look around.
It didn’t feel like her home anymore. She didn’t know why, because everything looked the same, yet there was an unidentifiable subtle difference in the ambience of the house, as if it knew she had left, and she was no longer welcome.
With tears welling in her eyes, Daisy closed the front door gently, and posted the house key back through the letter box.
She knew she’d never need it again.
Chapter 9
“Deck the halls with—”
‘Argg! Turn it off!’ Daisy shouted. If she heard that carol one more time, she was going to explode.
‘I thought you liked it,’ her mother said, stabbing at the off button on the ancient CD player.
Daisy took the “best” cutlery out of the drawer and stated, ‘I did. Now I don’t.’
The song had played non-stop in her head for the past two weeks. It was the tune she associated with Freddie and Carl in their semi-naked glory. Even though she was on the way to forgiving Freddie, she wasn’t quite there yet and she didn’t want to be reminded of it.
Only one more day to go, and the whole sorry Christmas thing would be all over. The TV would stop showing Christmas movies, the various shows would take down the fake trees and the tinsel, and stop playing Christmas songs on a loop. Instead they would be showing adverts for summer holidays and the upcoming New Year’s sales, and at work she’d be roped into helping to ship out the vast quantities of Valentine’s Day cards.
She had one day to get through, then she could put this year behind her and concentrate on the new one.
The table looked lovely, even if she did say so herself. Determined not to rain on anyone else’s parade, she’d gone all-out to make Christmas Day an enjoyable one, starting with Bucks Fizz and parma ham with scrambled egg on seeded toast for breakfast. Elsie had grizzled a bit (she’d wanted a cup of tea and cereal) but a glass or two of the bubbly stuff had soon sorted her out.
They were holding off opening any presents until the rest of the family arrived, and David and Zoe were picking Gee-Gee up, as usual, after spending Christmas morning with Zoe’s parents. Daisy, remembering previous Christmases, thought there was most definitely a silver lining to the dark cloud hanging over her – at least she didn’t have to spend any time with Freddie’s family.
Her phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me,’ Freddie said.
Think of the devil and he’ll appear, Daisy mused, recalling one of her nan’s old sayings.
‘I just wanted to… you know,’ he rambled.
‘Wish me a Happy Christmas?’ Daisy failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, even though she tried. She might have realised (too late) that she didn’t love Freddie as much as she should have, but the sting of rejection was still sharp.
‘Er… yes, I suppose.’ A pause followed, which Daisy had no intention of filling, until Freddie eventually asked, ‘How are you?’
‘How do you think?’ She certainly wasn’t going to make this easy for him, either.
‘I’m sorry I missed you when you picked up your things.’
His voice was so familiar, it hurt to hear it. If only things had been different; if only they had been different.
‘Are you really sorry?’ Daisy asked. ‘Because I’d bet my left arm that you’re glad you didn’t have to see me, in case I made a scene. I posted the key through the letterbox, by the way.’
‘I saw it, thanks. And yes, I am sorry. I still care for you, Daze.’
Daisy-Daze, that’s what he used to call her. He should have called her Dippy Daisy, because she’d been so gullible.
In time, she would come to terms with what he’d done, but not right now. It was too soon, too raw, and forgiveness of an abstract Freddie was a different kettle of fish to forgiving a contrite Freddie who was on the other end of a phone. She decided to be honest with him, even though the time for honesty should have been when they first met.
‘I care for you, too,’ she said quietly, realising that she did and probably always would.
‘I never wanted to hurt you,’ he said.
She understood that, but he had hurt her, all the same, and it would take a while for the pain to fade. She knew it would fade eventually, it was dissipating already, morphing into hurt pride and annoyance with herself for not seeing what was now so obvious. But it hadn’t completely gone yet and she knew she had to give herself time.
‘Merry Christmas, Freddie,’ she said softly, before ending the call, feeling the prick of tears in the back of her eyes.
‘Who was that?’ her mother asked, coming into the little dining room carrying a jar of cranberry sauce.
‘Just a friend,’ Daisy said, taking the jar from Sandra and putting it in the centre of the table.
Her mother gave her a shrewd look, but didn’t pursue it. ‘Everything is almost ready. David can carve the turkey when he gets here. I’ve taken it out of the oven to rest.’
The smell of roasting meat was mouth-watering. Daisy was starving, as usual. Not for her the loss of appetite due to heartbreak, but instead, she found herself eating everything and anything. Except sprouts. And cabbage. Broccoli was a bit take-it-or-leave-it too. But the sight of the mound of roast potatoes being kept warm in the oven made her almost swoon.
Her mother slapped her lightly across the back of the head when she caught Daisy trying to steal one.
‘Anyone would think you hadn’t been fed for a week,’ Sandra complained, pushing her daughter away from the open oven door and checking to see if any potatoes were missing.
Daisy nearly burned her fingers trying to hide the offending roastie behind her back. Then she really did burn her mouth when she stuffed the potato in whole as soon as her mother’s attention was diverted by a peas-boiling-over crisis.
‘Here, take the wine in, and try not to drink any of it before the others get here,’ Sandra instructed, thrusting a bottle of white into Daisy’s hand.
Daisy seriously debated whether to have a quick swig straight from the bottle to cool her burning mouth, but a glare from her mother changed her mind.
‘Merry Christmas!’ David called, as the front door banged open and her brother wheeled Gwenda into the hall. Zoe, as usual, followed silently behind, an inane smile on her face.
Daisy vowed to play nice. It wasn’t Zoe’s fault the girl was a bit silly and vacant, though Daisy was surprised David chose to marry someone like her in the first place. She thought he would have gone for someone a bit more intellectual. Or at least, someone who did more than giggle.
‘Daisy, help your great-gran. David, come and carve the turkey. Zoe, take Elsie another glass of sherry – she’s in the living room, hoping all the work will get done by magic – then pour one for yourself.’ Sandra barked orders, and everyone jumped to do her bidding.
Once the food had been brought to the table and they were all seated, Daisy noticed her mother relax a little, Christmas lunch successfully accomplished, and she glanced around at the smiling faces of the rest of her family, and realised that all of them, except one, were female. Last year Freddie had been with them, and Daisy felt a little sorry for her brother, who was now the only man in a room full of women – four generations of blood relatives along with his wife. God help him!
Gee-Gee sat at one end of the table, her wheelchair pushed as close as was practical, and David as the honorary (read only) male head of the family, sat at the other. Zoe sat next to him, with Zoe, her nan and her mother opposite. This week, Elsie had the job of feeding Gee-Gee, with Daisy chipping in to help.
With the crackers pulled and the wine poured, the family settled down to enjoy their meal. Enough food was on the table to feed a small army. Daisy dug in with enthusiasm. As she shovelled a forkful of turkey and stuffing into her mouth, she noticed how David kept putting his knife down and squeezing Zoe’s knee under the table. Daisy was tempted to tell him to leave the woman alone for five minutes, but she held her tongue when she saw Zoe’s face.
Something was definitely amiss with her brother’s wife, Daisy thought. The younger woman was paler than usual; she was normally all long golden hair and translucent skin, but today she looked positively wan. Plus, Zoe was only picking at her food. The dark circles under her eyes made her look rather unwell. Daisy wondered if the girl had had too much of a good time last night and now had a humungous hangover. Zoe seemed the type to do a party justice, being blond and giggly, and Sandra had mentioned that Zoe’s parents were having a few friends, as well as Zoe and David, over for a couple of drinks. It looked like Zoe had downed more than a couple.
Without realising, Daisy saw she had cleared her plate. Groaning, she pushed her chair away from the table slightly, surreptitiously undoing the button on her trousers, and almost crying with relief as the pressure on her over-full stomach eased.
Two helpings of roast potatoes, another of veg, and a whole turkey leg plus what she’d piled on her plate at the start of the meal, had left her with an aching belly. She estimated she must have eaten her own share plus Zoe’s, and there was still plenty of food left over. She suspected they’d be eating turkey in some form or another for the next week, and guessed that by day three she’d be pleading for beans on toast, or a pizza – anything but turkey!
Her glass was empty, and she reached for the bottle of wine and refilled it, then offered to top up Zoe’s barely touched drink. For once Zoe didn’t giggle, placing a hand over the top of the glass instead.
All the more for me, Daisy crowed, though she did think it rather mean of her sister-in-law not to take a turn with the driving, and let David have a drink or two, considering the woman was so hungover she clearly couldn’t face alcohol today.
David didn’t appear to be any the worse for wear – he’d eaten as much as Daisy – and even Gee-Gee, with her sparrow-like appetite, had managed to polish off a decent portion.
Daisy helped her mother clear the table, glad for a chance to stand up. She really shouldn’t have eaten so much, and when Gee-Gee said, ‘Bring on the Christmas pudding and I hope you remembered to make brandy sauce,’ Daisy wanted to disappear off to her room for a lie down and never think about food again. There was no way she’d be able to force another morsel down her throat.
‘And there are mince pies, and cheese and c
rackers if anyone wants them,’ her mother announced.
Daisy caught Zoe’s eye, thinking Zoe looked as green as Daisy felt. She really shouldn’t have had that last “pig-in-the-blanket”, but she simply hadn’t been able to resist the sausagey-baconess of it, and when it was covered in rich gravy it was heaven on a fork.
Zoe gave Daisy a pallid smile, but before Daisy could think of anything to say to her sister-in-law, David cried, ‘Look,’ and pointed to the window.
Snowflakes were falling thick and fast from a heavily laden sky.
Sandra clapped her hands. ‘Oh, how wonderful. Now I really do feel like it’s Christmas.’
‘They didn’t forecast snow,’ Elsie pointed out, ‘and let’s hope we don’t get too much because our David has still got to take my mother back, and get home himself. I bloody hate snow. Nasty slippery stuff.’
‘I need a wee,’ Gee-Gee said, and all thought of snow was banished by the complexity of getting a very old, wheelchair-bound lady safely into the small downstairs loo and back out again.
Daisy let her mother and nan sort that one out. She rolled up the sleeves of her rather itchy and very silly Christmas jumper (it had a flashing Rudolf nose on the front and strategically placed grey-brown antlers over her boobs, which looked suspiciously like hands) and tackled the washing up.
By the time everyone returned to the dining room, Daisy’s lunch had gone down enough for her to consider some Christmas pudding. Just a little bit, not too much, but enough to keep her great-gran happy.
Sandra made the brandy sauce and Daisy took centre stage as she carefully carried the flaming pudding into the dining room, images of accidentally setting the curtains alight popping into her head. What idiot had started the stupid tradition of pouring neat brandy onto a pile of cooked fruit and setting it on fire anyway? Someone who sold sprinklers or smoke alarms for a living, probably.
‘Ooh,’ Gee-Gee exclaimed. ‘It looks lovely. Did you make a wish?’
‘Yes, Gee-Gee, when I put the sixpence in, remember?’ Daisy replied.
A Very Lucky Christmas Page 6
