by Lulu Taylor
Her heart pounded, her breath came fast, and her eyes flickered to left and right. Every dark corner seemed intimidating and frightening, as though someone might lurk there unseen. It seemed to take forever to reach the end of one street and gain another. She was not sure whether she felt safer in the concealing dark of alleyways or out in the glare of the streetlights where other people and traffic passed by.
‘Are we nearly there?’ she panted, after they had been going for what felt like hours.
Jamal had taken his arm from round her shoulders and was now holding her hand. His grip tightened. ‘Nearly, babe. Just a few more streets.’
The boundaries were well known by every gang member, and crossing them on foot was close to suicide. Chanelle could hardly believe they were actually in the other gang’s territory – it felt like a nightmare – and when Jamal muttered to her that Sylvester Road was just across the road, relief flooded through her. With safety so close, they couldn’t stop themselves from taking to their heels and running. An oncoming car beeped its horn at them as they raced across its path and dodged a motorbike in the other lane, but moments later they were over and into Sylvester Road. They slowed down and gazed at one another, laughing, relief evident in their faces.
‘That was a close one,’ Jamal said.
‘Never again,’ Chanelle said fervently. ‘Don’t want to go through that again.’
She could never remember afterwards where they came from. They seemed simply to materialise in front of them – a gang of tall boys in oversized hoodies so that their faces were shadowed and hidden, like wraiths from a horror film.
The only one whose face could be seen was the leader: his hood was pushed back to reveal an Afro pulled into tight dreadlocks, a snarl on his face and hatred glittering in his eyes.
‘Stop right there, man,’ he hissed at Jamal. His accent was classic South London gangsta, a cockney lilt infused with Jamaican influences. ‘You think we don’ know wha you bin? Huh? You know da rules, blood. It’s about respec’, innit?’
Jamal said nothing but he tensed from head to toe, his grip around Chanelle’s hand turning to iron so that she almost cried out in pain.
The leader stepped forward until his face nearly touched Jamal’s. Chanelle could smell the weed and cigarettes on his breath. She was frozen with fear, unable to move and hardly able to take everything in. She never saw exactly what happened, just a swift movement from the man who had spoken, then the gang turned and ran, scattering silently into the dark on rubber soles. Beside her, Jamal had bent over. The next moment he had dropped to his knees on the pavement, his hands clutched to his belly.
‘Jamal! Sweetheart!’ she cried in panic.
‘Get my phone. Pocket.’ His voice terrified her, it was breathless and without power. She saw that his hands were covered in a dark substance that was oozing out from between his fingers. ‘Quick!’
She fumbled for his pocket, her breath coming in short painful gasps. She knew they’d stabbed him. She was not surprised – it was what happened, it was the punishment for straying – but she was in cold shock, knowing only that there were a few precious minutes to get help for him. She pulled out the mobile phone as Jamal slumped over so that he was lying on his side on the ground. She blinked at the phone, not sure how to use it. Jamal always had the latest model to flash out when he did business and it was nothing like her own basic pay-as-you-go that had run out of credit the day before. Chanelle pushed some buttons randomly but nothing happened.
‘How do I switch it on, babe?’ she cried. Hysteria began to grip her, and she felt herself losing control. ‘How do I switch it on?’
Jamal said nothing. His breathing was coming deeply now, with a curious rattle in it as though he needed to cough.
Chanelle screamed with frustration and threw the phone to the ground. ‘Help!’ she yelled. ‘Help us! Someone!’ Tears started flooding out of her eyes, and she began to shake. ‘Help!’ she cried, but her voice was weak with sobs. She kneeled down next to Jamal and took his head on her lap. Stroking it, she gazed down at him. He had paled and his eyes were shut, the horrible sound of his breathing rasping out. ‘Babe, babe … stay with me. Don’t go, baby, I love you, I need you …’ Her voice broke over the words.
‘What’s happened?’ A man was approaching out of the darkness.
‘Call an ambulance!’ begged Chanelle, desperate. ‘My boyfriend’s been stabbed!’
‘Holy fuck.’ The man whipped out a phone. ‘I’ll call 999.’
‘Please, tell them to hurry! Please.’ She ran a finger over Jamal’s cheek. She saw her tears fall on it and roll down as though Jamal himself was weeping. ‘Baby, stay with me … please … hold on. I can’t live without you. Don’t leave me.’
17
THERE WAS A knock on Daisy’s bedroom door.
‘Yes?’ she said. She was sitting at her dressing table, putting on lipstick. It was not easy. Despite the warmth of the room, her lips were cold and the red lipstick seemed to sit waxily on her mouth. Like making up a corpse, she thought, and then shuddered. That was not a good analogy.
The door opened and Margaret stepped into the room. She was dressed in a sombre black shapeless suit and her usual flat black pumps. There was not even a pearl necklace or a brooch to lighten the outfit, and her dark hair was pulled back into its habitual stern ponytail, the white lock standing out against the brown.
‘Yes?’ Daisy asked, and repressed another shiver. Margaret had brought even more of a chill into the room with her.
‘The cars are ready downstairs,’ she said, in her expressionless way. ‘It’s time to go now.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be right there.’ Daisy turned back to her reflection as Margaret closed the door behind her. She picked up her hairbrush and pulled it through her short fair hair. She had recently told her hairdresser, Cedric, to cut off the long light waves she had had all her life. It was time to stop being a child now. She was a grownup. She was just over eighteen and she was motherless. It was strange how everyone in her life disappeared after a while: first her brother and sister had vanished, roaring away down the drive that Christmas Day, never to be seen and rarely spoken of again. Now her mother had gone too. There were just the two of them left, her and Daddy. And Margaret, of course.
In just a few short months, Margaret had become a constant presence. There was a room for her in every Dangerfield house, although Daisy was sure she still kept a place of her own because Margaret retained the air of someone just passing through and occasionally disappeared for a few days, though she always returned. Daddy relied on her more and more; she was constantly at his side, with an answer to every question he threw at her. She kept his diary and made every travel arrangement, every meeting and every dinner engagement. She was also responsible for the upkeep of all the property Daddy owned and his personal administration, down to selecting each gift he gave. She had quickly become embedded deep into his life, and Daisy was only just beginning to realise how completely her father now depended on his assistant.
Margaret had even been in the hospital room when Daisy’s mother had died. Daisy and her father stood next to the bed, Daisy holding Julia’s hand as she slipped away, never waking from the coma she had been in for four months. Margaret had been a silent presence, standing just out of sight behind the monitors that displayed Julia’s vital signs.
‘I think she’s gone,’ the doctor had said quietly. ‘The brain stem is non-functioning and I’m afraid that means there is no hope of any change. Do we have your permission to turn off the machine that’s keeping her breathing?’
‘Yes,’ Daddy had snapped brusquely. ‘Do it.’
Daisy had wept as her mother’s chest stopped rising and falling, and the lines on the monitors became flat; tears poured down her face as Julia died without a struggle.
Why have you left me? she wanted to cry out. Didn’t you love me enough to stay? But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything in front of the other people in the room; inst
ead she clung to her mother’s hand and wept bitterly until a nurse led her gently out.
Now Daisy stood up and smoothed down the black Prada dress that she’d teamed with a white leather belt, and black-and-white heels. On her now-short fair hair she’d pinned an ornament made of a Victorian mourning brooch and dark raven feathers.
That would have pleased Mummy, she thought. Julia had always been famously elegant and well dressed. I wish she could see this outfit, I’m sure she would have liked it. Daisy was hit by a rush of grief as she realised that she was only going to miss her mother more as time went by, not less. There would be no chance now to get to know one another. Her mother would never be at her wedding or hold any grandchildren or share any of her adult life. The shock hit her with sudden force, and Daisy almost bent over under its strength.
No, she told herself, holding back great shuddering sobs. I can’t give in. I must get through it. I have to put on a brave face. It’s what Daddy expects.
She blinked away the tears in her eyes, biting her lip with the effort. She closed her eyes, gathered all her courage, opened them, set her shoulders and headed for the door.
The Maybach limousine waited for her on the gravel drive. Daddy was already inside, almost filling his wide black leather seat even though he had become a little slimmer lately. An exercise room had been installed in the London house and a couple of times a week he made his way down to it, emerging red-faced and sweaty an hour later. Pills and supplements were left by his place in porcelain pill boxes at breakfast. The kitchen sent up strange sludgy green or lurid orange concoctions that Daddy drained with a look of determination on his face. Whatever he was doing was obviously having an effect.
Margaret sat next to him, her seat separated from his by a wide black leather armrest, looking thin and angular next to Daddy’s fleshiness. Her feet rested on the footplate below her seat.
‘Come on, girl,’ Daddy said roughly. ‘We’ll be late.’
‘Yes, Daddy.’ Daisy climbed in and sat down opposite him so that she had her back to the driver and the bodyguard sitting next to him. Margaret gave a subtle nod and the limousine pulled smoothly away from the house. It was a short drive to the village church where the funeral service would take place. Daisy studied her father as they went. He looked stressed and unhappy, but that was hardly surprising.
He had shown little emotion since his wife’s death, but perhaps he had been hiding his grief and only today, at the funeral, would he allow it to show.
He’s amazingly strong, Daisy thought. I’ll work as hard as I can until I’m as strong as he is. It was only a few months now until she was due to start at Brown University in America and she was already regretting that she would leave her father at a time when he obviously needed her. There had been some talk a while ago of him coming to live in the States during her studies, but nothing had been said of it lately. He’s busy, I know that. I can hardly expect him to drop everything just to be with me. I’ve got to learn to stand on my own two feet.
She knew that there had been a lot of paperwork to sort out since Mummy’s death, legal matters had to be dealt with though no one had said exactly what. If Mummy hadn’t left a will, there would no doubt be further complications to do with whatever estate she’d had.
That’s probably why Daddy looks so strung out, she thought. More worries for him. Yet more on his plate. Poor Daddy. I must look after him.
The journey to the church was silent. When they got there other mourners were arriving, going into the church or lingering outside to smoke or talk. Daisy realised that she knew hardly anyone there and wondered who they were all were. They must be from a part of Mummy’s life I know nothing about.
She’d known that her mother’s aristocratic family had cut her off for marrying Daddy, but that Mummy hadn’t minded. She’d always been a rebellious woman, running away for a life of bohemian loucheness in London when she was just a teenager, hanging out with artists, poets and musicians. She had met Daddy when she was working as a publisher’s secretary, though she’d never explained exactly how. ‘We had friends in common,’ she’d said vaguely when Daisy asked how her parents had met and married. ‘We were introduced by a connection.’ Daddy had been entranced by the leggy aristocratic blonde, and had set about wooing her with iron determination.
‘Darling, I didn’t stand a chance,’ Julia had told Daisy. ‘Your father wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And as soon as my father told me he’d disown me if I married that utter shit Dangerfield, I was as good as engaged. Besides, you know Daddy. He has to win.’
As a result, Daisy didn’t know any relatives on her mother’s side. Were any of them here today? Do I have a family I don’t even know about? Despite her desperate sadness, she was curious. As she and Daddy made their way down the central aisle to their pew, she couldn’t help scanning the congregation, trying to discern family similarities in the faces there. Was that woman with the red-rimmed eyes and the pale brown hair tucked up into a black hat related to her? What about that man with the dark moustache and the cold green eyes? Could he be an uncle or a cousin?
Then her eyes were drawn to the pine coffin, resting on its catafalque at the front of the church. Mummy is in there, she thought, feeling cold and almost sick. She pushed the thought away and looked instead at the flowers on top: a wreath of white roses from Daddy, and an arrangement of daisies from her. She’d written the card herself: ‘Goodbye, Mummy. I love you.’
They sat down. Daisy looked at her order of service. The front was embellished with a beautiful black-and-white photograph of her mother. She was standing in front of a window, one arm draped across her body as she looked away to the left. As a result she was almost in silhouette, but it was still possible to see the fine-boned features, the long straight nose, high cheekbones, and hooded eyes. Long, dark-blonde hair fell down her back. She looked impossibly young and pretty. Daisy felt that bitter stab again, and the sense of waste, along with the feeling that she was going to miss her mother more and more as time passed.
The service began. It was short but very beautiful. Daddy went up and did a reading, booming out the words of Keats’s ‘Ode to Nightingale’. A woman Daisy did not know read a passage from the Bible. The choir sang exquisitely, their voices soaring up towards the hammer-beamed ceiling of the old church. Daisy fought her tears but it was difficult. The sadness seemed to grow and possess her until she hardly knew how to suppress it. She was almost overcome. It was only the presence of Daddy next to her, stern and stony-faced, that stopped her from breaking down altogether.
Afterwards they trailed out behind the coffin. The cemetery was behind the little church; an open grave waited, a pile of earth to either side covered with a green grass-like cloth, wreaths and bouquets arranged around it.
Daisy quailed. She didn’t think she could stand this part, where her mother was consigned to the ground. Surely Daddy won’t miss me, she thought, but suddenly she didn’t care if he did. She needed to cry. The weight of the unshed tears was making her eyes ache and her head throb. Spotting a large funeral monument, mouldering and covered in moss, she slid behind it, buried her face in her hands and began to weep.
She had been sobbing for a few moments when she felt a hand on her arm and a deep voice said, ‘Hey now … don’t cry. Come on, it’s OK.’
She looked up, startled, and blinked away her tears. She was staring at someone very familiar and yet not. ‘Will!’ she gasped, suddenly recognising him.
He nodded. ‘Hi. Listen, don’t tell Dad I’m here, OK?’
‘But … what are you doing?’ She was stunned, hardly believing that she was actually looking at her half-brother again. He had changed, filling out and gaining a manly shape, so that he seemed taller and bigger than before. His once-unruly red hair had been close cut, his boyish freckles had faded. He had become handsome and striking.
‘Listen, I might be lots of things, but I’m not a monster.’ He smiled, and his expression softened. ‘I know we didn’t alway
s get on, but I was actually pretty fond of your mum. She had a hard time from me and Sarah, but she was always good to us. And I saw the way he beat her down and destroyed her.’
‘Is Sarah here?’ Daisy felt the first ray of happiness she’d known in weeks. Here was Will, her big brother. Did this mean they were going to be a family again?
He shook his head. ‘No. She’s too afraid to see Dad. Listen, Daisy.’ He fixed her with a solemn green-eyed gaze. ‘I’m sorry that your mum’s dead. I came here to pay my respects. It was important to me to do that.
But I’m afraid it doesn’t change anything between us.
You’re with him and that’s the way it is. OK?’
‘But—’
‘That’s the way it is,’ he repeated firmly. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything but when I saw you crying like this … well … I hope I don’t regret it, that’s all.’
‘Please, Will,’ she said, suddenly desperate. She couldn’t let him walk out of her life again. ‘Please, stay. Talk to Daddy. Can’t you make it up?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s a lot you don’t understand, Daisy. Maybe you will one day. But for now, it’s impossible. So will you do me a favour and promise me that you won’t tell him I was here?’
‘Yes, of course. I promise. But …’ Disappointment began to crush her. She couldn’t bear it.
‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her again almost sympathetically. ‘You’re a good kid. I’m sorry it has to be this way – but you’re on his side and that makes us diametrically opposed. We can’t be brother and sister. We can’t even be friends. Sorry, that’s not going to change. Goodbye.’
Before she could say anything more, he headed quickly away to the churchyard gate and was soon lost to view.
