Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  She opened her eyes to see, sashaying across the wooden floor of the pub with eyes fixed firmly on her target, the bronzed blonde goddess of earlier. She didn’t have burger juice sploshed down the front of her spotless white vest top, Daisy noticed.

  ‘There you are, sweetie.’

  Perching gracefully on the arm of the leather sofa, she tucked her long legs neatly to one side, her bronzed, perfectly dimple-free thighs sickeningly toned in a pair of tiny, cut-off denim shorts.

  ‘Daisy, this is Fenella. Fen, this is Daisy.’

  Fenella held out a well-mannered hand, flashing Daisy a smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  ‘How do you do, Daisy? Very interesting to meet you at last.’ Somehow these words didn’t quite match up to the tone Daisy was sensing behind them. ‘I seem to have heard an awful lot about you.’

  Daisy wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response to that should be. She smiled vaguely, shaking Fenella’s hand. She was absolutely Ned’s type – not that Ned had mentioned having a type, but she had the glossy, expensive look that went with the county set. She’d have been at home hanging out with William and Kate, all dogs and horses and weekends in the country, darling.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, too.’ Daisy stood up, deciding to take the coward’s way out and make a run for it, cheap flip-flops, stained top and all. Scooping up her beer, she gave a brief, apologetic smile. ‘I’m awfully sorry, but I must go to the loo. Been on the raffle stall all day. I’m sure you understand.’

  And with that, she whisked out of the pub, noticing as she did that Ned’s forehead had scrunched up in that way it did when he was a bit confused about something, and that Fenella’s face had ‘Oh good, she’s leaving’ etched across it in large capital letters. The fact that she’d left for the loo taking a pint of Farrow and Farmer’s finest ale with her, not to mention a reluctant golden retriever who was trailing along even more slowly than usual, was a minor detail she hoped they’d overlook.

  Thank God there was an empty table round the side of the gazebo. Shoving a teetering pile of used paper plates to one side, she flopped down on the wooden chair with a sigh of relief. Polly gave her a look of disapproval which said she was absolutely not moving again today, thank you very much.

  ‘S’all right, girl. I’m not planning on going anywhere for some time. My legs are killing me.’

  ‘That’s the first sign of madness, y’know,’ said Jo’s voice, behind her. ‘And it’s my job to know that stuff.’

  ‘I thought you went home ages ago.’ Daisy budged up on the wooden bench, making room.

  ‘I did. When I got back to the house I realized I’d left my cardigan up here, so I dropped Martha off and took a walk back up. It’s such a gorgeous day, I thought while I was here I’d see if you were still around and grab a drink. We didn’t get much of a chance to talk, earlier.’

  ‘That’d be lovely.’

  Jo headed inside to find herself a drink. Daisy leaned her head in her hands, closing her eyes for a moment, taking a breath.

  ‘Who’s that with Ned?’

  Jo had returned, bringing a round of drinks and a couple of packets of crisps into the bargain. She popped them open, offering Daisy the bag.

  ‘No thanks, I’m still stuffed full of barbecue stuff.’ Daisy shook her head. ‘I dunno who she is exactly – she’s super-posh, though.’

  Jo gave a vague nod of acknowledgement. She’d no real interest in who Ned was passing time with in the pub – and nor do I, Daisy reminded herself. She pulled out her phone for the first time in hours, wondering if George had sent a message.

  There was one from him (Thanks for last night – let’s do it again sometime soon, with a kiss, proving that she still had it – or a bit of it, anyway) and there were two missed calls and a long, rambling text from her mother, explaining that they knew Daisy was going to be just fine, that she could always move in with Miranda, and ending cheerily with the news that the estate agent would be round to measure up tomorrow after lunch.

  Daisy smothered a groan. That just added insult to injury, as well as reminding her about her imminent homelessness, which she’d managed to put to one side for ages today.

  ‘So – I didn’t want to risk talking about this today when Martha was around – but here’s the plan for next weekend.’ Jo was whispering, despite there being virtually nobody left in the beer garden except for a handful of stragglers, and the Parish Council volunteers who’d been roped into clearing up.

  ‘Go on . . .’ Daisy took another mouthful of beer.

  ‘I’ve managed to get a cancellation at a B&B on the seafront at Southbeach – God knows how, when the place is apparently booked up months in advance. I’m taking it as a sign from the gods.’ She shrugged with an open-handed gesture. ‘So if we drive up on Saturday morning first thing – that’s your first thing, I mean, not my idea of it – we’ll get there in plenty of time. We can grab a drink, have a wander, and then I can just pop in to watch him doing his performance bit and then I’ll just go and say hello.’

  These words came tumbling out at about twice the speed of Jo’s normal speech.

  Daisy gave Jo a level stare. ‘You’re just going to “pop in and say hello”?’

  Jo looked down into the depths of her glass. ‘Yes, well, that’s the theory. One foot in front of the other, I’m always saying to my clients. Now it’s time for me to walk the walk – literally.’

  Even if Tom did want to renew their friendship, it was a completely different world when there was a fourteen-year-old child in the equation.

  ‘So has Martha never asked about her dad?’

  ‘It’s come up occasionally over the years. I told her he was someone I knew once, but that we’d lost touch before I knew I was pregnant and I decided not to involve him because I thought we’d be fine on our own.’

  Daisy pictured Martha’s pale, pointed face. She was funny and sweet, with a sharp sense of humour: a real credit to her mother. She’d grown up knowing no other parent than Jo, and soon – if this all came off – there could be someone else in her life. She deserved to have that option, no matter how hard it might be in the short term.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, y’know.’ Daisy put her hand over Jo’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  Jo shook her head thoughtfully. She traced a line in the condensation that ran down her glass, the faint line which sat between her eyebrows deepening with concern. ‘I hope so, Daisy. I really do.’

  Their thoughtful silence was broken by a spluttering cough from beneath the table, followed by the unmistakable sound of Polly throwing up, narrowly missing Daisy’s shoes.

  ‘Ugh – sorry, Jo,’ said Daisy, scooting out of her chair. She bent down to check on the dog. Polly looked up at Daisy, and wagged her tail faintly. She made no attempt to get up.

  ‘Come on, Poll.’ Daisy urged her, stroking her ears gently.

  ‘I’ll nip in and see if Ned’s still in the bar.’ Jo dropped a hand onto Daisy’s shoulder before heading inside.

  ‘What’s going on here, then?’ Ned’s tone was reassuring as he knelt down on the grass next to Daisy. He reached under the table, placing an expert hand on Polly’s flank, counting her breaths.

  ‘Sounds fine. I’d say she’s eaten one too many burgers, that’s all, haven’t you, girl?’

  She nudged his hand, hoping for more attention. ‘Hang on, my darling, let me just have a look –’

  He moved around the table, getting down on hands and knees to examine the vomit.

  ‘Ugh, Ned – that’s disgusting.’

  ‘All part of the job, Daise.’ He sat back on his heels. ‘Looks like Madam P here might have sneaked in a stray bar of chocolate alongside the eighteen sausages. Sorry to be graphic.’ He gave a shrug of apology, smiling.

  ‘You spend eight years in vet school and come out with a degree in puke analysis?’ Daisy shook her head.

  ‘It’s just another service I provide. Free of charge, seeing it’s you
.’

  He reached under the table, giving Polly another gentle pat.

  ‘Chocolate is poisonous to dogs. And golden retrievers are notorious scavengers. The number of kids roaming around today while Polly was pottering around, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d helped herself to a stray Dairy Milk or two.’

  Poor Polly. Daisy ruffled the hair under her ears, just where she loved to be tickled.

  ‘So she’s going to be okay?’

  ‘From the size of her, and the fact she threw it straight back up, I’d say yes.’ Ned stood and stretched, hands in the small of his back. ‘Keep an eye on her, and give the surgery a ring in the morning. If she seems off colour at all, bring her in – but that quantity in a dog her size shouldn’t do much more than make her feel a bit off her game.’

  Daisy exhaled: a long, not-realizing-she’d-been-holding-her-breath sigh.

  ‘Thanks, Ned.’

  Their eyes met for a second.

  ‘For you, my darling,’ he said, half teasing, ‘anything.’

  ‘Come on, Ned, we’re going to be late.’

  Fenella’s cool voice broke the moment. Ned and Daisy looked up at the same time to see her standing there, arms folded. Ned scrambled up, his long limbs unfolding.

  ‘Give me a shout if you’ve got any worries, okay?’ Green eyes searched Daisy’s face for a moment.

  She nodded, and they were gone.

  *

  With Polly settled on her bed, much brighter and looking comfortable, Daisy took a last wander round the garden of Orchard Villa before bed. The moon was hanging low in a lilac and pink streaked midsummer sky. With one thing and another, she’d neglected the garden a bit over the last few days. She’d had a chat with George earlier by text, arranging a drink in a pub in a nearby village next Monday when he got back from an unexpected trip to Dublin.

  She thought back to their evening here in the garden. It had been lovely – not earth-shattering, but nice. He was handsome, a good cook, possibly not quite as solvent as her sister’s rules might decree . . . but he was quite nice. And while he mightn’t set the world on fire, her body certainly reacted to his – she gave a shiver, remembering the sensation of that first real kiss. If life had taught her anything by now, it was that there was no such thing as The One. She’d made enough mistakes following her heart to know that. She shuddered, remembering how much she’d believed herself in love with Jamie.

  She stood thinking, barefoot, on the dew-soaked grass for a few moments, before exhaustion overtook her and she headed inside.

  As she was heading up to bed with a magazine and a huge, cream-topped hot chocolate, a knock at the front door made her jump. Who the hell could be turning up at this time? Cautious, she put the chain on the door before opening it and peeking through the gap.

  ‘It’s just me.’ Shivering in shirtsleeves, his stethoscope round his neck, Ned was standing on the doorstep. ‘I was just passing by and I thought I’d check Polly was okay.’

  She slid back the chain, welcoming him inside.

  ‘Passing by?’ She looked down the street, mock-searching for signs of where he might be going.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t even ask. I got called in to give a hand with an emergency. Thank God I didn’t have anything else to drink earlier. Anyway, when I finished I thought I’d just nip by on my way home and check the old girl was feeling better.’ He crossed through into the kitchen to Polly, quickly checking her pulse and breathing.

  ‘What a clever girl you are.’ Polly grinned up at him, beating her tail in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘Thanks, Ned. I really appreciate it.’ Goodness knows how much a private visit from a vet cost these days. He was so sweet, taking the time to call in and check on Polly on his way home.

  ‘S’nothing, honestly.’ He fiddled with his collar, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen.

  ‘D’you want a drink?’ Daisy searched the cupboards, trying to remember if she had anything to offer. ‘I’ve got half a bottle of wine or some flat tonic, or—’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. I just wanted to check in on her.’

  ‘Thanks, Ned. I owe you one.’

  ‘You do. Next time I need some emergency gardening done, I’m going to be right on that phone.’ With that, he gave her a teasing smile, and headed for the door.

  ‘See you later, Daisy.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Daisy was just getting ready to head to town on a shopping mission, having realized she had nothing to wear to a literary festival (what on earth do people wear to a literary festival, she’d wondered, visualizing lots of arty types floating around with shawls and notepads) when her phone started buzzing in her bag. She ignored it the first time, deciding whatever it was could wait. It rang again as she pulled the door of Orchard Villa closed behind her. Some instinct told her to double-check. She fished it out of her bag just as it began ringing again.

  Jo, flashed the screen.

  ‘Daisy.’ The normally unruffled Jo sounded breathless. ‘Thank God you haven’t left. I need you to do me a favour. Can you get up to Brockville School?’

  Daisy shoved the phone between ear and shoulder, fishing around in her bag to find the car keys. Got them.

  ‘Brockville? Why – what’s going on?’

  ‘It’s Elaine. Something’s happened to Leo. I’d nipped in to borrow a bag for the weekend, and she got a call from the secretary saying she’d better get up there ASAP. It must be serious – she’s left me in charge of a load of cakes she’s got in the oven.’

  Daisy fished in her bag, pulling out the keys. Poor Elaine was having the week from hell, and she didn’t even know it. ‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  Putting her foot down, she nipped down the narrow lane that led down to Brockville School. The huge metal gates were wide open, Elaine’s car parked at an unusually cavalier angle across two parking spaces. Daisy jumped out of the car, scanning the neatly painted signs that directed visitors to the school.

  ‘Art block . . . reception . . . Headmaster’s Office,’ she read aloud, turning down the path towards the oak front door and pressing the entry buzzer.

  ‘Brockville School Reception?’ The voice on the intercom was unruffled.

  ‘I’m a friend of Mrs Thornton-Green. I got a call?’

  ‘Oh, gosh. Yes, you’d better come in.’

  Poor Elaine. Daisy felt a mixture of emotions as the receptionist led her through the oak-panelled corridor. Even if Leo was an adulterous shit – what if he’d had a heart attack or something? Maybe this would be the wake-up call he needed.

  The receptionist opened the door to an anteroom lined with green leather chairs. ‘Just a moment.’ She gave a discreet knock before opening a door with a brass plaque reading Headmaster’s Office.

  ‘Mrs Thornton-Green, there’s someone here? Says you called?’

  ‘Just one moment. Will you excuse me a second?’ Daisy heard Elaine apologizing before she stepped out into the anteroom.

  ‘Elaine – are you – is everything okay?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said the receptionist, taking one final look around the door into Leo’s office. Daisy couldn’t help thinking that was a bit ghoulish of her, given that Leo was quite possibly lying flat out being treated by paramedics – or worse.

  ‘Everything is not,’ said Elaine, firmly, not making much sense to Daisy. ‘Did Jo call you?’

  ‘Yeah. She said she had to stay and look after some cakes. I was just on my way, and –’

  ‘Bugger the buggering cakes,’ said Elaine, with unexpected force. Daisy, who couldn’t remember ever having heard her friend swear, felt her eyes widening. Elaine’s back was poker-straight, her face a patrician mask.

  ‘Honestly, I’ve had quite enough of this.’

  Daisy raised a hand to her mouth in amazement as Elaine pushed the door open. Inside, cornered behind a green leather chair, stood Leo. Seeing Daisy, he tried to arrange his fa
ce into its habitual expression of urbane welcome, but with one flicker of a glance at his furious wife, his features slid back into grey-tinged terror. Elaine pushed the door closed, revealing two suited men, arms folded, surveying their prey from the opposite corner of the room.

  One of the men nodded politely to acknowledge her entry, well mannered even in awkward circumstances. Daisy shrank into the wall, trying to blend in with the wallpaper.

  ‘If you can just give me a moment, I can explain,’ piped up Leo from behind his chair. He gave Daisy a hopeful look, searching for an ally. She glared back at him, remembering the phone call.

  ‘No.’ Elaine, and both of the other men, snapped in unison. He piped down again.

  ‘I’m very sorry about this, Daisy.’ Elaine’s cut-glass tones were even sharper than usual, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised, her face set in a slightly arch expression which had been worn, Daisy suspected, by many a grimly enduring woman in her lineage. Elaine really was quite unbelievably posh.

  The two men looked at one another, then back at Elaine, who was inspecting her nails, somehow conveying the impression that this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience in her daily routine. She was good.

  ‘Apparently my husband,’ Elaine cast a glance at Leo which was so withering that he shrank visibly, ‘has been using his considerable charm and influence on some of the mothers here at Brockville.’ She paused, her nostrils flaring slightly in distaste. ‘Mr Morrison and Mr Hapgood have been kind enough to get in touch and share their concerns.’

  The two husbands looked at each other again. They’d clearly shared intelligence – that must’ve been an awkward conversation after dads’ five-a-side football, thought Daisy – and had formed an uncomfortable, slightly embarrassing alliance before heading to the school office without thinking it through. Knowing Steeple St John, this would be round the village in record time, digested over lunch in the Grey Mare, and red-hot gossip at the school gates by 3 p.m.

  Leo shrank a tiny bit more behind his chair. He looked like a small boy who’d been caught with a pocketful of sweets on the way out of the corner shop.