She sat back against the pillows with a sigh. She couldn’t even face getting out of bed. Last night’s wine glass had fallen over somehow, a trickle of red oozing across the floor. Her arms and legs were aching, and her head felt like someone had put it in a vice. She was completely exhausted, physically and mentally, but Elaine and Jo were expecting her for lunch at the pub. She couldn’t really turn up with mad hair, in a pair of ancient pyjamas. Heavy-legged, she pulled back the covers.
Scowling at her appearance, Daisy checked her hair in the hall mirror as she prepared to go out for lunch. A shower hadn’t improved her mood, she was still bone-tired, and she felt utterly deflated. And now the phone was ringing.
‘Mum.’
‘No,’ said her dad, laughter in his voice. ‘It’s the other one. You’re like the Scarlet Pimpernel these days – never thought we’d find it easier to get hold of your sister for a chat. Have you been busy?’
‘Hardly,’ muttered Daisy, realizing she sounded like Martha on a bad morning.
‘Just calling with an update. We’ve been in touch with Mike from the estate agency, and he tells us that there’s an Irish chap who seems pretty keen on the house?’
Daisy rolled her eyes at her reflection. Her parents insisted on giving her regular updates on what was happening with the house sale, not realizing that she was the one fielding the repeated agency calls and making herself scarce for viewings.
‘As I’ve pointed out, he’s not keen on the house, Dad, he’s keen on the potential to make a quick buck by ripping the garden apart. I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush – why can’t you sell the house to someone who’ll appreciate it?’
‘Oh, darling,’ her dad began, consolingly, ‘I know you’re a bit put out, but we must move with the times . . .’
Daisy let out an exasperated huff of air. ‘There’s moving with the times, and there’s destroying a perfectly good garden for the sake of it. He could buy a patch of land on the outskirts of the village and build houses there. Why on earth does he have to do it in my garden?’
‘Your garden, darling?’
The distance couldn’t disguise the amusement in her father’s voice.
‘You know what I mean. I’m not just going to lie back and take this, you know.’ She could hear her mum insistently muttering in the background, trying to get her oar in. There was a scuffling.
‘Darling.’ Her mum’s voice had the particular soothing tone she reserved for moments when Daisy or her sister had fallen over. ‘You sound like you need an early night. You’ve had a bit of a time of it, haven’t you? I wonder if it’s been a bit much for you, looking after that place when you’ve been dealing with everything else. I could skin that Jamie alive if I ever saw him.’
Just as well you weren’t here last night, thought Daisy.
‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m just a bit –’ Pissed off, she thought. ‘I don’t see why you bothered getting me here to invest all this time in the garden, if you didn’t care what happened to it. And to be honest I can’t see why you’re in such a rush to sell the place. I’m not planning on staying forever, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Daisy caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was dull, violet shadows under her eyes. Throwing herself into the renovation of Orchard Villa’s garden had taken its toll.
‘Darling, you’ve worked so hard, and of course we appreciate it.’
‘It’s not just a garden, Mum, you know. It actually matters.’
There was a long silence, during which Daisy wondered whether her mother was actually thinking about what her daughter had said for once, instead of just hearing what she wanted to hear.
‘Daisy, darling, I know you’re disappointed,’ her mother began, cautiously.
Apparently not, thought Daisy, with an inaudible groan.
Elaine was standing chatting to the barmaid of the Grey Mare, her hair in loose waves, pinned back on one side with a silver clip. Every time I see her, thought Daisy, she looks five years younger. Elaine caught her eye in the mirror behind the bar, giving her a wide smile. She was in a simple white T-shirt today, slim legs in a pair of pretty dark blue cropped jeans and – bright red Converse sneakers. She turned to Daisy, kissing her on the cheek.
‘Like the shoes,’ said Daisy, surprised.
‘I’m embracing my teenage self.’ Elaine set their two cups of coffee down on the table, before lifting a foot and waggling it in demonstration. ‘Martha told me I should get them. We got the train into town and went to Camden Market the other day.’
‘With Jo?’
‘Nope.’ Elaine shook her head, laughing. ‘Just us two. Well, as far as Martha’s concerned, Jo was heading on the train to town for a meeting.’ She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘So Martha and I tagged along, and headed off for an adventure. And we had one. Look.’
Elaine pulled her T-shirt up, revealing a toned stomach. A tiny jewelled silver ring sat neatly in her navel. Bloody hell, Elaine was going for the full divorce meltdown.
Daisy’s eyes and mouth formed circles of shock. ‘You got pierced?’
‘I wanted to when I was a teenager. My poor grandparents would’ve gone mad. And funnily enough, Leo never struck me as the type who’d appreciate a bit of rebellion.’
‘So.’ Daisy looked across at Elaine. She was glowing, her eyes sparkling with her newfound freedom. She looked like a younger, fresher version of herself. ‘If Leo was such a stick in the mud . . .’
‘. . . why was I married to him?’ Elaine traced a pattern in the foam of her latte. ‘I was bounced from boarding school to my grandparents’ house. My parents died when I was very young. All I ever wanted was the perfect family life, nice house, husband, two point four children—’
Daisy frowned. ‘But you didn’t?’
‘Oh, Leo kept saying next year, next year. There was always some reason why we were going to wait before we started trying.’
No wonder Elaine had thrown everything into making the perfect life.
‘And then you went to Dubai.’
‘Yeah, and then we left pretty damn quickly. If Leo’s affair had come out, he’d have been in serious trouble. They don’t mess around over there.’ Elaine looked up, a shrewd expression on her face. ‘I think, if I’m honest with myself, I knew it wasn’t going to last. I stopped pushing the children thing after Dubai.’
‘I don’t mean to sound heartless – but thank goodness you did.’ Daisy shook her head, looking out of the pub window at the cars passing down Main Street.
‘You’re telling me. At least this way he’s out of my hair permanently. If we’d had children, I’d have had to deal with him visiting every weekend.’
Their eyes met, an expression of mutual horror on their faces.
‘Hi, you two. What’s up?’
Jo slipped in to join them at the table by the window.
‘Well, Elaine’s embraced her inner teenager and started hanging out at Camden Market. And we’ve just been discussing her lucky escape from Leo. I’m about to be homeless. Anything you want to confess?’ Daisy leaned across, giving Jo a kiss followed by a searching look.
Jo shook her head. ‘Nope.’
‘You’re not heading to Thailand for a three-month silent meditation with Tom – nothing like that?’
At the mention of his name, Daisy noticed, Jo’s cheeks flushed faintly, the palest colouring against her creamy white skin.
Jo smiled to herself. ‘No, definitely no meditation retreats. He’s staying with a friend in London for a couple of months, though. We had a long lunch the other day, talking about Martha and how best to introduce them.’
Daisy smiled, too. It was clear to her, even if Jo wasn’t admitting it to herself yet, that some day there might be more than just friendship there.
‘What we’re trying to work out – and in fact, we’d really appreciate your thoughts . . .’
Daisy noted the ‘we’ with quiet approval. She gazed vacantly through the gl
ass into the restaurant section of the pub. A vaguely familiar-looking young couple tried to wedge a child each into wooden high chairs. One was spread-eagled in an obstinate star-shape, arms and legs rigid. It took both of them a lot of manoeuvring to slot the child in place. The father stood up, red-faced, wiping his brow. With a resigned expression, they turned to a third child who was screaming with fury, a howling scarlet ball of temper. Things could be worse, thought Daisy.
Jo carried on. ‘Do you think we should tell Martha, then introduce them? Or let her get to know him, and then let her know?’
Daisy looked blankly back at her. Both suggestions carried a huge weight of worry. She was so tired that her brain couldn’t even come up with a preference. She wrinkled her forehead in thought.
‘I think you might be surprised,’ said Elaine, coming to the rescue after a moment. ‘I think Martha’s pretty sharp. Your main concern is going to be making it clear that Tom’s not going to come in and start throwing his weight around.’
‘It’s not really his style.’ Jo smiled.
Daisy, who’d encountered him briefly on the stairs in the B&B, remembered a tall, gentle, laid-back sort.
The woman from behind the bar popped over to the table. ‘You forgot these, ladies.’ She handed a sheaf of menus to Elaine, motioning to the hand-lettered blackboard beside the fireplace where Daisy had sat sharing a drink with George. ‘Specials on the board. Oh, soup’s off, sorry.’
She whisked away, gathering used glasses from the nearby table with an efficient clatter.
‘You’re quiet.’ Elaine passed Daisy a menu as she spoke. ‘What’s happening with the house? Any news on the protest stuff?’
She looked across Daisy’s shoulder, giving a friendly wave and a smile.
Unthinking, Daisy turned, following her gaze. A group of women were heading out in the direction of the beer garden. One turned back, calling across to Elaine.
‘Tomorrow at eight, don’t forget.’
‘I won’t.’
Daisy gave her a quizzical look over her menu.
‘PTA mums from Brockville,’ explained Elaine, pulling a slightly self-conscious face. ‘They clubbed together, brought me a huge bunch of flowers and a voucher for a spa day at the place near the woods. And they’ve invited me to their book club tomorrow night.’
‘That’s so lovely, Elaine.’ Jo’s voice was full of warmth.
‘Not all the mums,’ said Elaine, steepling her fingers and balancing her chin on the top, thoughtfully. ‘I suspect the ones who were caught in bed with my husband probably didn’t chip in . . .’
Daisy grimaced, but Elaine started laughing.
‘Sorry. I should say ex-husband, anyway – or he will be, soon enough. I’m going for a quick divorce. And if he even thinks about going for half the house – well, I’ll get your lovely vet friend to castrate him.’
Daisy felt a twist of discomfort. She didn’t want to think about Ned, or their so far failed mission to save the garden. All in all, she was running out of time, and a new life in London was starting to look like an inescapable part of her future.
‘And the funniest thing happened the other day, too.’ Elaine, fizzing with happiness, was happy to fill in the spaces, not noticing Daisy was quieter than usual. ‘I was chatting to the lovely man at the market stall . . .’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jo, with a knowing expression.
‘Hush, you,’ said Elaine, smiling. ‘Anyway, a couple of women standing in the queue came up and tapped me on the arm. I thought they were about to complain I was holding them up, but they wanted to let me know they’d heard about Leo and that they were completely on my side. Isn’t that sweet?’
‘It’s lovely,’ agreed Daisy. She must be a horrible person. All this amazing stuff was happening to her friends, yet all she felt was a weird sense of detachment. It was as if someone had cut her loose from village life. She was floating away, very slowly but inexorably, like a child’s helium balloon after a trip to the funfair.
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Miss Price. Sorry to trouble you again.’
‘Daisy.’ She gritted her teeth and lied through them. ‘Not at all. It’s no trouble.’
A couple of weeks had passed. The negotiations for the sale of Orchard Villa seemed to be an unstoppable juggernaut. They’d reached a dead end with their investigations about tree preservation orders, and with a chequebook big enough to circumvent any protests (and, Daisy suspected, to buy his way out of any minor inconveniences), Stephen O’Hara and his brother looked certain to be the new owners of the house and land.
Daisy had been subjected to a constant barrage of phone calls from Mike Redforth. There was a never-ending stream of queries regarding paperwork and plans, and Daisy had found herself acting as unwilling go-between to a group of surveyors, ground analysts, planning specialists, and goodness knew what else.
‘Just give me a second.’ Daisy stepped over a pile of empty cardboard boxes in the hall. She’d decided last night that it was time to face facts, and she’d started sorting through her things – when she’d left Winchester she’d been in such a rush, furious and humiliated, that she’d just thrown everything in, not caring whether she needed it or not. Faced now with a spell living in Miranda’s tiny, minimalist flat, she’d decided it was probably a good idea to get rid of some of the clutter – and it turned out there was a lot more of it than she’d thought. Shoving through the door, which was partly blocked by a heap of black bin bags, she made her way into the kitchen with an exhalation of relief.
‘Everything okay?’ There was a note of concern in the estate agent’s voice.
‘Fine.’ She sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Just getting organized.’
‘You’re still pressing ahead with plans to leave the property, then?’
‘I am, yes.’
‘I’ve had a chat with your parents this morning. There’s been a – progression.’
She frowned at the phone. Since the last conversation with her parents, she’d been avoiding their calls, feeling utterly pissed off that they appeared to have no consideration for the effort she – and Thomas – had put into the garden. And now she had Mike bloody Redforth on the phone, talking in riddles.
He continued briskly, ‘I’ve got a new surveyor wanting to come out today – are you about?’
‘I’m at the village fête this afternoon – I’m not around. Can you give him your key?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But I’d like to have a quick word with you if you’ve got a second – in person, preferably.’
She rolled her eyes. Another quick chat with Mike Redforth would see the morning gone before she knew it, and she had so much to do.
‘I’m a bit busy at the moment—’
As if on cue, the home phone rang.
‘You see?’ Daisy scanned the screen to see if she recognized the number. Withheld. Whoever it was could leave a message, but she wasn’t going to tell Mike Redforth that when it was the perfect opportunity to escape. ‘I’m really sorry – I’ve got to take this call. Can we speak later, perhaps?’
Not giving him a chance to reply, she hung up. The home phone rang out, and whoever it was didn’t leave a message, to her relief.
She tapped at the table with a pen that she’d left lying there the night before, when she was making yet another list.
Letting Polly out into the garden to stretch her legs, Daisy stood by the door looking out at the garden. It stood on the verge of change. Leaves were beginning to curl, their edges fading. In a few weeks the slow, inevitable move towards the harvest, and autumn, would begin.
Maybe Thomas was right. Gardens were meant to grow and change – and if that meant being chopped into pieces and shared out amongst new houses, maybe she just needed to grit her teeth and accept it. With a sigh of resignation, she closed the door, watching as Polly flopped down on her comfortable bed.
The sweeping park beyond the stream that led down to the church was dotted with white tents. The ever
-present fabric bunting flapped from lamp post to lamp post. Having decided that Polly would not thank her for a day of being buffeted around and squished lovingly by overenthusiastic small children, sticky with candy floss and ice cream, Daisy had left her snoozing in the kitchen of Orchard Villa. She’d set off, glad of the sunshine, towards her fate in Flora’s Village Fête Administration Tent.
‘If we can just pop this on you here . . .’ Flora reached across to Daisy’s shirt, fastening on a huge electric-blue rosette with JUDGE stamped in the circle in huge, gold letters. ‘And if you could just sign in, here.’ She handed Daisy her clipboard, indicating where a signature was required with a brisk tap of one neatly manicured finger. With that, she marched out of the tent, leaving Daisy standing confused.
‘Is that me done?’ She felt like a parcel, destination unknown. She’d been efficiently processed and was ready to go.
‘I’m not sure blue’s my colour.’
Daisy spun round. Ned ducked as he made his way into the tent, a pair of sunglasses balancing atop the scruffy thatch of hair, green eyes bright with laughter. He was holding his own rosette in one hand, the ribbons fluttering in the breeze. Daisy felt a now-familiar jolt in her stomach as he caught her eye.
‘Hello, stranger.’ He gave her a huge smile, loping across the tent and embracing her in an unexpected, awkward hug. Pressed into his chest for a brief moment, Daisy felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt, a clean, woody scent of aftershave in her nostrils. She stepped back, her heart thumping disobediently.
‘Do me a favour, Daisy.’ He looked down at her with a soulful gaze.
She felt a catch in her breath.
‘Can you pin this on my shirt?’
‘Let me do that,’ said Flora, reappearing suddenly. She did it, and patted Ned’s chest briskly. ‘All sorted. Susan, I’m leaving you in charge here.’
A grey-haired woman was sitting at a wobbly plastic table, folding raffle tickets in half and popping them into a huge glass jar.
Coming Up Roses Page 26
