Just for the Rush

by Jane Lark

‘Happy Christmas, honey!’

  ‘Hey! What are you doing? We had an agreement no ‘C’ word! Your forfeit—’

  Oh my God. Ivy was meant to be in the fucking shower. I turned around sharply, lifting a finger to my lips. She was halfway down the stairs, clutching some of her clothes against her chest.

  ‘Who are you—’ she began.

  Fuck it. I tapped the loudspeaker icon. ‘Hello, Daddy!’ The words rang out from my phone. I loved the word ‘daddy’, it kicked me in the chest every time.

  Ivy’s jaw dropped. I looked away from her and carried on talking to Daisy.

  ‘What are you doing, sweetheart?’

  ‘Playing with my new Barbie. Thank you for my Polly Pocket.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Did Santa bring you a whole pile of presents?’

  ‘Yes. I woke up at six and I opened them all.’

  ‘Awesome, honey.’

  ‘Mum said I have to go.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you soon. We’ll go skating or something?’

  ‘I like it when we go ice skating.’

  ‘I know. Have a good time.’

  ‘Thank you, Daddy!’ The phone went dead. I wished she’d handed me back to Victoria; I’d not been allowed any time with Daisy on my own yet. I wanted some time alone with her, I wanted to be a proper dad, but unless Victoria gave me some space… I was using my solicitor to fight for my rights, but Victoria wasn’t budging on the pace of things. I wanted to see Daisy alone. I’d wanted to bring her up here for Christmas and be the two of us for a couple of days, but Victoria had denied it. She’d had Daisy for seven years of Christmases. I’d just wanted one. The eighth was meant to have been mine.

  Emotions skidded around in my chest.

  ‘I thought you were playing me already.’ Ivy was still standing on the stairs. ‘I didn’t know you and Sharon had a daughter.’

  I didn’t answer but walked into the kitchen to start breakfast.

  Ivy followed me in there.

  I picked the stuff out of the fridge to make omelettes. Ivy’s hands slid around my waist and gripped over my middle.

  She ought to know that Daisy wasn’t Sharon’s. ‘Sharon and I don’t have a daughter.’

  ‘Then whose—’

  ‘Daisy’s the daughter of my first girlfriend. We had a high-school reunion in the summer. I came out of it with Daisy.’

  ‘What?’ She let me go and stepped back.

  I turned around and watched her. ‘Yes. My first girlfriend had our child in her bedroom when she was seventeen, and the family never told a soul, including me. She had Daisy in the summer and never went back to school; they kept her a secret. I think they were ashamed. The first I knew about Daisy was six months ago. She’s eight now.’

  I turned away, opened the cupboard to get a bowl, then started breaking eggs into it. ‘That was the end for Sharon and I. She wasn’t into me playing daddy and definitely wasn’t up for calming down and playing mummy, or for Daisy to have any access to my money. You should see Daisy, though.’ I glanced back over my shoulder. ‘She looks like me. She’s the best thing I’ve created.’

  ‘That’s saying something…’ Ivy was referring to adverts and the business. Those things were not the same, but I guess if you didn’t have kids you didn’t get that feeling of – did I really create this little person? I wouldn’t have got it a year ago.

  ‘I was hoping to bring Daisy up here for…’ My lips twisted. ‘I got the tree organised for her to decorate. But her mother wouldn’t let her come. I’m fighting Victoria in the courts for a share of custody.’

  ‘Wow.’ The word was a breath of sound behind me.

  I turned around. ‘Has that spooked you?’

  ‘Everyone at work thinks you and Sharon split because you played her so much.’

  ‘I know. You said yesterday.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What have you got to be sorry for?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She laughed then.

  ‘Are you going to get in the shower?’

  ‘There was no towel.’

  ‘They’re in the cupboard at the top of the stairs.’

  She stepped towards me and hugged me again suddenly, her arms slipping back around my middle, as if she was offering me comfort. She was a sweet girl. But she’d given me far more comfort last night.

  When I made no move to hug her back she let go and hurried off to shower.

  I broke all the eggs into the bowl, then turned a ring on on the hob. Good idea, or bad idea, Ivy was up here with me, and I guess I ought to make the most of her company – and if my lust burned out, or if she was annoying – then I could drive her back to London, drop her off and come back up on my own.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Ivy challenged as I led her out of the house. I’d put another blindfold on her. I’d wrapped my scarf around her eyes. She’d probably looked out the windows anyway, so this wasn’t going to be all that much of surprise, but I longed for her to feel the awe that I felt up here. Sharon had never got it and if Ivy didn’t, then her company was going to be immediately irritating. I led her around the cottage, pulling her by the hand, and then around the corner of the barn.

  I loved this place. It was my favourite place in the world and I’d been to Switzerland, Dubai, Paris, Cairo, Monaco, Rome, South Africa, New York, the Grand Canyon, but none of those places gave me the rush of wow I felt when I was here. This place hugged me and yet, at the same time, it punched me in the gut with its magnificence.

  ‘I’m going to step in a puddle and fall over or something, Jack.’

  She had her stiletto-heeled boots on and it was a little frosty. ‘It’s not far, just a few more steps, then you can see.’

  Once I thought I’d led her to the point where she’d get the best view. I undid the scarf. ‘Oh my God, that’s beautiful!’

  Right answer. I watched her. Her eyes darted around the view, looking at the hills, which were almost mountains, with their snowy caps, and the fir-tree woods that covered their skirts, and then her eyes settled on what I called the ‘big house’. But it wasn’t all that big – it was five bedrooms. But it was a traditional house for the National Park, with a central porch and sash windows at either side and three large sash windows along the top floor, then little dormer windows in what used to be the servants’ rooms in the attic.

  ‘Do you want to look inside?’ The fields around the house would have been sheep-grazing land in times gone by. I’d thought about getting some sheep, but I hadn’t gone for it yet.

  ‘Why?’ She looked back at me. ‘Do you own the house too?’

  ‘Yeah, but I rent it out to holiday-makers when I’m not up here. The place is too big for me; I’d rattle around in it, so I stay in the cottage.’

  ‘You’re nuts.’ She looked back at the house and walked over.

  I followed, my scarf swinging in one hand as I took the key out of my pocket.

  Ivy stomped her feet on the stone step, knocking the dirt off her boots, then gripped her hands around her middle to fight off the cold as I unlocked the door. When I looked over my shoulder at her, she smiled. She’d put a little makeup on, but not much, her lips were a pale pink and her eye shadow a pale gold.

  I pushed the door inward and encouraged her to walk ahead. The place was cold and her boots echoed on the bare wooden floorboards, which had probably had two centuries of wax rubbed into them.

  Her gaze spun around the hallway, following the wooden staircase as it rose up and turned a corner, then carried on. ‘I love this place,’ she said it to the room not me. Then she turned to a door. ‘Can I look?’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’ It was fun watching her. I bet I’d looked like her when I’d first seen this place.

  ‘Oh…’ The sound of appreciation echoed into the hall when she discovered the parlour. I’d filled the place with lots of antique furniture, although the sofas were modern but with a style that fitted in with the place. There was a dark oak dresser on the other side of the room, a
writing desk, and the pictures were antiques. She turned around and smiled at me, then walked past me and crossed the hall to open the door to the dining room.

  ‘Did you decorate it yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t do the work, but the ideas are mine.’

  ‘I like your ideas. Can I look upstairs?’

  ‘Yes, but look at the kitchen first.’ I held her hand and pulled her along the narrow part of the hall, beside the stairs. The door at the back opened on to the kitchen – it still had a black, iron range, with a hook for the kettle and a bread oven in the wall.

  ‘This is like being on the set of a historical drama. I love it.’ She turned and stared at me. ‘I’d never have thought you’d be into something like this.’

  ‘Then it proves you didn’t really know me.’

  ‘I think I worked that out. You have an eight-year-old girl.’

  My smile faded and a sharp pain dug into my ribs. I was still hurting over the fact that I couldn’t see Daisy. My first… C… with a child to play Santa with and I couldn’t see her. It wasn’t fair. I’d missed years with Daisy. It was cruel.

  It was Daisy I’d wanted to show around.

  ‘Can I go upstairs?’

  ‘Yeah, you go explore…’

  She walked out and headed upstairs. I heard her heels on the wooden treads as I looked out of the kitchen window at the view. The views from this place did things to me, eased my soul. But there were better views upstairs. I followed Ivy.

  I found her in the room that had the best view. She was leaning on the windowsill, looking out.

  ‘So what’s your verdict?’

  She turned around, her eyes full of wonder. ‘This place is amazing. But why don’t you stay in it?’

  ‘Because if I lived in it, I think I’d spoil it.’

  She didn’t answer, just looked at me like she still thought I was mad. Maybe it was a bit crazy.

  ‘Do you want to go and explore the great outdoors? I thought we’d go out for a drive around. If that’s alright?’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Her arms had folded over her chest, her hands gripping the sides of her jumper.

  ‘Come on, then.’

  Sharon would’ve pouted if I’d suggested driving around to her. Sharon would have considered it boring. Ivy didn’t. But she wasn’t smiling either and she looked a bit uncertain, with her arms over her chest – or nervous, maybe.

  She had the same pale skinny jeans on as yesterday, but today she was wearing a loose, mauve jumper, and it looked like the wool had silver woven through it because it sparkled when it caught the sun. It suited her hair, though, and it suited her figure, having something loose on top and her slender legs wrapped up in a second skin of faded denim.

  But Ivy had the figure of a model as well as the face – anything she wore would look good.

  She shivered as she walked out on to the landing. Maybe she was clutching herself because she was cold? Her arms fell and she gripped the bannister before she started walking down.

  I felt like Gollum out of The Lord of the Rings when I locked the place up – my precious. There was a huge weight of pride in my chest.

  Sharon had agreed with Ivy on one thing. She’d always said it was stupid letting other people stay here when I thought it was so precious I wouldn’t use it. But it would be a crime for it not to be lived in and enjoyed. I just wasn’t the person for it.

  I pressed the button to open the car, following Ivy over there.

  ‘I prefer to be on the bike than in my car. But it’s not the time of year for the bike.’ I slid into the driver’s seat and threw the scarf I was still carrying into the back.

  ‘Your bike…’ she said, settling into the passenger seat.

  ‘Motorbike. I have two in the barn here. I have one in London too. I prefer riding a bike, but I want to take you up over the hill passes and it’s too icy.’ We’d have some fun in the car, though. The roads would be quiet.

  I didn’t speed when we were in the single-track narrow lanes – that would have been stupid, but once we were on the wider roads, which I knew like the back of my hand, I started playing rally driver. I revved up between bends, then dropped down through the gears, before racing up through the gears again.

  ‘Jack!’ Ivy squealed when I let the back of the car slip out around a corner. But then she laughed.

  I glanced over at her. She wasn’t scared, or maybe she was scared, but whether she was scared or not she was enjoying it – her eyes were bright with excitement. I pulled on to a straight and put my foot down. I loved speed – or rather I loved the risk of speed – doing something all out that other people were too scared to do.

  Ivy’s fingers gripped the edges of the passenger seat and she pressed herself back into it as we neared a bend. I dropped through the gears as I slowed down fast. It was completely the wrong way to drive on a cold, icy day, but I knew the roads that were salted. I wasn’t taking foolish risks, I was taking controlled risks.

  She laughed when we came out the other side of the bend just fine.

  I took her to Ennerdale Water first. It was my favourite lake – it wasn’t commercialised and the quietest I’d found. From where I parked you couldn’t see the lake and I deliberately hadn’t driven past any on the way out here.

  Ivy looked at me.

  Sharon would’ve said, ‘why have you dragged me out into the middle of nowhere?’ But Ivy seemed to get this place. Her head had been spinning around looking at every view, even though I’d been distracting her with dangerous driving.

  Ivy’s eyes held expectation, she knew, without knowing, that I’d brought her out here to appreciate something.

  ‘Come on.’

  It was like my church; there was a sense of reverence hanging over me when I got out of the car and walked around to Ivy’s side, to open the door for her.

  After I pressed the switch to lock the car, I gripped Ivy’s hand, which was clothed in a stripy glove. She had entirely the wrong footwear on for this, but girls liked their heels, especially when they were trying to impress, and I hadn’t told her what this place was like. She’d dressed for a week away with me in London.

  Her parka coat hung open, revealing her mauve glittery jumper, and her equally sparkly nature, to the world.

  I drew her along the grass path towards the lake, without saying anything. Then as though I’d created the hills and the lake, when she got her first view I held her hand and stood beside her, silent, so she could experience the awesomeness of the place.

  It spoke – or it did me anyway. It whispered serenity and beauty, and the complexity of the world and it reminded me to keep my feet on the ground. Not that I needed the feet on the ground reminder much any more, Sharon and Victoria had achieved that this year, dropping me back on my arse with a bump.

  ‘Wow,’ Ivy said.

  ‘You can walk right around it. It’s one of my favourite places up here. I like to run around it, but on the far side it’s more of a scramble – the path becomes a steep pile of slate shingle.’ I glanced at her feet, then back up at her lavender eyes. They were an awesome view too and her jumper accentuated the colour – she was clever at picking clothes that did that. ‘You’ll never do it in those boots. We can walk as far as the shore if you want, though?’

  She nodded, but she gripped my hand hard as her heels sunk into the turf pathway. We were probably lucky it was frosty, otherwise it would’ve been even harder for her. ‘Did you bring any flat shoes, your Converse or something?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Looks like we might hit the sales tomorrow, then.’

  When we reached the shore, I picked up a stone and skimmed it. It bounced along the surface of the water.

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Like this…’ I showed Ivy the technique of finding the right-shaped stone, bracing it in your forefinger, then using that to power a spin as you threw.

  She had a go, but she failed. I stood behind her and held her hand, my arm braced agai
nst hers. The stone bounced twice, she bent down and picked up another, her bottom rubbing against my groin in a way that made me recall every beautiful detail of last night. My lust hadn’t died.

  I turned away and found a couple of stones to skim.

  ‘Have you got any brothers or sisters, Jack?’

  I threw a stone and counted as it bounced on top of the lake fifteen times. ‘No. I’m the single point of failure in my family.’

  Her stone plopped into the water and sank. ‘You’re hardly a failure.’

  ‘Talk to my parents; they will tell you different. Have you got brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No. I always wanted a sister. I think if I had a sister now, I might not feel so isolated—’

  ‘I thought we were having fun.’

  ‘I don’t mean right now. I mean over the thing with Rick. I think a sister, or a brother, might have been on my side—’

  ‘Or just another person to be against you.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Another of her stones plopped into the water.

  I looked at her. I hadn’t heard her on the phone this morning. ‘Did you call them today – your parents?’

  ‘No. I thought it best to leave it. There were two dozen texts on my phone from Rick this morning. It sounded like he was really upset. If they know he’s doing that, if he was drunk and crying… I don’t think Mum would want to hear from me. It would make things more awkward for her while he was staying there.’

  ‘She’s your mum…’

  ‘I know, but she’s still angry with me and embarrassed and… They thought Rick and I were a sure thing for grandkids and his parents are their friends, and well… Whatever. It’s over, and I don’t regret ending it, and I’m not going back and she needs time to get used to that fact.’ Her head tipped sideways as something sparked through her thoughts, and the question appeared in her eyes. ‘You said you left Sharon and this morning you said you split up because she didn’t want anything to do with Daisy. Was that why you left?’

  I didn’t usually discuss my personal business with anyone, even Em, not all the detail. But out here in the middle of nowhere, knowing it was a special day, and she was so lonely she’d come up here to spend it with me, who she didn’t even really know… I felt guilty… I felt like I should let her in a bit. ‘I ended it because Sharon isn’t the mother type. I told her to clean up her act, but within hours I realised it was pointless asking her to do that, she never would, and I didn’t love her. I wanted to change my life anyway. Daisy just gave me a good excuse.’