‘What?’ Ma’s chins wobbled and her eyes widened. The blood drained from her face and she looked as though she might be about to faint. Daisy, terrified that there might be a repeat death on her hands, rolled a chair across to her and helped her to sit, grabbing a newspaper off the top of the stack to fan her with. ‘What?’ Ma repeated, breathing heavily.
‘She’s not joking. That’s what it does say. Where’d you get this Daisy?’ Sharon stared at Daisy.
‘It’s what the Boss was reading when he collapsed,’ she confessed shamefacedly. ‘I took it out of his hand and stuffed it in my pocket. I didn’t mean to,’ she added hastily as several faces stared at her in horror, ‘honest I didn’t. I wasn’t even thinking about it, only about trying to revive Angus. Then I just forgot about it. I didn’t even find it till I got home last night.’
She thought back to the bold ambitions she’d had yesterday evening. She was going to save the paper single-handed. Right. Only now she was in the office, and everyone was looking at her, she knew she didn’t have the courage, or the skill, or the experience.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked in a small voice.
And for once, even Sharon couldn’t find an answer.
Three things happened at once. The doorbell rang. The telephone trilled. And Ed Hackitt stood up and reminded them that he’d only come in to collect his last pay cheque. They sat for a few seconds, frozen in time, a grotesque tableau, staring at each other in shock. Then Ma Ruby heaved herself off the chair and said, as if nothing had changed, ‘I’ll open up, shall I?’ and Sharon reached across the desk to answer the phone. Ed bent down to retrieve the small canvas rucksack he carried in lieu of a briefcase. ‘I’m off then,’ he said as he swung round to the door. ‘Good luck. Sounds as though you’ll need it.’
Sharon waved at his departing back and spoke into the phone. ‘Hello, Herald offices, news desk.’
Another phone call, another story. Business as usual. Only, of course, it wasn’t. As Ed waved a hand above his head and closed the door behind him, Sharon came off the phone and announced with an edge of annoyance mixed with a tinge of excitement, ‘Well guys, we’ve got a new editor apparently. He’s arriving on Monday,’ and Ma, pushing open the door from Reception, stuck her head round it and said, ‘Seems like we’ve got a replacement for Ed already.’ Heads swivelled, jaws dropped. They looked at Sharon first then, like well-trained dancers in a minutely choreographed ballet, followed her gaze and stared at Ma. Things at The Hailesbank Herald were moving mighty fast. Behind Ma, Daisy could see a head. Short brown hair with a faint tinge of red. Eyes the colour of amber. A shadow of beard, more red than brown.
Ben Gillies, right on cue, smiled slowly at the shell-shocked team and said, ‘Hi everyone. I’m Ben. I think you’re looking for some help?’
Tiny Ted had never been busier. There was a serious threat to his remaining fur as Daisy spent most of the day reaching for her comfort bear and stroking his familiar fuzz. No one knew where to start – Ben Gillies or the new editor. Ben, being present, won.
‘Hi!’ Sharon, a natural predator, sized up the newcomer with a practised eye. ‘Where’ve you come from? Are you agency?’ She was always direct. Tact and diplomacy were not her strong point.
Ben shook his head. ‘I’ve been working in London. On The Express, The Independent, and other dailies too. I’m a sub.’
‘National dailies?’ Sharon looked stunned. ‘So why would you want to work here?’
Ben shrugged. ‘My folks are here. I need a break. I’m tired of London. Whatever. If you need me, I’d like to give it a shot.’
Sharon’s gaze was calculating. Daisy could almost see the wheels turning. Would the new guy steal her thunder – or could he be her next catch? Turning thirty and still single, Sharon was never backward in coming forward where an eligible man appeared on the scene.
‘We’ve just heard we’ve got a new editor starting next week,’ she gave him the fact with apparent reluctance, ‘So I guess you’ll have to persuade him to hire you. He’ll be watching pennies, so what’ll happen is anyone’s guess. But, hey, we need a sub, so as far as I’m concerned, you should go for it.’ She remembered her colleagues belatedly and looked round at them, her green eyes cool, cat-like. ‘What d’you think, guys?’
Daisy eyed Ben again. He’d certainly changed from the gawky schoolboy she remembered, but then, she’d filled out too. He was nice looking. You might almost call him handsome, not like Jack, of course, but if she wasn’t still in love with Jack, Ben would be the kind of guy she’d go for.
To be perfectly honest, though, she was pretty fed up with hearing about the guy. It seemed to Daisy as though her mother had talked of nothing but Ben Mr-Paragon-of-Virtue-and-Success Gillies ever since Martin and Kath had moved back from London and the friendship of years ago had been resumed.
‘Ben’s working on a national.’
‘Ben’s won some award or other.’
‘Ben’s doing some amazing thing for charity.’
Since she and Jack had split, the drip, drip of information seemed to have become more of a spate and in the last few days, since Ben had miraculously appeared back in Hailesbank, her mother had hardly stopped talking about him. But Daisy had had other things on her mind. Like Jack, for example.
Jack, Jack, I need you back .
If she said it in her head often enough, it would come true. She dived into her pocket for TT, as she did every time she thought about Jack Hedderwick – and since Big Angus’s death, that had been every hour, on the hour, and then some.
‘What do you think, Daisy?’ Sharon was saying.
‘Huh?’ Daisy pulled her hand away from Tiny Ted guiltily and tried to refocus.
‘About Ben here joining the team.’
‘Oh. Sure. Great. Yes. Great.’ Daisy flashed a smile at Ben, but her mind was still on Jack. Jack and Iris. It sounded really yucky. Jack and Daisy, now that had a real ring to it. That’s what people had said for years. Jack and Daisy. Jackanddaisy. One word, one person almost. Inseparable – until Iris Swithinbank had come along. A clerk in the bank. A bank clerk with a cheap bank mortgage and a home big enough to share. With Jack.
Sharon looked at Ma. ‘Can we sneak an appointment into the new ed’s diary for Monday?’
Ma nodded. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Thanks.’ Ben’s smile was warm.
‘What’s the guy’s name?’ said Dave from his dark corner. Daisy glanced over at him. He was tapping out a story on his computer, a pen behind his ear, his hair fashionably tousled as if he’d just got out of bed.
‘Whose?’
‘The new ed.’
They all looked at Ma. The attention appeared to revive her and she confided, ‘Jay Bond. He’s from London and he’ll be here first thing Monday.’
‘Jay Bond,’ Ben looked thoughtful, as if the name was somehow familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.
Daisy was puzzled. How could they have got someone so quickly? Surely any editor worth the name would have to serve notice in his existing job?
Sharon just giggled. ‘Yeah. “The name’s Bond, Jay Bond.” He’ll be some kind of hot shot, high-flying, self-regarding wanker, bet you.’ Her voice changed and took on a note of bitterness. ‘But he’s in for a shock. He’s not coming for some easy ride. We’ve been given six months to sort ourselves out or we’re done for.’
That, Ben thought, sounded like the kind of challenge that might make a stay in Hailesbank worthwhile – which, unless he could do something to attract her attention, was more than Daisy Irvine was likely to do. She’d not shown the slightest flicker of interest in him.
As the team continued to speculate about their future, he observed them all quietly. Sharon Eddy, blonde and confident, was a type he’d seen all too often. Pushy, a little brash, the kind to keep your distance from, unless you fancied a quick shag, but probably good at her job. Murdoch Darling, serving his time. A journalist from another era, possibly competent but per
haps unwilling to put in the extra effort required to transform copy from acceptable to great. The young reporter – Dave? – cocky, self assured, untested. The sort who knew it all – until his first rotting corpse or traumatised car-crash victim. And Daisy Irvine. She looked as delicious as she did in the dreams he’d starting having since he saw her again. Maybe he would ask her out, but right now was not the time.
He seized a lull in the conversation to escape. ‘See you then.’
‘Right. Cheers. See you.’ Murdoch swung back to his computer and thumped out some more copy.
‘Bye Ben. Do come in on Monday, won’t you?’ Sharon shone her charm on him full beam.
‘Bye Ben.’ Daisy added absently, checking the diary for her next job. ‘Christ, I’ve got to get going.’ She swung away from him with barely a glance.
Ben smiled to himself. If he was going to think about asking her out, he’d have to make more of an impression on her. It was just as well that he enjoyed challenges.
‘Ben Gillies? Was he the nice-looking guy with the reddish brown hair?’ Lizzie was full of curiosity over the spaghetti.
‘Nice looking? I guess,’ Daisy said, helping herself to more parmesan.
Ben, grown up and filled out though he was, was just Ben to her. Ben who had buried her up to her neck in the sand on the beach at North Berwick; Ben who’d gone mushroom picking with her in the woods, daring her to eat some disturbing-looking specimen then defended her against her father’s wrath when they’d arrived back ten minutes later than the deadline he’d set; Ben who’d helped her with her homework when she couldn’t, really couldn’t, remember her table of elements or the French for ‘impecuniary’.
‘I thought he was quite cute,’ said Lizzie, shovelling her pasta into her mouth with a speed that was almost indecent. Daisy was used to the spectacle. Lizzie Little, unfairly slim, ate impossibly fast and had a surprising appetite. It was as if every inch of her height required endless nourishment.
‘By cute you mean beddable, I suppose,’ snorted Daisy, remembering gloomily that she hadn’t been bedded herself since she and Jack had split up.
‘So?’ Lizzie liked men. She brought them home with her, rather as if they were lost dogs she’d found roaming in the street looking for someone to love. Daisy was all too used to meeting some half-clad stranger emerging from the bathroom on a Saturday morning, or sharing her late brunch on a Sunday with the most delicious-looking youth Lizzie had befriended on one of her sales trips to Edinburgh and invited to visit. Half the time she’d have forgotten she’d done so and had to get to know them all over again when they appeared at the door.
They certainly liked Lizzie. What’s not to like, Daisy thought, eyeing her friend with well-accustomed envy. It wasn’t that she was jealous of Lizzie – she wouldn’t have been comfortable with the relaxed casualness of Lizzie’s approach to life, men, and love affairs. But if she only had a tenth of her sex appeal, what couldn’t she do with it? Get Jack back, for a start – and that was all she wanted.
‘Well hands off Ben,’ she said without really knowing why, except that for some reason she couldn’t bear the idea of Lizzie sneaking her childhood friend into her room.
‘Ooh. Could Daisy Irvine be getting real about Jack Hedderwick at last?’
‘I love Jack,’ Daisy said crossly. She did, she really did.
Lizzie sighed, but she left it at that.
Chapter Six
‘Hello Daisy!’
‘Oh hello, Hammy.’ A weekend is never a weekend for a newspaper photographer. Rugby wasn’t Daisy’s thing, but at this time of year, the rugby ground was often where she found herself on a cold Saturday afternoon, with her warmest fleece and a long lens.
‘Good game.’
‘For some.’
Hamilton MacBride, The Stoneyford Echo’s photographer, was one of the old school. He’d been snapping since the days when you had to take magnesium flares with you on a shoot – or so, at least, it seemed to Daisy. Now, she noticed, he had the latest camera, the one she craved with the auto voice over for recording captions. With the Hailesbank Hawks currently 14-3 down to the Stoneyford Saints, he was looking disgustingly smug.
‘Yaaaay!’ A roar went up from the crowd at the Stoneyford end – or what would have been a roar at Murrayfield Stadium. The ragged crowd in Hailesbank managed a small cheer. It was another try.
At least, Daisy thought glumly, she’d managed to get a good shot of the Stoneyford forward who’d just thrown himself showily on the ground behind the posts.
‘Heard about your new editor.’
‘Oh yes?’ Daisy’s attention was caught. ‘What?’
Hammy looked sideways at her, his fat round face smug about his scrap of information. ‘Sacked from some trendy TV programme. Caught sniffing the white stuff. So I heard.’
‘Yeah?’ Daisy tried not to look shocked, or indeed, interested. ‘We knew that. Just a one-off.’ She was making it up as she went along. ‘He’s OK though. Great editor. ’
Hammy laughed. ‘Good try, Daisy my dear. But you can’t fool me. The Herald’ll be closed within a year, mark my words.’
The action had moved towards the Hailesbank end of the pitch and he moved off, chuckling.
Drugs, thought Daisy dully. Shit. That was all they needed. She thought of the letter with a shudder. ‘ We will be forced to close the offices in Hailesbank and merge the paper with The East Stoneyford Echo …’ Unthinkable.
She watched Hammy MacBride climb into his smart 4x4 and head back to the office as she wrenched open the door of her old run-around. Smug bastard. Just like all that lot at the Echo. How come he could afford a posh car and all she could manage was a bashed old work-horse? She turned on the ignition and prayed, but the car started first time and she sighed with relief. She still had to go back to the office to download the pictures.
A couple of streets from the office she found a parking space – the town was busy on a Saturday afternoon – and grabbed her camera bag from the back seat.
‘Hi Dais.’ She glanced up, startled at the sound of the familiar voice. It was Jack. And Iris. Hand in hand and looking as though they’d been together for always. Jackanddaisy, it should be, not Jack and Iris.
‘Hello.’ Irritated, Daisy realised she must be looking her frumpiest, in her old jeans and fleece, still smeared with pig shit from the celebrated ‘bacon sarnie’ shoot she’d done last week. Belatedly, she wished she’d thrown it in the machine before pulling it on again. She sneaked a glance at Iris. What did Jack see in her? He couldn’t admire her for her looks, surely.? Her lank mousey hair was badly cut and much in need of a wash, her round face was devoid of any particularly pleasing feature, but she was still hand in hand with Jack. It wasn’t right. That was her place.
One morning a year ago Jack had taken her for a walk by the river and said the words that inevitably presage disaster: ‘We have to talk, Daisy.’
No we don’t. We don’t have to talk, Jack. You just have to look after me, for ever and ever.
He’d found someone else. Someone who, apparently, was more organised than she was, less dependent. Jack hated her messiness, apparently. Not that he’d ever told her that before. Not that he’d ever given her the chance to change.
‘Been working?’ Jack gestured at the camera. He was looking drop dead gorgeous, wearing a cord cap she’d given him for Christmas, the year before last. The blonde tendrils of his hair drifted out from the bottom of the cap and wound themselves endearingly round his neck. Daisy’s heart twisted as she remembered that Christmas. They’d been happy then. Jack had still been taking care of her and Iris smugsy Swithinbank had been minding her own business.
She nodded and forced a smile. ‘Yup. Rugby.’
Jack laughed. ‘Poor Daisy,’ he said. He knew she wasn’t interested in the sport.
‘I don’t mind. I like it,’ Daisy protested, defending her career, not wanting him to feel sorry for her. She felt like saying ‘Better than sitting counting money all day
,’ but managed to restrain herself. The effect of counting money all day was manifest in the spread of Iris’s large bottom, she thought with a thread of maliciousness. Then, thinking of her own battle of the bulge and acknowledging that her own backside could benefit from a little toning, she determined to find time to go to the gym, soon.
‘Who won?’ It was Iris this time.
Daisy avoided meeting her eyes and shrugged, still looking at Jack. ‘The Saints, I’m sorry to say. Listen, I must go.’ Don’t let me go, Jack. Tell me to stay. Daisy’s hand stole into her pocket. TT was there at the ready. She felt his nose nuzzling against her pinkie then saw that Jack had noticed the gesture and drew her hand out hastily. He knew her too well – and her attachment to her menagerie was one of the many things he’d called ‘childish’.
‘Yeah. So must we.’ Iris was smiling up at Jack, her plain face shining with adoration. ‘We’ve still got to get eggs for tomorrow’s breakfast.’
Why couldn’t Jack have put his money in a building society? Recognising the cashier at his local bank one evening at his Introduction to Cookery class, they’d apparently got talking and something about Iris’s way with a whisk had obviously appealed to him. For the thousandth time, Daisy cursed herself – she had been the one to suggest that Jack learned to cook. Why the hell couldn’t she have suggested an art class, or French lessons, or Bridge for Beginners?
‘Bye,’ she said, making her voice sound casual.
She watched for a minute as they made their way down the High Street, past the pastel-painted houses, the laundry, the Chinese take-away, the Post Office, into the butcher’s. Sometimes the prettiness of Hailesbank irritated Daisy beyond measure. It looked cosy, orderly, perfect – but when your heart is broken other people’s cosiness and orderliness can be infuriating. She yearned for the dismal stone and ragged broken harling more typical of other Scottish villages – miserable, out of sorts, dour.
Turning, she walked the last few yards to the Herald office and punched in the code for the door. The office was empty, but she was used to that. She was often in here alone. As she booted up her computer, it occurred to her that she might like to work with Ben Gillies. He was still, after all, the same Ben she’d watched Dirty Dancing with when their parents were out, sharing a Hawaiian pizza and fighting over the pineapple, sneaking vodka from the booze cupboard and topping it up with water so that no one would notice.
Maximum Exposure: The Heartlands Series Page 4
