Windfallen

by Moyes, Jojo

  IT HAD BEEN VERY CIVILIZED, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED. Dr. Holden, home before she managed to finish packing her case, had told her she didn’t have to leave like this, despite what Susan said. They had all decided that it would, however, be the best thing if she left as soon as some suitable arrangements could be made. He had a friend in Cambridge who needed help for their children. He knew that Lottie would be very happy there. He had seemed almost relieved when she said she already had her own plans.

  He had not asked her what they were.

  She left soon after eleven the next morning, the address of Adeline’s house in France clutched tightly in her hand, along with a brief letter to Joe. Celia and Guy had already gone. Virginia appeared indifferent. Neither Freddie nor Sylvia cried; they had not been told that she was leaving for good. Dr. Holden, awkward and hungover, had surreptitiously given her thirty pounds and told her that it was “toward her future.” Mrs. Holden, pale and rigid, had barely looked at her when she said her good-byes.

  Dr. Holden had not said he was sorry. No one had appeared sorry, even after ten years of her living as part of their family.

  But Dr. Holden’s embrace had not been the most unfair thing to happen to her. No, she realized, staring at the calendar of her pocket diary, doing the mental arithmetic for the umpteenth time as she sat on the train to London. No, Adeline’s fates had a much crueler sense of humor than even she had envisaged.

  PART TWO

  NINE

  All three lanes are now reopened on the M11, but watch out for those road works at the junction with the M25. And we’re just getting in reports of a major snarl up on the west side of the city, with traffic at a standstill around the Hammersmith Broadway and problems heading on to the M4 and the Fulham Palace Road. Looks like it might be a broken-down vehicle. We’ll bring you more on that later. Now it’s coming up to nine-thirteen, and I’ll hand you back to Chris. . . .”

  SWANS MATE FOR LIFE. SHE WAS PRETTY SURE IT WAS swans. Perhaps it could have been ducks. Or maybe even peahens. Was that really their name, “peahens”? That would be like being called “potato people.” Or, in her case, “digestive biscuit and cigarette people.” Daisy Parsons sat very still, staring out her window as the birds floated benignly under the bridge, the water around them winking brilliantly in the spring sunlight. It had to be swans. Of course it was. No one would really care if a peahen mated for life.

  She glanced at the clock. She’d been sitting there for almost seventeen minutes now. Not that time seemed to have an awful lot of meaning at the moment. It either raced by, as if she had hiccuped and swallowed great hours at once, or, more usually, it dragged, stretching itself like cheap elastic: minutes into hours, hours into days. And Daisy sat in the middle of it all, not entirely sure which direction it was she should be traveling in.

  Beside her, in the car seat, Ellie yawned in her sleep, waving starfish fingers in some invisible salute. Glancing at her, Daisy felt the familiar pang of anxiety that she might be about to wake up, and, leaning forward slightly, she lowered the volume of the radio. It was very important not to wake Ellie up. It was always important not to wake Ellie up.

  Daisy mentally graded the roar of traffic around her, the sound of thrumming engines, absently monitoring its volume. Too much and the baby would wake again. Too little noise and she would be woken by the amplification of a pin dropping. Which was why this shouting outside was really rather annoying.

  Daisy dropped her head onto the steering wheel. And then, when the knocking on the window became just too loud, she eventually looked up, sighed, and opened the car door.

  He was wearing a motorcycle helmet, took it off to speak. Behind him she was dimly aware of several angry-looking people. Some had left their car doors open. You should never leave your car door open. Not in the city. It was one of the rules.

  “Have you broken down, madam?”

  She wished he wouldn’t shout. It was going to wake the baby.

  The policeman looked at his colleague, who had just approached from the other side of her car. They were all staring at her.

  “Have you broken down? We need to get you off the road. You’re blocking the bridge.”

  The swans had reappeared from under the bridge. There they went, floating serenely off toward Richmond.

  “Madam? Can you hear me?”

  “Look, Officer, can you just move her? I can’t wait around here all day.”

  He would have been a cross-looking man at the best of times. Big red cheeks, overhanging gut, expensive suit and matching car.

  “Look at her. She’s obviously a bloody head case.”

  “Please step back into your car, sir. We’ll all be moving along in a minute. Madam?”

  There were hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Daisy looked behind her, blinking, at the stationary cars streaming out behind her like a multicolored fan. All trying to get onto the bridge. All unable, because she and her little red Ford Fiesta were in the way.

  “What’s the problem?” She wished he wouldn’t shout. He really was going to wake Ellie in a minute.

  “I can’t—”

  “Do you want me to take a look under the bonnet? Look, we just need to push it over here first. Here, Jason. You undo that hand brake, will you? We need to get this thing cleared.”

  “You’ll wake the baby.” She tensed, seeing this man in her car, at Ellie’s face, so vulnerable in slumber. Suddenly she felt herself beginning to tremble, the now familiar panic starting to spread from her chest.

  “We’ll just push it over to the side. Then we’ll get you going again.”

  “No. Please. Just leave me—”

  “Look, you release your hand brake. I’ll lean across if you like, and—”

  “I was going to my sister’s. But I can’t.”

  “Sorry, madam?”

  “I can’t go across the bridge.”

  The policeman stopped. She saw him exchange another meaningful look with his colleague.

  “Get a move on!”

  “Stupid cow!”

  Someone had begun pushing his horn. Loudly, insistently.

  She tried to breathe. Tried to clear the noise from her head.

  “What seems to be the problem, madam?”

  She couldn’t see the swans anymore. They had disappeared around the bend when she wasn’t looking.

  “Please just . . . I can’t. I can’t go across the bridge.” She gazed wide-eyed at the men, trying to make them understand. Realized as the words came that they never would. “That—that’s where he first told me he loved me.”

  HER SISTER WAS WEARING HER LONDON COAT. IT WAS A brisk, woman-of-a-certain-means type of coat, dark blue wool with naval buttons, armor against a febrile, untrustworthy city. She saw the coat before she saw her, glimpsed it through the partially open door from where the incurious woman police officer had whisked in and out bearing professional understanding and foul-tasting machine coffee. She had drunk the entire cup, untasting, before she remembered she wasn’t allowed caffeine. Not when you were breast-feeding. It was one of the rules.

  “She’s in here,” said a muffled voice.

  “But she’s all right?”

  “She’s fine. They both are.”

  Ellie slept on uncomplainingly in the car seat at Daisy’s feet. She hardly ever slept this long, but then, she liked the car seat. Liked feeling enclosed and safe, the health visitor had said. Daisy eyed the chair speculatively, enviously.

  “Daisy?”

  She looked up. Her sister looked tentative. As if approaching something that might bite.

  “C-can I come in?”

  Her sister glanced at Ellie and then away, as if reassuring herself. Then she sat tentatively on the chair beside Daisy and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “What’s happened, sweetheart?”

  It was like waking from a dream. Her sister’s face. Her feathered helmet of auburn hair, which mysteriously never seemed to need cutting. Her eyes, intent and anxious. Her hand. No o
ne adult had touched her for almost four weeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Daisy? Sweetheart?”

  “He’s gone, Julia.” It came out in a whisper.

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Daniel. He’s . . . he’s gone.”

  Her sister frowned, then looked down at Ellie. “Gone where?”

  “Left me. And her. And I don’t know what to do . . .”

  Her sister held her for a long time, Daisy burying her sobs in the dark wool coat, trying to stave off, in that embrace, the moment when she had to become an adult again. Outside she was dimly aware of the sound of feet on linoleum, the sharp smell of disinfectant. Ellie whimpered in her sleep.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” her sister whispered eventually, stroking her head.

  Daisy closed her eyes. “I thought . . . I thought if I didn’t tell anyone, he might come back.”

  “Oh, Daisy . . .”

  The policewoman stuck her head around the door. “Your car keys are in reception. We’ve not impounded the vehicle. If you agree to drive your daughter home, madam, we’ll just leave things as they stand.” Neither woman flinched; they were used to it. The age gap between them was twenty years—since the death of their mother, it had been a frequent mistake. Then again, since the death they had both behaved more like mother and daughter than sisters.

  “That’s very kind of you.” Julia Warren made as if to stand. “I’m sorry if we’ve caused any trouble.”

  “No, no, take your time. We don’t need the room at the moment. When you’re ready, get someone at the front desk to point you to the car park. It’s not far.”

  With a bland, understanding smile, she was gone.

  Julia turned back to her sister. “Oh, darling. But why? Where has he gone?”

  “I don’t know. He said he just couldn’t cope with it all. That it wasn’t what he’d expected, and now he’s not even sure if it’s what he wanted.” She was sobbing again now.

  “Daniel said this?”

  “Yes. Bloody Daniel. And I told him it wasn’t what I’d bloody expected either, but somehow my feelings didn’t seem to count. And he said he thought he was having some kind of breakdown and needed some space, and that was it. I haven’t heard from him in three weeks. He didn’t even take his mobile.” She had found her voice now.

  Her sister shook her head, staring into the middle distance. “He said what?”

  “That he couldn’t cope. He didn’t like the mess of it. The chaos.”

  “But it’s always a little difficult after a first baby. And she’s only, what, four months?”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “It gets easier. Everyone knows it gets easier.”

  “Well, Daniel didn’t.”

  Julia Warren frowned, looked down at her immaculate court shoes.

  “Did you still . . . I mean, some women stop giving their partners any attention after they have a baby. Were you still . . . ?”

  She broke off as Daisy stared at her incredulously. There was a brief silence. She resettled her bag on her lap and stared out the small, high window. “I knew you should have got married.”

  “What?”

  “You should have got married.”

  “That wouldn’t have stopped him leaving. There is such a thing as divorce.”

  “Yes, Daise, but at least he would have had some financial obligation toward you. As it is, he’s been able to just swan off into the sunset.”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, Julia. He’s left me in the bloody flat. He’s taken virtually nothing from the joint account. He’s hardly left me like some disgraced Victorian maid.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but if he’s really left you, then you have to be practical about these things. I mean, how are you going to support yourself? What are you going to do about the rent?”

  Daisy shook her head in fury. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. The love of my life has left me, I’m in the middle of a bloody nervous breakdown, and all you can think about is the bloody rent!”

  The shouting woke the baby, who began to cry, eyes screwed shut against whatever disturbance had interrupted her dreams.

  “Oh, now see what you’ve done.” Daisy unstrapped the baby from the seat and pulled her to her chest.

  “No need to get hysterical, darling. Someone has to be practical. Has he agreed to pay the rent?”

  Daisy’s voice was icy. “We didn’t exactly get as far as that discussion.”

  “And what about the business? What about that big project you said you were taking on?”

  Daisy settled Ellie onto her breast, turning slightly away from the door. She had forgotten about the hotel. “I don’t know. I can’t think about that now, Ju. It’s all I can do to get through each day in one piece.”

  “Well. I think it’s time I came home with you and got you sorted out. Then we can have a sit-down and work out what we’re going to do about your and my little niece’s future. And in the meantime I think I’ll give Marjorie Wiener a call and tell her exactly what I think of her precious son.”

  Daisy held on to her baby daughter, feeling the familiar waves of weariness sweep over her. As Ellie finished, pushing Daisy’s nipple rudely out of her mouth, Daisy stood and pulled her jumper down.

  Her sister stood staring at her.

  “Gosh, you are having problems getting that baby fat off, aren’t you, darling? I tell you what, when we’ve sorted you out at home, I’ll enroll you in one of those slimmer’s courses. My treat. If you look a bit more together, you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

  DANIEL WIENER AND DAISY PARSONS HAD LIVED TOGETHER in their one-bedroom flat in Primrose Hill for almost five years, during which time the area had become almost unbearably trendy and their rent had risen accordingly unbearably. Daisy would have been quite happy to leave; as their fledgling interior design business grew, she hankered after tall ceilings and French windows, utility rooms and pantries. A back garden. But Daniel had insisted they stay in Primrose Hill; the address was better for clients than some more spacious address in Hackney or Islington. Look at their quality of life, he argued. The elegant Georgian houses, the “gastropubs” and restaurants, Primrose Hill itself for picnics in the summer. And their flat was beautiful; based above a designer shoe shop, it had a huge Regency-style living room and a bedroom with a tiny balcony that looked out over everyone else’s walled and snail-ridden gardens. They had made clever modifications: a washing machine wedged into a cupboard, a shower fitted into a corner alcove. A tiny, minimalist kitchen with a chic minirange cooker and oversize extractor hood. In the summer they had often squeezed two chairs onto the balcony and sipped at their wine, congratulating themselves on where they were, how far they had come, bathed in the evening sun and the idea that their home and its surroundings were a reflection of themselves.

  Then Ellie had arrived. And somehow that charm had ebbed away as the flat had gradually shrunk, its walls closing in, the remaining space increasingly cluttered with piles of damp stretchies, half-empty packets of baby wipes, soft toys in garish colors. It had begun with the flowers, bouquet after bouquet, arriving relentlessly, filling up all the shelf space until they had run out of vases and had to put them in the bath. The blooms became oppressive, the stale stink of their water permeating the flat, Daisy too exhausted and too overwhelmed to address them. And then, slowly, creepingly, there was less and less room to move; they waded around the flat, picking their way over piles of unironed clothes or shrink-wrapped boulders of diapers. The high chair that her cousins had sent stood unused in its box, taking up what they had thought of as the library corner; a plastic baby bath stood propped against the wall in the hall, leaning against the baby buggy that never quite folded enough, while Ellie’s crib sat flush next to their bed, pushed up against the wall so that if Daisy wanted to go to the loo in the night, she had to either climb over Daniel or slide down toward the foot of the bed. And then, invariably, the sound of the flus
h would wake Ellie, and Daniel would bury his head under the pillow and rail against the unfairness of his life.

  She hadn’t cleaned since he’d gone. She’d meant to, but somehow the days and nights had all melded together, and she seemed to have spent most of them pinned to their once pristine beige linen sofa, Ellie feeding in her arms, staring unseeing at the vacuous daytime television or weeping at the picture of them all, entwined, on the mantelpiece. And slowly, without Daniel to wash up in the evening or take out the rubbish (how was she meant to carry a trash bag and a baby down two flights of steep stairs?), it had all gradually built up around her, and the piles of pooed-upon white undershirts and soft, stained dungarees had taken on a kind of unapproachable quality, had become something altogether too big to confront. And the detritus had begun to take over, to become part of the furnishings as it enclosed her, so that she started not even to see it. And faced with this chaos she had worn the same pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt every day, because they were slung over the chair and therefore visible, and she had eaten crisps or packets of chocolate-covered biscuits from the convenience store, because actually cooking something would have meant she had to wash up first.

  “Okay. Now I’m worried.”

  Her sister had stood, shaking her head in disbelief, the cool smell of her Anaïs Anaïs almost drowned out by the pungent, unsanitary one of used diapers, several of which lay on the floor where they had been removed, their contents exposed to the air.

  “Gracious, Daisy, what have you done? How have you let this get so bad?”

  Daisy didn’t know. It felt like someone else’s home.

  “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness.”

  The three of them stood inside the front door, Ellie jiggled in her mother’s arms, refreshed and looking around.

  “I’ll have to phone Don. Tell him I’m staying over. I can’t leave you like this.” She began to move swiftly around the room, collecting up soiled dishes, tossing baby clothes into a pile by the coffee table. “I told him I was only coming in to buy a couple of new duvet sets for the barn.”