Carry You

by Beth Thomas

  ‘No I wasn’t!’

  He chuckles and puts both his hands up again. ‘Joke.’

  ‘Oh, right. I see. Good. So, how long have you known her?’ I’m trying very hard not to sound competitive.

  ‘We’re not doing that now, that’s fodder for a different day. I want to know about you. Tell me, Miss Daisy, what has happened to you to make you hate life so much?’

  I stare at him for a second, feeling tears heating up in my eyes. I blink them away quickly. ‘I don’t hate life,’ I say quietly. ‘I just hate barbecues.’

  ‘Hey, just observing. Didn’t mean any offence.’

  ‘You know what else I hate? Nosey people.’

  He nods. ‘Oh yeah, me too. Dreadful, aren’t they? Act like nothing’s sacred or private, like they have the right to know even the deepest most painful secrets about someone.’

  I nod pointedly. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Although if you think about it, maybe they’re not really nosey at all. Maybe they’re genuinely interested. Maybe they see a sad, lost soul now and then and wonder if that soul needs some company.’

  I glance at him. He seems to have inched forward on his seat a bit and is getting fractionally nearer to me.

  ‘Maybe,’ he says, his voice low, ‘they see someone who looks like they’ve been through a tough time recently, and they feel a need to help in some way. If they can.’

  I’ve got goosebumps on my arms, and it’s not because of the breeze.

  ‘Maybe.’ I clear my throat. ‘Although mostly I reckon they’re just busybodies. So tell me, are you a window cleaner or a driveway builder?’

  He nods slowly. ‘Nice deflection.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome. OK, well, in actual fact, I’m neither, and I’m both. I’m just doing a bit of handyman stuff at the moment while I …’ He breaks eye contact and studies his pink glass for a moment. ‘While I decide what else I could do.’

  Ah. Unemployed. Like me.

  ‘So, what do you do?’

  This is awkward. How do I answer that one without giving away my entire life history? Or at least, the past five months of it. I shrug. ‘Same as you, actually.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Not the handyman part. Just the deciding part.’

  ‘Oh.’ He’s staring at me very intently and it makes me feel very peculiar. ‘You really are extraordinarily interesting, Miss Daisy.’

  At this moment there’s a kerfuffle from the lawn and we both look up to see a giant game of Jenga being set up.

  ‘Ooh,’ he says, putting his glass down on the ground. ‘Unfeasibly Large Jenga. Do you?’ He inclines his head towards the game.

  ‘Um, no. I don’t. Do you?’

  He grins. ‘I do now. Excuse me.’ And he gets up and walks over to the activities, rubbing his hands together.

  The game is actually quite entertaining. To watch, that is. It looks downright dangerous to play. Toes are crushed under falling blocks, nails are broken, fingers are pinched. I start to wonder whether a paramedic should have been parked out the front, like they do at Wimbledon and the Grand National.

  ‘You enjoying yourself?’ Abby says, coming over to sit in Felix’s empty chair.

  I think about it. ‘I wouldn’t say enjoying, exactly.’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘But I’m not hating it.’

  She brightens. ‘Oh.’

  I nod and rub her arm. ‘It’s better than I was expecting.’

  She smiles at me. ‘Good.’

  ‘Thanks for making me come.’

  ‘Thanks for coming, Daze. I’m really glad you did.’

  ‘Me too.’

  She squeezes my hand on her arm and we watch a small child of about seven on his tiptoes trying to pull a block out of the middle of the tower. It looks like a disaster movie waiting to happen.

  ‘This game is pretty funny, isn’t it?’

  She nods. ‘You don’t fancy playing?’

  ‘You’re kidding?! It looks lethal!’

  At this moment there’s a shout and a rumble and the child gets buried beneath an avalanche of falling blocks. I stand up in horror. ‘Oh my God …!’

  There’s a second’s hiatus as everyone stares at the mound of rubble; then a hand bursts through the top in a triumphant clenched fist, and the crowd erupts into cheers and clapping.

  After Jenga, there’s a game of Giant Dominoes, followed by Colossal Connect Four and then Enormous Snakes and Ladders.

  ‘I’m sensing a theme here,’ I say to no one, as Abby and Felix are both playing by this time.

  ‘Come on,’ Abs calls over, a foam die the size of a small chair in her hands, but I shake my head. I’m out, I’m in a garden, I’ve spoken to two new people and still feeling OK. Why spoil it?

  After another hour, I’m ready to go. The sun’s dropped down behind the neighbouring houses and the temperature has dropped with it, so a few cardigans and sports jackets are being pulled on. I don’t have a cardigan with me. Actually I’m glad to say I don’t own one. Scuba-lady never re-appeared so I’ve had to suffer comedy ‘Where is she?’ gestures from Felix from across the garden every time someone comes out of the back door. Once it was actually a woman in a ghastly dress, and I felt vindicated, but it wasn’t her. At least, it wasn’t the same dress. Felix wasn’t looking anyway.

  ‘Do you mind if I leave now?’ I say quietly to Abby, as she spoons coleslaw over a black sausage on her plate – trying to hide it apparently. ‘I’m getting a bit cold.’

  She stands up straight and focuses on me. ‘You OK?’

  I nod, but inexplicably my eyes start to feel hot again. I’ve been thinking this spontaneous weeping was behind me now. ‘God, this is ridiculous. Sorry, it’s nothing. Just tired I think.’ A single tear squeezes out and runs down my cheek. I look at Abby and see that her eyes are filling up too, which makes me love her even more.

  ‘Don’t cry, Daisy,’ she says and puts her arms round me. I rest my forehead on her shoulder. ‘I’ll come home too. Hang on there, I’ll just say goodbye to everyone.’

  I pull back and shake my head. ‘No, no, you stay. I don’t want to ruin your evening.’

  ‘No, I’ll come.’

  ‘No, seriously, Abs. I’ll be all right. I’m only going to go and have a little lie down anyway. No point you coming with me.’

  ‘I don’t mind …’

  I shake my head. ‘No, please. Don’t come. It sounds stupid but … I think I’d rather be on my own for a bit.’

  She searches my face for a few seconds, then comes to a decision. ‘All right then. I’ve got my mobile – ring me if you need me.’

  ‘I will. But I won’t.’

  She smiles weakly. ‘OK. See you later then.’

  I nod, we hug, and finally I am free to go back through the gate to the world beyond.

  As I walk – well, I say walk, it’s more like a trudge – home – well, I say ‘home’, it’s actually Abby’s home – my mind is filled with thoughts of Felix, which is odd. I was expecting to dwell on Danny’s beautiful eyes for the next few years at least, but it’s a laughing brown pair that feature now. I can’t decide whether he’s infuriating, funny, kind, or all three. He certainly made me smile once or twice, which was a wonderful feeling after so long. But he has absolutely no social skills whatsoever. To talk to a complete stranger like that, enquiring about private and intimate details of my life, commenting on my clothing and personal habits … Assuming that I hated life …

  Oh God. Why did I wear this hideous tee shirt?

  By the time I reach the flat, I feel tears threatening again and I head straight for my room. How dare he call Abs Abs? How dare he call me Miss Daisy? He doesn’t even know me! I fling myself face down on my bed without even taking off my magic trainers, wrap my arms around my pillow and sob hard into it, knowing that I’m going to cry myself to sleep yet again, and this time it’s all that man’s fault.

  After about fifteen seconds, though, I
realise I’m stopping. In fact, I didn’t even get going. I open my eyes and sit up, then try an experimental sob, but no, nothing comes. I’m definitely not crying. Huh. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and find myself face to face with Abby’s giant ‘TO DO’ list. Automatically I glance away and am instantly looking at the letter from Mum’s solicitors again. I look away from that, too, and focus down at myself instead. At my shabby jeans, which aren’t new at all but are apparently far too big for me. At my magic trainers, gleaming white and ridiculous for barbecues. At my reflection, with my unstyled hair and my pale face looking even paler next to the grey of my tee shirt. I get off the bed and kneel on the floor by the dressing table, peering into the mirror. I don’t hate life. Of course I don’t. I love life. It’s death I hate. I peer closer, heroically avoiding seeing the letter propped up in front of me. I grab hold of the flesh of one of my cheeks and pull it roughly, then do the same with the other side. Then pummel myself in the face with my fingertips a couple of times. I don’t hate life, not any more. But maybe I do hate myself a bit. Abruptly I stand up, grab my purse, pick up the flat keys and go out.

  The next morning I’m on the canal path at ten minutes to ten, waiting for gorgeous Danny, who would never intrude into my personal life and make assumptions without knowing a thing about me. I’m early and I’m pacing, ready to go, feeling full of energy for the first time in months. I feel like an athlete today, powerful and sporty, and I’m enjoying the sensation as I pace up and down. I’m even bouncing a bit. Admittedly some of my new found athleticism is down to my newly purchased tracksuit I got in Pineapple yesterday. My legs being encased in tight black Lycra with pink piping down the sides is making me feel incredibly vital and fit. I feel like I could run a marathon right now.

  ‘Mmm, that’s a great outfit,’ Danny says appreciatively ten minutes later. Ten o’clock on the dot. He looks me up and down, nodding. ‘Wow. You look more than ready to go. Shall we?’

  ‘Oh absolutely,’ I say, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Try and stop me.’

  ‘Ha ha! Well that would be a bit counter-productive, wouldn’t it? But,’ he adds as I set off down the path, ‘you might want to pace yourself to start with.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I call back over my shoulder. ‘It’s only walking – how hard can it be? I’ve been doing it for years.’

  In two powerful strides he’s at my side again. ‘Yes, you’re right, but this is a bit different. We’ll be going much faster than most other people, and we’ll be covering more ground today than they do in a week. It’s not the same as strolling round the shops, Daisy.’

  I nod again, energetically, to show him how committed I am. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He grins at me and I almost stumble. ‘Seems to me that you’re a bit more clued in than most. That’s really good, well done.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I beam and swell a bit under his praise, like someone who’s completely clued in. Which I am. I’m a serious athlete, a proper sportswoman, inside the magic circle with Danny. We’re in this together, separate from everyone else who isn’t clued in.

  ‘I’m thinking eight to ten miles today, how does that sound? Just say if you think it’s too much.’

  ‘No, no, that sounds perfect.’ Of course it’s not too much for a serious athlete like me.

  ‘Excellent.’ He nods approvingly. ‘This is going to be fun.’

  ‘Oh yes, definitely.’ He’s right, it is fun. He’s fast, too.

  ‘So. Where did you get this sexy new outfit?’

  ‘Oh, this? It’s not new, had it for ages.’ Absolutely no need for him to know that I’ve only just become a serious athlete today.

  ‘Really? Oh. Well, it looks like …’ He peers closely at the leggings. ‘I’m going to say … Pineapple. Am I right?’

  I’m stupefied. ‘Wow. You are right. How did you do that?’

  He narrows his eyes with a little smile while he ponders some more. ‘And you’ve had it for ages? How long would you say? Roughly?’

  ‘Oh, um … probably about … a few months, maybe?’

  ‘Oh. Well that’s interesting. Because that particular style – the black capri track and field pant with double pink side banding and seventy-five percent Lycra content is definitely this season. Only came out about, ooh, three weeks ago. So. I reckon I’m totally onto you. You’ve got a little secret, haven’t you?’

  Shit. ‘Oh, er, well, you know, when I said I’d had it, er, a few months, what I actually meant, in fact, was …’

  He nudges my arm playfully. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m only winding you up. It doesn’t bother me at all. It’s only a little bit illegal, isn’t it? Although,’ and he leans in conspiratorially and lowers his voice, causing an electric thrill to rush up my spine, ‘if you could put me in touch with your supplier, I’d be incredibly grateful.’

  I blink. ‘Oh. Well, you know, I’m not really sure …’

  ‘Hey, no problem. I totally get it.’ He taps the side of his nose and winks. ‘Just, you know, bear it in mind. OK?’

  I nod. ‘OK.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  Shortly after this, I have to stop talking. Even one syllable is too much. But luckily Danny keeps us both entertained for the whole walk, chatting away about all the marathons that he’s done in the past, the other people who ran it with him, what it feels like to run for that length of time; all while I try not to sound like I’m dying of emphysema.

  ‘You’ve heard of The Wall, no doubt? Well it literally exists, Daisy. I mean, literally. One minute you’re running along nice and smoothly, like a locomotive, you know, that’s the image I keep in my head. Pistons pumping, all greased up and slick, raw power in my legs, my muscles like iron, driving me on, keeping me moving. Then BOOM! Suddenly you hit this wall. Face on. Thud! Straight into the brickwork, whack.’ He turns to look at me. ‘Can you even imagine what that feels like? It’s awful, that’s what. Terrible.’ He talks about sportswear and the different types of trainers you can get. I had no idea there were so many, all offering different levels of support for your feet. ‘It’s your single most important purchase if you’re into sports,’ he says. ‘And if you get the wrong kind, it can actually do you more harm than good.’

  I am amazed and show it by nodding vigorously.

  ‘I do hope your trainers are the right kind, Daisy,’ he says. ‘Support isn’t just important in your bra.’

  I shake my head. ‘No …’

  ‘The lay person just doesn’t get it,’ he goes on, bouncing up and down energetically as we walk. ‘If you’re going to be serious about sports, you need to be serious about sportswear.’

  I nod interestedly. This is probably what Tom would be like to talk to, if he was interesting and agreeable. And, you know, talked.

  After two hours and fifty minutes, I arrive back at the flat. Danny watches me from the pavement as I jog energetically up the path and in through the front door, but the second the door shuts behind me, I collapse with a groan onto the floor. I lie there, face down and unmoving. Well, apart from my chest heaving in and out. I might never rise from this position. There’s absolutely no way my legs will ever support my weight again, I know that. The muscles in them are so tight they feel like they’ll snap like guitar strings if I bend my knee even slightly, and both hip joints are throbbing with a hot, dull ache. For the final half an hour of the walk, it felt like all the cushioning between the ball and the socket had been worn away, and the bones were grinding together with every step, no doubt producing a very fine white powder. What a fantastic walk.

  I can probably survive here for quite a long time. I’ve spotted a Twix wrapper under the sideboard, and I think there might be one finger left inside. I could nibble on that very very slowly, eke it out for ages. I could most likely make it until Abs gets home this afternoon.

  But after a few more minutes, my phone quacks, so I have to stretch an arm down to reach my pocket. It’s a message from Facebook. No doubt Abs is checking up on
me. She always messages me this way because she only gets three hundred texts a month on her contract, and she saves them for … well, for Tom, I suppose.

  Abby Marcus Are you back yet? How’s it going?

  Daisy Mack been bak ten mins was v gd now dying bye x

  I’m only using one hand so can’t make capital letters or punctuation. She’ll get the message though. Maybe she’ll realise from that message that I’m in excruciating pain and will cancel the rest of her lessons for the day and rush home to look after me. That’s the kind of wonderful, selfless person she is.

  Abby Marcus Bloody hell, Daze. Man up.

  Maybe not.

  Abby Marcus Get yourself into the bath. Quick. Extra hot. That way, your muscles will be all right for tomorrow.

  Tomorrow. Oh God. I close my eyes and drop my phone in despair. I’ll definitely be dead by tomorrow.

  ELEVEN

  Daisy Mack

  is not only not dead today, but wasn’t dead yesterday either. At this point, though, I can’t vouch for tomorrow.

  Suzanne Allen Wow. That’s deep.

  Georgia Ling Glad your OK hunni xxxx

  Nat ‘Wiggy’ Nicholson Daze, that so doesn’t make sense.

  You might be surprised to find me skulking round the flat this morning at ten thirty, and not out on a brisk power march with the delectable Danny. It’s Friday, 8th of May, the day after my first high speed walk and subsequent brush with death, and three weeks until the MoonWalk. I genuinely can’t afford to waste a single day not training, but don’t worry, I’m not going to. I’m meeting Danny at twelve today, since he’s got something else to do this morning. Not sure what, though. I dropped some subtle hints yesterday, when he told me it would have to be later today, but he was a bit tight-lipped on the subject.

  Danny: Is it OK to meet a bit later tomorrow? Say, twelve?

  Me: Yeah, sure, no problem. Why’s that?

  Danny: Got something to do in the morning.

  Me: What?

  Yeah, subtle right? He didn’t let on though. Just said he had an errand to run. The word errand always makes me think of ten-year-old boys in flat caps carrying bits of paper to the grocery store. Anyway, the late start today gives me plenty of time beforehand for a bit of skulking.