‘Hiya, what’s going on?’ asked Tamsyn, and both Jason and Daisy turned to look at her in her bohemian outfit.
‘Daisy’s leaving,’ said Jason.
‘No. You can’t go. You promised,’ said Tamsyn, clutching at Daisy’s arm.
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Daisy, to both of them. She did put herself first, that was true, but she didn’t break promises and she’d never intentionally upset Tamsyn.
‘Well, no but it’s the same,’ pleaded Tamsyn. ‘Please stay.’ Tamsyn gazed at her doe eyed. Daisy looked from her to Jason who had an equally sorrowful look on his face. For the first time in a long while she felt people wanted her around and it was an unusual sensation and sadly something she wasn’t used to. She could usually announce her departure and people would send her off with nothing more than the occasional card and a wave. This was an altogether new experience. She took a deep breath and the scent of the sea struck her. Not in a bad way – it seemed to conjure up memories of happier times and she tried to blink them away.
‘If not for us, stay for Coral,’ said Jason. ‘She misses Reg terribly and I know she’s loving having you here.’
Tamsyn gesticulated enthusiastically. ‘Her ankle’s not getting any better. What if she had another fall? You’d never forgive yourself,’ said Tamsyn dramatically. Daisy started to think. She hated being put on the spot, but it felt like she needed to stop threatening to leave and make a commitment either way. Stay or go, but which would it be?
‘Everyone is actually on your side, Daisy. We were insensitive back there and I for one promise not to discuss it again.’ Jason sounded sincere.
‘Let her go. I’m going to be late for work!’ shouted Max out of the car window.
‘Who’s being selfish now?’ called back Daisy already starting to feel better. Jason was right, Aunt Coral had only ever been supportive and with her ankle still causing her problems it wasn’t fair to jump ship. And however much she didn’t want to think about it the money was also a big pull. Right now she had the grand sum of one pound, sixty-eight pence on her. She was impulsive but she wasn’t completely stupid and she knew if she left now, by the end of tomorrow she would be regretting throwing away her inheritance. It was decision time. But could she stay put – in Ottercombe Bay of all places – for a whole year? There was only one way to find out. There was also the added advantage of annoying the hell out of Max if she were to stick around and that seemed to tip the scales.
She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’ll stay,’ said Daisy. Tamsyn cheered and clapped. ‘Just for the year.’ Even saying it had her breaking out in a cold sweat but she knew in her heart, despite all her efforts to avoid it, this was what she must do. ‘Now, go and get grumpy arse to work,’ she said smiling and waving sarcastically at Max who was turning an interesting shade of red, like a cross beetroot.
Jason gave her an impromptu peck on the cheek. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he called as he jogged back to the car. Max was waving his arms about wildly as he was driven away. Daisy waved back and flashed him a cheesy grin, knowing it would make him all the more irate.
Tamsyn linked her arm in hers. ‘Jason’s right. You won’t regret it. I’ll make sure you don’t.’
Chapter Nine
Now Daisy had it firmly in her mind that she was staying in Ottercombe Bay, it no longer felt like a prison sentence; it was more like a challenge with a pot of gold at the end and she was already mapping out how she was going to spend her prize. If she could focus on the money and the fact that she was following Great Uncle Reg’s wishes she might just make it through but she needed to have a plan otherwise the next fifty weeks were really going to drag.
She was sitting one evening with a highlighter pen and the local paper. Having read the headline story about the crime wave of shed fires and vandalism to a tree, she was feeling Ottercombe Bay may be the safe haven she needed for a while. She needed to ignore Max Davey, he was an unfortunate irritation she would have to put up with, a bit like thrush – though less colourful and possibly more irritating.
She sat back and studied what she had highlighted. There were three jobs she had experience for – they weren’t mind blowing but they would be something to fill the hours and enable her to contribute to the housekeeping. Despite Aunt Coral’s kind offer, she wasn’t a charity case – she always paid her way.
‘I think I’m going to venture back to work tomorrow. The pharmacy is struggling without me,’ said Aunt Coral, lifting up her ankle and placing it carefully back down.
‘Hmm?’ said Daisy idly. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘What have you got there?’ asked Aunt Coral, putting on her reading glasses. Daisy handed her the paper and guided her through the highlighted adverts.
‘I’m looking at jobs. There’s one at the charity shop; not a volunteer role but minimum wage.’ She pulled a face. ‘Or a server at the Fish and Chip van on the seafront and this one …’ she tapped the page for emphasis, ‘… receptionist at Stabb and Lakey.’
‘Ooh the law firm?’
‘Yep, I really want that one and it’s good money.’
Aunt Coral read the advert carefully. ‘I’m pleased you’re staying.’ She reached out and squeezed Daisy’s hand.
‘I’ll apply for the charity shop one too, as a backup,’ she said.
The charity shop job had already gone by the time Daisy enquired and she didn’t fancy working in a chip van because she would always have a faint aroma of grease about her. Everything was riding on the receptionist’s job. Daisy liked a challenge and she knew she could do the job – she just had to convince them of it and, with the aid of her well-crafted CV, she had already cleared the first hurdle and secured an interview. Thanks to a small loan from Aunt Coral she looked the part with a new cream skirt, navy top and smart navy shoes. Her hair was neatly plaited against her head and her make-up was subtle.
She shooed Bug off the sofa and sat down to watch the clock. Bug gave her a disapproving look, farted and left the room. She waved a hand to clear the air. That creature is rotten inside and out, she thought. She fidgeted about on the sofa for a bit but she couldn’t settle. She decided instead of squirming for the next hour she might as well walk into town and get a coffee.
The walk was pleasant, the sea breeze calming her senses as the July sun gently caressed her skin with its warmth. She was definitely a warm weather person; she liked the heat far better than the cold, which was another reason why South America appealed to her. The thought of being able to travel but not have to constantly work was what would keep her going this year. She walked along daydreaming about the solitude of the Atacama Desert in Bolivia and the wonder of the Inca legacy at Machu Picchu and soon found herself in the centre of town not far from the Stabb and Lakey office.
It was quite busy in the cramped coffee shop as it was coming up to lunchtime. She ordered herself a double espresso, something she’d got a liking for in Italy. She took the overfilled cup, watching it closely because it was balanced precariously on a mismatched saucer. She turned just as a man barged past her to be served next.
‘Oi!’ barked Daisy. The coffee slopped over the sides of the cup and down the front of her cream skirt. ‘No!’
‘Sorry,’ came the curt reply making Daisy’s head shoot up to inspect her aggressor.
‘Oh, typical. I might have guessed it’d be you.’ Daisy scowled at Max, who looked nonplussed and carried on giving the lady at the counter his order.
Daisy flushed crimson. She was furious. Her interview was in less than thirty minutes. She didn’t have time to walk back and change and get back in time and if she did she was severely lacking in anything appropriate to wear. Most of her clothes were screwed up on her bedroom floor. She made a mental note to sort them out when she got in.
‘Would you like a cloth?’ asked the kindly woman behind the counter.
‘Yes, please. Thank you,’ said Daisy, leaning over and taking the cloth. She dabbed at her skirt but the strong dark liquid had already seeped into the so
ft material. She went to the ladies to see if she could improve things where she discovered it was actually possible to make things worse. She now had a very large wet patch in the middle of her skirt and the coffee stain was only slightly faded. She downed what was left of her espresso and headed out of the coffee shop.
‘Have a nice day,’ called out Max but she ignored him. The short stroll to the Stabb and Lakey offices had her sodden skirt sticking to her legs. As she approached she decided it may look better if she turned the skirt around. At least their first impression would be of someone smartly dressed, she may even be able to get away without them noticing.
She gave her details to the current receptionist who seemed a little bored. Daisy took a seat in the waiting area and as she sat on the coffee side of her skirt she felt the now cold wet patch adhere to her thighs and start to seep through her pants. It was more than a little distracting but she wouldn’t be put off, she really wanted this job. It was about time she had a decent job; she’d been bouncing from one rubbish zero hours contract to the next and a proper role in a good small firm would be ideal. It would be good for her CV too, which would hopefully mean better jobs when she did move on.
A tall, thin man meandered into the waiting room and appraised her. He proffered a hand. ‘Miss Wilkins?’
‘Wickens,’ corrected Daisy, standing up.
‘I’m Mr Lakey.’
‘How do you do, Mr Lakey?’ asked Daisy in her most professional receptionist voice.
‘Very well, er …’ His eyes had wandered to the front of her skirt and now hers did the same. The stain was on the back so what was he looking at? On the front of her skirt, which had once been the back, was a large patch of black fur making it look like she had some sort of pubic wig. Bloody Bug, she thought as she remembered sitting on the sofa in his favourite spot. She quickly twisted the skirt around her middle in an attempt to make the black hairy patch disappear but as soon as the wet patch came into sight she regretted it.
‘You see someone spilled some coffee just before I got here – not me I’m not clumsy or anything it was some idiot in the coffee shop. And the black hair is my aunt’s dog, he sits on the sofa and he sheds fur everywhere.’ Mr Lakey’s eyebrows were doing a tango as the two offending patches whizzed past numerous times whilst Daisy continued to twist the skirt around her waist. Daisy stopped the skirt at the halfway point so she now had the coffee stain to her left side and the black furry patch to her right. She looked up and smiled at Mr Lakey and eventually his eyes met hers. He blinked.
‘I like to make a good first impression,’ she quipped.
‘Shall … we continue?’ he asked with a definite hesitation.
Daisy agreed and, gathering up what was left of her dignity, followed him into the office.
A few hours later Daisy was sitting on the floor at Sea Mist Cottage feeling sorry for herself. Bug walked in and stopped abruptly at the sight of a forlorn-looking Daisy. They observed each other warily. Daisy decided she couldn’t be bothered to match wits with the dog today so she let him win the staring contest and he strutted off to make his spot on the sofa even more furry.
The interview hadn’t started well and had gone downhill from there. It turned out they were looking for a career receptionist – someone who was going to stay and grow with the company. Something Daisy wasn’t prepared to commit to. She hadn’t known how much there was to being a receptionist; her experience extended to welcoming people and serving tea and coffee. She hadn’t expected to have to take all the phone calls, manage the diary and appointment system, type letters and look after the petty cash. And with each question it had become evident she wasn’t experienced enough, which was a depressing realisation. She had emphasised her ability to absorb things quickly and her willingness to learn, but after a string of temps Stabb and Lakey wanted someone who already knew what they were doing and that wasn’t Daisy.
She had been to university – for a while, at least. Surely, she thought, two thirds of a degree across two subjects still counted for something? But she was starting to think this was an incorrect assumption. The lack of a finished degree along with her many short-lived roles only seemed to highlight her lack of dependability. It was a depressing truth that she had got to this point in her life with no credible career.
Daisy tried to console herself with the memories she had of the places she had visited and all the people she had met, but it was difficult to recall them without feeling how transitory it had all been. Nobody had ever pleaded with her to stay like Jason and Tamsyn had. It affected her in a way she hadn’t expected; it had chipped away at her hardened heart.
She dragged over the box of railway stuff. If she didn’t have a job she could at least sell some of the railway things. She rifled through for the photographs she’d missed when she’d found the box in the gloom of the old building. She pulled out the large envelope, which was a similar size and shape to the bottom of the box explaining how she had missed it the first time. She scattered the photographs onto the carpet in front of her and was drawn to one of the larger pictures. It was a great scene, with the railway building to the left of the picture and a large steam engine billowing out white vapour as a throng of people waved from the platform.
Daisy picked it up and studied it closely. Everyone seemed happy and relaxed and she suspected from the clothing it had been taken in the 1930s. She continued to sort through the pictures and wondered about the people in them, what had they each achieved in their lives? She suspected most had lived their whole lives in Ottercombe Bay but perhaps the arrival of the railway had opened them up to new opportunities.
Daisy was surprised when she checked the clock; time had evaporated, and she decided to start cooking dinner because Aunt Coral would be back from work soon and getting some food ready was the least she could do. By the time Aunt Coral came gingerly through the front door to the rapturous barks of an excited Bug there was a lasagne in the oven and vegetables boiling merrily on the stove.
‘How was your day?’ asked Daisy, keen to avoid reliving her own.
‘Not too bad. Ankle is still sore if I move about on it too much but otherwise okay. How did the interview go?’ Aunt Coral had made it to the living room doorway and had a look of hopeful expectation about her that Daisy was afraid she was about to crush. Daisy shook her head and Aunt Coral mimicked her headshake. ‘Not well then, love?’
‘Nope, it didn’t get off to a great start.’ She shot daggers at Bug who was hopping around Aunt Coral’s feet. ‘And I wasn’t what they were looking for anyway. It turns out all my years of various jobs add up to not very much at all.’ Daisy absentmindedly put her hand over her locket.
‘Something’ll turn up, it always does,’ said Aunt Coral with an uneasy smile. ‘Something smells nice.’
‘You rest your ankle and I’ll serve up.’
When she finally found herself nodding off on the sofa in an empty living room Daisy decided it was time she went to bed. She padded into her bedroom, liking the fact she didn’t have to drag herself upstairs, and looked around; she didn’t have much stuff but what she did have was strewn everywhere. She had meant to sort this out but she hadn’t got around to it yet. Being untidy wasn’t the worst sin in the world but it had annoyed a few people in the past. She’d tidy it all up tomorrow because depressingly she had nothing else to do.
It was warm in the bedroom so she threw the window wide open, kicked off her shoes and took off her locket. She gazed at it, turning it over in her hands. She was sure the police couldn’t have made such a howling error as to put someone else’s effects with her mother’s; she must have been wearing the locket when she died. In which case, where did she get it from and why had her father never seen it? Of course, she had had these discussions with him before but they had often ended in an argument or, more often than not, with her father simply refusing to talk. In his mind it was not Sandy’s locket and he couldn’t seem to think beyond that. Perhaps the possibility there was someone else with
her the night she died was too much for him to deal with?
What had happened that night ate away at Daisy. Knowing what had transpired would never bring her mother back but somehow she felt it would help her to move on. The fact she had spent all these years not knowing if her mother had killed herself, or worse still been murdered, was always with her – it was a shadow that never went away.
Sometimes she thought of what might have happened to Sandy; it played out in her mind like a film and occasionally brought her to the brink of tears because there was never a happy ending for her mother. She felt she had cried a lifetime of tears the day her father said her mother had gone to heaven to be with the angels because she was too beautiful to stay on earth. She vowed nothing would ever break her heart the way her mother’s death had done.
Daisy ran her finger over the intricate scrolled pattern on the locket; it was quite distinctive, she’d never seen another one like it and she’d been looking for a few years now. A jeweller had once told her it was sterling silver and made in France in the mid-1700s, which only added further fuel to the mystery. Daisy placed it carefully on the bedside cabinet, turned out the pockets of her jeans and dropped them on the floor – there was no point in folding them up, they were going in the wash tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day, she thought, as the light breeze from the open window ruffled the curtains gently and she drifted off to sleep.
It was morning when something made her stir and for a change it wasn’t Bug. She reached for her locket. Something she did every morning, wherever she found herself, it was the first thing she put on. She couldn’t lay her hands on it. She sat up and stared at the bedside cabinet. Apart from two empty glasses and a long-forgotten mug of tea there was nothing else there. Daisy swung her legs out of bed and started to scrabble about on the floor, the breeze from the open window must have knocked everything off, she thought, although the window wasn’t wide open now. But there was nothing on the floor. A crumpled five-pound note and her precious locket were gone.
Ottercombe Bay, Part 1 Page 8
