Page 65 of The Temp

‘I laughed,’ Mum goes on. ‘I mean, I love the bones of you girls, but I’m not mum-of-the-year material, am I? I mean, you two were quite enough for me, thank you very much. You went quiet on me then, didn’t you, love?’ Daisy looks destroyed. Did she lose a baby? Is she infertile? It’s not something we ever discussed. ‘But being the stupid woman that I am, instead of steering off the subject of children, I berated her for cutting the carrots too thickly, said my Bella could do a better job when she was twelve.’ I rub my forehead. It’s not the most tactful thing to say to someone you barely know. ‘I was joking,’ she clarifies, sensing my disapproval. ‘Oh, I don’t know why I said it, I’m sorry, Daisy. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘You didn’t,’ Daisy says to the TV, flickering in the corner of the room. ‘It’s just that I was the house cook growing up. I know how to prepare food.’ I’ll second that. I will miss her cooking. ‘But I should have just let you take the knife and carry on. I mean, it is your house.’ Georgia bustles back into the room and Daisy draws her legs in to let her by. ‘I shouldn’t have put up a fight. I’m sorry I shouted at you, Sandra. I’ve got a bit of a short fuse.’ Has she? I hadn’t noticed, but then I don’t know her that well. ‘I had a bad day.’ With her two middle fingers, she rubs her forehead and sighs. ‘When I saw the blood, it made me panic and I just …’ she falters. My entire body sags with relief. That explains it all – she suffers from hemophobia.

‘Daisy didn’t have a great upbringing,’ Georgia interjects, and we all swivel our heads towards her, and then her phone starts ringing in her hand. ‘Parents were both alkies.’ Getting to her feet, Georgia presses the phone to her ear. ‘Hi, Dad.’

My heart freezes. Tom only rings Georgia during working hours if it’s an emergency. What could be so urgent? I imagine Tom going back to his practice, still reeling from my accusations. Is he going to go grass me up to Georgia about the DNA test now that I accused him of murder?

Chapter 59

‘Can you just hang on a sec, please, Dad?’ Georgia covers the mouthpiece. ‘Daisy’s dad used to give her Chinese burns for misbehaving and pull her ears until they bled if she burnt the Sunday roast. You’d run upstairs and lock yourself in your bedroom, blood pouring. Init, Daisy? The sight of the red stuff makes her panic now.’

Daisy’s eyes harden, her look depicting traitor. ‘Sorry, Daisy, but they’ve got to know why you freaked out. Otherwise, they might think you’re doolally and lock you up in a funny farm.’ Georgia giggles. ‘Oh, and her mum used to lock her in the cupboard under the stairs for being naughty. Yeah, Dad, what’s up?’

‘Daisy, is this true?’ Mum gulps, to the backdrop of Georgia’s footsteps clattering in the hallway, her voice fading with each step.

‘Why didn’t you say something, love?’ I ask, the fear of Tom grassing me to Georgia taking a backseat to Daisy’s wellbeing.

Zelda runs a hand over her face, looking contrite. ‘Shit, no wonder you’re traumatised.’

‘Daddy couldn’t hold his drink – didn’t know what he was doing, and Mammy was only trying to teach me a lesson.’ Daisy picks at a loose thread of her bandage. ‘That’s how parents disciplined their kids back in the day, wasn’t it?’ Zelda and I look at each other.

‘Well, no, I never did that to my kids.’ Mum shakes her head. ‘I mean, they got the odd clip around the ear, but nothing more.’

‘That’s abuse,’ Zelda croaks, clearly shaken by Daisy’s revelation. ‘You must be suffering from PTSD.’

‘PT what?’ Mum quizzes, curling her sleek white hair behind her ear.

‘Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,’ Zelda clarifies. ‘It’s a condition caused by a traumatic experience.’

‘Right. I see. Well, you should get some professional help for that, love.’

‘I haven’t got PTSD. I’m fine.’

I disagree. I think Zelda’s spot on. That, together with the hemophobia, will explain her outburst today. ‘The system should’ve taken care of you,’ I say. ‘Honestly, some people shouldn’t have kids.’ Mum murmurs in agreement when I say this. ‘But hey, you’ve got us now, right?’

Daisy’s head snaps up. ‘Why are you chucking me out, then?’

Heat gushes my face. ‘I’m not,’ I protest, suddenly feeling defensive. ‘You can stay as long as you like. I’m sorry Tom was a bit short with you this morning. He’s got a lot on his plate.’ I laugh lightly, eyes flicking from Mum to Zelda who are looking at me as if I’m a monster who’s throwing a homeless, abused girl onto the streets. ‘Georgia said the flats you saw today weren’t very good, but there’ll be others – no rush,’ I say, feeling as if I’m sitting in a witness box being scrutinised by a harsh jury. ‘Maggie said she’s ready to come back to work. I mean, if I could keep you both on, I would.’ A drill goes off and I look at the wall. Mum rolls her eyes, flicks a hand out and says she’s got new neighbours, moved in while she was away. ‘Look, I’ll talk to Tom, see if we can arrange something for you. How’s that?’

‘That control freak?’

‘What do you mean?’ I’m taken aback by her feralness. Tom is a stingy arsehole, but he’s been good to her for most of her stay.

‘I mean, he calls all the shots, holds the purse strings. Manipulates you.’

‘Of course he doesn’t.’ I give a little mirthless laugh, looking from Zelda to Mum for backup, but they’re wearing their harsh jury expressions again. ‘I do what I like with my money.’ This isn’t strictly true. Tom has taken to opening my credit card and bank statements since I omitted to tell him I’d hired Frank, and then pretends he opened them by accident.

‘Actually, she’s right, Bells,’ Zelda looks at Mum. ‘We’ve thought it for years.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ I protest. ‘He’s not that bad.’

‘He’s old-fashioned.’ Mum waves a hand. ‘That’s all.’ At least Tom has one supporter. ‘Your father was the same.’

‘It’s coercive behaviour, Sandra,’ Daisy points out. ‘It’s criminal. Anyway, I don’t want your charity, Bella. I know when I’m not wanted. Funny how you weren’t so eager to get shot of me when you needed my help to hide the weapon.’

Needles pierce into my guts. ‘Excuse me?’ I utter. Zelda looks at me, face reddening.

‘Weapon?’ Mum asks, with fake laughter.

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