Page 13 of Dear Daisy

Subject: Headache, guilt and York check

Hello, Winter. Wow, that sounds a bit like the beginning of a really terrible poem, doesn’t it? Anyway. I really hope I didn’t say anything to upset you in that last, drunken (oh my God, how drunken, I had a headache for two days!) email. I know you’re busy and you came here to write and everything, so it’s perfectly normal that you’d be out every time I came by. Oh, don’t worry, I’m not stalking you or anything — just realised how weird it sounded, as if I was walking past the cottage every five minutes. Really just checking up for Mum, she wanted to make sure you knew that next week was recycling bins (yes, even though there are notices all over the cottage about refuse collection timetables). And, well, maybe just a little bit of wanting to see you, make sure you were all right, eating properly that kind of thing. Maybe not the eating, I put that in so that I didn’t sound stalky again, sorry.

Now I’m worrying that you don’t want to talk to me, that’s really what it is. After I told you about Ellen. I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking, in case you’re reading all deep stuff into that email. I mean, I know it was an accident, I know it was. But there’s all these ‘what ifs’, if you know what I mean, what if I’d had the delivery where I always do, what if I’d warned her to keep clear, what if? Stupid, yes, I know. Anyway. Look. I completely understand if you’re not on for Saturday any more, I can talk to Scarl and she’ll be fine, she knows you’re busy and she really wants me to buy a copy of your book so that she can get you to sign it for her! I’ve told her it’s more like a history book than one of hers but she’s still insisting. She can, I’m sure you’ve noticed, be very persistent.

Let me know though. Please. I don’t want any last-minute disappointments for her.

Thanks

Alex

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Saturday

Of course Saturday is still on! You must think I’m really evil if you think I’d cancel! Oh, and is Light Bulb coming too, only my car won’t take a horse trailer.

Winter

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Relief and thank you

Thank you. Thank you, you don’t know how relieved I am. The thought of explaining to Scarl . . . urgh. No, sorry, never meant to doubt you! But I know how it can be when work gets busy, sometimes it’s like having to balance things in your head, isn’t it? With me it’s Scarl, getting her up and to school and making sure there’s something to eat and that she gets picked up and there’s my life and friendships and then the workmen and getting the buildings together — we need the roof on before winter sets in — and sometimes I feel as though I’m sitting in the middle of this huge war, just keeping the peace. Her on one side and my whole life on the other. God, that sounds like she isn’t my whole life, which she is, but not . . . I’ll shut up now. We’ll come to the cottage at, what, ten on Saturday? And, I’m sure you’re glad to hear, Light Bulb is being turned out for the day, in Mum’s garden.

Alex

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Scarlet

Hi Alex

Any chance I could pop over sometime? There’s a couple of tiny issues with Scarlet, it would be nice if we could chat over a coffee or something rather than in school. Oh, and Scarlet told me that her friend the writer — is that Winter? — was taking her shopping in York? That is really sweet of her, and she does seem like such a nice lady. I’m really glad you’ve met someone like her, Al. It’s what you both need.

Lu x

The nights were dark here. Of course, nights are sort of dark by definition, but the nights here were really dark. I walked along the paved way by the river, where the odd street light threw angular shadows. Dark. Less artificial light, and more stars. More stars than I could ever remember seeing in one place, bright and cold and clear, it was like the sky used mouthwash. The air smelled of a primitive kind of cold, snow and peat and stone ringing with frost, as though those high hills that rose above the little town were funnelling a new Ice Age towards us.

‘Hello, Winter.’ It was Margaret.

‘Blimey. Why do I always seem to meet the same people whenever I’m out?’ I muttered, but she heard.

‘It’s a small town. Three thousand residents, over half of which are elderly, a quarter are small children and most of the rest are in the pub right now.’ She gave me a smile. ‘That really only leaves me, you and Alex, so it’s no wonder. How is the writing going?’

Hmmm. Here we are, walking slowly along by the river at ten o clock at night. That should give you a hint that it’s probably not going quite as smoothly as it should be.

‘I’m having a break.’

‘And you’re taking Scarlet to York tomorrow? Shopping . . .’ She tailed off as though she knew the word but couldn’t place its meaning. ‘I know Alex appreciates the time you spend with her. We love her dearly but she’s very much a handful. I’m sixty-three and my husband passed over a while ago, just before Ellen . . . well, and Scarlet doesn’t really have much of a feminine influence in her life.’ Margaret gave my jeans-and-anorak get up the once-over, and seemed to be stopping herself from continuing ‘not that you’re very feminine’. ‘There’s really only Lucy.’ Another tailing-off pause, as though a lot of possible futures collided in her head, but then she refocused. ‘I’m just on my way to the Women’s Group meeting, we’re having Ewan McGregor tonight and I’m looking forward to it. Of course, he isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, a little bit too keen to get his willy out, but it’s a treat for the older ladies, isn’t it? I mean, not that he’ll be there in person, of course, but it’s something.’

A duck broke cover and slid, quacking, into the busily-running stream.

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