Page 16 of Dear Daisy

Alex came out to meet me. Today he was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers that were made of a soft fabric like brushed skin. The shirt was open at the collar and his tanned skin contrasted with its whiteness like a black and white photo. ‘W-would you like to c-come in for a c-coffee?’

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to slide back into the cottage, so small and snug that it was less like going home and more like getting dressed. I wanted to lie in a bath for half an hour and wash away all thoughts of Dan, the potential of his dark shape flickering through the streets of York; to breathe in the scent of bath foam and fresh air and feel the quiet. But, on the other hand, Alex looked sensational today, and I’d dipped out on the coffee earlier.

‘Yes, please. If you promise to keep that coffee machine under control.’

He laughed and opened the car door for me. ‘Ah,’ he said, looking in. ‘S-Scarlet-shaped chaos. I’ll c-clean that up for you.’

I laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. My boyfriend used to sit and sharpen pencils in there so . . .’ I tailed off, the words sinking under the rising image of Dan calmly carving off slices of wood, scattering them around him like broken wishes. ‘Just the coffee will do.’

The office space was bright and humming with electrical activity. Even though it was a Saturday Alex had clearly been working. Pages were scattered around the printer and there was the smell of over-heated machinery in the air. The coffee machine sat amongst all this like a gargoyle in an operating theatre, and spat occasional gouts of ill-tempered steam at us. There were two empty cups on the side, with tidemarks of old conversations halfway up the sides. ‘You’ve been busy,’ I said, taking a fragrant mug.

‘Making the m-most of Scarl b-being away.’ Alex gave me a grin over his mug. ‘We usually s-spend the weekends b-baking. Or exercising L-Light Bulb. Lucy c-came over to t-talk about Scarlet’s p-progress at school.’ From above we could hear the sounds of Scarlet racketing up and down the floorboards. ‘I f-fetched him back f-from Mum’s. She’ll t-take him out in a b-bit.’

I sipped. Despite the purring of equipment and the overhead thundering, it was relaxingly quiet in here. Alex was perched on the edge of the desk with his legs bracing him, which drew extra attention, if extra were needed, to his long, strong thighs. I wondered if he was doing it deliberately, advertising his attractiveness to an available potential mate, and then I cursed myself for my cynicism.

‘Why not get her a pet?’ I cast my eyes upwards, in case he might think I was talking about his mother, whose only need for a pet would be to have something else to fret about. ‘Something real to lavish all that attention on.’

His mouth twitched, it didn’t look like a smile. The mug went down onto the desk and his hands spread in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘It w-would be nice, yes. B-but . . .’ And now his hands went up, cupped his face briefly, then he sighed and stood up. ‘It’s h-hard to explain.’ The coffee machine burped twice, and he suddenly seemed to find it fascinating, lifting its lid to check water levels and pulling a few levers, which appeared to do absolutely nothing apart from jet steam in random directions. ‘Scarl would love a p-pet but I can’t c-cope with anything else. I mean we m-manage, it’s fine, everything is under c-control but if things g-go wrong’ — he peered into the depths of the machine’s workings — ‘with th-this place and Scarl. It’s a b-balance, d’you see? Anything else w-would be too m-much.’ The lid clattered back and he turned round to face me now. ‘I s-seem to do nothing b-but talk about myself with y-you. All I know ab-about you is what Scarl tells me, which is q-quite a lot admittedly, sh-she can be a bit nosey, I’m afraid.’

The more he talks, the less he stammers. As if he’s gradually relaxing with you, getting less fazed by speaking; it’s quite attractive. Even the way he blinks when the words jam, it’s a nice little touch, stops him from being so utterly out-of-your-league gorgeous; that little hint of vulnerability.

‘Oh, before I forget, I gave Scarlet a copy of Book of the Dead. I had a couple of author copies with me, which saved us having to comb some of the more dubious bookshops in York looking for one. You might want to check through before she starts reading it, there’s a couple of stories of death that might not be all that suitable, although I don’t know what level she’s reading at, so she might just slide right past them, but you ought to be aware, just in case.’

He was staring at me now. Or, rather, not staring, but his eyes were particularly intent on me. ‘Th-that happens a lot, p-people changing the subject. Like, b-because I stammer I c-can’t keep track of what’s g-going on in a conversation. B-but I can, Winter. I c-can see you change the subject b-because you feel uncomfortable w-with it, but why? I’m only a-asking for what you’ve told Sc-Scarlet, in your own words. Not a d-deep psychological insight.’

I sighed. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right, of course. I mean, Scarlet asks these questions, right out of nowhere and sometimes she sort of gets me by surprise, but, yes, you trust her with me so you ought to know that there’s nothing horrendous there in the background. I’m just a writer who had one huge success that she’s now trying to replicate by writing about little-known country churchyards and staying in a house that looks like the doorbell should chime “hi ho, hi ho”.’

‘And you’re a t-twin?’ He resumed his coffee drinking, after staring briefly into the cup, checking that the machine wasn’t trying to poison him, presumably. ‘That must be . . . ?’

What does he want you to say here? That it must be nice, or terrible or confusing or painful?

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been anything but a twin. I mean, I know enough people who aren’t to say that it’s a relationship that’s so strong that what Daisy and I have is . . .’ I felt the tears come to my eyes, flattening my throat so that words wouldn’t come and flaming in the back of my brain. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ I started sniffing, but that wasn’t enough, and the tears began to fall. I hunched myself forward and groped for a tissue, encountering nothing in my pocket but a sheaf of receipts, wondered about using my sleeve but, even in extremis, realising that blowing my nose on my own clothes in front of a desirable man was not the way to go.

‘Here.’

To my surprise Alex passed me a box of tissues from the desk. He didn’t look as appalled as I would have expected of a man who’s asked a simple question only to be met with a breakdown. I blew my nose resoundingly and rubbed at my eyes.

‘Winter?’ Scarlet was standing in the doorway. ‘What did you do, Alex?’ A very grown-up question.

‘It wasn’t Alex,’ I snuffled. ‘I just got a bit sad for a moment. I’m all right now though.’

‘Oh.’ She hovered for a moment, with Light Bulb swinging his head from side to side as she made a decision. ‘Well. You have to say sorry, Alex, if you upset Winter.’

‘I’m v-very sorry if I upset y-you,’ Alex said, solemnly, and I nearly laughed around my tissue.

‘Good.’ And now the drama was over, life was back to normal for the little girl. ‘I’m taking Light Bulb out for a canter. I put the books in my bedroom, we bought loads, and Winter got me some lipstick and a milkshake! Come on, Light Bulb, trot on, you’ve got so lazy today!’

‘J-just in the yard, Scarl,’ Alex called after her. She gave no sign of having heard but, when we peered through the doors, she was loping round and round the paved yard outside. ‘I really am s-sorry,’ he repeated, more quietly now. ‘What h-happened?’

I heaved another great sigh, as though the incoming air could rinse out some of the poison. No point in being coy about it. And if you ever do end up dating Alex, then he ought to know. ‘Dan. My editor. He and I were . . . well, a couple, of sorts. Not for very long, but . . .’ Long walks by the Thames, mooching through the chilly spring sunshine eating ice creams not much colder than the breeze. Laughing, always laughing, meals and wine. ‘And then the book came out and it was a success.’ Drinking champagne, the constant phone calls updating me on the sales figures, Dan chasing the publicity department to get me on TV, radio, interviews with the press. Still, the laughing. ‘And then something changed. Dan never really liked the fact that I spent so much time talking to Daisy. He was jealous, basically, of the time I gave her. I mean, I said, I explained, she was such a long way away, and I missed her, and I needed to talk to her to make up for her not being around. But he wanted . . . he said I shouldn’t rely on her so much. That I had him . . .’ I swiped the tissue over my face again. ‘And he made me choose.’ Dan, never more beautiful than he was that night, standing on the bridge, his hands against the rail, head bent so far forward that I thought he might jump into the river. ‘You need to make a decision, Win. If you stick with Daisy, then I have to go.’

And I chose.

‘She’s my twin. If I separate myself from Daisy I’d feel as though I was losing something . . . oh, I can’t describe it . . . something treasured. Something that has been a part of me for so long that it’s not even a part any more, it just is. Like my nose or something. So Dan went.’

Alex’s eyes were soft. ‘That’s r-rough.’

‘So. We still sort of work together, he okayed the new book so it’s his responsibility to get it out there, but after that . . .’ I shook my head, ‘I never have to have anything to do with him again.’

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