Page 45 of Dear Daisy

I stared at him. ‘What?’ Confusion. That’s what Dan’s all about.

‘How much coffee are you drinking?’ He’d dropped his head, seemingly to stare at his boots, and was rubbing the tattoo as though it itched, but now his head came up. ‘Serious question, Winter.’

I had a momentary guilty thought about all the cups and mugs I’d recently rinsed and returned to the cupboard, but wild horses and a very large tractor wouldn’t pull the truth out of me in front of him. ‘Couple of cups a day. Why?’

Dan picked up one of my books, a floppy-covered academic work on gravestone lettering, and used it as a fan, waving it in front of his face like a literature-obsessed Regency damsel. ‘And the rest. Oh, Winter . . .’ and now his voice had a little hitch, almost sadness, which contrasted with the comical book-flapping, which was causing coloured Post-its to fall from the pages and rain around his feet. ‘Do you really not know what’s wrong here? Can you not see?’

‘All I can see is a pillock losing all my marked places and sitting with his feet up on furniture which isn’t even mine. I thought you were supposed to be helping me, not perching like a budgie that’s been trained to make really abstract statements,’ I said, pushing some irritation into my voice to stop him from seeing the swirling bewilderment that he was causing.

‘Okay. Okay.’ Dan slid off the table. ‘In the spirit of the whole “Being Your Editor” thing, and not raking up the past . . .’ He caught my eye and went on smoothly. ‘. . . or even mentioning it, before you throw something at me, I have to say that I don’t think you’re going to get any further with this one.’

I sat suddenly on the florally cushioned chair behind me. ‘What? You mean, call it a day?’

He shrugged and sucked his teeth. ‘Gotta admit it sometime, kiddo, it’s just not a goer.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Is this some kind of reverse psychology thing, where you tell me you’re pulling out and suddenly I get all incensed and write like a demon for three days without leaving the house and produce a masterpiece?’

Dan raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s Hollywood. This . . .’ He spun one of his coat-encompassing slow circles. ‘. . . isn’t. Despite the fact it’s built entirely of some kind of wood, that’s probably just so they can burn it down when you leave. Plausible deniability.’ He stopped spinning but his coat seemed to move independently for a few moments, as though it were a live thing in its own right, making a separate decision. ‘See, what it is, Win . . .’ His hands dug into his pockets now as his head came up. His eyes, which seemed almost black in the thick light, found mine and held on. ‘Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and I’m thinking now . . .’ A pause that made my heart beat almost sick-makingly hard in my throat for reasons I didn’t want to think about, let alone acknowledge. ‘. . . maybe you’re a loss too far,’ he finished, so softly that the words seemed absorbed by the air.

I felt the lightheaded buzz that was all the blood draining from my face, the clammy sweat unnecessarily cooling my skin. ‘But I thought . . .’ was all I could manage. My throat had gone dry. What had I thought? That this could go on forever? Me not writing, Dan hovering in the background being all Dark Angel? Shit, had Daisy been right all along, was I using this book somehow to get back at Daniel? Using all this writer’s block bollocks to control him, make him worried that he wasn’t going to get his investment back — that his confidence in me was misplaced? Make him look stupid in front of all those who’d ridiculed the idea of Book of the Dead and then poured so much scorn on the thought of a follow-up that the project had almost sunk under its weight? Was that it?

Dan was watching me. I’d always assumed that I knew what was going on behind that straight, dark gaze. That, even with all the chaos stuff and the random moves and the spontaneous behaviour, I knew him. I suddenly realised that I had no idea what Dan thought about what was happening. He’s a stranger. But now he’s a stranger who can take things away from you, things you know, deep down, that you really need. You aren’t giving him that power, it’s the power he’s always had in the real world.

‘One day,’ he said, softly, ‘one day, Win, you’re going to forget. It’s going to fade and fade until one day you’ll wake up and it will feel like it was all a dream.’

No. No, I will remember. I will ALWAYS remember. And the mere thought of losing those memories, of any of it fading and dying made me breathe a little faster. And I realised why I was writing this book. ‘Okay,’ I said slowly, drawing in a deep breath.

He seemed surprised. Eyebrows raised and he pulled a face, then scrabbled a hand through his hair until it looked as though a poltergeist had had a go at it. ‘You’ll let it go?’

‘I didn’t mean that, it wasn’t an “okay I agree with you”. It was an “okay, I can do this”. For me I can do it. For all those people who’ve got gravestones that people have forgotten about, all those humps out there in that churchyard that were once someone somebody loved.’ I stood up. ‘I want this book. Never mind the guys back at HQ, never mind the readers and certainly never mind you. I’m doing this for me, and I will bloody well get that book in on deadline.’

‘Well, that was unexpected. And I thought I was the king of the random.’ He poked his tongue into his cheek, I could see the bulge. It was something Dan did when he was thinking very deeply about something, so deeply that, for a second, the image dropped and I was looking at the face of the real man underneath the manga-esque figure I was used to. The Dan that didn’t need to make an impression or show a front to the world. The Dan I . . . the man I used to know.

‘Seriously. I can do it,’ I said, and, even to me, my voice seemed to have a new certainty.

‘I know you can. Just wondering if it’s a good idea.’ He spoke without looking at me. His eyes were flickering but seeing ideas rather than reality. ‘Also wondering what the hell I just said there to kick you up the butt, because, fuck, I’m going to use that voice a lot more.’ A quick flick of a sideways look. ‘You know the coffee is you self-medicating, don’t you? I mean, yeah, you’re sharp, you understand what it’s all about.’ And suddenly he was standing very close, so close that I could feel that little static pull of his skin against mine. ‘You know what you’re doing.’

And I could feel that new certainty washing through my veins on a fizz of anticipation. ‘Yes.’

A slow nod. ‘Okay.’

I stepped away from him. You’re just a guy. Somebody I used to know, nothing else. Look, I can put clear air between us and not feel as though something is missing. ‘In fact, I’m going to start now. Go away, Dan.’

‘Getting the message and the picture, Win, don’t worry.’ He tilted his head and looked down at me; it made his eyelashes slant across his cheekbones.

Yeah, I get it, you’re attractive. But no more, Daniel. No more power over me.

‘I’ll check back in a day or so.’ Now he moved across the room, boots jingling like a horse pulling into harness, to pause at the front door with his hand on the catch. ‘Just remember what I said about the coffee. Ease up. It might feel as though it’s helping, but it’s really not, okay, kiddo?’

Like writing the books. Like coming here. ‘I’ll let you know how I’m getting on.’ I reached for the door to do the ‘hostess’ thing of letting him out, but he’d already opened it and was halfway down the High Street before I got there.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Have you been reading those romance books again?

Ciao, bella. How are you doing? Mum said you’d had a bit of a setback. Look, I’ll come down and see you, sometime in the next week or so, okay? You just hang in there, kiddo, keep taking the tablets as they say. I want to see you buzzing around, seen enough of you lying flat on your back, tbh, you lazy moo!

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