Page 47 of Dear Daisy

‘Maybe. But you know what he’s like. Or do you, Win? Do you really know what he might be capable of?’

‘Once this book is done, it doesn’t matter. I never need to have any contact with him again, and he can say and do what he likes, it won’t matter.’

‘It might.’ Daisy’s voice was small now. ‘If he drags me into things. If he starts . . . well, he could spread all kinds of stories, couldn’t he?’

‘He won’t, Daze.’ I suddenly wanted to hug my sister. ‘Honestly. It’s hard to explain but he seems a bit different now. A bit . . . well, I was going to say “softer” but that’s not really a word you can use for Dan, is it?’

A bit of a laugh. ‘Nah. Even Dan’s soft bits are firm. So, what does he seem?’

I thought. ‘More understanding, I’d say. Somehow. A bit less condemnatory. Oh, this sounds stupid, it makes it sound like he was a cross between some hellfire preacher and Jack Dee, but it’s hard to explain. Like he’s realised something. So, no, I don’t think he’ll come after you, Daze, not any more.’

‘But he won’t let it go, will he? He might be all new “squidgy Dan” but he’s still never going to understand us, is he?’

‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get this done and then we never need to have anything to do with him again, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she said, sounding small, fragile. Once again, and with full force, I wished my sister wasn’t so far away. She seemed to wish it too. ‘Maybe . . . after the book . . . you’ll come and see me?’

You smell of jasmine and joss sticks. Your hair is frizzy at the back but you wear hats on bad-hair-days and nobody notices. You have a scar on your wrist from when you broke it falling off Jack. Hugging you is like hugging a collection of well-wrapped pipe cleaners and it’s like coming home to myself. Like I’m not quite complete without you . . .

‘I thought about it earlier — I was so tempted to just shut up the laptop and leave it all, but . . .’

‘Yeah, I know.’ A laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon enough, Win.’

‘And we’ll have massive cocktails with umbrellas in!’ It was what Daisy and I always did when we got together, drank cocktails with stupid names and unlikely ingredients until we were giggly-drunk. ‘Better go and get changed for Alex.’

‘Something sexy? How about that little blue dress? Never failed you, that dress.’

‘Hmm. Maybe. Not sure I really want to go the “sexy” route. Something a bit more old-school, perhaps.’

‘The black one then. With heels.’

‘All right, oh fashion queen, I’ll wear that one.’ And, laughing, I went off to rummage through my suitcase to find the demure-yet-sensual black dress.

The effort of finding it, sponging off some miscellaneous stains and then ironing it was well worth it. Alex’s face positively flickered with all the different emotions that the dress seemed to produce.

‘Y-you l-look very, uh, well. Wh-whatever it is, y-you look v-very.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ I walked into the flat, my heels making hollow noises on the oak boards. ‘It smells lovely.’

‘S-supermarket’s f-finest again, I’m a-afraid.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Tried a r-recipe th-that Lucy gave me, b-but . . .’ A shrug. ‘Had to t-tip it outside. C-couldn’t p-put it in the b-bin, I w-went to s-school with two of th-the bin men.’

He was clearly straight from the shower. His hair was dark with water and his hug, when he greeted me, smelled of soap and shaving gel. The soft, woven shirt was in evidence again too, over black jeans that made him look taller and even more toned in the thigh department.

‘Wine?’

There were two glasses on the worktop. One already had half an inch of wine in it. ‘What, no Scarlet to keep you from alcohol poisoning?’

‘She’s at M-Mum’s.’ Alex gave me an unfathomable look as he handed me a glass. ‘Th-thought it was only f-fair.’ He tilted the bottle and poured me a generous measure. I hoped he wasn’t trying to get me drunk, although, with the way he looked tonight, drunk wouldn’t be necessary. He looked what he was, fit, tanned from the outdoors and cute. His hair was starting to dry in the warmth of the flat and little curls were forming around the back of his neck. I found my eyes fixing on them when he turned to pour his own wine. ‘Ch-ch-, oh bugger, bottom’s up!’

I drank some wine, feeling surprisingly shy. Here I was, dressed up nicely, here he was, dressed and behaving like a grown-up without responsibilities. A tingle of arousal got sucker-punched down by something I couldn’t analyse.

‘You said Bobso had a surprise?’ I said to distract both Alex and me from the way my mind was running.

‘Y-yes.’ Alex held out a hand. ‘C-come and see.’

It seemed natural to take the offered hand and be led down the stairs, wobbling slightly with wine and heels, and out into the yard. This time Light Bulb wasn’t hovering over the hutch, but a carrot jammed into the wire mesh fronting showed that Scarlet was still taking her responsibilities as a pet owner very seriously. Alex let go of my hand and flipped open the ‘bedding’ area of the hutch to reveal a slightly surprised-looking Bobso, surrounded by six miniature Bobsos in assorted colours, which ran, squeaking, into the other end of the hutch.

‘Is that a guinea pig or an amoeba?’

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