Page 4 of Dear Daisy

There were similarities, I thought, watching him as he looked down at his niece. He had the same grey, serious eyes and the same generous mouth. His slightly crooked front teeth spoke of a similar thumb-sucking habit, although hopefully his was long gone.

‘Look, it’s fine if you want to leave her with me.’ Then, remembering the pictures I had to download and the text I had to write, added, ‘Sometimes. I mean, not right now but if she ever wants to pop in.’

He smiled. He had a similar expression to Scarlet’s as well, I realised now as he lost it in favour of a grin that showed dimples and made his eyes gleam, a slightly wary look as though he suspected that someone was creeping up on him, just out of sight. ‘That w-would be great. C-can I email? Or f—’

I really hope he’s going to say Facebook. It’s way too soon for anything else.

I found one of my business cards lurking in the back pocket of my jeans and held it out, figuring it was better to pre-empt the ending of that sentence thinking the best of him. ‘It’s got my email and my mobile and my Facebook author page and everything.’

He took it. His fingers were coarse with engrained rock dust and his nails were ragged and I had a sudden, awful flashback to long, careful fingers and the way they’d curved around the coffee cup, stirred a single sugar lump.

‘Won’t you?’ Scarlet was hopping from foot to foot. ‘Winter?’

I breathed deeply. My heart was settling now, its slurring pulse no longer deafening me. ‘Sorry? Let you come again? Yes,’ I said without thinking, without having heard anything but my rising blood.

‘Yay!’ I was the sudden object of a rushed hug. ‘Thank you! Come on, Alex, Light Bulb needs a hay net and Granny won’t let me use her plant holder so we need to buy some oranges or something. And some hay.’

Alex smiled at me again over the top of the child’s over-excited head and raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re a s-star,’ he said. ‘I’ll . . .’ and he flipped at my card.

As he led the bouncing Scarlet off down the road towards the main run of shops, I wondered what I’d agreed to do. I closed the door on the street and felt the quiet settle back around me. Time to turn on the computer, check my emails. Tweet my new project to keep the interest of those who’d, inexplicably in some opinions, made my last book a huge hit. Make sure my editor, make sure Dan knew I was working.

But instead I turned on the small radio. Listened to some indie music and let the noise fill that empty hole that surrounded any thoughts of Dan.

Chapter Three

Daniel Bekener @EditorDanB

@WinterGAuthor

How’s the book going?

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Dan Bekener — Winter Gregory Author Page

Hey, how are things? You’ve not been in touch lately. I know I’m not your favourite person right now, but it would be great to hear from you.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: How are you doing?

Hey, Bethie

Glad to see that voice recognition kit is working out for you. Let me know if you need a more up-to-date package and I’ll grab one, Greg won’t mind. He sends his love, by the way, everyone at Shy Owl says ‘hi’ and me . . .

No, I’m doing okay. And, before you start nagging, yeah, I’ve tried to get in touch with Winter. She’s back in the country, so I guess she’s working but I’m not getting involved any more than I have to, hey, only so much punishment a guy can take, right? Right. But you know something? Yeah, course you do, you’re the only one who really ‘got’ what I had with Win, so I don’t need to put it here, do I? Jeez, I miss her, Bethie. I miss her like someone put a twelve inch spike through my gut . . . but I couldn’t do it. In the end, it wasn’t me she wanted, I wasn’t enough for her, I guess.

Anyhow. Mum says the meds are working for you and you’ve got a new chair. Hope next time I come round you’re gonna race me round the yard like when we were kids . . . and, for the record, I know you used to let me win.

Love ’n stuff

Danny Boy

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