Page 52 of Dear Daisy

‘She’s got a lot of love to give, that’s all.’ I went through into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘But Alex is afraid for her. I think he’s terrified of something happening to her, otherwise why not just get her riding lessons and have done with it?’

‘Insight, you’re making progress,’ Dan said, enigmatically. ‘Tea, one sugar, loads of milk. Why don’t you take her riding? I’m sure Alex would trust you, after all, you and he are a bit tight, aren’t you?’

I stuck my face above the kettle to let the steam give me a reason for the hot blush. ‘We’re friends, that’s all.’

‘Seriously?’ Dan sounded as though he’d made a face. ‘Thought he’d be your sort of thing these days, all shirt off and muscles and the stammer . . . buff and flawed, isn’t that the kind of thing that all women dream of?’

A momentary image of Alex’s naked body covering mine, a firmness of flesh so unfamiliar. ‘We’re just friends,’ I said again.

Dan was quiet, and when I came back in carrying two mugs of tea I saw that he’d moved to sit in front of my laptop and was reading the manuscript from the screen. He’d got his ‘editor’s’ head on. I could tell from the way his lips occasionally moved as he tried a phrase out, or twitched a cheek in a wince at a misspelling or casual use of grammar. I started to drink my tea, trying not to watch him through the spiralling vapour over the mug, but Dan snagged at my eyes like a rough piece of silk on a nail. His angular face with its cat-like cheekbones, those dark eyes like wormholes into another, more chaotic, universe. So capable of a sort of existential wildness and yet able to turn himself into a listening stillness when it was needed. A man built of mercury, of beating hearts and of lead.

‘This is good.’ He finally looked across at me. ‘Really. Think you might have outdone Book of the Dead with this one.’ Without even seeming to locate it consciously he reached out and picked up the mug of tea, draining it down in one long gulp. ‘Knew you could do it, if I wound you up enough. Mail it over. I’ll come to the school tomorrow and then head back to London in the evening, get this printed up and give it a proper once-over.’ A tilt of the head. ‘What’re your plans now, then?’

I don’t know. I couldn’t see any further than finishing the book. I’ve been living here in a stasis field, every day the same in this unchanging place, surrounded by landscape that’s been the same since the Ice Age gave up and went home, and I managed to convince myself that this was all there was.

‘I . . .’ My hand shook a little and my mug dribbled some tea down the side. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Okay. Well, keep me up to date, girl, because we’re going to need you for publicity come Christmas — winding up to the final push when the book comes out. Don’t leave the country, hey?’ Dan pushed away from the table and stood up, looking for a moment, in his whirling coat, like the centre point of a tornado. ‘I’m glad you got there in the end, Winter,’ he said, softly. ‘Knew you could do it.’

He reached out a hand and took mine, turning it over so that the tattoo flashed on his wrist and my fingers curled, unresisting, into his palm. With his other hand he removed the mug from my grasp and put it on the table. ‘This is an effing stupid idea,’ he said, quietly, ‘but, hell’s teeth, I have missed you so much.’ Then he stepped a fraction nearer, caught my chin and held it while he lowered his lips down to mine.

A fraction of a second of the taste of him was all it took to plummet me backwards through time to the first time we’d kissed, sitting on the Embankment in London in the chilly spring sunshine. That had been a kiss of hope, of anticipation; a cautious getting-to-know kiss that had the brevity of melting ice creams built in. This kiss was its diametric opposite, a kiss of farewell, of longing. Of nostalgia for something that would never be again, a sad kind of sweetness. When Dan stood away again without speaking, I felt the tears choking their way up from the bottom of my throat.

He didn’t even look back, just opened the door and walked out onto the crowded pavement and was gone in a flicker of black, as though the pale sun couldn’t reach him, wherever he was.

Chapter Twenty-One

From: DanBekener @ShyOwlPublishing.co.uk

To: [email protected]

Subject: An ending

I did it, Beth. It’s over. Just a few loose ends to tidy, then I’m over her. I am going to stay up north for a bit though, away from the cities, to get my head clear. I know you said to try, to fight for what I wanted but there’s no point any more.

I can be all cool about it now, but it still feels like someone’s put their hand down my throat and is pulling my heart out.

Love

Danny Boy

A.N. Editor Blog

Finality. It’s one of those words that looks different written down — I always want to pronounce it finnallity in my head, like it’s a disease of fish or something. But in this case I’m convincing myself it’s a good thing. It’s kinda like books, for anyone who’s still following me over here for writing advice. Endings are always hard. Saying goodbye to those characters you’ve learned to love, to identify with, sometimes there’s this compulsion to keep them around, keep the story going even when you know it’s reached a natural end. Even the ending of something you didn’t want is still a change, still having to pull back from the spiral of chaos into movement in another direction, and the ending of something you’d hoped would be more . . . well, yeah, that one’s a bitch.

But a proper ending, one with closure, that’s different. If you can give a book, like a relationship, a decent send-off, observe all the proper rites and practices, somehow it makes it all less bitter. No one should ever walk away with unfinished business, and now I’ve managed to round my business off, ended my story. It’s over, but it’s decently over. I only ever wanted to help, to be there, to be good for her and in wanting that I let her in that little bit too far. Forgot to protect myself on the fall, so the landing when it came hit me harder than it should have, but now . . . now I reckon we’re both on the rise. But separately.

So, yeah. Closure. Achieved. Not, maybe, what I wanted or planned, but for the best.

Daniel Bekener @EditorDanB

@WinterGAuthor New book out in June, mystery and graveyards @ShyOwlPublishing

Daniel Bekener @EditorDanB

Sometimes this job is just too much

I sat in Mr Moore’s office, with my bottom squeezed between rigid metal arms on a child-sized seat. I’d chosen to wear a wraparound dress with my hair loose today, so as not to look too much like another teacher, but from my reflection in the glass-fronted trophy cabinet I looked more like a witch who’s had her broomstick stolen.

---