Maximum Exposure (20 page)

The chill had spread from Ben’s hands to his very bones. What he was feeling was the bitter, arctic coldness of rejection. ‘And Majik?’ he managed to ask.

She smiled. He watched, helplessly, as her mouth curled softly, sensuously, upwards. He longed, more than ever, to feel the touch of those lips on his, but that move, he understood, was barred to him.

‘Majik Jamelsky, Ben, was my “village boy”, to use your metaphor. He offered friendship, and self-esteem, and laughter, and liberation. I adored him, but only because he was a creature of great beauty and a gift-wrapped parcel, if you like, with no strings. I knew I could never possess Majik. He wasn’t that kind of man. One day, perhaps, he’ll settle lightly somewhere but not yet, and certainly not with me. He’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

She nodded. ‘Last week. Right after the opening of the exhibition. He only stayed for me. That was his final present.’

Her eyes were bright. Ben guessed that Majik’s departure had not been completely painless for her and a tiny, reprehensible part of him was jealous of the power to affect her in that way. Staunchly, he put the feeling aside.

‘So now?’

‘Don’t you see, Ben? I loved your story. I was so touched by it, honestly, but I’ve just found what I need to be, what I
can
be. I can’t give that up now. I care for you in a really serious way, I hated it when you were with Lizzie but I don’t know whether it was because I’d lost my closeness with her or whether I missed your attention.’

He sat, helplessly silent.

‘I have to stay here, Ben. For a while at least. I like Nice. I’m supporting myself, I’m even making a bit of a name for myself. I was dependent on Jack for years and I was getting dependent on you too, till you chose Lizzie. I can’t let myself be that girl again, I
have
to stand on my own two feet until I’m sure I can, and I’m sure I know what I want. And if that means not being in a relationship, well so be it.’

She smiled again, but it wasn’t the uncertain, mouth-twisting smile of old. It was new and assured.

His heart seemed to swell like a balloon so that it filled his chest cavity and pressed into his lungs, making breathing difficult.

In her smile he read his dismissal.

‘I’m sorry Ben. Truly.’

The phone call came at six the next morning, when the sun was still cushioned in its own dark duvet. Hazy with sleep, Daisy hauled at a frail thread of consciousness and emerged blinking. So far as she knew, only four people had her new mobile number. Her mother. Madame Prenier. Daniel. And Majik.

Of the four, it was the connection she least wanted to make – her mother – and as soon as she heard the timbre of her voice, she knew that her dream of making a life for herself in Nice was over.

PART 3

Chapter One

Flying back into Edinburgh in late October, Daisy had no shield against the shock of her arrival in the capital. She put her nose to the small window in the aircraft as they circled out over the Forth and saw the steel-cold grey of water far below. Pale sun filtered through a meagre crack in the dark clouds, blinding her for a second before the plane banked. Now she could see the city, spread out against the sky – the distinctive skyline, dominated by the bulky lump of Arthur’s Seat and the crumbly rocks of Salisbury Crags, the new Parliament building, the Castle. They were past it all in an instant and then all she could see was the tarmac, coming up fast to meet them and the rain streaming down the window as the plane juddered and screeched and came to a halt.

The drop in temperature was noticeable as soon as the doors were opened. It must be fifteen degrees colder than it had been in Nice.

‘You all right, hen?’

‘Fine. Thanks.’ A youth with a bad case of acne and greasy hair was gazing at her familiarly.

‘Need a hand wi’ yer bag?’

‘It’s fine, thank you.’

‘Hope ye’ve got on a simmet,’ he laughed, indicating her inadequate clothing.

She smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a vest, but in the low early winter temperature it seemed a sensible idea. On the other hand, it wasn’t just the cold she needed shielding from, she thought as she stood waiting to descend the steps into the night air. No vest – not even a bullet-proof one – would offer any buffer against the scene that awaited her at home.

Janet was waiting for her in the Arrivals Hall. Daisy caught sight of her a moment or two before she was spotted herself. Her mother looked older. Lines of worry were etched deep down her face from the sides of her nose to below her mouth and her cheekbones stood out starkly below eyes that appeared sunken and hollow.

‘Darling!’

‘Hello, Mum. Good to see you.’

The hug she received was possibly brief, but it was the longest she could ever remember. Daisy could feel urgency in it, and an edge of desperation.

‘How’s Dad?’ She drew back, smiling, to ask the question.

Janet’s face stiffened and the worry returned to her eyes. ‘He’s fine. Better than he was. Still in the wheelchair, of course.’

As they walked to the car park, Daisy ran her mind back over what she knew. Her father had had a stroke. If her mother had found him earlier, apparently, the doctors might have been able to treat him, with positive results. As it was, she’d been out at her book group the evening it had happened, and hadn’t found him until some hours later. By the time the ambulance had arrived and got him to hospital, it was too late for any corrective drugs.

Unsurprisingly, Janet Irvine shouldered the burden of blame for this. Daisy had gathered that from the bombardment of anguished phone calls over the past weeks – calls that pulled her inexorably back to Scotland. How could she refuse? Duty, doing the right thing, not failing others – they’d all been drilled into her as a child.
‘Stop whingeing, girl, and step up to the mark.’
She could hear her father’s voice ringing in her ears, even now. She had never known where ‘the mark’ was or how she could step up to it, but the implications were clear enough. Grow up. Stand taller. Put yourself forward to do what’s right. And always she’d felt she’d failed. So how could she fail her mother now?

Close to, the taut lines of Janet’s face were more obvious. Dark tracks incised into her grey, tired skin. She’d aged a decade in a matter of weeks. Daisy was furious with her father for inflicting this situation on them, and the fury was followed by shame that she could think anything so unworthy. The stroke had hardly been Eric’s fault.

‘The doctors say that he can probably think reasonably clearly, but he can’t link his mind to his mouth or to words,’ Janet told her as they watched the carousel begin to move and the first cases were spat out through the gaps in the rubber curtain. ‘Is that your bag, darling?’

Daisy halted one of the cases and took a quick glance at the label, then let it go. ‘No, not mine. Go on.’ She had to brace herself for what she would face at home.

‘When he can’t make himself understood, he gets deeply frustrated. Then he gets angry. Once or twice he’s actually thrown things at me – anything he can reach with his good arm. It’s not his fault,’ she said hastily, as Daisy opened her mouth. ‘Really it isn’t. When it doesn’t end in anger, it usually ends in tears. His usually, sometimes mine, quite often both.’ She faced Daisy wearily. ‘It’s not good, Daisy, and the worst of it is I don’t know if it will get any better. I can’t see any end to it. I’m so glad you’re home.’

Daisy, spotting her case and hauling it off the carousel onto her trolley, had to turn away from her mother so that her face could not be read. ‘So am I,’ she lied. What else could she say? The thought of having to stay at Laurel Lane, even for a few nights, was wretched. Obligation, like an iron weight, pressed on her shoulders.

She was thankful that her mother took the wheel. She was able to sit and stare out of the window, reorientating and thinking morosely about the trap she was walking into. When the call had come from her mother, very early on the morning after she had boldly made her declaration of independence to Ben, she’d at first been distressed, then appalled, then concerned for her mother, and finally furious, as the knock-on effects of the incident began to sink in. Independence? Even now, six weeks later, Daisy’s mouth started to twist as she thought about just how hollow that declaration had turned out to be.

‘I need help, darling,’ Janet had said, her voice so sadly pathetic that Daisy was unable to ignore the plea. ‘I need you to come home. I don’t know how I’ll be able to cope.’

By the time Ben came back for his bike, the anger had started. She couldn’t let him see it, though. She was ashamed of her reaction and despised her own selfishness.

‘Your father? I’m sorry to hear that, Diz. What will you do?’

‘I’ll have to go back, for a bit at least, when he’s out of hospital.’

His look drilled into her. ‘You don’t need to give up your life here, Diz. I know how important it is to you, your parents don’t.’

The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Had it been only yesterday that she had turned down what Ben had offered her so that she could battle along her own path? Her hubris had been swiftly punished. Freedom of choice had been withdrawn from her. She was being kept in detention for ever for daring to harbour such ludicrous ambitions.

‘Yes. You’re right,’ she acknowledged. But she knew – and she guessed that he knew too – that she would go back to Hailesbank.

‘Hello Dad.’ Daisy stooped and kissed her father’s forehead.

She thought she’d been prepared for this moment, but she wasn’t.

Eric Irvine was sitting in an armchair in the living room. His body, still strong and muscular, was hunched over to one side and his head lolled loosely to the right. His eyes had moved towards her as she entered the room, but his expression hadn’t changed. One side of his face was sagging, all muscle control gone. His good looks had been savaged by the stroke.

‘Duh … uh.’ The sound that emerged was little more than a stuttering grunt. ‘Duh … uh.’

Was he trying to say her name? ‘Yes, it’s me. I’m back.’
Back to step up to the mark. Back to fortress Laurel Lane.
‘How are you feeling?’

‘Ba … aa.’ His lips contorted and he was clearly trying to express himself. Daisy saw something flare in his eyes, then die.

She pulled a chair next to him and took his hands in her own. They felt warm and dry, papery almost. ‘Bad?’ she inquired, trying to interpret. ‘You don’t look bad, you look OK. Same old smile.’

The mouth twisted again.

‘Naugoo … naugoo.’

She strained to catch his intent, but failed and sat smiling encouragingly.

His left fist slammed onto the arm of the chair. Daisy, alarmed by the sudden speed and force of the movement, jolted back. ‘
Naugoo!
’

‘I think he means “not good”,’ said Janet, coming into the room. ‘It’s one of his words. You’ll get used to them.’ She turned to her husband. ‘You’re coming on, with the help of the speech therapist, aren’t you, dear?’

‘
Baa …
’

The fist slammed down again. Daisy released his other hand and stood. For the last few weeks she’d felt her impending return to Hailesbank like a sentence of imprisonment. Now it felt as though the door of the cell had slammed shut behind her.

Ben’s walk had taken him down to the coast. He’d reverted to the old hiking habit on his return from France. It was one of the few activities that gave him any pleasure at the moment, apart from his new life as a freelance writer, which had taken off with surprisingly little effort on his part. A recommendation from the publisher of the travel book had led to other commissions, he sold a series of anecdotes about his travels to
The Scotsman,
and other papers seemed to like his writing style because he had as much work as he could manage.

He felt the first flecks of rain just as he reached the beach. He didn’t care about the weather. Actually, the rain felt cleansing. He needed renewal. Though he’d made an effort not to betray how bruised his feelings were, Daisy’s rejection had hit him hard.

‘You can reach her heart, Ben.’

Funny. Lizzie wasn’t usually wrong. But she’d been wrong this time.

When the shower came, he didn’t bother lifting his hood, he simply threw back his head and let the rain course down his face. Daisy’s eyes still haunted him. Above him, the sky was exactly their colour. At his feet, golden lichen on the rocks picked up the shade of the bronze flecks in the stormy grey of her irises. Everywhere he looked all he could see were echoes of Daisy. Sod it. He bent and picked up a flat pebble off the beach and sent it skimming far out over the rolling waves, the sheer force of feeling behind the throw giving it the power it needed to move on the water.

‘You looked as if you meant that.’

Ben spun round at the sound of the voice behind him.

A figure stood behind him, hooded and hunched against the rain and wind. Ben recognised the beard and the voice immediately.

‘Hi Dave. Good to see you.’

‘I’d heard you were back. Lizzie told me things didn’t work the way you’d hoped.’

Ben grunted.

‘I’m sorry, Ben. So’s Lizzie.’

‘Yeah, well. There are other fish.’

‘Fancy a pint? Get out of this piss?’

Ben grinned. He liked Dave Grafton.

‘Yeah sure,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

Chapter Two

Every avenue of retreat, it seemed to Daisy, had been cut off. She’d given up her room in Lizzie’s cottage. She’d lost not one job, but two. She’d been so discouraging to her friends that she no longer had any. She’d been so incompetent in managing relationships that she’d allowed first Jack and then Ben to slip out of her life and by way of a final reminder of how useless she was, she no longer had the slightest semblance of an independent life. In fact, her life had turned a full circle since the day she’d walked out of the house, aged eighteen, in an act of defiance that had seemed at the time like a defining moment.

Full circle, indeed. She was back in her old pink bedroom in the house in Laurel Lane where she had grown up. The irony of the situation hit her one day in November, when the sun had resolutely hidden behind thick cloud cover all day. From the windows of the house nature itself seemed to mirror her mood – dank, miserable, depressed, and utterly devoid of life or interest. The warm skin colour she had developed during her stay in Nice had faded as surely as though it had never been and with it had faded the memories of her time there. The Museum – her exhibition –
Majik.

She inhaled softly, trying to recall the hay-mown, lavender scent of his skin, but all she could smell was the air freshener her mother insisted on plugging in downstairs in the hall. The hours she had spent with Majik seemed like a dream now. He had left his mark, though. From his gentle, joyful, carefree loving she had learned important lessons – that she had a beauty all of her own; that giving was a gift to yourself also; and that the skills she possessed could be harnessed and celebrated by others.

Had she learnt those lessons for nothing? Back in Hailesbank, she felt trapped and dull. Her father wielded his helplessness like a weapon to keep his wife and his daughter under his control and that, Daisy realised with a sudden flash of insight that broke through the smog of docile acquiescence, was the ultimate irony. Active and vocal, she had escaped his hold. Slow and voiceless, he was effectively blackmailing her into staying with him.

It would not do. She ran downstairs. Her mother was in the kitchen, preparing supper.

‘Can I borrow the car for a bit, Mum?’

‘Oh. I suppose so, dear. Why? Supper will be ready shortly.’

‘Don’t bother about me. I’ll grab something while I’m out.’

‘Where are you going?’ He mother’s voice sounded querulous.

No, no no.
She would not be subjected to this parental pressure any more. Her mother could manage. Eric was not helpless. She suspected he played on his speechlessness more than he needed to. She had done her bit and it was time to reclaim her life – but first, she had a visit to make.

‘Just out,’ she said shortly, ignoring Janet’s pained expression. ‘See you later.’

‘Your father …’ She could hear the beginnings of the sentence as she closed the front door behind her. She was glad not to hear the end.

She would go back to France. In the weeks she’d been home, she had worked herself stupid for her parents. She’d spent endless hours trying to talk to her father, encouraging him to speak, running endless little errands for him, ferrying him to and from the physiotherapist, the speech therapist, the doctor, the hospital, and even, one night, to his old golf club where he’d held mumbling but grand court over his former buddies. Her mother, meantime, had begun to rely on her more and more, unable to make the smallest decision without referring to Daisy for approval.

At last Daisy understood that she herself had been a large contributory factor in Jack’s departure – she’d been doing the same with him. She had to accept her share of responsibility for what had happened in her life. With the understanding came strength of purpose. She turned on the ignition and put the car into reverse. She would go back to France, but there was someone she had to see before she left. It had been too long.

‘Hello, Lizzie.’ She didn’t call, she simply drove to the cottage and prayed that Lizzie would be in.

Lizzie, standing at the door in a striking assemblage of what Daisy guessed were treasured charity shop finds, was motionless for a second. Daisy just had time to begin to worry that she wasn’t welcome, when Lizzie leapt forward with a squeal of delight and hugged her so tightly that she could hardly breathe.

‘Daisy, Dizzy, sweetest Diz, hello, hello, hello!’ She felt herself being kissed on the cheek and hugged again, then dragged in to the bright, welcoming kitchen with which she was so familiar. ‘Dave, come here, look who’s arrived!’

From the small front room Daisy could hear the sounds of a newspaper being rustled and folded, a chair moving just slightly off the edge of the rug onto the sanded floor underneath and then a tall, bearded man appeared, his face split into a welcoming smile.

Lizzie moved across to his side and tucked herself under his arm with what appeared to Daisy – oddly – to be shyness. ‘Daisy this is Dave. My lodger and –’ she craned up at him, smiling, ‘– the man I love.’

‘Hi, Dave.’ Daisy might have felt shy herself had Dave not released Lizzie and moved across the small room in two big strides to embrace her in a bear hug that felt cuddly and warm and sweetly comforting all at once.

‘I’m – we’re – so glad you’re here. Sit yourself down, Dais, have a drink, we’re going to eat in a mo, do join us, there’s plenty, isn’t there, Dave?’ Lizzie gabbled excitedly.

‘Are you sure? I don’t want to be in the way.’

‘
Silly.
Sit. Now.’ Lizzie poured some wine into a glass and handed it to her, then started to set another place at the table.

Daisy, overwhelmed by the warmth of her welcome, with pleasure at seeing Lizzie again, with delight that she was still regarded as a friend and feeling at the same time oddly disoriented by the familiarity of her surroundings, burst into tears.

‘Hey! What’s this?’ Lizzie’s arms were round her in an instant. Through her tears Daisy was vaguely aware of Dave signalling a ‘should I leave?’ question and Lizzie motioning him to stay. And then there were tissues and Lizzie squatting in front of her looking concerned and her feeling embarrassed by the unexpected breakdown and then Lizzie remembering something and blurting out, ‘Hey Dais, did you hear, Ma Ruby’s getting married!’

The shock of the words halted her tears and her embarrassment in their tracks and she could feel her jaw dropping and her eyes widening and she was saying, ‘
No!
’ and Lizzie was laughing and she knew she was back among friends. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes and there wasn’t even time to apologise because she just had to ask, ‘Who to? When?
Tell
me.’

‘Believe it or not, it’s the editor of
The Stoneyford Echo.
’

‘No! Really? How come?’

‘I know. Can you imagine? All those years of rumpy pumpy with Big Angus and never getting anywhere in the marriage stakes, then along comes another editor and sweeps her off her feet.’

‘Good thing he’s a strong man,’ Dave grunted from the sink.

Daisy laughed. ‘But how did she … where did … I thought she turned down a job at the
Echo
.’

‘She did. But their receptionist went off on maternity leave and Dishy Dave persuaded the ed to call her as a stand in and before you know it – bingo!’

Daisy tried to access the filing system in her brain. ‘But wait a minute – the editor – what was his name again?’

‘Arthur Herring.’

‘Something a bit fishy about that,’ Dave muttered from the sink.

‘Stop it,’ commanded Lizzie, laughing.

‘Wasn’t he married?’

‘He was,’ Lizzie confirmed, ‘but his wife went off with Provost Porter.’

‘
No!
’

‘You’ve missed all the fun, Dais, there in France, I’m telling you.’

‘So it seems.’

‘But you’re back and I’ll drink to that any day.’ She raised her glass towards Daisy. ‘Cheers, my dears.’

As their glasses clinked, Daisy remembered her decision to go away again.

Lizzie saw the change and said, ‘What?’

‘I’ve got to leave again, Lizzie. I can’t stand it at home.’

‘I wanted to call you but I wasn’t sure – How is he, Dais?’

‘Do you know what, he’s grim, but not nearly as grim as he makes out. Mum’s suffering just as much as he is and if I stay, he’ll damage me too. He’s using this illness to control us both.’

Lizzie clapped her hands lightly. ‘Well done, Daisy! So what’ll you do? Go back to France?’

Daisy thought about it. She’d done the hardest thing – turning down Ben’s sweet offer – and she knew that she couldn’t simply throw away her independence.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll go back to France.’

As the evening passed in amicable conversation, Daisy wondered whether Lizzie would deal with the long shadow that still lay between them, but it was Dave who, over some very fine honey ice cream, said, ‘Have you seen Ben Gillies while you’ve been here, Daisy?’

Daisy felt the icy sweetness slide down the back of her throat. ‘No.’

‘I had a pint with him the other day.’

‘How is he?’

In the weeks since she’d been back in Hailesbank, Daisy had kept her head down, doing what she had to do, thinking about the future and gathering all the resolution she possessed to break away from Laurel Lane and her parents once more.

‘He didn’t say much, but I’d place an odds-on bet that he’s not a happy man.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The ice cream didn’t taste so sweet now. Daisy laid down her spoon.

‘He was throwing pebbles from the beach into the sea as if the devil was behind him.’

‘Oh.’ Daisy closed her eyes, pictured the scene, felt a wave of sadness. ‘Is he working?’

‘Very much so. He’s got more writing commissions than he can handle. But hey, the guy’s back at home, living with his folks. I don’t think that’s where he wanted to be.’

Nor me, thought Daisy dismally. Ben could hardly blame her though – he could live anywhere he liked, couldn’t he? ‘Did he ask about me?’ she ventured.

‘Actually no.’

Daisy shoved back her chair and lifted her glass. ‘What the hell. To friends,’ she said, keeping the toast unspecified.

She stayed another hour, enjoying the company. Around ten she switched on her mobile to call her mother. It rang at once. ‘You have messages.’

The first had been left at seven. ‘Daisy love, any chance you could get home? Dad’s being a bit difficult. Thanks.’

The second call had been made about twenty minutes later. ‘Daisy dear, I wish I could reach you. If you get this message, please call as soon as you can. Oh dear, what shall I do?’ There was a pause. Daisy could hear noises in the background. ‘Have to go. Call me!’

The third call, and the most alarming, had been left at eight thirty. ‘Daisy?’ The anguish in her mother’s voice was way beyond mild concern. ‘Call me darling, please call me, as soon as you can. It’s urgent. Please Daisy, something awful’s happened.’

‘Jeez,’ she muttered.

‘Something up?’ Lizzie asked, pouring Daisy a coffee.

‘Mum. She sounds panicky.’ She dialled Laurel Lane. Her mother answered at once.

‘Hi Mum, what’s up?’ She had a feeling that the small bubble of calm she had been enjoying was about to be popped.

‘It’s awful, Daisy, just awful. You’ve got to come home quickly – but not too quickly, take care, darling, please take care, but get here as fast as you can …’ There was a choked sob and her voice trailed off.

Something had happened with her father, thought Daisy. Had he had another stroke? A heart attack? Fallen? ‘What is it? Is it Dad?’

‘Noooo,’ Janet sounded frantic. ‘It’s … I can hardly … oh Daisy … it’s too awful ’ She was gabbling, incoherent, hysterical. ‘It’s Kath Gillies,’ she managed to get out at last, ‘Kath –’ There was another sob and the next time she spoke her voice sounded thick and strangulated. ‘Oh darling, she’s dead!’