Daisy sat on the bench at the edge of the wood and looked out over the fields. It was a warm afternoon in late August. Feathery clouds lingered unmoving in the sky and a glider wheeled silently beneath them, like a graceful bird on the wing. Mordy the Labrador lay at her feet panting while the two spaniels darted about the wheat in pursuit of the pheasants and rabbits that took refuge there.
Her mind turned to Luca. His texts were becoming more frequent and more needy. He was missing her and wondering whether they couldn’t reach some sort of compromise that suited them both. How about we get a dog? he had written. A dog? Daisy had laughed at that, because it was too ridiculous to take seriously. But every time she thought of Luca, Taran interrupted her thoughts, striding into her mind with his long legs and big personality, stealing her attention.
Yet Taran was not a good bet. He lived in Toronto. He was clearly a man who avoided commitment. The fact that he was planning to sell the farm to developers and build houses in the field right next door to her parents’ home made a romantic relationship between the two of them impossible. She would not want to be with a man who allowed that to happen, a man who put money before people’s welfare. She didn’t imagine Sir Owen had left his beloved farm to his son just so that he could sell it off to the highest bidder. And what about Lady Sherwood? Where would she go once he’d sold it? Didn’t Taran have any consideration for her?
Even Daisy could see that she was repeating a pattern. Why couldn’t she fall in love with a man who lived close by and loved the countryside like she did? Yet, the heart didn’t allow for choice. It went where it went and it didn’t listen to reason. Her brain could override it, of course, and right now that’s what it was trying desperately to do. She could never leave her home now that her mother was unwell. Her mother was her priority; her need was greater than Daisy’s. She’d been away for six years and as a result there was no doubt in her mind where her home was; she wasn’t going to live anywhere else but here.
Mordy lifted his head off his paws and pricked his ears. Daisy imagined he had seen a rabbit and looked in the direction of his gaze. To her surprise she saw a man approaching up the farm track. She recognized his gait at once. It was Taran.
Her spirits lifted with a jolt of excitement. She stood up as Mordy raced down the track to meet him, followed by Archie and Bendico who shot out of the wheat like bullets. The three dogs circled him, tails wagging fiercely, and he bent down to pat them. He was smiling when he reached her, looking casual in a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of jeans. He was unshaven and his hair was curling at the collar. His eyes were very green against his tanned skin. Daisy felt awkward suddenly and lost for words. It was hard to imagine that he had ever attempted to kiss her. Hard to imagine that she had ever been in a position to rebuff him.
‘Hi, Daisy,’ he said, bending down to plant a bristly kiss on her cheek. He looked at her intensely. ‘You look well.’
‘Have you just got here?’ she asked, wishing she had applied some make-up and washed her hair. Instead, she wore her hair in a ponytail and her face was as God had intended it.
Hands on hips he took a deep breath through his nostrils and swept his eyes over the fields. ‘Just got here. It’s good to be home.’ He turned back to her and grinned. ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you.’
‘Not at all.’
‘This isn’t a bench for one,’ he added, sitting down beside her.
‘Your father wouldn’t have agreed with that,’ she said.
‘It’s not his bench now.’ He rested his arm along the back, behind Daisy. ‘It’s mine and I prefer to have company.’
‘Your dogs are happy to see you.’
‘They know who’s the boss now. They never noticed me much when Dad was alive.’
‘I’ve grown very fond of them, especially Mordy. He lies on the sofa in the barn and watches me draw.’
‘How’s that going? Did you finish Rupert?’
She laughed. ‘Rupert is finished and I’ve started drawing Basil.’
He shook his head. ‘Basil! What’s that? A terrier?’
‘You got it,’ she replied.
‘Typical.’ He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and turned his head to look at her seriously. ‘Thanks again for being there for Mum. You’re a godsend.’
‘I’m glad I’ve been helpful. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose someone you’ve lived with for so long. The hole your father has left must be enormous. I just want to make her feel less alone.’
‘You do that very well. She says she wouldn’t have got through these past months without you. She says you’re very wise. Deep and wise were her words, if I remember rightly.’
‘You should spend more time here, Taran,’ she suggested boldly. ‘You’re her only child. I can’t replace you.’
He sat back and swept his fingers through his hair. ‘You’re making me feel guilty.’
‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Someone has to.’
He chuckled. ‘You’re the voice of my conscience, Daisy Fane.’
‘There’s nothing like family when things go pear-shaped.’
‘Speaking of family,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘How’s yours?’
Daisy wasn’t intending to share her heartbreak with him, but it just slipped out. ‘Mum’s got dementia,’ she said.
Taran looked at her with surprise and compassion. ‘God, I’m sorry, Daisy,’ he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘That’s really tough.’
‘It is,’ she agreed, fighting the now familiar feeling of impending loss.
‘When did you find out?’
‘It’s been gradual. Ever since I came back from Italy she’s been getting increasingly forgetful and vague.’
‘Has there been a diagnosis?’
‘Sort of, but there’s nothing anyone can do. We just have to support her as much as we can, until . . .’ Her throat tightened.
‘Until?’ he asked gently.
‘Until we can’t support her anymore.’
He nodded, understanding. ‘Does she know?’
‘Yes, she’s aware, for the moment. I suppose there will come a time when she ceases to be aware. That will go too, along with everything else. It’s a cruel disease. Except that it’s not a disease apparently.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what it is.’ She noticed the tenderness in the way he was looking at her, and she found herself looking back at him in puzzlement, surprised that the man she condemned as arrogant and materialistic could feel such empathy and show it. ‘You know what she loves more than anything else?’ she said, hoping that she was going to discover that he had a generous spirit as well. ‘Her garden. Her greatest joy is feeding the birds and looking out over your fields.’
He smiled reflectively. ‘I’m glad they give her pleasure,’ he said.
‘As her world gets smaller, those things will be the only things that give her pleasure. She won’t go into the shop now. Tasha has come good and proved that she can be reliable after all. Perhaps because Mum wasn’t very good at sharing the responsibility, Tasha didn’t feel she had any. Now she’s needed, she’s committed.’ Daisy smiled wryly. ‘Mum’s like that, or she was. Doing everything for everyone so that no one could do anything for themselves.’ She was thinking of Suze and Nan, of course, but as she spoke she realized that her father was used to being waited on as well. They’d all have to learn to look after themselves.
Daisy wanted Taran’s reassurance that those fields her mother loved would always be there for her, but she didn’t know how to bring the conversation around to that. She didn’t want to admit that she had eavesdropped on his telephone conversation. Taran had never discussed his inheritance with her. Neither had Lady Sherwood. She’d only heard bits of gossip from Eileen. As far as he was concerned, she had no idea what his plans were. The only thing she could do was emphasize how much she loved the farm and hope that she could infect him with her enthusiasm. ‘Do you miss home when you’re in Canada?’ she asked.
‘Funny you should say that. I didn’t, but since Dad died, I look back in a way I never did before.’
‘Does the place mean more to you now because it’s a part of your father that lives on?’
He frowned at her. ‘Perhaps that’s what it is.’ He shifted his gaze and contemplated the land his father had loved so much. ‘It is the part of Dad that lives on, besides me, of course.’ He paused as if considering it for the first time. ‘He used to take me round the farm when I was a boy. I’d sit on the roof of the jeep with the dogs running behind us and he’d call it a safari. I’d spot deer and hares, rabbits and pheasants, and the dogs would give chase across the fields. We’d sit on the bonnet and eat sandwiches at harvest time and watch the combines chomping through the wheat and barley. I remember the dust and the way it glittered in the sunlight like gold. Funny, I haven’t thought about that in years.’
‘It sounds idyllic.’
‘And all the while, you were in the village and I didn’t know you.’ He looked across at her and smiled. ‘With your pigtails.’
‘I’m sure I didn’t have pigtails.’
‘I think you did.’
‘No, I really didn’t. Bunches.’ ‘Pigtails!’
She smacked him playfully. ‘What else did you do with your father?’
‘He showed me the land and tried to infect me with enthusiasm for farming, but every time I saw land I just wanted to build on it.’
‘You couldn’t build on this!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is beautiful. Just beautiful.’
‘I don’t mean literally build on it. I was already an architect as a boy, building houses in my imagination, seeing structures, beautiful structures, in the landscape.’ Daisy wondered whether that was an assurance that he had decided not to sell the land. She couldn’t be certain. She didn’t want to press him.
‘Do you have to build structures in Toronto? Couldn’t you do it here so you could be close to your mother?’
‘I could, but . . .’
‘I mean, she won’t be around for ever. You need to spend time with her while she’s around.’
She noticed the rising passion in her voice and checked herself. She could tell from the way he was looking at her that he knew she was thinking about her own mother.
‘You’re right to have come home, Daisy,’ he said. ‘You’re right to be spending time with your mother.’
‘I don’t know what I’ll do when she goes,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s been the centre of our world. The gravitational pull. Without her we’ll all lose our footing. God, it’ll be dreadful. I can’t imagine it. I’m sorry I’m making this all about me. I just watch my mother decline, and watch your mother coping on her own, and I know how important love is. When they’re gone, they’re gone. That’s it.’
‘Dementia certainly thrusts one into the present, doesn’t it.’
‘That’s all she’s going to have.’
‘But the present isn’t bad, Daisy.’
‘What’s wrong with now,’ she muttered. ‘That’s what my grandfather used to ask when we worried about the future or regretted things we’d done in the past. He’d say, “What’s wrong with now, Daisy?” and there never was anything wrong. It’s just hard to stay in the present moment. The mind wanders back and jumps forward and worries about things that aren’t happening in the now. They’re just in the memory or the imagination and yet, they’re so powerful, pulling us this way and that. Grandad never worried about anything. He always seemed to be in the now.’
‘Your grandfather sounds like he knew a thing or two about how to live. Don’t think about the future until you have to. Don’t lose the present moment, which is real, to the future which is just in your imagination. There’s a lot to be said for that. We’d all be happier if we could live in the moment.’
‘I try. I really do. But I fear the future, because it’s going to be heartbreaking.’
‘Do you look back at the past?’
She sensed he was referring to Luca. She shrugged. There was no reason why she shouldn’t tell him about Luca. It wasn’t as if they were in a relationship. Taran was her friend, after all. Her unlikely friend. ‘If you’re referring to my past heartbreak, I can tell you he’s been in touch. He wants to make another go of it. He says we’re fools to let something good slip away from us.’
Taran shook his head. ‘You don’t want to do that.’
‘Why?’
‘If it’s broken, it’s broken for a reason. You’d only be going back because it’s familiar and because you’re afraid of the future.’
‘I’m not afraid of the future. At least, not my future.’ Daisy knew that wasn’t true. She was afraid of being alone. ‘I’m afraid of Mum’s future. Anyway, I’ll never go back to Italy. I’m here now and I’m staying. Mum needs me and Dad needs my support. I could even go as far as saying it’s lucky that I came back just as Mum got unwell. It’s as if Fate designed the break-up especially.’
Taran nodded slowly, as if working something out in his head.
‘How’s your on–off girlfriend?’ she asked, deciding that Luca was not a comfortable subject of conversation.
‘Off,’ he said with a grin. ‘I did the right thing. You’ve made me a better man. Will you have a drink with me tonight?’ he asked. ‘We could go for another drunken midnight walk.’
‘I don’t know about the drunken midnight walk, but I’ll have a drink with you.’
He stood up. ‘If you were a character from fiction, you’d be Elizabeth Bennet.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m buttoned-up and sensible?’ she replied.
He grinned down at her. ‘Clever and quick-witted, with the undercurrent of something far more interesting, given a little alcohol.’
‘Oh really!’ Daisy exclaimed, getting to her feet. They whistled for the dogs and began to walk in the direction of Taran’s home. ‘I’m glad to say, you’re nothing like Mr Darcy,’ she said. ‘He has no sense of humour.’
‘I disagree. I think he’d be very amusing once you got to know him.’
‘With a little alcohol,’ she added wryly.
‘It helps loosen the seams.’
‘Do I need my seams loosened?’
‘We all do. We all need to get out of our heads. We all think too much.’
‘What do you think about, Taran?’ she asked.
He looked down at her and smiled. ‘That’s my secret,’ he said.
‘You’re not going to share it?’
‘Maybe later.’
‘With a little alcohol.’
His green eyes twinkled with the humour that Mr Darcy lacked. ‘Like I said, it loosens the seams!’
When they reached the house Lady Sherwood was in the kitchen reading the papers at the island. She raised her eyes over her glasses and smiled. ‘Ah, you found her,’ she said. The dogs trotted in, panting, and flopped into their baskets. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Daisy?’
‘Well, I should really get back to my easel,’ she replied.
‘Basil can wait,’ said Taran. ‘I make very good coffee. How do you like it?’
‘Strong,’ Daisy replied, taking the stool beside Lady Sherwood. ‘I’ve lived in Italy, the home of the best coffee in the world, so no pressure.’
‘Italians are no match for me,’ said Taran, taking a cup out of the cupboard. ‘Just you wait and see. We make a mean coffee in Toronto, I can tell you.’
Daisy laughed.
A little while later Taran brought over two cups and placed one in front of Daisy. ‘Go on, tell me it’s the best coffee you’ve ever had.’
She grinned at him and lifted the cup to her lips.
He raised his eyebrows.
She nodded. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘For a Canadian.’
Lady Sherwood feigned horror. ‘Taran’s not all Canadian, you know. He’s half English. He just doesn’t want to acknowledge it.’
‘I’m beginning to,’ he said, taking a sip of his, and as he said it Lady Sherwood noticed he was looking directly at Daisy.
Dennis had finished the church for his model village and was at the kitchen table, painting the village hall, when Daisy came home. ‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked, putting her bag on a chair.
‘Having tea with Beryl.’
‘Oh good. That’s nice,’ she said, pleased to hear her mother was getting about.
‘Nan’s at bridge. She was grumbling about not wanting to go anymore because apparently one of the ladies is a cheat. I can’t remember which one. She says the others turn a blind eye, but as Nan’s a woman of integrity, she can’t sit back and let it happen. I fear there’s going to be a fight. Just preparing you.’
‘Nothing would surprise me,’ said Daisy.
‘I’m glad I’ve got you on my own, though. I’ve been thinking,’ Dennis began, putting down his paintbrush.
Daisy took the chair opposite her father. ‘I like it when you’re thinking, Dad. It means something creative is afoot.’
‘You’re not wrong, Daisy.’ He paused and two small red stains flourished on the apples of his cheeks. ‘I want to make Marigold a puzzle,’ he said.
‘She still hasn’t managed to finish the last one you made her,’ said Daisy sadly.
‘No, I mean a different kind of puzzle, Daisy. A puzzle of her memories.’
Daisy felt a stab of pain in her chest. She put a hand there and rubbed it, but rubbing it didn’t make it better. ‘Oh Dad, that’s such a lovely idea,’ she managed. ‘It really is.’
‘You see, what worries her is who she’ll be without her memories. But I’ve reassured her that she doesn’t need them, because we’ve got them, and we’ll keep them safe for her. You see, we know her, don’t we? She’ll always be Goldie to me and Mum to you and Suze, and Marigold to Nan. She might not remember things about her life, but we will. I thought you and I could do a memory board, but make it into a puzzle. We could all do it together,’ he said softly. ‘We could choose the memories, as a family, and you could paint them.’
‘I’d love to!’ Daisy exclaimed.
‘It would be a big puzzle in scale, with large pieces, but not too many of them. You know, something she could cope with. Something to remind her of the good things in her life.’
‘So she doesn’t forget,’ Daisy added quietly.
‘So she knows she’s loved.’ Dennis looked down at his hands and Daisy thought how forlorn he looked suddenly. Like a boy; like a lost boy. ‘She’s not going to get better, Daisy,’ he croaked.
‘I know.’
‘We have to keep her with us for as long as possible.’ She nodded.
‘I thought the puzzle would be a good way to get her back whenever we feel we’re losing her,’ he added.
‘And once she’s completed it, she can do it again and again. It will exercise her mind as well as jog her memory and remind her of who she is,’ said Daisy. ‘She can do it as many times as she likes.’
‘I thought we could write the memories on the back of the pieces, to go with the pictures. I want her to know that what we’ve had, as a family, is very special.’
‘I love that idea, Dad,’ said Daisy, gazing lovingly at her father through the mist that had blurred her vision. ‘It’s the best idea you’ve ever had.’
‘I think it is,’ he agreed bashfully.
She reached across the table and took his hand. It was big and rough and somehow terribly vulnerable. ‘She’ll love it,’ she said.
‘I know she will,’ he replied, picking up his paintbrush. His old eyes shone with emotion as he looked at her. ‘I think, the picture in the middle of the puzzle—’
‘Should be a cup of tea,’ Daisy interrupted with a smile.
Dennis’s face lit up. ‘Just what I was thinking,’ he said. ‘All of us at the table with a pot of tea.’
Daisy wiped away the tears with her fingers. ‘When shall we start, Dad?’
‘Right away,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got no time to lose.’
And that was the saddest part of all: they had no time to lose.
No time.
Daisy was feeling emotional when she walked up the lane to the pub. The sun was sinking in the western sky, catching the wisps of cloud and turning them pink. They looked like pretty feathers, floating slowly across the heavens. Marigold had come home in good spirits. She’d had a nice afternoon with Beryl, looking through Beryl’s photograph albums of when they were girls. Marigold had no problem remembering the past. She loved reminiscing. It was a phase of her life she could be sure of. Then Beryl had invited Cedric and Dolly, the Commodore and his wife Phyllida and Eileen for tea. They’d sat in her sitting room, discussing the way things were back in the day, when Reg ran the petrol station and the village hall held tea dances and Brownies. It had warmed Daisy’s heart to see her mother so happy.
Then Nan had come back full of complaints. She had sacked the bridge cheat, apparently, in spite of her protestations of innocence. Nan was having none of it. Now she needed to find another player to complete the four. Dennis had given her a glass of sherry and switched on the television, then he had sat with Marigold and helped her with the puzzle. When Daisy had left they were making real progress. What’s wrong with now? Daisy asked herself as she reached the pub. Nothing. Nothing at all. She couldn’t deny that, right now, everything was positive.
Taran was at the bar. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans and a wide smile. Something in Daisy’s stomach fluttered when she saw him. He was handsome, but there was a deeper connection between them now that rendered his looks superfluous: they were friends.
This time Daisy asked for a glass of wine and she resolved to have only a couple. They moved to a table tucked away in a corner and ordered something to eat. They didn’t notice the coming and going of people, or the passing of time; they had eyes only for each other and neither wanted the evening to end. Taran made Daisy feel good. The way he looked at her made her feel feminine. The tenderness in his gaze made her feel special. Above all, his humour dispelled her anxiety. It was so good to laugh when there was too much to cry about. When they left the pub it was dark and the moon was indeed big and round and shining brazenly upon the fields and woods as they wandered slowly up the farm track. When he took her hand it no longer felt strange.
They sat on the bench and he put his arm around her. ‘You asked what I was thinking,’ he said.
‘I did,’ she replied. ‘Are you going to tell me now?’
‘Yes.’
She turned to look at him.
‘I was thinking of this bench and how I’d like to sit beside you again, in the middle of the night, just like this, sober.’ She frowned and he hooked her hair behind her ear. ‘I know you thought I was drunk last time. I wasn’t. I wanted to kiss you then and I want to kiss you now. One drink or six won’t change that. I just want to kiss you, period.’
Daisy caught her breath.
He didn’t say anything else. He wound his hand around her neck, beneath her hair, and touched her nose with his. She didn’t pull away. Then his lips found hers and he kissed her. She closed her eyes. What’s wrong with now?