That afternoon, I walked to the pub with Zoe for her job audition. She was wheeling Simon in his buggy.
‘I’m not sure this is an entirely good idea,’ said Zoe.
I tried to sound all adult and sensible.
‘Kate told me that you’d like to find a job,’ I said.
‘That’s true,’ said Zoe. ‘I would like to find a job. Much as I love my little boy, being at home with him all day isn’t enough for me.’
‘So a part time job is exactly what you want. You’ll meet loads of new people if you work in a bar. And you love singing,’ I said. ‘So this is perfect for you.’
She still wasn’t convinced. ‘I do like singing,’ she said. ‘And I know Simon loves my voice, but I’m not sure if I’m quite good enough for the pub. I’ve never really sung in public before.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Jacob said that Declan, the guitar player, is brilliant. He’ll help you out if you’re nervous. You’ll be great, just wait and see.’
So – because Zoe is a really happy, optimistic person – she smiled at me, and walked a bit faster, with a kind of excited spring in her step.
And I walked a bit behind her, with my fingers crossed, hoping things were going to turn out as I had planned.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a corner of the bar, with Simon on my knee. Zoe was standing on a small platform near the window, holding a microphone. Next to her sat Declan, a smiley-faced man who was tuning a guitar. Jacob was standing behind the bar counter, polishing glasses. The only customers were two old ladies who were drinking coffee and chatting.
‘All in your own time,’ said Declan to Zoe. ‘Just tell me when you’re ready.’
Zoe looked really, really nervous. I gave her a big thumbs-up sign, and Simon clapped his hands enthusiastically, almost like he knew what was going on.
Zoe smiled. ‘OK,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘It’s now or never.’
Declan began to strum his guitar, and a few seconds later, Zoe started to sing. Well, actually, she opened her mouth and noises came out, but it wasn’t like any singing I’d ever heard in my life before. Her voice was screechy, like fingernails on a blackboard. Jacob stopped polishing glasses, and stood there with his mouth wide open. One of the old ladies took out her hearing aid and adjusted it. The other old lady was looking frantically at the door, like she was planning to escape. Simon closed his eyes and laid his head on my shoulder. I thought that was a strange response, but I was too busy figuring out what was going on to worry about it.
Declan continued to play, but he had a weird look on his face, like he was going to faint or die or something. As the song continued, Zoe kept randomly speeding up and slowing down, and I could see that Declan was struggling in a big way.
I sat there, not knowing if I should laugh or cry.
Finally, after what felt like about ten years, the song came to an end. Zoe put down the microphone and smiled at everyone.
‘That went better than I’d expected,’ she said, though I’m not sure anyone except me was still listening.
Jacob came over and shook her hand. ‘Well done, Zoe,’ he said.
‘So is the job mine?’ she asked.
The poor man looked totally embarrassed. ‘Your voice is lovely and everything, but I’m not sure your style of singing is exactly what I’m looking for. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh,’ said Zoe, with a hurt look. Then she took Simon from my arms and went outside to strap him into his buggy.
As I followed her, I heard Declan talking to Jacob. ‘I don’t want to be mean or anything,’ he said. ‘But if you hire her, I’m leaving. I’ve never …’
I closed the door, so I wouldn’t have to listen any more, and Zoe and I set off for home.
‘I was rubbish, wasn’t I?’ she said.
‘I’m not sure “rubbish” is the word I’d use.’
This was the truth. ‘Rubbish’ didn’t begin to describe the awful sounds she’d made. I wished I’d been brave enough to protect my ears. I was beginning to worry that I’d damaged my hearing forever.
‘Jacob didn’t like my singing,’ she said. ‘I could see it in his eyes. But hey, it’s no big deal. You can’t be good at everything, right?’
‘Right,’ I said.
Zoe put one arm around me. ‘It was nice of you to try to get me a job, Eva,’ she said. ‘And since you’re such a kind girl, can you do me one more favour?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Could you promise never to tell Kate or Patrick about this afternoon? If they hear what happened, I will never, ever be allowed to forget it.’
I’d encouraged the poor woman to make an idiot of herself in public, so the least I could do was make that small promise.
‘Forget what?’ I said, and the two of us laughed the rest of the way home.
I met Kate for a few minutes when she got back the next day.
‘Dad and I had an amazing time,’ she said. ‘It was just like the camping trips we used to have years ago, before he went to live in London.’
‘I’m glad,’ I said. ‘I know Zoe is great, but it’s probably good for you and your dad to have time together too.’
‘Oh yeah – speaking of Zoe. You asked me yesterday if she could sing, but you ran off before I could finish answering you.’
‘Did I?’ I asked, trying not to look guilty. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘I was going to say that she’s a really bad singer.’
‘But you said that she sings Simon to sleep every night.’
Kate laughed. ‘She does – and within seconds of her opening her mouth, Simon closes his eyes. Dad and I joke about it when Zoe’s not listening. We think Simon just pretends to be asleep, so Zoe will be quiet.’
I remembered what Simon had done the day before. The poor little kid had been pretending to be asleep!
‘Zoe’s so bad it’s almost funny,’ continued Kate. ‘But why were you asking about her and singing?’
‘Oh, you know,’ I said as vaguely as I could. ‘I was just wondering.’
That night, I saw Daisy’s diary on the table next to my bed.
‘I’m sorry, Daisy,’ I whispered. ‘I almost forgot about you, I was so busy trying to fix up a job for Zoe.’
I don’t usually talk to diaries, but I couldn’t help it. In a weird way, I felt like Daisy was my friend, like she was talking to me, like she wanted me to know her story.
As I picked up the diary, something fell out and slid across the floor. I had to jump out of bed and almost crawl under the wardrobe to find it. It was an ancient old black and white photograph of a man and a woman, and a girl with a big floppy ribbon in her curly hair. The girl was pretty, with huge dark, laughing eyes. All three were holding hands. They looked happy.
I turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back –
Jean-Marc, Florrie and Daisy Lavelle. April 1947
‘Daisy,’ I sighed. ‘Whatever happened to you? Where did you go to? And why?’
I looked at the photograph for a long time, and then I picked up the diary and settled down to read.
‘Eva! It’s the middle of the night. Why is your light still on?’
It was dad, and he was cross – until he looked at me properly. Then he ran over to my bed.
‘What is it, my darling?’ he asked. ‘Why are you crying?’
He handed me a tissue, but it wasn’t enough for the streams of tears that were rolling down my face. Dad hugged me for a long time, and didn’t seem to mind that his favourite t-shirt was getting all gross and soggy.
‘Tell me, Eva,’ he said, when I’d recovered a bit. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
So I wiped my eyes on my sheet, took a deep breath and told him what I’d discovered.
Telling Daisy’s story felt kind of strange, since it had all happened so many years ago, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. When I was finished, Dad hugged me again.
‘That’s a really sad story, Eva,’ he said. ‘But for all you know, things might have been fine in the end. Try not to worry about the poor girl.’
‘OK, Dad. I’ll try that,’ I said as he pulled the covers over me and I snuggled down to sleep.
Then I spent the rest of the night lying awake and worrying about Daisy.