‘Well I’m not.’
Fern’s forehead lifted in surprise. ‘Then you must be a very good actor to kiss someone like that when you don’t feel a thing for them.’
‘Why don’t you go on a date with him, Daisy,’ Ginny suggested, ‘if he asks again.’
‘I don’t need approvalfrom either of you.’ Daisy snapped more than she’d intended to.
‘Perhaps we should just go home,’ said Ginny, Fern on one side of her, Daisy now on the other, taking up the width of the pavement.
‘Maybe it was the gin that made her kiss him,’ Fern laughed in what Daisy assumed was supposed to be a whisper to Ginny. And when Daisy shot her a look she added, ‘What? Alcohol loosens us all up.’
Daisy almost said perhaps she should have a couple of drinks then and lose the serious aura that accompanied her everywhere she went but instead she said, ‘That wasn’t what you meant though, was it?’
‘Daisy—’
‘No, Fern, I’m fed up of it. You two will never let me forget those days. I was fifteen, for crying out loud.’
‘Fifteen and reckless,’ said Fern, who never liked to lose an argument.
Daisy faced them both, arms out wide as she announced, ‘Iwasfifteen and reckless. But the key word in all of this, iswas.I was young, you’re supposed to have fun when you’re young. Just because you wouldn’t know fun if it jumped up and bit you on the arse, Fern.’ And with that she turned and stomped past the square towards home, not caring whether the other two were with her or not. She’d waitat the front gate, represent a united front to their mother or whatever they needed to do to just get through these few weeks and Christmas until they could all resume their normal lives.
The sisters held it together in front of Loretta who made them cocoa as though they were five, eleven and fifteen rather than thirty-one, thirty-seven and forty-one years of age. But it worked, at least forDaisy, who felt calm by the time she went up to bed.
In her bedroom she set a glass of water on the coaster on her bedside table and opened the drawer. She took out a silver bell from the very back and held it in her palm, remembering her dad and the Christmas he’d left it for her to find outside. She closed her eyes, wishing they could have their time again, especially those days when she’dbelieved in the magic of Christmas and he’d kept her imagination floating along on a cloud. Back then she’d thought he could do no wrong, he would never do anything to hurt her or any of his family. She’d never thought she and her sisters would drift apart either. They were a strong trio, it didn’t matter about the gaps between their ages, if anything she’d always felt it pulled them closer. Whenthe sisters were growing up, their parents had always told them it was their differences that made them unique, what made them interesting, it was all a part of being a sibling. But Daisy wasn’t sure they could ever be those three happy-go-lucky girls who’d once been nothing but smiles.
She put the bell away and turned to open out the quilt that lay folded at the foot of her bed. She needed itat night when the temperature fell and the duvet wasn’t quite enough.
There was a knock at the door and Daisy had no idea which member of her family it would be and therefore had no idea whether to feign sleep or say a friendlyCome in.She chose the latter.
It was Fern. Great.
Fern closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, on top of the quilt. She was wearing silk pyjamas that lookedlike something out of a posh catalogue and Daisy wondered whether they even kept the chill out at night. Although usually she had a husband to do that. Perhaps she didn’t need the brushed cotton Daisy always wore, the red-checked ones she had on now – nothing out of the ordinary. And she had plenty more varieties in the same thickness to keep her going all through winter.
Fern ran her hand acrossthe quilt squares, her fingers stopping at the silky-soft binding that ran around the edge and finished the whole thing off. Her hand moved over to the square in faded denim blue with intricately embroidered daisies linked in a chain. ‘I remember Ginny helping you with this piece.’
Daisy instantly softened rather than letting her anger and expectation of an apology rule the atmosphere. ‘I couldn’twork with anything so small,’ she remembered. ‘I got frustrated and annoyed at myself. Ginny didn’t just help me, she basically did itforme. I didn’t really mind though, I wanted it to look good.’
Fern smiled. ‘She always did love her sewing, her quilting and knitting.’ They were both looking at the sister square, the same square each of them had in their own individual quilts. Loretta hadmade three near-identical squares, as identical as they could be without templates, each with three matchstick female figures standing in a row at varying heights. Beside each figure was something individual to each of them – a camera for Daisy, embroidered with precision, black with a little yellow viewfinder. For Fern there was a sum to show her passion for anything mathematical, for Ginny a stitched-onsewing machine.
‘I always thought Ginny would be the one who stayed in the shop with Mum,’ Fern confessed.
Daisy could’ve been angry that Fern might be having a dig, saying Daisy wasn’t good enough, but the air of vulnerability that came with her older sister’s make-up free face, the hair that had been released from its ponytail to allow the dark brown locks fall over her bare shoulders, wasenough to make Daisy believe there didn’t necessarily have to be a hidden meaning beneath her remark.
‘I thought that too,’ said Daisy. She’d assumed it would be Ginny, then she’d thought it would be Fern. But they both made their own way and the second Loretta admitted she needed help in the shop Daisy had leaped in. It had been her chance to prove to everyone that she wasn’t the irresponsible,recalcitrant Daisy they all assumed she was. And it gave her the chance to be there for her mum who had already had to put up with so much, more than either of her sisters would ever know. Because Daisy knew something, something she’d become well-versed at bottling up inside so if she never told anyone, she could pretend it had never been true.
Fern’s hand settled on a pattern of daisies Ginnyhad embroidered in the corner of a plain white quilted square with a lacy frill running across diagonally. Daisy wondered whether Fern was thinking of when they’d all made these quilts at Loretta’s suggestion, their mum wanting to teach them, pass on skills that descended from generations. Was Fern thinking about her own quilt in the bedroom she hadn’t slept in alone in a long while? Or was hersister’s mind on the quilt they no longer had but the one that meant so much?
‘I’m sorry, Daisy,’ Fern said finally. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I was a total bitch.’
Her harsh words to describe herself made Daisy thaw. ‘It’s all right. I wasn’t very nice either.’
‘We sure bring out the best in each other,’ her older sister sighed.
‘What I said was mean. I should never have been that nasty toyou.’
Fern paused and then, not meeting Daisy’s eye, said, ‘I did have fun, you know.’
Did?That implied she no longer had any fun these days. But perhaps now wasn’t the time to deal with semantics.
