Chapter Twenty-Two
Daisy
Daisy was manning the shop while her mum took care of some last-minute Christmas shopping in Tetbury. Loretta had tried to persuade Carrie to come into the Butterbury Sewing Box and keep Daisy company now that the girls knew all about her. But she’d been wary and made her excuses. Daisy couldn’t blame her. There were three of them, one of her, and being the one who feltlike they were on the periphery wasn’t easy. But given a chance, they’d all prove that wasn’t how it had to be and they’d show her how much they wanted to get to know her and perhaps make her a part of the family, if that was what she wanted.
Daisy yawned again. It had been an early start this morning following a late finish last night, charged with Baileys and watching Ginny and Lucas out ofthe window of the pub, both Daisy and Fern cheering them on when they kissed at last. Even Colette had stopped collecting up the empties from her pub tables and come over to see what the girls were gawking at and let out a cheer, proving there were plenty of people who’d hoped that the two Butterbury locals would one day find their way back to each other.
Daisy had walked Busker this morningand he’d done well, sitting when told, not wandering off even though she wasn’t clutching his lead but instead taking photographs of the yarn bombings in the daylight. She’d captured local retired judge Mrs Addington posting a silver-enveloped Christmas card in the postbox with the yarn on top, her smile a festive beam she was happy to have appear in the newspaper. Daisy had interviewed her to findout her reaction to the yarn bombings, she interviewed Miriam who’d arrived back late last night to see the bollards near her haberdashery looking spectacular. Miriam had told Daisy it was the best welcome home she’d ever had and Daisy got the impression it had been tough going with her family so she was doubly pleased she’d been a part of bringing her some much needed festive joy. Daisy had alsospoken to Dawn and Troy who owned the Lantern Bakery and they’d agreed that the colours brought something new to the village and had created a buzz that had more and more people coming out of their houses and talking to their neighbours as they speculated as to who had done this wonderful thing.
Daisy had sent each of her photographs from this morning and last night along with a write-up she’dtyped in record time to Sally, and Sally had promised to get back to her ASAP. Daisy knew she was going to have to fight the urge to check her phone every five minutes while she was working in the shop and when her next customer came in she shoved her phone beneath the counter in an effort to resist looking at it.
Daisy picked up a dry leaf that blew in as a customer left and as she shut thedoor again another customer appeared, this time a man slightly older than Loretta, small wire-framed glasses that had steamed up upon meeting the heat of the shop, and a big bag in tow. He’d probably come to donate some material – it happened with regularity and sometimes the best treasures were found in what strangers brought into the shop.
‘Are you Fern?’ the man asked. And before she couldanswer added, ‘Or Ginny, or Daisy, or Loretta?’
‘I’m Daisy.’ She smiled. ‘And you are?’ They were well known locally and it wasn’t unusual for people to know their names when they came in to the Butterbury Sewing Box.
He took his glasses off and gave them a wipe before loosening his burgundy scarf. ‘It’s lovely and warm in here.’
‘You can take your coat off, have a browse if you like.’
‘ActuallyI have something for you.’ He indicated the bag he had with him, a bulging bin liner. ‘It’s a long story.’
Something else customers did – something Ginny would probably be fascinated by when she took over full-time – was to share where their material had come from, why it was special to them, why they were parting with it. Loretta said it always made it that bit more special to use.
‘I’ve beenlooking for you for a while,’ he went on.
‘Well now you’ve found us.’
‘I had thought if I’m after a haberdashery in Butterbury, it must be the one down past the post office. I heard the owner was on holiday so I’ve been waiting for her to return. I didn’t even think there might be two sewing shops in the village. I’m not exactly local, you see. Anyway, the owner, Miriam, sent me this way, andI must say I’m pleased to get this to you before Christmas.’
‘Right.’ She indicated to pass her the bag.
‘My late wife was in a terrible car accident many years ago.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Daisy had had plenty of customers in desperate need to offload their worries and talk to another human being. And she never minded at all. It had become a regular part of the service you got from afamily-owned business.
‘Oh she didn’t die,’ he explained. ‘Not then at least. She lived many happy years right up until fourteen months ago.’ His bottom lip quivered but only momentarily before he patted the bag he had with him again. ‘This has been in our attic since the car accident. I’d forgotten about it, to be honest. It got pushed aside in the busyness of life and it was only when my sonhelped me to clear my house out that at long last I found it. I always knew it must be special.’
‘May I?’ She indicated the top of the bag, wound tight and secured with a rubber band. She was parched and the sooner she saw what was in the bag, the sooner they could move the conversation on. She was happy to sit and listen to him talk about his late wife, she just wouldn’t mind doing it over acup of tea.
He opened the bag up for her and she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting – a wedding dress in beautiful lace, a garment his wife had made by hand perhaps, a blanket they’d owned for years and he was finally getting rid of.
She definitely hadn’t expected this. And all at once her past rushed at her.
At fifteen years old Daisy had been what you might describe as wild, all over theplace, vulnerable and in with a bad crowd. She hacked off her hair and turned the luscious chestnut locks into a harsh mess in desperate need of attention, she bunked off school as much as she could get away with, she was rude to her teachers, resulting in several written warnings home. She had a fake ID, got into nightclubs and danced until the early hours, breaking all the rules at home. Shestarted drinking alcohol underage, it helped her to forget or at least numb the pain of what she’d discovered about her dad.
One night Daisy had been in cahoots with Sinead, a girl who hadn’t seen the inside of a classroom in months and seemed glad to have a partner in crime in Daisy. They made cocktails with Sinead’s boyfriend and all of them, including Daisy, were knocking them back. Most ofthe time Daisy hadn’t had any idea of the contents in her glass apart from a good dose of gin and anything else they’d stolen from Sinead’s parents’ house. The evening started out much like any other, drinks followed by a nightclub and a lot of dancing. Daisy remembered feeling like she wanted to be sick, she vaguely recalled slumping in a corner and sitting on the sticky floor watching people’sfeet going this way and that, barely able to lift her head. A bouncer had found her collapsed in a corner, called an ambulance, and somewhere in the mayhem the hospital had contacted her dad. Daisy had had her stomach pumped and could remember her dad coming, her feeling safe and warm as he wrapped the special quilt they’d made for movie night around her as they walked out to the car when it wastime to go home. Daisy had never been so ashamed as she was that day. She couldn’t believe the mess she’d made of herself, the embarrassment she must’ve caused, and she kept out of everyone’s way as much as possible when she got home.
That was the last time Daisy ever saw their special quilt too. And when Harry died and it became apparent that the quilt had gone missing, that she was the lastone to have it, it had instigated both of her sisters hurling terrible insults her way, fuelled by their pain.You’re selfish! It’s your fault! You destroyed something special to us!they’d said. And up until recently, until they’d talked to each other properly, Daisy had thought she deserved the way they’d blamed her and taken their grief out on their youngest sister.
Now, in the shop, Daisypulled the quilt out of the bag the man had handed to her. Her voice shook. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you look a little pale, my dear.’ He guided her over to the stool beside the Christmas tree where she sat down, still clutching the quilt in her arms. ‘I hope I haven’t upset you.’
Eyes swimming, tears spilling over, she managed to say, ‘I promise these are happytears.’ She sniffed and took the tissue he handed her from his pocket. ‘Where did you find it?’ She couldn’t take her eyes off the quilt in her arms, she couldn’t let go, as if knowing her dad had once touched it and worked on it with his daughters and his wife made a connection she’d thought was gone for ever.
‘Might I suggest a cup of tea,’ the man said softly. ‘Or I can go, leave you to it.’
