Page 16 of The Only Way Is Up

On Monday morning Daisy gathered all the frozen recipe samples she’d made and stacked them up on the counter. She and Ruby had eaten a decent chunk of her output, but the rest had been painstakingly portioned into foil containers and carefully labelled with dietary information and reheating instructions. Daisy found a green canvas shopping trolley in the cupboard under the stairs and packed all the containers inside. She’d been putting it off for a month, but it was time to return all the visits from people in the neighbourhood and offload some food.

Her first stop was Church House, official residence of the Reverend Miriam Mayhew. It was a tiny cottage sandwiched in the middle of a row of three, identifiable by a black metal fish hanging over the door, engraved with faded gold lettering. Two hundred years ago Reverend Mayhew would have lived in the splendour of the rectory, but of course two hundred years ago the Anglican church would have needed smelling salts to countenance the idea of a female priest.

Daisy handed over a few containers of food for Miriam’s freezer, and the vicar blushed and gibbered away, thanking Daisy effusively and clutching the containers like she’d just unwrapped a bottle of frankincense at the nativity.

‘It’s so kind of you,’ she gushed. ‘We’re so excited to have you here. Although of course it’s tricky for some, I think. At the school, you know.’

Daisy smiled thinly. Presumably her arrival had created some negative press for the school; perhaps they didn’t like her being in such close proximity to impressionable teenagers in case she accidentally flashed at them. She wondered if Tom was behind whatever was making it ‘tricky’ and took a moment to hate him even more.

‘Well, I won’t be here much longer,’ said Daisy, taking a sip from a mug of tea that was as weak and flavourless as the conversation. She made a swift exit once Miriam started dropping clanging hints about fundraising for the vestry and the village winter fete at the end of January. She wasn’t wholly against a bit of community involvement, but she had every intention of being long gone by then.

Daisy’s next stop was the rectory, which had an ancient Ford Mondeo parked outside and some overgrown borders that needed cutting back before winter. She crunched across the gravel and pushed the doorbell, hearing it jangle somewhere deep inside the house. Less than a minute later, Melanie Forbes-Glover opened the heavy door. The pleated skirt, beige blouse and shapeless cardigan were neat and clean but far too old for Melanie, who couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Daisy. She had a pale but striking face and a tall, willowy frame under all that sludge-coloured polyester. Perhaps Gerald had married her for her shorthand; it certainly wasn’t for her killer wardrobe.

Melanie invited Daisy into an equally drab kitchen, staring at her in a way that made her wonder if she had food on her face. Daisy wondered if this was Melanie’s general demeanour or a response to being in the company of a ‘celebrity’; some people behaved really weirdly. The house was dark, freezing and clearly run down – the wallpaper in the hallway faded and peeling, and part of one of the kitchen floorboards was missing, the hole currently occupied by an angry-looking ginger cat with a squashed face. No wonder Will did his homework in the pub; this place felt like a haunted shack in a Scooby Doo cartoon.

‘Sorry to drop in like this,’ Daisy said easily. ‘I was passing and thought I’d say hello.’

Melanie smiled nervously and fussed with the kettle. ‘It’s kind of you to visit,’ she said, her voice wispy and insubstantial.

Daisy started unloading some trays. ‘I’ve been cooking. Testing, you know, for a recipe book. I’ve been sharing the spoils around the village since I can’t fit any more in my freezer. Feel free to say no, but I brought some over for you and the family. Lasagne, stroganoff, a couple of bean chillis and a—’ she squinted at the lid, ‘—chocolate fondant pudding.’

‘That’s so kind, thank you. Will never stops eating, he’ll get through these in no time.’ Melanie looked like she might cry as she organised the containers into a neat pile on the kitchen counter.

‘Ha, I’m amazed he’s eating at all,’ Daisy laughed. ‘Doesn’t young love take away your appetite?’

Melanie looked confused, and in a flash Daisy realised that Will hadn’t told her about Ruby. She blushed and fidgeted, but it was too late to go back now. ‘Oh, listen to me,’ she continued airily, ‘I’m such a blabbermouth. Your son met my daughter, Ruby, over half-term, and I think they might be rather taken with each other. But you know teenagers.’

Daisy felt terrible at how stricken Melanie looked – she was so used to Ruby telling her everything, it never occurred to her that Will might have cut his mother out of his life. She tried to find the right words, but Melanie rallied. ‘Well, good for Will,’ she replied with forced cheerfulness. ‘It’s always nice to make new friends. I’m sorry my husband isn’t here to say hello; he’s upstairs in his office but he doesn’t like to be disturbed. And Will’s at school, of course.’

They waded through ten more minutes of inconsequential small talk about the weather and the history of the church before Daisy gathered her belongings and left, planning to make a couple of further food drops to some other villagers who’d been kind enough to leave gifts on her doorstep. She walked across the driveway thinking about Melanie, a clearly lonely woman rattling around in a huge house with a philandering husband and a son who didn’t talk to her.

Daisy was almost at the gate when she heard the crunch of gravel behind her. She turned to see a man in a pinstriped suit grinning and holding out his hand. She immediately recognised him as Melanie’s husband, the disgraced MP she’d seen in the papers years before. He was handsome in that raffish, full-lipped way of fifty-something, upper-class Englishmen. Like Hugh Grant, or maybe Alan Rickman.

‘I’m sorry we haven’t met sooner.’ He clasped Daisy’s hand in both of his like he was greeting the mayor at the Town Hall. ‘I’m Gerald Forbes-Glover.’ He smelled of woody aftershave and pure lust, and Daisy’s skin immediately began to crawl. She tried to extract her hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Gerald,’ Daisy murmured, backing away to the gate. ‘I’m afraid I need to be getting on, but it would be lovely to catch up another time.’ Not.

‘I’ll make sure of it.’ Gerald smiled at Daisy like a hungry wolf. She waved, then hurried off down the road as fast as she could without actually running.

It was lunchtime by the time Daisy had offloaded the rest of her food, and groups of students were hanging around in the school grounds getting some mandatory fresh air before returning to their afternoon lessons. She kept her head down as she walked down the drive in the hope that nobody recognised her, only glancing up as she passed the huge cedar tree at the side of the school. Will Forbes-Glover was walking in circles beneath it, his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders hunched over.

Daisy watched him for a moment, wondering what stage of lovesick teenage angst he was currently enduring. He looked up and caught her eye, so she gave him a wave and waited for him to amble over and talk to her.

‘Hi, Will,’ she said softly, hoping that her smile communicated her understanding of his feelings right now.

‘Hey.’ Will scuffed his feet on the gravel path, his face a picture of pure misery.

‘I’m sorry Ruby won’t be back for any more weekends before Christmas. It’s hockey season.’

‘I know.’ Will turned away but Daisy could see his blush.

‘She gets some free time after lunch on a Saturday, if that’s helpful? Milton Park isn’t that far away.’

Will looked up at her with renewed interest. ‘Really?’ His eyes flickered in all directions as the cogs in his brain whirred. ‘Could I cycle it, do you think?’

Daisy shrugged. ‘It’s ten miles and pretty hilly. Depends how much you like cycling.’ And Ruby.

‘I don’t mind cycling.’ Will pulled himself up a little taller. ‘Where have you been?’