Page 90 of The Only Way Is Up

‘No,’ replied Daisy, ‘he probably didn’t. But it’s done now. How are things with you?’

‘Good, actually.’ Marcus looked a little more cheerful. ‘I’ve moved in with my girlfriend and got loads of new coaching clients off the back of the publicity, so life could be worse. Happy to be out of this village, if I’m honest.’

Daisy smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re right. And there’s a fresh start for me too. I’m heading back to London on Monday. Got some fun new projects.’

‘Like what?’ Daisy could hear Hank barking frantically by the lake but kept her focus on Marcus, who was clearly enjoying finally having Daisy’s undivided attention after months of attempting to catch her eye.

‘Oh, I shouldn’t say, really.’ She tried to look enigmatic. ‘I’ve been asked to do a charity show. Celebrity Love Island, actually, but I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Wow.’ Marcus looked genuinely surprised. ‘I’m not sure if . . .’ His head turned to the lake. ‘Is that dog OK?’

Hank, it turned out, was very much not OK. The barking had prompted a number of mallards to take flight, which was the catalyst for Hank to take a plunge into the lake and start paddling frantically towards the swans on the island. He was already several metres out before Simon and Archie made it to the edge of the water, by which time he had his eyes on the prize and no amount of calling was going to bring him back.

Archie grabbed Daisy’s arm as she appeared at his side, his face distraught. ‘Oh God, I don’t know if he’s going to make it.’

Daisy chewed her thumbnail, her heart thumping as she worked her way through various scenarios. If Hank got near the swans they might attack him, and there were also a lot of overhanging branches that could get hooked on his collar. One way or another, he was going to need help.

Archie called Hank’s name again but Daisy grabbed his wrist. ‘No, don’t make him swim back. If he panics, he could drown. I’ll get him.’

Daisy pulled off her boots and coat decisively and waded into the water, which was so cold it felt like knives were being poked into her ankles. The mud and silt sucked at her feet, but she kept moving, oblivious to the shouts on the bank behind her. Once the water was chest deep, she plunged forward and started to swim, trying to breathe through the searing cold and keep her head above the water. The fabric of the dress felt heavy and clingy around her legs, but she kicked it away and kept going.

Hank reached the island about ten metres ahead of Daisy, veering away from the frantic hissing of the swans and hunkering under a bush, no doubt surprised to discover how big and angry they were at close quarters. Daisy could see him shivering, although it was hard to tell if that was from cold or fear or both. She pushed through the mud and branches and dragged her wet skirt up the bank, mud smeared in long streaks up her arms. The swans took to the water as she reached out for Hank, who leapt into her arms and buried his head in the crook of her elbow.

Daisy squatted for a minute on the edge of the bank, stroking Hank’s head and whispering, ‘It’s OK, you silly thing,’ as she tried to impart any remaining warmth into his body and stop her teeth chattering. She waved at the group on the lakeside and gave them a thumbs up, seeing Archie’s body visibly relax as he realised his dog wasn’t in any immediate danger. Hank slowly started to calm down, lifting his head to Daisy’s face and giving her cheek a lick as his tail began to wag.

‘Now listen,’ Daisy told him sternly. ‘We’re going to have to swim back. Which means you’re going to have to be a brave boy, but I promise not to let you go. What do you think?’ Hank wagged his tail and scraped his claws down Daisy’s cold arm, which she took as encouragement even though her eyes were watering with the pain.

Holding Hank tightly against her body as they both shivered, Daisy untied the belt from her dress and looped it through his collar, setting him down on the bank so she could secure it with a knot and tie the other end around her wrist. Taking a deep breath, she tucked Hank under her left arm and waded back into the freezing water, observing that it hadn’t got any bloody warmer in the past three minutes.

She swam on her right side, paddling with one arm only, until Hank’s little legs started to kick and Daisy tentatively let him go so he could power himself along. They swam the last ten metres side by side, applauded and cheered on by the group of spectators on the lakeside, which appeared to have got considerably larger since Hank and Daisy had taken the plunge.

As soon as Hank found his footing, he raced into Archie’s waiting arms, leaving Daisy to scramble through the mud just behind him. She was wading through the last couple of feet of soft silt when Archie stood up, causing the belt on Daisy’s wrist to pull tight. It yanked her body forward and gave her feet nowhere to go but backwards. She heard Archie shout, ‘Oh shit!’ then moments later she lay with her face pressed into the cold, slippery bank, a throbbing pain in her right ankle and the familiar horror of being sprawled out and helpless in front of a crowd of strangers. She raised her head slowly and Tom’s face appeared in her line of vision, his fingers working deftly to untie the belt from her wrist before he hooked his arm under her armpit and helped her to sit up. His eyes never left hers as he dipped a handkerchief into the lake and gently wiped the mud off her face. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I think I’ve twisted my ankle,’ whispered Daisy, her face burning. ‘And my dress . . .’

‘It’s all fine.’ Tom pushed Daisy’s hair out of her eyes. ‘It’s just wet, and you’ve got black tights on. Nobody can see anything.’ He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘I’ll help you up, just smile and wave.’

Daisy scrambled to her feet and smiled at the crowd, acknowledging the ripple of applause as she let Tom help her hobble over to Archie so she could check Hank was OK. The ankle felt sore, but it could bear her weight.

She let Tom lead her away towards Willow Cottage, his arm tight around her shoulder as he helped her undress and get into a hot shower and dry, clean clothes. Nobody followed them or chased them down with cameras. No one cared. And it occurred to Daisy that most people here wished her nothing but happiness.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Benny’s latest gossip website news leak on Sunday was much as Daisy expected; he’d clearly heard about the dramatic dog rescue and tried to play it down, making up a quote from a villager that read: ‘It all seemed like a fuss about nothing, really; the dog was fine and there was no need for Daisy to swim across the lake in front of everyone. Everyone thought it was a bit attention-seeking.’ Daisy rolled her eyes and rubbed her sore ankle, thinking of how terrified and shivery Hank had been when he’d jumped into her arms.

She scanned the rest of the copy, glossing over the paragraphs about how she had been seen talking to Marcus Elliot just before the incident, but had left the scene with Tom Clark, which left the journalist unsure what conclusion to draw about Daisy’s complex love life. Further down she found what she was looking for – an irresistible rumour about something that Daisy was lined up to do in the future, of no real consequence to anyone apart from Daisy, who now knew who the mole was.

She reminded herself that the true villain here was Benny, who had clearly decided that causing death to Daisy’s career by a thousand tiny cuts was a fun game. Today the best he could do was snipe about a dog at a village fete and a booking that must have seemed unlikely, even to him. Such a pathetic little man. She’d go and see him when she was back in London, tell him what she knew and give him a choice – learn to play nicely or have his transgressions laid bare and never work in this industry again.

Daisy wasn’t entirely surprised to find her mother having breakfast in Miriam’s kitchen, although it was unclear whether she’d just popped over for coffee and toast before the Sunday church service or if she’d stayed the night. Either way Stella looked a good deal more relaxed about it than Miriam did. She spotted a mustard yellow scarf and matching gloves on the hat rack inside the door and remembered seeing Stella in the gloves at Justin’s pig roast, then Miriam in the scarf a week or two later. The signs were always there, she just hadn’t noticed. She took a deep breath and sat down at the kitchen table, knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

‘You’re lucky to find me here,’ said Stella, ‘I’ve only just arrived.’

If you say so. ‘Actually, it wasn’t you I was looking for. I came to speak to Miriam.’

‘Oh,’ Stella sounded put out. ‘Is it a private chat, or can I stay?’

Daisy looked at Miriam and raised her eyebrows questioningly. The vicar’s face was pale and tired, and she looked like she might be sick.