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‘NoFleurtoday?’Marionasked innocently.
Daisyopened one eye and glared at her mother. ‘Yes,Mum.Yougot something to tell us?’
‘Idon’t know what you mean.’
Daisysat up. ‘Ohcome on,Mum.You’vebeen spotted.Cavortingabout town with a handsome silver fox.Fleurbelongs to him, doesn’t she?’
‘Wellyes,’Janreplied stiffly. ‘I’vebeen walking her forColinwhen he can’t.AsIsaid,I’mdoing a friend a favour.’
‘FromwhatIcould see when you andColinwere on the harbour, walking his dog wasn’t the only favour you were doing him.’
‘Daisy!Idon’t know what you’re implying.’
‘Thentell us what’s going on!’
Marionmade a strangled sound. ‘Wouldyou like me to leave you two to it?’
‘Nostay,Maz.Ineed a witness.’Daisyflapped a hand.
‘Ohreally,Daisy, do stop being melodramatic.ColinandIare just friends.Welike each other’s company, enjoy walking the dog,the odd meal out, a drink inTheOldHarbourwhen we can squeeze in–’
‘Anda kiss and a cuddle on the harbour,’Daisyinterjected.
Janblushed crimson.
‘So, are you going out with him?’ she demanded.
‘Iwouldn’t put it like that–’
‘Mum!’
Jangave an enormous sigh and brushed crumbs off her jeans, refusing to answer.
‘Well?’
‘I’vebeen on my own for a long time,Daisy.’
‘Iknow.’Daisyhugged her knees. ‘Butyou haven’t really been alone.Youhad me and the twins.Notto mention the enormousLullburyBayWiscombeclan.’
‘Youknow whatImean.’
Marionbegan to stir, obviously uncomfortable. ‘LookI’llleave you to it.I’llopen up the shop, shallI?’
‘Noleave it,’Daisyanswered. ‘Won’thurt to close for an afternoon.There’sa bottle of fizz in the fridge,Maz.We’llhave to drink it out of tumblers but break it out.Wecan celebrate properly.I’vedrunk far too much coffee and tea today.Proseccowould make a nice change.’
‘Prosecco, the very thought.’Marionshuddered. ‘Andin tumblers.’Sheclambered to her feet and shook her head. ‘Ifonly you’d said,Icould have brought proper flutes from home.’Glancingfrom mother to daughter she added, ‘I’lldo the washing up whileI’mthere too, shallI?’Therewas no answer so she huffed off.
Onceshe’d gone,Janasked, ‘Doyou mind, chickadee?’
Daisyburied her face in her knees to give herself time to answer.Eventuallyshe looked up. ‘Idon’t know,Mum.It’sa big thing to adjust to.’
Janpursed her lips and looked down.Shepicked at a loose thread in her jeans.
‘Arethose new?Pastel-pink jeans are a bit of a departure for you.’
‘Yes.Boughtthem last week.Fancieda change.’
‘Theysuit you.’Daisystudied her mother properly for the first time in probably years.Insteadof the woman who had brought them all up, single-handedly after the death of her husband, who had worked full time and steered three traumatised young people through the difficult years of early adulthood, she saw a woman.Headingfor her sixties, a figure kept trim throughPilatesand walking and generally keeping on the go, silver hair cut in a pixie style which suited her good bone structure, a neat white shirt teamed with her new jeans.
