Daisy in Chains(79)

What Liz does next is completely out of character. She bends over, and kisses him on the temple. ‘I kind of love you,’ she says.

Christ, he needs a beer. ‘Get out of here,’ he tells her.





Chapter 77





Chapter 78


THE BASEMENT BENEATH Maggie’s house is large and high-ceilinged, with several interconnected rooms. The first, at the bottom of the staircase, is the biggest. In this room, there are narrow, horizontally configured windows, very high in the walls, that allow in weak beams of dusty light, but even in daytime the single, low-watt electric bulbs – just one in each room – are needed.

Close to midnight, in winter, the subterranean rooms are full of shadows, but Maggie knows what lurks in each. Every time she comes down here, she thinks about ghosts, but she hasn’t seen one yet.

‘Bit early for spring cleaning,’ says the voice that is never silent for long, and that always has plenty to say for itself below ground.

‘Technically, late.’ Maggie carries a box to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Still a few more minutes of 2015 left to run.’ The box joins several others stretching up the wooden staircase. Before the night is out, Maggie will carry them upstairs and put them in the back of her car. She has already identified four household-waste disposal sites, none of them too close to home, where she will drop them off in the next couple of days.

There is stuff in these boxes, old books, souvenirs, with which she is loath to part, and yet there are no memories here that aren’t replicated perfectly inside her head. She has forgotten nothing. Probably never will.

‘We’re on the move again, then?’

‘Probably,’ she says, knowing it is more than probable, it is certain. One way or another, her time here is coming to an end. Will she miss this house, she wonders. Unlikely. It will be nice, if anything, to find somewhere smaller, without cavernous rooms and draughty corners. A cottage, she thinks, with thick, stone walls, a dense, thatched roof, and open fires in every room. A cottage with no hallways, or corridors, or basements. A cottage in which one room leads to another and the garden is tiny, and the neighbouring houses are close by, possibly even linked.

It might be nice to be among people again. She has already started checking available property on the Isle of Wight.

She takes one last look around.

The high shelving units around the room are empty now. She has never been a hoarder and it hasn’t taken long to clear the room completely. The second, smaller room holds nothing but the furniture she inherited when she bought this house. That can stay where it is. And the third room. She needs to check the third room.

From somewhere upstairs she can hear a clock chiming.

‘Happy New Year, Maggie,’ says the voice that has been her companion for nearly twenty years. She doubts, now, that it will ever leave her.

‘Happy New Year, Daisy,’ she replies.





Chapter 79


31 December 2015

Dear Hamish,

This time next year, my love, we will walk on sands of powdered gold and swim in waters that have the power to wash away the past.

This time next year, my love, we will eat food and drink wine beneath stars that will be dust, long before I cease to adore you.

This time next year, my love, we will fall asleep at dawn, having spent the hours of darkness in a tangle of hot limbs, spinning ecstasy from starlight and building castles from moonbeams.

This time next year, my love . . .

Me

PROPERTY OF AVON AND SOMERSET POLICE. Ref: 544/45.2 Hamish Wolfe.





Chapter 80


From the office of

MAGGIE ROSE

The Rectory, Norton Stown, Somerset

Monday, 4 January 2015

Dear Hamish,

Here’s a little something of the world outside.

On the fourth Saturday of every month, there is a farmers’ market in Glastonbury. Maybe you know it? As you spotted for yourself, I eat very little, but I love to look at fresh food, skilfully made and beautifully laid out, and farmers’ markets fascinate me.

I try to get there early, before the crowds, and just wander around, admiring the colours of the fruit and vegetable stalls, the artistry of the artisan bakers, smelling the cheeses, marvelling at the sheer inventiveness of the makers of cordials, pickles and preserves. So much summer goodness captured within glass.

I never buy anything, but it would be nice to, I think, if I could be sure it would be eaten. Can I get something for you when I go next? I need to check what I’m allowed to bring into Parkhurst, but maybe some clementines with their waxy green leaves? Or maybe your taste veers more towards passion fruit and pomegranate? Some Cheddar cheese, perhaps, with a rich dark pickle? I’m being cruel, aren’t I? I really must check the regulations before I torture your taste buds any more. I wouldn’t be allowed to bring glass into a prison anyway.

I had a very interesting chat with James Laurence last week and I’m heading to Bristol later today. Your old friend Oliver Pearson has agreed to see me when he gets home from work. I’ll stay over tonight and fill you in when I visit tomorrow.

I received your last letter. I’m touched, but no need to thank me as yet. I am acting out of self-interest, remember?

Best wishes,

Maggie





Chapter 81