The Keeper of Lost Things(17)
Her mum had gone mad when she had found out. Daisy had kept quiet for as long as she could, but when the bed-wetting started she had to come clean. But it only proved how pathetic she was; a big girl of eleven wetting the bed. Her mum went straight to the headmistress and scared her half to death. After that, the school did what they could, which wasn’t much, and Daisy set her sights on the end of term with gritted teeth and hair cut short. She had chopped the plaits herself with the kitchen scissors, and when her mum saw her she had cried. But over the summer her hair had grown again; not long enough for plaits, but just about for ponytails. And today she had new hair bobbles for her newly grown ponytails. They were bright green and shaped like flowers. “Daisies for Daisy,” her mother had said. As she sat admiring them in the mirror her stomach lurched like the gears slipping on a bicycle. What if tomorrow her new classmates looked at the face of the girl in the mirror and didn’t like what they saw?
Annie zipped the cool bag closed, satisfied that she had included all her daughter’s favorites in their picnic; cheese and pineapple sandwiches (brown bread with seeds), salt and vinegar crisps, custard donuts, Japanese rice crackers, and ginger beer to drink. She could still feel the need for physical violence smoldering inside her, stoked rather than soothed by the reaction of that idiot fairy-fart of a headmistress who could barely control a basket of sleeping kittens, let alone a school full of chip-fed, benefits-bred kids, most of whom already believed that the world owed them a Council flat, a baby, and the latest pair of Nike trainers. After Daisy’s dad had left, Annie had worked bloody hard as a single mother to bring Daisy up. She had two part-time jobs, and the flat they lived in might not be in the best area, but it was clean and homely and it was theirs. And Daisy was a good kid. But good was bad. In the world of school where Daisy had to survive, the things that Annie had taught her were not enough. Common decency, good manners, kindness, and hard work were treated as peculiarities at best, but in gentle Daisy they were seen as weaknesses; faults for which she was cruelly punished. So Annie had one more lesson to teach her daughter.
The sun was already high and hot by the time they reached the park, and the grass was littered with groups of young women accessorized with pushchairs, wailing toddlers, cans of cider, and Marlboro Lights. Daisy’s mother took her hand and they walked straight across the grass playing field toward the woods at the back of the park. They weren’t just strolling, they were striding; going somewhere specific. Daisy didn’t know where, but she could feel her mother’s sense of purpose. The woods were another world; cool and quiet and empty, save for the birds and the squirrels.
“I used to come here with your dad.”
Daisy looked up at her mother with innocent eyes.
“Why?”
Her mother smiled, remembering. She put down the cool bag and looked up toward the sky.
“We’re here,” she said.
The cool bag was at the foot of a huge oak tree; bent and twisted like an old man racked with arthritis. Daisy looked up through its branches, glimpsing flecks and flashes of blue through the flickering canopy of leaves.
Twenty minutes later she was sitting in the canopy looking down at the cool bag.
When her mother announced that they were going to climb the tree, Daisy thought she must be joking. In the absence of a punch line or a laugh, Daisy took refuge in fear.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Daisy’s eyes filled with tears, but her mother was resolute.
“You don’t know you can’t until you try.”
The silence and the stillness that followed seemed eternal. Eventually her mother spoke.
“In this world, Daisy, we are tiny. We can’t always win and we can’t always be happy. But the one thing that we can always do is try. There will always be Baylee-Trashcan Johnsons”—a twitch of a smile crossed Daisy’s face—“and you can’t change that. But you can change how she makes you feel.”
Daisy wasn’t convinced.
“How?”
“By climbing this tree with me.”
It was the scariest thing Daisy had ever done. But somewhere before they reached the top, a strange thing happened. Daisy’s fear blew away like feathers in the wind. At the bottom of the tree, she was tiny and the tree an invincible giant. At the top, the tree was still huge, but tiny though she was, she had climbed it.
It was the best day of the summer holidays. By the time they walked home across the playing field, the park was nearly empty and a man riding a mower was about to cut the grass. As Daisy got ready for bed that night, with her new school uniform hanging on the wardrobe door, she noticed in the mirror that one of her hair bobbles was missing. It must have fallen out as they walked home across the park. But the face in the mirror was a new face; happy and excited. Today Daisy had learned how to conquer a giant, and tomorrow she was going to big school.
Laura replaced the hair bobbles on the shelf and came out of the study closing the door behind her. Her reflection in the hall mirror was of the face that belonged to the old Laura before Anthony and Padua; hollowed out, defeated. The clock struck nine. She would have to go. She picked up her keys from the small Maling bowl on the hall table where she always left them. But there was one extra. Underneath her bunch of house and car keys was a large single internal-door key. Suddenly Laura understood, and the face in the mirror was transformed by a slow smile. Anthony had left the door to his secret kingdom unlocked for her. His trust in her resurrected the resolve that his death had dissipated. Today she had been left a kingdom and tomorrow she would begin unraveling its secrets.