Daisy Darker(23)

‘I need the bathroom.’

‘So why are you telling me about it?’

Trixie frowns. ‘Because I’m scared.’

I jump to my niece’s defence before her mother can reply. I can’t stand it when Lily bullies her own daughter. ‘I’ll go with her, I don’t mind—’

‘Nobody is going to go with you or hold your hand,’ Lily snaps, ignoring me. No one says anything, but their eyes speak the words that their mouths don’t. ‘There is no reason for you to be scared of going to the bathroom. You’re fifteen, not five. All those bloody books you read are putting silly ideas in your head. And there’s no need to be scared of Nana anymore, darling. The old bat is dead.’

Dad takes another sip of whisky, and Nancy tuts again, louder this time. Neither of them was ever any good at telling my sister off when she was out of line, which is why she’s never been in step with the rest of the world. It’s almost as if they’re scared of her.

‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,’ Nancy says.

‘Why?’ Lily asks. ‘You always speak ill of the living. Go to the bathroom, Trixie. There’s no need to be scared, it’s just across the hall. Go on, and grow up while you’re at it,’ she says to her fifteen-year-old daughter who has just seen a dead body for the first time. Trixie glares at her mother, pushes her pink glasses a little further up her nose, and leaves the room.

‘I think we ought to come up with a plan,’ says Conor.

‘I don’t remember anyone asking what you thought,’ slurs my dad.

‘Surely we all just stay together until the tide goes out?’ says Rose.

The rain outside lashes against the elderly glass in the windows, making it rattle inside its frame. Lily’s teeth start to chatter as though it’s contagious.

‘If we’re staying down here until the sun comes up, then we’ll need to keep warm,’ she says. ‘This house is freezing.’ My sister can always find something to complain about, but to be fair, she is only wearing a nightdress. ‘I’ll get some jumpers from upstairs. Does anyone else want anything?’

Looks are exchanged like unwanted gifts, heads are shaken, and shoulders are shrugged.

Trixie returns, Lily leaves, my dad pours another drink, and my mother tuts again.

‘Is that really a good idea, Frank?’ she asks.

‘No, it’s an excellent idea.’

‘Do you really think it was an accident?’ Conor asks him.

‘Enough!’ Dad snaps. ‘This isn’t a crime scene for a BBC correspondent to report on or a murder mystery story for someone to solve. She was my mother. She slipped and fell. Simple as that. There was no murder, there is no mystery. She was eighty, had already lost most of her marbles, and now she’s dead. That’s the end of it.’ His face closes like a door. The conversation is over. Then Dad frowns and stares out of the window at the sea lit by moonlight, almost as though he has forgotten the rest of us are here. ‘Forgive me, I think I need to be alone for a while,’ he says quietly.

Lily returns with some jumpers and blankets, and has dressed herself in jogging bottoms teamed with a tight top. Dad leaves the room as she enters it, taking his whisky with him and closing the door. We hear him go into the music room, and a few minutes later, we all hear the familiar sound of him playing the piano. Even though he is drunk, he plays perfectly.

‘I’m still cold,’ whispers Trixie, despite the jumper Lily has given her. It’s the pink jumper from last night, and matches her pyjamas.

‘I brought one of your books down for you,’ Lily says.

‘I’m too upset to read.’

‘Suit yourself. Here, play with this, see if you can beat my highest score,’ Lily says. Trixie takes her mother’s mobile phone and plays Snake, the glow of the screen reflected in her glasses and illuminating her sad little tear-stained face.

‘I’ll go and fetch some firewood,’ offers Conor. ‘I think we’re in for a long night.’

‘Thank you, Conor,’ says Nancy with uncharacteristic sincerity.

He’s gone a very long time. I think maybe I’m the only one to notice until my mother speaks again.

‘You don’t think Conor is doing a runner, do you?’

I think she was trying to make a joke, but it doesn’t quite land, and her face suggests she regrets it. Nana and Conor had a very special relationship, I don’t believe he could be capable of hurting her. At least, not like that. She was the grandmother he never had, and we all knew how much she adored him. There was a time when Nana didn’t just treat Conor like family, she treated him better.



A year after appearing in Blacksand Bay, Conor would regularly turn up at Seaglass, with or without an invitation. So did I. My mother often felt the need to ‘run away’ without much notice – sometimes visiting my father while he toured abroad, sometimes none of us knew where she went – but I was always sent to Seaglass when my existence wasn’t convenient for my parents’ lifestyle. Not that I minded. I loved spending time here with Nana. So did Conor.

I was a bit too young to hold his attention back then, so if my sisters were away at boarding school, he would amuse himself looking for crabs in the rock pool at the rear of the house. It was carved out, courtesy of the sea, from the natural stone Seaglass was built on – a private treasure trove of watery magic, starfish and crabs. Nana told us it was where fairies went to swim at night, while the rest of the world was sleeping. If the weather was bad, Conor could often be found indoors helping Nana mix her paints – he and I were the only ones allowed in her studio – or playing with his yo-yo and staring out to sea. But one morning, Nana and I found him outside the back door, curled up asleep in the log store.