Daisy Darker(24)

‘Conor, it’s seven a.m. and it’s freezing, what are you doing out here?’ Nana asked, squinting at the boy in the shadows. His only blanket was the night sky, sequinned with stars. There are no views of the bay or the mainland from the back of the house. All that can be seen or heard is the Atlantic Ocean. As soon as the sun goes down, the world outside of Seaglass’s walls is cold and dark. The sea looked black, and the tide was in that morning. Which meant that Conor must have been out there for hours. He knew better than to risk the rips and tides hiding beneath the surface of an unforgiving ocean.

‘I didn’t want to wake anyone,’ Conor said, staring at Nana. They had a silent exchange, which five-year-old me was too young to understand.

‘Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ll run you a hot bath so you can warm up.’

‘Why are you limping?’ I asked Conor as he followed Nana up the stairs. He smelled pretty bad too, and his blonde hair looked shiny and wet with grease.

‘Go to your room, Daisy,’ Nana said. She could see that I was about to protest; being sent to my room was one of my mother’s favourite forms of punishment, not Nana’s, and I hadn’t done anything wrong. Nana’s face softened. ‘We can have jelly and ice cream with chocolate sauce for breakfast, but only if you go to your room,’ she said with a wink. So I did as I was told. But I couldn’t resist creeping out onto the landing a little while later, and peeking through the crack where the bathroom door was open just enough to see.

Nana used my bubble bath for Conor, not that I minded. The bottle looked like a smiley sailor called Matey, and it turned the water blue. I loved bubble baths, but Conor didn’t smile or look happy at all. I watched as Nana helped him out of his jumper and shirt – he dressed like a middle-aged man when he was ten – and I saw the cuts and bruises all over his back. Conor looked ashamed, as though it was his fault.

‘Who did this to you?’ Nana asked, already knowing the answer that Conor wouldn’t give.

She held his face in her hands. ‘You’re going to be okay, I promise. You take the rest of your clothes off and pop them in this bin liner. I’m going to find you some clean, dry clothes and start making us all some breakfast. Call me if you need anything.’

‘Mrs Darker—’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Please don’t tell anyone. He didn’t mean to do it.’

Nana had her back to him, and I could see she had tears in her eyes. ‘I had a dad who didn’t mean to hurt me too, once upon a time. I promise you can trust me. For now, just have your bath. There’s a clean towel and flannel on the side. Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.’

I ran back to my bedroom before Nana came out onto the landing, and listened to her march down the stairs. She was still wearing her fluffy purple dressing gown and pink slippers, but she looked really mad, and her face looking all cross like that made me feel a bit afraid. Nana was rarely angry about anything, but boy did everyone know about it when she was.

The only telephone at Seaglass in those days – or ever – was in the hallway. It was on a little round table along with a fancy notebook full of handwritten numbers. I watched from behind the banister at the top of the staircase, as Nana flicked through the book, found Conor’s dad’s number, and dialled. It was a rotary phone, so took forever. Her foot was tapping the way it did when she was proper cross, while she waited for someone to answer the call. Patience was never one of Nana’s virtues.

‘Hello, Mr Kennedy, how are you today? Oh, a little under the weather? I’m sorry to hear that. Is that why you beat your ten-year-old son with your belt last night?’

There was silence, in which I’m sure Conor’s dad and I were both busy putting together pieces of a puzzle we weren’t sure how to solve. Wondering if those pieces were in the right order. Not really liking the picture that they made. Nana went on.

‘I suspect you didn’t even know where he was overnight. Let me put your mind at rest and tell you that he’s here at Seaglass with me. Which is where he is going to stay, until I can reach social services and have him taken away from you forever.’

She was quiet again. I wished I could hear what was being said on the other end of the line.

‘He’s a child. It’s not his fault your wife died. You are supposed to be his father. You’re supposed to protect him from all that is bad and wrong about the world, not constantly hurt him and let him down. Doing your best? Well, your best isn’t good enough. You’re depressed? Aren’t we all. It doesn’t give you the right to do what you did. You are a disgrace to depression, and you don’t deserve to call yourself that child’s father. Either you get yourself some help or you will lose your son. I never met your wife, but I can only imagine that if she could see what you have become, she would be deeply ashamed and wish she’d never met you. He’s her son, all that is left of her; think of that next time you take your shitty existence out on your child.’

Then she hung up, and I was both scared and in awe of her all at once.

Nana never stopped looking out for Conor from that day on. His father went to AA, was in rehab for a while, and although there were months, sometimes years, when things would be okay, she always kept a close eye on Conor back then, trying to protect him.



Back in the present, I get up and leave the lounge to find out where he has disappeared to. I immediately feel the slap of cold air, and the sound of the sea is louder than before. Almost as though it is inside the house. When I step out into the hallway, I can hear the back door banging in the wind. Conor must have left it open when he went in search of wood. The quickest way to get to the log store is via the kitchen, but I don’t really want to go in there. I don’t want to see Nana’s body on the floor again, or the unkind chalk poem on the wall, so I avert my eyes as I hurry to the back door.