Daisy Darker(70)

Miniature Poppins was passed around, and we all made a big fuss of her. I watched Nana’s agent as he smiled at the puppy, and decided that if Nana trusted the man with stars in his eyes, I would too.

‘If I write a story about the real Daisy Darker, will you really read it?’ I whispered.

He smiled again. ‘Yes. I promise that I will.’

‘Daisy, stop bothering the man with your silly stories,’ said my mother, passing Poppins to Rose – Nancy never had any real interest in dogs or books.

‘Oh, I don’t mind at all,’ Nana’s agent said with that kind smile of his. ‘Finding the stories hidden inside people’s heads is my most favourite thing to do.’

We look like a happy family on the screen, and it’s a nice memory to be reminded of. As usual the Halloween/birthday menu Nana had prepared for us all catered to her sweet tooth. That year we had chocolate chilli con carne for the first time, along with chicken and hot chocolate gravy, jelly babies and sweetcorn, chocolate-filled ravioli, fish fingers with sherbet lemon, white chocolate lasagne and cola bottle trifle. It all tasted a lot better than it sounds.

I watch, transfixed, as seventeen-year-old Lily picks up the camera from its tripod and films some close-ups of Poppins the puppy. Then there is a shot of Nana hugging me and whispering in my ear. I can still remember what she said.

‘I love you from here to the moon and back three times and once for luck.’

It was something she only ever said to me, and the memory of that moment haunts me.

The picture on the screen turns black. I’ve never seen anything that happened that evening captured on camera before. I didn’t know this tape existed until now, so I wonder if that’s all there is. But then an image of a beach at night appears, and a bonfire, and I don’t want to see any more. I don’t want to remember what happened next, or what I did. That night is why they all stopped speaking to me. It was the worst night of my life.





Thirty-six



31 October 3:55 a.m.

less than three hours until low tide

‘Maybe we shouldn’t watch any more of this tape,’ says Rose in a voice that doesn’t sound like her own. She remembers what happened that night too. So does Conor.

‘I agree. Several members of this family have died tonight, this isn’t the time for home movies,’ he says. But that isn’t why Conor doesn’t want to watch anymore.

I ignore them both and cross the room to take a closer look at the Scrabble board Nana’s agent gave to her that year. When I see what is on it the room seems to spin.

‘Did you do this?’ I ask Trixie, and she comes to stand by my side. We tend to be the only ones to play the game these days. Rose joins us to see what we are looking at, and frowns at the board.

‘Was this you?’ she asks our niece. ‘It’s really important that you tell the truth.’

Trixie shakes her head and stares wide-eyed at both of us.

Someone has spelled out our names.



Rose starts pacing again. ‘I don’t understand the connection to Nana’s agent, or the link with Scrabble letters . . . someone has been sticking them to the covers of our old home movies. But why would he be involved in any of this? Nana loved her agent.’

‘Because she couldn’t write any more new books after what happened in 1988?’ Conor says, staring at the floor. ‘She didn’t publish anything ever again after that. What if he trashed her studio last night, looking for her latest work? If an author can’t write, that’s got to be bad for their agent too, right? I mean, she was his biggest client.’

‘His first and only client for a while,’ I say, remembering how much I liked the man.

Rose shakes her head. ‘We must be missing something.’

She turns to Lily, as though hoping she might have the answer. But Lily continues to face away from us all, staring at the TV screen, as if hypnotized by what she sees. For now, all it shows is an image of a bonfire on a beach at night. The fire in the room crackles and spits again, and I see what looks like a chair leg burning on top of the logs. It’s painted blue with white clouds. I turn to Conor, and there is a scribble of a smile drawn on his face for no more than a second, before a frown erases it as though it were never there. But that doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes our faces don’t know what to do with themselves when we are scared.

When I look back at the TV, I know that a lot of what happened after Nana’s birthday meal and before the bonfire on the beach is missing – moments that definitely weren’t captured on camera because Lily wasn’t filming at the time. Unfortunately, my mind remembers that night well enough to fill in the gaps.





Thirty-seven



SEAGLASS – 1988

‘Why do they get to go to a Halloween party and I have to stay here? I always have to stay behind. You never let me do anything,’ I said to my mother, hoping that the vast amount of alcohol she had consumed that night might have made her change her mind. Saving an alcoholic seemed to turn her into one. Albeit the functioning variety who people aren’t as quick to condemn.

‘Because you’re only thirteen,’ Nancy said, pouring another glass of wine.

‘So? You let Rose and Lily go to parties when they were my age.’

‘You know as well as I do that your sisters aren’t as—’