Daisy Darker(82)

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Getting dressed,’ she replies, as though it was a ridiculous question. ‘Can’t stay in my PJs all day long when we have so much to do.’

She’s still crying. I wonder whether she is suffering from some form of post-traumatic stress. Maybe she shot Rose by accident, we were all so scared. Then I remember the sleeping pills, and wonder whether this might be a terrible reaction to the drugs Lily gave her.

‘Your mum . . . she put some pills in your drink earlier. Trying to help you sleep . . .’

‘I know, it’s not the first time my own mother tried to drug me. I didn’t drink the tea. I tipped it into a potted plant in the lounge when none of you were looking,’ Trixie replies, unfolding some clothes and laying an outfit on the bed. Right next to the gun she shot Rose with.

‘Do you remember what you just did?’ I ask very slowly.

‘You are funny, Aunty Daisy. I’m not the one who has trouble remembering things,’ she says. Her tears have stopped.

One Mississippi . . .

‘What does that mean?’ I ask.

‘You always do this . . . forget what really happened,’ she replies, with a strange look of pity on her face. I don’t understand anything she is saying.

Two Mississippi . . .

‘Are you telling me that you didn’t kill Rose and the rest of the family?’ I ask, desperate for there to be some other explanation.

‘Of course I didn’t . . .’ Trixie starts to say, and I feel a brief moment of relief. Maybe this is just a bad dream and I’ll wake up soon. But it isn’t. ‘I couldn’t possibly have killed them all by myself. I had help.’

I feel dizzy and strange.

‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, losing my temper. ‘What have you done? Why would you murder the whole family? And why didn’t you kill me too?’

Three Mississippi . . .

‘Stop being silly, Aunty Daisy. I couldn’t kill you because you’re already dead.’





Forty-seven



31 October 6:30 a.m.

low tide

It feels like I’m falling.

‘What did you say?’ I ask Trixie, but she turns her back on me and starts to get changed. She takes off the pink pyjamas, neatly folding the cotton fabric before placing them beneath her pillow. I watch as she calmly dresses in a pink cotton shirt and pink dungarees instead.

‘Why don’t you sit down on the bed?’ she suggests. ‘You sometimes faint when you remember that you’re dead. I’ve seen you do it a few times now.’

I am dreaming. That’s what this must be . . . a nightmare. Nothing else makes sense. Which means I just have to wake up.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

‘You’re not dreaming, Daisy. You’ve been dead for years,’ Trixie says, as though she can read my mind. I do sit down on the bed, but only because it feels like I’m falling again.

‘I can’t be dead. I have a job. The old people’s home . . .’ I whisper.

‘So you always tell me. But how much do they pay you these days?’ Trixie asks.

‘They don’t pay me . . . I volunteer there. I—’

‘You visit the care home. You don’t volunteer. None of the staff have ever heard of you. And most of the residents have never seen you. You go there because it’s one of the few places you do occasionally feel seen. People seem to see you just before they die – like Rose did a few minutes ago – and you like comforting the residents when they’re scared and alone at the end. It’s sweet really, but it’s not a job. It’s just something you do to convince yourself you’re still alive.’ She sighs and looks genuinely sad. ‘I do love you, Aunty Daisy, and I hate seeing you so upset. Try to remember that night, after the Halloween beach party in 1988.’

My train of thought has derailed. The child has lost her mind.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Please try to remember. Concentrate,’ she says, sounding impatient. ‘You were on the rocks, you saw my mum and Conor doing something they shouldn’t have been doing – although if they hadn’t, I guess I wouldn’t exist. Then what happened?’

I remember exactly what happened after that. I ran.



Conor and Lily were both pulling on their clothes and yelling at me, but my heart was thudding so loud in my ears, I couldn’t hear what they were shouting. All I knew was that I never wanted to see either of them ever again.

People should be more careful what they wish for.

I ran along the beach in the dark until I ran straight into Rose. She was holding a bottle of wine, and I noticed it was almost empty.

‘There you are!’ she said. ‘I was getting worried; I’ve been looking everywhere for you! We all need to leave soon or the tide will be too far in to cross the causeway. Where did you go?’

‘She was with me,’ said Conor, out of breath from trying to catch up.

I stared at him, then at Rose. Then at Lily, who had also been running. She was still only wearing a towel over her underwear, after swimming in the sea, and her lipstick was a little smudged. The look she gave me made me want to run again.

‘I didn’t see anything,’ I blurted out.