‘Basil can wait,’ said Taran. ‘I make very good coffee. How do you like it?’
‘Strong,’ Daisy replied, taking the stool beside Lady Sherwood. ‘I’ve lived in Italy, the home of the best coffee in the world, so no pressure.’
‘Italians are no match for me,’ said Taran, taking a cup out of the cupboard. ‘Just you wait and see. We make a mean coffee in Toronto, I can tell you.’
Daisy laughed.
A little while later Taran brought over two cups and placed one in front of Daisy. ‘Go on, tell me it’s the best coffee you’ve ever had.’
She grinned at him and lifted the cup to her lips.
He raised his eyebrows.
She nodded. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘For a Canadian.’
Lady Sherwood feigned horror. ‘Taran’s not all Canadian, you know. He’s half English. He just doesn’t want to acknowledge it.’
‘I’m beginning to,’ he said, taking a sip of his, and as he said it Lady Sherwood noticed he was looking directly at Daisy.
Dennis had finished the church for his model village and was at the kitchen table, painting the village hall, when Daisy came home. ‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked, putting her bag on a chair.
‘Having tea with Beryl.’
‘Oh good. That’s nice,’ she said, pleased to hear her mother was getting about.
‘Nan’s at bridge. She was grumbling about not wanting to go anymore because apparently one of the ladies is a cheat. I can’t remember which one. She says the others turn a blind eye, but as Nan’s a woman of integrity, she can’t sit back and let it happen. I fear there’s going to be a fight. Just preparing you.’
‘Nothing would surprise me,’ said Daisy.
‘I’m glad I’ve got you on my own, though. I’ve been thinking,’ Dennis began, putting down his paintbrush.
Daisy took the chair opposite her father. ‘I like it when you’re thinking, Dad. It means something creative is afoot.’
‘You’re not wrong, Daisy.’ He paused and two small red stains flourished on the apples of his cheeks. ‘I want to make Marigold a puzzle,’ he said.
‘She still hasn’t managed to finish the last one you made her,’ said Daisy sadly.
‘No, I mean a different kind of puzzle, Daisy. A puzzle of her memories.’
Daisy felt a stab of pain in her chest. She put a hand there and rubbed it, but rubbing it didn’t make it better. ‘Oh Dad, that’s such a lovely idea,’ she managed. ‘It really is.’
‘You see, what worries her is who she’ll be without her memories. But I’ve reassured her that she doesn’t need them, because we’ve got them, and we’ll keep them safe for her. You see, we know her, don’t we? She’ll always be Goldie to me and Mum to you and Suze, and Marigold to Nan. She might not remember things about her life, but we will. I thought you and I could do a memory board, but make it into a puzzle. We could all do it together,’ he said softly. ‘We could choose the memories, as a family, and you could paint them.’
‘I’d love to!’ Daisy exclaimed.
‘It would be a big puzzle in scale, with large pieces, but not too many of them. You know, something she could cope with. Something to remind her of the good things in her life.’
‘So she doesn’t forget,’ Daisy added quietly.
‘So she knows she’s loved.’ Dennis looked down at his hands and Daisy thought how forlorn he looked suddenly. Like a boy; like a lost boy. ‘She’s not going to get better, Daisy,’ he croaked.
‘I know.’
‘We have to keep her with us for as long as possible.’ She nodded.
‘I thought the puzzle would be a good way to get her back whenever we feel we’re losing her,’ he added.
‘And once she’s completed it, she can do it again and again. It will exercise her mind as well as jog her memory and remind her of who she is,’ said Daisy. ‘She can do it as many times as she likes.’
‘I thought we could write the memories on the back of the pieces, to go with the pictures. I want her to know that what we’ve had, as a family, is very special.’
‘I love that idea, Dad,’ said Daisy, gazing lovingly at her father through the mist that had blurred her vision. ‘It’s the best idea you’ve ever had.’
‘I think it is,’ he agreed bashfully.
She reached across the table and took his hand. It was big and rough and somehow terribly vulnerable. ‘She’ll love it,’ she said.
‘I know she will,’ he replied, picking up his paintbrush. His old eyes shone