‘And I’ll lower a glass to Luca,’ said Nan, pulling a face. ‘I never liked him in the first place.’
After dinner Dennis hauled Daisy’s suitcase upstairs and put it in Suze’s room, silently and decisively declaring an end of the discussion. Suze had to bite her tongue and accept that her sister was moving back in, for now. There was always a chance that Daisy and Luca would reconcile their differences, or that Daisy would find her new living quarters claustrophobic and look for somewhere to rent. Suze certainly did not envisage sharing her room for long. The fact that Daisy did not even attempt to unpack her clothes gave her hope. She watched her burrow about for her pyjamas and did not offer to clear a few shelves. She barely had enough space for herself.
Later, when the two girls went to bed and turned out the light, Suze’s heart mollified at the sound of Daisy softly crying into her pillow. Selfish by nature did not mean Suze was unfeeling. ‘I’ll move my things tomorrow so you have some space,’ she whispered, knowing she’d regret saying that in the morning.
‘I’m sorry. You didn’t expect to have to share your room, did you?’
‘That’s okay. We’ll make do for a while. It’s not for ever, is it?’ she said hopefully.
‘How’s it going with Batty?’
‘Good. Very good. What happened with Luca?’
‘He doesn’t want to get married and—’ Daisy took a ragged breath. ‘He doesn’t want children.’
‘Oh.’ Suze hadn’t expected that. ‘You really do want different things.’
‘Yes.’
‘I know just the animal for you to paint,’ she said brightly. ‘A dog. He’s massive, as big as a horse, and he’s just killed a cat so he’s got a mean and hungry look, which will make it more fun for you.’
‘Did he really kill a cat?’
‘Dolly Nesbit’s cat, to be precise.’
‘Oh, that’s bad. What was it called? Precious? She must be heartbroken.’
‘She fainted. Actually, she might die.’ ‘Oh, Suze! You can’t say that.’
‘Well, she’s old, isn’t she, and old people can’t take shocks like that.’ Suze giggled. ‘She looked half dead before. Now I’d say she’s pushing three quarters dead.’
Daisy laughed with her. ‘You are funny.’
‘I know.’ Suze sighed heavily. ‘I should be a comedian.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘Anything would be better than what I do,’ she added. ‘Mum and Dad and Nan think I should get a proper job.’
‘I don’t think they’d consider a comedian a proper job.’
‘Still better than what I do.’
‘You should write a book. You always wrote stories when you were little. You’re good with words, and you’re talented. You just lack belief in yourself.’
Suze chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t know what to write about.’
‘Draw from your experience. Isn’t that what writers do?’
‘I don’t have much experience, Daisy. Unlike you, I have spent all my life in a small village by the sea and nothing very exciting has ever happened to me.’
‘So, write about what interests you then.’
‘The sort of things that interest me would not make a good book. Fashion and make-up are better suited to magazines – and my Instagram account.’
‘How’s that going, by the way?’
‘Slowly.’
‘Is it going to make you any money?’
‘It will in the end. If I get enough of a following, companies will pay me to post things.’
‘How many followers do you need for that to happen?’
‘A few hundred thousand.’
‘And you’ve got how many?’
‘Nearly thirty thousand.’
There was a short pause as Daisy tried to think of something encouraging to say. ‘Okay, so you’ve got a way to go, but you’ll get there.’
‘I’m working on it. Sometimes I believe I can conquer the world, most of the time I doubt I can conquer anything.’
Daisy chuckled. ‘Aren’t we a pair!’
‘Yes, we are,’ said Suze, surprised how much being a pair warmed her. ‘Night, Daisy.’
‘Night, Suze.’
And they fell asleep to the familiar sound of the other’s quiet breathing.
The following day the sky cleared and the sun shone brightly on the snow. Marigold was behind the counter of the shop when Mary Hanson came in to buy beer for the builders painting her house. She had tied Bernie, her St Bernard, to a post and the dog had lain down on the snow, making the most of the cold before it melted. He panted heavily, exhaling clouds of hot breath. Eileen was leaning on the counter and Tasha was in the back, unpacking the delivery of baked beans. Marigold hoped Eileen wouldn’t mention Dolly’s cat.
‘Good morning, Mary,’ said Marigold.
‘Good morning. And isn’t it lovely? Sunny at last.’