at her daughter. He was a photographer, which was romantic. Marigold liked creative people, after all, she’d married one herself, and Luca had the colourful, passionate character of an artist. She had thought that their relationship would last. She had never doubted it. Six years was a long time and she’d taken it for granted that they’d eventually marry and start a family. ‘I just want to be at home, Mum,’ said Daisy. ‘With you and Dad.’
‘We can talk about it over a cup of tea,’ said Marigold in a reassuring voice. ‘There’s nothing like a cup of tea to make everything feel better.’
Sensing her mother’s assumption that the split would be a temporary one, Daisy added firmly, ‘It’s over for good, Mum. I won’t be coming back. Luca and I want different things.’ Her disappointment was palpable. ‘We just want different things,’ she repeated quietly.
When Marigold hung up she remained on the bed, worrying. Daisy was thirty-two. Time was running out. She had met Luca when she had gone to work in Italy after reading Italian and art history at university, then moved in with him shortly after. Marigold wondered what kind of ‘different things’ Daisy referred to; one of them was likely to be marriage. What else could it be? Had she wasted six years of her life hoping he would be The One? As modern as young women were these days, Marigold still believed that a woman’s nesting instincts were very strong. Would Daisy have time to find someone else before it was too late?
Unable to cope with the uncomfortable feeling those thoughts induced, she searched for something positive, for a silver lining to the black cloud. With a sudden burst of happiness she found it: Daisy was coming home.
She hurried downstairs to find Dennis. He was in the kitchen working on his miniature church. Nan had gone to her room to get ready for the Sunday service, Suze was in the sitting room, still on the phone to Batty – she had given up going to church years ago. ‘That was Daisy,’ Marigold told him breathlessly. ‘She’s coming home.’
Dennis put down his paintbrush and took off his glasses.
‘She and Luca have split up. She says they want different things.’
‘Oh.’ He looked baffled. ‘And it took them six years to find that out, did it?’
Marigold began to clear the table. She was so used to clearing up after her family that she did it without thinking, and without annoyance that no one ever helped her. ‘It’ll be nice to have her home again,’ she said.
Dennis arched an eyebrow. ‘I know one person, who’s not a million miles from here, who’s going to be none too happy about this!’
‘Well, Nan is in Daisy’s old room so Suze will have to let Daisy share with her. She’s got twin beds, after all.’
‘But Suze is used to having all that space, isn’t she?’ He grinned. ‘Perhaps it’ll encourage her to get a proper job and a place of her own.’
‘Children don’t move out these days. I read about it. I can’t remember where. They live with their parents for ever, I think, because they can’t afford to get on the property ladder.’ ‘You can’t get on the property ladder if you don’t get a job.’ Dennis sighed and shook his head. ‘You spoil her,’ he added. ‘We both do.’
‘She’ll get a proper job one day and move out and then we’ll miss her.’ Marigold put the frying pan into the sink and sighed. ‘Lovely that Daisy’s coming home.’
‘I’d keep it to yourself, if you don’t want your Sunday ruined,’ said Dennis, getting up and moving the miniature church onto the side table.
Marigold chuckled. ‘Yes, I agree. Mum will say it was never going to last and Suze will have a meltdown. Let’s keep it to ourselves for the moment.’
Wrapped in coats and hats, Dennis, Marigold and Nan made their way through the snow to the church, which was a five-minute walk up the lane. Nan held on to Dennis as if her life depended on it, while Marigold walked on his other side with her hands in her coat pockets. They passed the primary school that Daisy and Suze had attended, and the village hall where they had been Brownies. But some things had changed: the village had once boasted a small petrol station where Reg Tucker, in his ubiquitous blue boiler suit and cap, had filled the cars himself, invoicing the locals with a monthly bill, but that had