High Tide (16 page)

20

Daisy was meeting Oscar at his house before they went out for the evening. She was nervous, but as soon as she stepped inside she felt OK.

It was funny, she thought, how you could feel at home straight away in some people’s houses, but not in others. Some reached out and hugged you and drew you in, and Oscar’s was one of them.

There was an energy in it, a joy, that she found comforting. It wasn’t even a particularly nice house. It was an ordinary semi on the outskirts of town that looked like nothing from the outside: UPVC windows and pebbledash, like all the others on the road. But inside, it was a riot of colour and noise and laughter: a swirl of sensory chaos, ruled over by Oscar’s mother Alexa.

As Daisy looked further she realised there was order underneath the chaos. There was just so much of everything. Books galore – towering piles of them. Pictures, paintings, postcards, everywhere, in a random display that somehow looked thought-through. Candles, lanterns, ornaments on every shelf and surface. It even smelled wonderful, of bread baking, a citrusy scented candle, wood-smoke from the fire, Alexa’s perfume, mysterious and exotic. It was an Aladdin’s cave, the walls painted deep coral, the curtains floor-length gold brocade with tasselled tie-backs, the wooden floorboards painted in black and white stripes. It was dramatic and bold and theatrical.

Oscar was half embarrassed, half proud of his home. He had an easy relationship with his younger siblings – three of them, the youngest only six – and was obviously protective of his mum, whom he towered over.

‘This is my mum,’ he told Daisy. ‘Alexa. Mum, this is Daisy.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Alexa gave her a hug, a proper one, not a polite one. She was a tiny doll, with porcelain skin and a shiny cap of black hair and a button of a mouth painted deep pink. She wore a denim mini-skirt, tights with roses embroidered on them and a pale-blue cardigan with mismatched buttons. She moved with purpose, and the noise and the chaos didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Daisy thought she looked about sixteen, but of course she wasn’t – she was probably only a bit younger than her own mum had been. ‘You’d both better have something to eat before you go out.’

‘Mum!’ Oscar rolled his eyes. ‘She’s such a feeder.’

Alexa cut big chunks from a loaf of homemade challah for them to dip into a bowl of baba ghanoush.

‘It looks awful but it tastes great,’ she assured Daisy. ‘And you both need something to line your stomachs.’

‘You say that like we’re going to go on a bender,’ said Oscar.

‘I know what that cheap cider’s like,’ teased Alexa. ‘You’ll thank me later.’

They devoured the soft, sweet bread, and the aubergine dip with its kick of cumin and coriander and garlic and lemon.

‘Dad makes this,’ Daisy told her, ‘but it’s not as good as yours. Don’t ever tell him I said so, though.’

Sam took great pride in his cooking. Not in a horrible competitive way – he just wanted everything to be as good as it could be. When he cooked something, he would grill people about what they thought and how it could be better. They teased him about it incessantly.

‘It’s only because I care so much!’ he would protest.

When it was time to go to the Neptune, Daisy didn’t really want to go. She would have much preferred to stay in and watch the telly, snuggled up on the sofa eating the Thai noodles Alexa was cooking for the others. If she was honest, a little bit of her was scared about being alone with Oscar, in case they turned out to have nothing in common. In case he thought she was boring. He seemed to be really easy-going and quite kind, but you didn’t end up being that cool, looking that amazing, coming from a family like that, and not have expectations.

Oscar took her hand as they walked from his house down the hill towards the high street, and she felt a bolt of pride zip through her. She felt ten feet tall, walking out with this beautiful boy, and she wished more than anything that her mother could see them.

When her mum had died, she had thought for a long time that life was just to be endured, and not enjoyed. Moving to Pennfleet had been good, because it gave them all something else to think about, and it was easier to live in a house where there were no memories. Not that Daisy wanted to forget her mum, but every time she went into the kitchen in their old house, she couldn’t ignore the fact her mum wasn’t there. She expected to see her every time. The house in Pennfleet was different, though. Mum’s presence didn’t linger there – not that she’d been forgotten, of course not. It was just … easier. Easier to live without her ghost.

They walked up the high street, which felt so different at night, the lights inside the bars and restaurants twinkling a welcome. It was colder than she’d thought it would be when she’d chosen her outfit: only jeans, and her favourite jumper with the stars on, and a long red scarf her mum had given her wound round her neck. It was a sort of talisman, and it made her feel safe.

‘Here – have my jacket,’ Oscar said, and even though she protested he shrugged it off. As he slipped it over her shoulders, she felt the weight of the leather, heavy and warm. It smelled of him – coconut shampoo and Oscar – and in that moment she felt something change inside her, a sense that everything was going to be all right.

He smiled down at her. ‘If the band’s rubbish,’ he said, ‘we can go back to mine and play backgammon.’

‘Backgammon?’ That wasn’t what Daisy had expected. ‘But I don’t know how to play.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll teach you. You can’t be in our family and not play backgammon. We’re backgammon fiends.’

In our family. He said
in our family
. What a lovely thing to say. And she wanted to be in his family. Not to replace hers, of course not, but because she felt as if she belonged.

They reached the pub. Oscar opened the door for her and they were hit with a rush of heat and noise. He put an arm round her shoulder as they walked in. People looked over at them and she could see admiration in their eyes. There were people from school, and people she recognised from the café and the yacht club and around the town. Everyone said hello, even people she didn’t really know. She felt like a queen. A queen for the night.

At home, Sam was sitting on the sofa flipping through the channels, searching for something that would take his mind off Daisy. Common sense told him she would be absolutely fine. His imagination said otherwise: images of crack dens and people throwing up in gutters and jealous drunk girls throwing punches played out in his mind. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he wished more than anything Louise was next to him, telling him not to worry, that Daisy was nearly a grown-up, that statistically she was far more likely to have a lovely night out than end up in a sex-trafficking ring.

Should he have vetted Oscar before letting her out with him? The fact his father was in prison rang warning bells in his mind, and then he told himself crossly that Oscar shouldn’t be tarred with the same brush as his dad. He was probably a perfectly nice boy. He trusted Daisy’s judgement. He had to, otherwise he would go mad. And she was only out in Pennfleet, where everything was in walking distance. He didn’t like to think how he would be feeling if she had been out in London.

He looked over at Jim, who was engrossed in something on his iPad, frowning as he pored over whatever it was he was reading.

‘What’s so fascinating?’ asked Sam.

‘Hot and Horny Housewives,’ replied Jim, without missing a beat.

‘Wonderful,’ said Sam. Damn, he loved his son. His funny, clever, geeky, smart-arse son.

Eventually he settled on watching
True Detective
on Netflix, because he hadn’t got round to it yet and everyone said it was great, and before long he was totally absorbed.

Sam was still up, pretending not to be waiting for Daisy when she came in at midnight. He was grateful to her for being on time. And for not being drunk, or reeking of smoke, or worse. She came and sat next to him on the sofa, and rested against him, her legs curled up beneath her.

‘Good time?’ he asked. Cautious, because you never knew with teenagers, if asking was the right thing to do. Sometimes they just turned on you.

‘Dad,’ she said, ‘I had the most brilliant night. I don’t think it could get any better. He gave me his jacket, because I was cold, and he wouldn’t let me pay for any drinks, and he walked me home.’

‘Quite right too,’ said Sam.

Daisy looked at him. ‘Really,’ she said. ‘You have no idea. Most boys are just out for one thing, and don’t give you anything in return.’

Sam frowned. ‘In return for what?’

Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t mean that it was a deal. He was a perfect gentleman.’

What was that code for? Sam couldn’t bring himself to ask. But actually, he didn’t care what had gone on, because Daisy looked so very happy, and he couldn’t ask for more than that. Woe betide Oscar, though, if he ever made his daughter unhappy.

‘And his house is amazing,’ said Daisy. ‘His family are crazy mad. They play
backgammon
.’ She looked at him, mystified.

For some reason this made Sam relax. A family who played backgammon couldn’t be all bad.

Daisy lay on her bed later, staring at the ceiling and smiling, reliving every moment of the evening.

She loved her room, tucked up in the eaves. It was painted in turquoise and white, and she had a double bed with a driftwood headboard and a goose-down quilt that hugged her at night. There was a built-in wardrobe and she was doing her best to keep her clothes neatly folded or hung, so she knew where everything was, though sometimes it got a bit messy.

Jim bounded in, wearing his Marvel comic pyjamas and waving his iPad.

‘Guess what?’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘Twenty-seven likes and twelve messages.’

Daisy sat up. ‘What?’

‘Dad! On the dating site. They’re all over him.’

Daisy grabbed the iPad and looked at her father’s profile. Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Dad broke the internet.’ She lay back, laughing, waving her legs in the air with glee.

‘Come on,’ said Jim. ‘Let’s go through them. Marks out of ten. Anything less than an eight gets binned.’

They sat on the bed, the two of them, scrolling carefully through the profiles.

‘Anyone with rubbish grammar – bin,’ said Daisy.

‘Or too many emoticons.’

‘Or women with purple hair and crazy glasses.’

‘Where are we on tattoos?’

‘Tattoos can go either way. We’ll assess them individually.’

‘Anyone holding a pint of Carlsberg – bin.’

‘Anyone with more than one cat.’

They started to feel disheartened. There was something wrong with each one. Some were too pushy, some just dull and boring. Others came across as so perfect they were clearly lying.

‘That photo is so Photoshopped,’ said Daisy.

Jim sighed.

‘Let’s face it. There is no one good enough for Dad. No one who lives up to Mum.’

‘Maybe we’re missing something. Maybe we need to be less picky.’

‘You’re kidding?
Less
picky? Dad deserves the best.’

‘Let’s go through the ones who’ve just joined.’

Jim clicked through the latest additions. There was still no one. Too geeky, too straight, too wacky, too tarty. It seemed impossible.

And then another profile came up, and Daisy took a breath in, and Jim said, ‘She looks nice.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Daisy. ‘It’s Oscar’s mum. It’s Alexa!’

‘No way!’

The two of them read her profile. It was sweet and funny and a bit quirky, but very down to earth.

‘She sounds really lovely.’

‘She
is
really lovely,’ said Daisy. ‘And get this – her baba ghanoush is better than Dad’s.’

‘He won’t like that.’

‘He doesn’t need to know.’

‘So what do we do now? Message her pretending to be him?’

‘I don’t know.’ Daisy frowned. ‘It seems a bit wrong. Especially as I’ve met her. It’s a bit stalky-creepy.’

Jim nodded his agreement. ‘I’m starting to think this whole idea was a bit wrong.’

The two of them stared down at the photo. Alexa smiled up at them, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

‘So … why don’t we just set them up? You tell Alexa Dad wants to meet her, and then tell Dad she wants to meet him. In a sort of our-kids-are-going-out-so-let’s-get-to-know-each-other way.’

Daisy thought it through. ‘Do you think it would work?’

‘Yes! You tell her Dad’s really protective. And tell him Oscar’s mum wants to reassure you he’s OK. Parents love that kind of stuff.’ Jim was wise for his years.

‘OK,’ said Daisy. ‘They could just go for a drink.’

‘And if they work out they’ve been set up, it doesn’t really matter.’

‘He’ll like her. He will definitely like her. She’s cool, but not up herself.’

‘And surely she’ll like Dad? Everyone likes Dad.’

Daisy thought for a moment. ‘What if I split up with Oscar?’

‘Never mind that. What if they end up getting married and Oscar ends up as your step-brother?’

‘Nooooo!’

The two of them fell about laughing.

Then Daisy sat up.

‘I’m going to do it,’ said Daisy. ‘It could work.’

Jim suddenly looked worried. ‘Do you think Mum would think we’re betraying her?’

Up to now, it had been a bit of a game to him. He spent so much of his life online, it hadn’t seemed real. But suddenly the idea of his dad with another person was an actual possibility, not just a cyber-experiment.

‘No,’ said Daisy. ‘I really don’t. I think she would think it was brilliant. And I think she would like Alexa. So it’s all good.’

Jim nodded, trying to look convinced. Daisy’s heart went out to him. He could be a nuisance, her little brother. And he tried so hard to be cool and clever and funny, and he was a lot of the time, but he was still a little boy who had lost his mum. So she gave him a giant hug, and for once he didn’t wriggle away.

Whatever happened, she thought, they would always have each other.