Daria's Daughter Page 2

  She had to stop halfway up for a rest, but at last they were on the landing. Margie hesitated. Bridie’s room? That was in here, wasn’t it? Bridie and – where was Maeve? And the boys? But they were older, they’d still be at school, yes. She pushed the door open and staggered over to the bed by the window.

  ‘Here we are, lovey, your nice bed.’

  The pillow had vanished for some reason, but she’d sort that later. Margie laid her precious bundle on the mattress and pulled off damp little shoes and trousers, then searched around for the blankets. Those rascals had hidden everything again. Bridie was fast asleep already, bless her.

  Margie tottered into her own room and rummaged in the cupboard until she found a blanket, then returned and covered the sleeping child. There. They’d had a fright, but they were home now and she could make everything better, couldn’t she? Margie coughed and rubbed her temples as the room swayed. This headache was atrocious. A hot cup of tea and dry clothes, that was what she needed. And an early night.

  Everything would be better in the morning.

  Chapter 3

  Liane Morton inched around the last customer in the shop – a fifty-something woman dithering between two cocktail dresses and delivering a monologue about the shortcomings of each – until the clock was in her line of vision. Hell’s teeth, no. It was after closing time already, and for the third time this week she’d be late picking up Frith from the childminder’s. Mrs Peterson was not going to be pleased, but short of interrupting one of their best customers in mid flow, there was nothing Liane could do about it. Staff in luxury fashion boutiques like Paula’s were expected to bow and scrape until the last customer standing was satisfied, and tonight Liane was the only staff member here. Working until closing time every weekday was the pay-off for not having to work at the weekend.

  The woman talked herself to a standstill and pursed her lips at the dresses, one black with sequins, the other red with a gold lamé swirl. Liane shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fighting to keep her expression neutral. For heaven’s sake, pick one and go. They’re both ostentatiously expensive and that’s what you want, isn’t it?

  ‘I’ll sleep on it. I’ll call tomorrow and let you know.’ The woman lifted her coat and bag from the chair and stalked off into Glasgow South Side.

  The instant she was gone, Liane flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’, grabbed her things from the back room and left, pausing only to set the alarm and lock the door. Oh, for the days when she’d been head of acquisitions in BB’s, one of the big city-centre stores. And blimey, the irony of it all. Back then, she’d earned enough to support a family. Now she actually had a child, she couldn’t afford the time a job like that took up. The pay at Paula’s was better than she’d get at a less posh place, but waiting hand and foot on customers who were paying more for a dress than Liane paid for a month’s rent was soul-destroying. She’d started the job as soon as she was convinced Frith was one hundred per cent well again after her final operation, but four months down the line, working here was causing more aggro than the pay was worth. It was scary, how things were spiralling out of control. And heck, it was nearly seven now and this must be the worst cloudburst they’d had all century.

  Rain stinging her face, Liane sprinted along Kilmarnock Road, clutching her umbrella and zigzagging through the first of the weekend revellers heading to the pub for a Friday night drink. Glasgow South Side had lots of little pockets like this one, a row of upmarket shops, bars and restaurants set within streets of staid and once-elegant sandstone buildings. Why, oh why hadn’t she looked for a childminder nearer Paula’s? Mrs P lived twenty yards round the corner from Liane’s flat: great in the mornings when she was rushing to work, but useless when she was late leaving the shop. And a taxi was out of the question. She would have to find another job, a part-time one. Working full-time was taking her away from Frith for far too long every day.

  A distant roar halted her in her tracks. Liane stared to the west, where an orange glow was seeping into the grey sky beyond the tenements on the other side of the road. Wow. That wasn’t good; something had gone up big time over there. But she couldn’t stand about gaping. Get on, woman.

  Ten minutes later she was jogging along a deserted street of red sandstone terraced houses. Mrs P’s curtains twitched as Liane swerved in at the gate and ran up the path. The door opened before Liane’s finger hit the doorbell, and Mrs P, a comfortable, grandmotherly lady who’d been recommended by the nurse at the local baby clinic, edged out, pulling the door shut behind her. Liane caught a glimpse of her waiting daughter, sitting on the hall stairs already wearing her jacket.

  Mrs P’s face had never been stiffer. ‘Ms Morton, this is not good enough.’

  Liane’s heart crashed to her boots. ‘Oh, Mrs Peterson, I’m so sorry. I had a really difficult customer ten minutes before closing time and—’

  Mrs P didn’t stop talking. ‘You’ll understand I need the evenings free for my own family, and to rest. I make an exception for you as I know you can’t be here before quarter to seven, but that’s my limit and you repeatedly take advantage. I’ll keep Frith until the end of the month as you’ve paid already, but after that I’m afraid you’ll have to find a different place for her.’ She opened the door again and Frith trooped out, a worried little frown between her eyebrows.

  Liane gathered the child in for a hug. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, sweetie.’ She straightened up and met Mrs P’s eyes. ‘I’m going to do something about my job, Mrs Peterson, and I hope we can come to another arrangement then. Frith loves being here.’

  Frith kicked at the path. ‘I don’t. I want to go home.’

  Liane shot a smile at the childminder and hurried off before her daughter did any more damage. Sirens were wailing in the background as they trooped along to James Avenue, where home was a two-bedroomed flat on the ground floor of a terraced house. Frith skipped on ahead, and in spite of the bad start to the weekend, Liane’s spirits soared. Frithy could skip now without coughing and wheezing and turning blue and panicking, and oh, Liane could skip for the sheer joy of it too. She knew she’d never be able to say thank you enough to the heart surgeons who had transformed her sickly little girl into – she hardly dared think the words – a normal child. No matter how awkward life was right this minute, Frith’s pink cheeks and energy made everything worthwhile.

  The moment of positivity was short-lived.

  ‘Daddy!’ Frith ran in at their gate.

  Liane closed her eyes for two steps. A visit from Tony at this time on a Friday evening meant one thing only – he wanted money. And although the month was barely half over, new clothes for a daughter on a growth spurt meant beans on toast or the like for tea every day until pay day. Okay, Tony was worse off in that he didn’t have a regular job, but that was down to his own pig-headedness. Other would-be rock stars took on regular jobs to foot the bills. Tony thought that was beneath him. He was a moody teenager in a thirty-three-year-old body, and it wasn’t an attractive look.

  ‘Hi, Li. Wow, you’re looking good. Super chic.’

  Liane glared at him. Pity she couldn’t return the compliment. He was wearing his usual six-day beard above jeans and parka, and that dark blond hair hadn’t seen a comb for a fortnight at least.

  ‘If you’re talking about my make-up, Tony, it’s part of my job to look like this. Did you want something?’

  He swooped Frith up in his arms. ‘To visit my girl. Daddy can come for tea, can’t he, Frithy?’

  Frith’s face was one big beam, and Liane sighed inwardly. The poor kid adored her daddy and in a way, Liane could understand. She’d been pretty keen on Tony too, once upon a time. They’d lived together for a brief but heady year and they’d had fun, but while the unexpected pregnancy hadn’t changed that, the arrival of a sickly baby had. They’d known before the birth there was a problem with the baby’s heart, and Frith was whisked into an incubator in paediatric intensive care immediately after the Caesarean. Tony had taken one
look at his child and literally left the building. ‘He’s had a shock. He’ll be back,’ the nurses tried to comfort Liane, and they were right in that Tony did appear at regular intervals to stare at the baby, but he made no pretence of supporting Liane, who was aching with love for the tiny creature she wasn’t allowed to hold during those first few days. The terror that she might lose Frith had been as slow to abate as her sense of betrayal at Tony’s behaviour. Even now the memory was enough to have her in tears at the unfairness of it all.

  Liane unlocked the flat door. ‘Let’s get the show on the road, then. Scrambled egg for three coming up.’ And thanks be Mrs P gave Frith a proper meal at lunchtime, so something small at night was enough.

  Tony’s face fell a mile and a half. ‘Gawd. Is there a choice on the menu?’

  ‘Not unless you go shopping.’ Liane led the way into the kitchen.

  Tony followed and opened the fridge. ‘Ah. Scrambled egg and bacon, then.

  Liane snatched the packet of bacon from him and tossed it back into the fridge. Who did he think he was? ‘Scrambled egg and cheese. The bacon’s for tomorrow. And to clarify things before you ask, Tony, I’m broke too.’

  His sigh was more of a groan. ‘Got any wine?’

  She pointed to the cupboard and he grabbed a bottle Liane’s friend Suze had brought round on Wednesday evening.

  ‘No food, but posh wine, huh? What would people think if they saw that?’

  Liane bit back a retort. Suze had brought a couple of bottles for a goodbye drink before her upcoming holiday in Kenya, but what was the point of explaining? Tony sat at the table working his way down a brimming glass while Liane made the meal, ignoring him. At least Frith was having a good time, showing Daddy her library books. Look at those shining eyes. Liane dropped a kiss on the child’s head on her way to the fridge for the cheese.

  Afterwards, she cleared away while Tony bathed Frith, but the shrieks coming from the bathroom didn’t bode well for Frithy getting off to sleep quickly. Liane’s frustration mounted. She put her head into the bathroom.

  ‘Can you switch to “quiet before bedtime”, please? She needs her sleep.’

  Tony scowled. ‘It’s Friday, she can sleep until lunchtime tomorrow if she wants to. And she’s absolutely fine now. You overprotect her.’

  ‘Every child needs quiet before bedtime. As you’d know if you were a regular part of her life.’

  Tony swung Frith from the bath and wrapped her in the towel. ‘Mummy’s stopping the fun, sweetie. Let’s get those jammies on.’

  Demonstratively freezing her out, he took Frith through to her bedroom while Liane perched on a hard kitchen chair to leaf through the banknotes in her purse. Would he leave if she gave him twenty quid?

  Tony appeared in the kitchen, and Liane went to say goodnight to her wide-awake daughter. Fortunately, Peppa Pig soon had Frith’s eyelids drooping, and Liane stroked the wispy blonde hair away from the child’s forehead. She wasn’t overprotective, was she?

  Back in the kitchen, Tony had emptied the wine bottle into their glasses. He disposed of half of his with one swallow.

  ‘Any spare cash around? I’ll pay you back – we have a concert tomorrow night.’

  She’d heard that one before. Liane handed over the twenty pounds. ‘It’s the last time, Tony. I’m going to hand in my notice. I don’t have enough time to take care of Frith properly, working for Paula.’

  He crammed the note into his pocket. ‘Millions of mothers juggle kids and jobs, Li. You’re not managing very well, are you?’

  Liane swallowed down the rage. Take the higher ground, Liane. ‘Millions of fathers juggle jobs and kids too, Tony. You could try a little harder.’

  ‘You should get in touch with Social Services if you can’t cope. I’ll see you around.’

  He left the flat without looking at her. Liane locked the door behind him then fetched her wine glass and flopped onto the sofa in their tiny living room. A bit of mindless telly, that was what she needed.

  She pressed the remote, and pictures of an accident near Pollok Road filled the screen. Liane gasped in horror. That must have been the explosion she’d heard on the way to Mrs P’s. Three vehicles had crashed, including a petrol tanker, and the number of dead was unknown. They’d only got one person out before the emergency services had to retreat and the whole thing went up.

  Liane snapped off the TV and sipped her wine, staring around the room. Truly, you had to live for each day, because you never knew when your world would change forever. It was time for her to get on top of her life, and a new – cheaper – flat might be the best way to start. They didn’t need a living room – a roomy kitchen and two bedrooms would do. Not that a new home would solve the job and childminder problems. Tears welled up, but Liane forced them back. She’d managed before and she was damn’ well going to manage again.

  Day Two – Saturday 18th April

  Chapter 4

  Evie scrunched up her eyes. The sun was shining straight through the window and everything was too bright to look at; it was making her head hurt, but her arm hurt much worse and her face was all stiff and funny and that hurt too, and this wasn’t her bed.

  ‘Mummy,’ she whimpered, then stopped because it made the pain in her head jab twice as hard. Mummy should come and make all this better. Hot tears welled up and now her throat was all sore and choky too.

  A noise came from downstairs. Evie turned her head away from the sun and opened her eyes a tiny bit. Where was she? There was nothing in this room except for an old wooden chest of drawers and the bed. It was a big bed. And the blanket smelled all old and nasty. She lifted her head and tried to sit up, but oh! Oh! Oh! The room was going funny. Her arm… oh, no. A wail escaped from Evie’s throat, and she lay still, eyes closed again.

  ‘Awake, are you, darlin’? All better?’

  The voice came from right beside her. Evie peeked up. An old lady was bending over her, the lady from yesterday, when – what had happened yesterday?

  ‘I want Mummy.’

  The lady sat down on the edge of the bed, and Evie started to cry. Her arm was so sore.

  ‘Mammy’s here. What hurts, darlin’?’

  ‘My arm. And my head. Where’s Mummy?’

  The old lady touched her arm with gentle fingers, then stood up and left the room. Evie tried hard not to cry; it was too sore. Then the old lady was back with a bottle of pills and some water.

  ‘This will make you better quick as you like.’

  The old lady dropped one of the pills into the water. It fizzed up, and she held the glass to Evie’s mouth. Evie drank. It wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t too nasty either, and she wanted to be better.

  The old lady stroked her cheek. ‘What a mucky pup you are, all scrapes and blood.’

  The fingers moved over Evie’s head, but it didn’t make it hurt any worse.

  ‘Where’s Mummy? I want Mummy.’

  ‘Right here, darlin’. We’ll give your face a wipe, shall we? You’ll feel better then.’

  Evie pouted. Why wasn’t Mummy coming, if she was here? Was she sick too? And the old lady was a mucky pup as well, she had blood in her hair and she smelled. Two fat tears ran down Evie’s cheeks and her throat went all thick and hot again.

  The old lady had gone again, but she soon came back with a damp face cloth. Evie allowed her face and even a little bit of her head to be wiped, but as soon as the flannel touched her arm, she pushed it away with her other hand.

  ‘No! That hurts!’

  The old lady bent over the arm. ‘Show me where.’

  Evie pointed to the place, all the bit between her elbow and her hand.

  ‘Hmm. Reckon that might need a bandage. Let’s get you some breakfast, then I’ll go to the chemist’s and get one, shall I? Toast as usual? You stay here and I’ll make you some.’

  Evie didn’t reply because she usually had muesli for breakfast, but the old lady went downstairs to make toast anyway. Toast was okay, except she wasn’t hungry. But mayb
e after breakfast she could go and see Mummy.

  By the time the old lady was back with breakfast, Evie was sleepy, but she managed to eat some of the toast and drink half the glass of milk. The old lady helped her to a bathroom with a very old big bath in it, then tucked her back into bed.

  ‘Have a good sleep, darlin’. You’ll feel better soon.’

  The bedroom wasn’t sunny any longer when Evie woke up again, but the sun was still shining outside. White fluffy clouds were chasing across a big blue sky. Where was this? Mummy should come and tell her.

  ‘Mummy!’

  Footsteps came up the stairs but oh, no, it was the old lady again. She was coughing, but she gave Evie a big smile when she came in.

  ‘Feeling better? Look, I’ve got you a lovely bandage for your arm, a green one. Shall we put it on now?’

  Did she feel better? Her head didn’t hurt so much, but her arm did and she was still woozy. Her fingers had gone all sausagey and stiff, too. Evie lay still as still as the old lady sat down on the bed and opened a new bandage and wound it around her arm, all the way from her hand up to her elbow, almost, then down again because they had a lot of bandage left. There was a spiky clip to keep it on nice and tight. Evie moved her arm with the new green bandage – it didn’t hurt as much as before, but it wasn’t better yet. And Mummy… oh, she wanted Mummy.

  She was about to start crying when a great big orange cat walked into the room and came to sniff at her bed. He jumped up beside her and the old lady stroked him.

  ‘Here’s Marmaduke to see if you’re better yet!’

  Evie reached out her good hand and touched the cat’s head. He lifted up his nose and she stroked the soft fur under his chin with one finger.