Blue Skies Over Wildflower Lock (The Wildflower Lock)

Chapter 17

‘There used to be some lovely pubs here, back in the day,’ Yvonne said as they walked into the town. ‘Looking out on the water. I’m sure there probably still are.’

Together, the pair wandered down by the seawall. Just like in Maldon, the river here was dotted with sailing boats, and people were out, enjoying the heat of the evening sun. Not wanting to travel too far away from the September Rose, they found a pub with benches outside next to the river, where Daisy enjoyed a jacket potato while Yvonne opted for a plate of chips. It hardly seemed like a sufficient evening meal, given all the pushing of locks Yvonne had done that day, but Daisy didn’t want to appear pushy. After all, there was plenty of food on the September Rose if she wanted something later. As it was, while Daisy had nearly eaten her entire potato, Yvonne only seemed to pick at the chips and could have barely eaten a dozen.

‘So, did you and Harry ever come down this way?’ Daisy asked. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t pressure Yvonne into revealing more about her past, but now that they were sitting here together, it seemed like a natural topic of conversation.

Yvonne, however, had other ideas.

‘You know, I remember when your mum and dad came this route. On their honeymoon.’

Even Daisy could see Yvonne had played her with a perfect distraction. She could never say no to hearing about her father.

‘They took this route? The exact one we’re going on now?’

‘More or less. They definitely came this way before heading to Southend. I know they went through London too, just like we’re going to do. I’m not sure what they did when they got to the west, though. Maybe they headed to Stratford-upon-Avon for a bit. You should ask your mother. I’m sure she’ll be happier to talk to you about it now.’

Yvonne placed significant stress on the word ‘happier’. It was true that her mother had become more amenable to talking about her life on Wildflower Lock now that she was with Nicholas, but she was far from forthcoming. Still, part of her had to realise Daisy would want to use this chance to learn more about what her father had done.

‘What was he like?’ Daisy asked. ‘What was my father like?’ It felt ridiculous that she’d never asked such a question before. When her mother had spoken about her father, she’d painted him as a dark, unforgiving villain. So now, with the dappled clouds floating above them, and the silvery leaves of a birch tree waving in the gentle breeze, it felt like the perfect time to learn about this man who had loved boats even more than she did.

Yvonne’s smile broadened. Clearly, this was a topic she was happy to discuss.

‘Oh, he was larger than life,’ she said with a sense of nostalgia. ‘Your father never did anything by halves. No, he went the whole hog with everything he did. And he was always the centre of attention, even though I don’t think he meant to be. His voice was so loud.’ She chuckled lightly. ‘Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever met a person with a voice as loud as your father’s. Especially when he was laughing. I could hear him over in my boat some evenings, when you were a baby. Your dad’s laugh would boom out into the night.’

Daisy reflected on these memories, and only a hint of sadness lingered. Her mother’s stories of Daisy being a baby were very different. Those early years had been marked by numbness and sorrow and she spoke only of the grief and pain that she had endured. It was strange to hear such a different recollection of the same time.

‘What else?’ Daisy was eager to learn more. ‘I know he painted. Do you know what type of art he used to do? What type of subjects he liked?’

Yvonne looked at her, a deep frown forming on her forehead. ‘Oh, I’m such a fool,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I hate getting old.’

The comment caught Daisy by surprise, as it seemed to come from nowhere.

But Yvonne was on her feet, leaving the rest of her chips in her bowl. ‘I can’t believe I never showed you before.’

‘Showed me what?’

‘His paintings. Come on, I know I’ve got at least one on the boat.’