Blue Skies Over Wildflower Lock (The Wildflower Lock)

Chapter 27

There was no need to bother getting a coat or changing into walking boots so Daisy headed off the September Rose. She wasn’t planning on walking far. Even in summer, the marshland was a maze of muddy inlets and rushes and as beautiful as they were, she could only imagine how disorientating it could be to someone who didn’t know the area – particularly with the tides going in and out. And so Daisy walked around the marina to where the boats had thinned out and found a bench with a view.

She’d promised the girls she would keep them up to date on her adventures, and her mother had sent more than one message checking in on her, yet so far a single photo from Burnham was all she’d sent. Given that she had nowhere else to be for a while, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to get in touch. She took her phone out of her pocket and was still deciding who to contact first when a scruffy brown and white collie dog bounded up towards her.

Daisy glanced in the direction the animal had come from, scouring behind it for people. If it was a good walking spot, then it could be worth opening up the cafe for a couple of hours. But other than the dog and the boats, everything was empty.

‘Hello,’ she said, crouching down and rubbing the animal’s scruff. ‘Where are your owners? Are they around here somewhere? Are they on one of the boats?’

The dog beat its tail on the ground before picking up a stone beside her and placing it by her feet.

‘A stone?’

The dog looked up at her, its eyes wide and expectant.

‘Is this a present? Or am I meant to throw it?’

The dog’s tail wagged harder. Daisy tapped the stone a little with her foot, rolling it less than a metre away.

With its tail a near blur of excitement, the dog picked it back up in his mouth and dropped it by Daisy’s feet for a second time.

‘Okay, so I take it this means I’m meant to throw it.’

This time, after picking up the stone, Daisy twisted around and threw it down the path towards the boats. The collie bolted away, leaving plumes of dust in his wake, and Daisy turned her attention back to her phone. After a moment’s deliberation, she selected her mother’s name on the screen, only before she had even pressed the call icon, the dog reappeared. Once again, he dropped the stone back at her feet.

‘I feel like this could go on for a while,’ she said, trying to stifle a laugh. ‘Well, I don’t have anything else to do. I suppose I can keep playing until you get bored or your owners appear.’

So with the phone now pressed against her ear, Daisy continued a game of fetch, even when her mum answered the call.

‘Daisy, I was getting worried. How’s it going?’ Her mother’s relief was audible down the line. ‘Is everything going all right?’

‘It is now,’ Daisy said. ‘Though there was a bit of a hair-raising moment this morning.’

While still picking up and throwing the stone, Daisy decided not to tell her mother about getting stuck in the marshland but instead proceeded to tell her about the incident with the sailboat.

‘Oh, you did well to cope with that, Daisy love,’ her mother said. ‘Sailboats, they’re a menace. I swear, one of them nearly took the roof off the boat when I was doing that trip. Might have been on the same river, even.’

A flicker of warmth lit inside Daisy. Her mum never volunteered information about her time on the boat before – not without extreme coercion, anyway. Perhaps this trip would offer a chance to break down some of their walls and open up conversations about her past, and her time with Daisy’s father, after all these years.

As Daisy talked with her mother, the dog remained fully invested in its game and his interest showed no sign of waning. Daisy’s arm, on the other hand, was starting to ache.

‘That’s it, last one,’ she said quietly, then pulled her arm back and threw the stone in the opposite direction of the September Rose, after which she stood up and began to walk back to the boat, assuming the dog would do the same, and head back to wherever its owners were.

There was one other thing Daisy had considered telling her mother, although until a moment ago, she hadn’t been sure whether she should broach the subject. However, she now felt like she could at least test the water.

‘So, Yvonne found something in her pack,’ she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. ‘Two paintings. By Johnny. My father.’

Silence reached Daisy’s ears. Silence that made her think bringing up her dad so directly hadn’t been a great idea, even though her mum had already mentioned doing this trip herself, which alluded to Johnny, even if he hadn’t been mentioned by name. When the tension had grown more and more tangible, Daisy cleared her throat, ready to say something that would brush the comment away, when her mother spoke first.

‘Talking about paintings, have you thought about exhibiting again?’ she asked. ‘You know you really should.’

‘Oh, well, not at the minute,’ Daisy said, a heavy weight settling in her stomach. The deliberate and sharp change in conversation was a clear sign that Johnny was not on the table for discussion.

‘Well, love,’ her mother continued, her voice straining slightly. ‘I really shouldn’t be babbling on like this. You’ve got lots of things to be getting on with. Send my best to Yvonne, won’t you?’

‘I will.’ Daisy was almost as surprised by this comment as she had been by the remarks about her travels. Her mother didn’t like to be reminded about her past on Wildflower Lock, of which Yvonne had been a substantial part. As far as Daisy was aware, the pair hadn’t spoken in years.

‘And check in soon?’

‘I’ll try. Love you.’

By the time she’d hung up, she was already back at the September Rose. She put her phone away and was about to step aboard when something stopped her – a small, grey rock rolling to her feet. Already knowing what she was about to find, she turned around to find the dog sitting right there beside her, with that same expectant look and wagging tail.

‘Wow, you don’t give up easily, do you?’ she said, reaching down and getting the stone for what she promised was going to be the last time. ‘This is it, right? You have to go home. Someone will be missing you.’

Once again, she hurled the stone away from her, this time noting with a bit more detail how unique the pattern on the dog’s back was. He was mostly white but had brown fur on either side that formed a V, the points of which met on its spine, whilst an inverted shape, smaller in size, was on its forehead. It would make a great little subject for one of her paintings, she thought. She hadn’t painted a dog in quite a while.

And so, with a sudden hit of motivation, she headed inside and found her paints. As she had a willing model, it seemed silly not to use him.