Chapter 76
Daisy didn’t know how she was going to sleep on the September Rose. The closer she got to the boat, the more she worried that the unease which had filled her when she’d left to walk Johnny would return the moment she climbed back aboard. But when she stepped down into the boat, she found it looked decidedly different to when she had left it. Warmer, even. And it took her a moment to realise why. A sad smile lifted her lips.
She stepped inwards, the smile causing tears of gratitude to prick her eyes as she tried to locate all the small differences, which went well beyond the boarded-up window. They were in the kitchen, by the doorway, everywhere. But it was when Daisy was looking over at the living room that she noticed Yvonne, fast asleep, on the sofa.
Daisy padded towards her. While Yvonne wasn’t having an outright nightmare, her lips were twisted and her eyebrows knitted as though the dream were far from relaxing.
‘Yvonne?’ Daisy said, gently rocking her by the shoulder. She knew she could get a blanket, cover Yvonne up and just let her sleep, but she didn’t want her rolling off the sofa and hurting herself. Besides, she needed to thank her. ‘Yvonne?’
After a moment of blinking, Yvonne finally opened her eyes and, after seeing Daisy standing over her, slowly sat up.
‘Sorry, did I drift off?’
‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ Daisy took a place next to her on the sofa. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
A smile widened on Yvonne’s face. ‘I didn’t want to go to bed until you’d seen everything. In case you didn’t like it. I know it’s not the same, but it’s something, isn’t it?’
‘It’s perfect,’ Daisy replied.
In every place where Daisy’s paintings had previously hung, Yvonne had placed one from her own collection. Daisy hadn’t realised how many paintings there were in that battered old trunk of hers, but now it made sense why it had taken so long to find the picture by Johnny; there must have been hundreds. There were at least a dozen currently hanging on her walls. There were boat scenes, landscapes, portraits, and even, where Daisy had previously had her children’s characters, there was a risqué life drawing of a woman wearing only two red roses. It was definitely a change.
‘That’s not you, is it?’ Daisy said, looking up at the woman and suddenly feeling the need to ask the question. She loved Yvonne dearly, now more than ever, but that didn’t mean she wanted a picture of her naked in the centre of her home.
‘No, no. Don’t be silly. It’s my aunt,’ Yvonne replied with a smirk.
That was marginally better, Daisy decided.
Daisy took the paintings in one by one. ‘Where did the other ones come from?’ Daisy said, looking at a landscape of a desert scene beneath a star-filled sky. She had no idea where it could have been.
‘You want to know the story of all of them?’ Yvonne asked.
Daisy was about to say no when she saw how Yvonne’s eyes glinted at the question.
So she moved over to the kitchen and grabbed the remainder of the wine that Shaun had paid for.
‘Yes,’ she said, before grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard. ‘I would love to hear the stories behind each and every one.’