Chapter 85
Daisy was too stunned to speak. Instead, her heart was racing as she pulled the paintings out of the bag, one and then another. All of them signed in the corner with the exact same signature Yvonne had shown her only days before. Johnny.
‘He painted them all?’ Daily said in near disbelief. She’d thought she was a prolific artist – once she’d got back into the swing of things, that was – but there were dozens of paintings here. In all different mediums, although watercolours appeared to be his most popular choice.
‘Well, I never thought I’d see this one again,’ her mother said, plucking out a vivid purple painting of a boat with a single figure standing on the stern. ‘I don’t think I even knew it was in there. You know, he painted this when I was pregnant with you. That’s me. Or it’s supposed to be, I think.’
Daisy looked at the figure more closely, noting the way the person’s stomach bloomed outwards. Her father had painted her. Not directly, of course, but the thought alone was enough to make her chest soar. There were dozens of paintings in the bag. If he’d painted one when her mother was pregnant, there was a good chance he’d painted one when Daisy was a baby, too. She wanted nothing more than to tip them all out onto the floor and take them all in, but her mother was still speaking.
‘They’re not in the best condition, I’m afraid. They’ve been up in the loft, and I think a couple of them have got a bit of damp, but maybe you can have a look on the internet and see if there’s some way to sort that out.’
Daisy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All these years, she had been desperate to learn more about her father. About what type of man he was. And the answers – at least some of them – had been up in the attic all along.
‘This is probably a lot for you to take in, after the last couple of days, especially,’ her mother said. ‘Why don’t I give you some space? I’ll go ring the hospital. See if there’s any news on Yvonne.’
‘Thank you,’ Daisy said, though she barely even lifted her eyes to look at her mother.
As Pippa headed outside, Daisy sat on the sofa, lugging the bag with her. There was so much to look at, she didn’t know where to start. One by one, she pulled the paintings out, wiping the tears from her eyes, struggling to make sure the water didn’t get close to the paper.
After studying the first half dozen, she realised that perhaps taking photos of them might be a good idea. While she didn’t believe lightning would strike twice in terms of Shaun, there would be no third chances after this. These were the paintings Fred had given her mother. These were all that remained, and she needed to preserve them, one way or another.
As she stood up to fetch her phone, there was a knock on the door.
‘It’s fine, Mum, you can come in,’ Daisy said, a sense of sweet nostalgia sweeping through her. There was a time in her life when her mother would have let herself into Daisy’s personal space, whether Daisy wanted her there or not. Only a few months ago, she had turned up outside her workplace. It was a good sign of how far their relationship had come that she was respecting Daisy’s privacy again.
As the door creaked open, Daisy turned back and picked up her phone, only for Johnny to jump up from the ground and start barking madly. He was turning on the spot, chasing his tail as he moved.
‘And this must be Johnny.’
It was only five words. Five short words, yet it was enough for Daisy’s throat to close with tears and her heart to near leap out of her chest. Forgetting about the phone, the paintings and everything else, she spun around, finding herself face-to-face with Theo.
‘Well, it sounds like you’ve got yourself into a bit of a mess while I’ve been away,’ he said.