CHAPTER 20
DAISY
One of things I’ve picked up on since coming home is that I’ve sort of become the town pariah.
Every single time I’ve ventured into Fairhope Farm – our local, family-run supermarket – I can feel the disgusted looks pointed in my direction.
I usually do a good job at avoiding it. I prefer to keep my head down, get in, get my groceries and get out.
Today, though, I don’t think I’m going to be that lucky. Because as I round the corner to the liquor aisle, I run right into the last person I wanted to see.
Mrs Ashby.
Stifling a groan, I slowly begin to backpedal out of the aisle before she can notice me, but because luck isn’t on my side as of late, the basket hanging over my arm collides with someone’s cart. The clanging of metal meeting metal might as well have been a bomb going off.
The old man grumbles something about watching where I’m going before stalking past me and with wide eyes, I look back at the woman whose attention is now focused entirely on me. Her bloodshot eyes narrow and then darken as recognition sinks in.
Fuck my life.
A smarmy smile crawls up Mrs Ashby’s weathered face. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally returned.”
“Hello, Mrs Ashby.” I lift my chin with feigned confidence as I stare back at her.
I may have only been gone for a few years, but those years have not been kind to Clara Ashby. If it weren’t for her signature white-blond hair and deep grey eyes, I might not have recognised her. That, and the fact that I don’t think I’ve ever seen the woman without a bottle of vodka in her hands.
“Let me guess, my daughter told you all about her brother’s success and you thought you’d come crawling back for a piece,” she spits.
What?
I almost laugh, because what the fuck is she talking about?
Tilting my head, I eye her in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Her responding cackle resembles one of a witch. “Oh, don’t play dumb, girl. I know what you did before the wedding. And I know that you want to take everything from my boy.”
Seriously, what the fuck is she talking about?
And what does she know about before the wedding?
I look up and down the aisle, hoping that someone else might be witnessing this odd encounter, but unfortunately, it’s just me.
“Really, Mrs Ashby, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can assure you I’m not trying to take anything from Killian.”
She steps closer, bringing the stench of stale liquor and cigarette smoke with her and I hold back a grimace.
Smoke doesn’t smell like this on Killian.
On him it mixes with the scent of his cologne and creates something that is purely him.
His scent is addictive and manly, and I could wrap myself up in it. On his mom, it makes me want to vomit.
Her voice is low and full of venom as she gets in my face. “I never liked you. I always knew you were bad for my son. The best gift you ever gave him was leaving him at the altar.”
If she were anyone else, I would have slapped her right there in the middle of the store.
Not only because her words are spiteful and piss me off, but because she has successfully struck every single one of my insecurities with just two sentences.
I may have been – may still be – bad for her son, but so is she.
Before I ever started a relationship with Killian, I knew Mrs Ashby wasn’t like most parents. I had heard the stories from Bella. I had sat with her while she cried and wished that her mom could be normal.
Although it’s questionable, I don’t think Mrs Ashby is evil, I think she’s just sad. She’s a lonely woman pushing fifty whose only thought is where her next drink will come from. She failed as a wife and as a mother and she lives with that regret every day.
Targeting the insecurities of others is the only way she can actually feel something. I’ve watched her do it to her own daughter on many occasions.
Looking at her now, swaying on her feet with a bottle of vodka clutched in her frail hands, I pity her.
With a tight-lipped smile, I grab a bottle of wine off the shelf and say, “You have a good night, Mrs Ashby,” before turning on my heels and walking away.
***
“Bella?” I call out as I kick off my boots at the front door.
“Kitchen,” a familiar British accent answers for her.
I carry the bag of groceries into the kitchen and find Savannah seated at the kitchen island, her hand resting delicately on her swollen belly while Bella loads the dishwasher.
I dump the bag on the counter and blow a loose hair from my face. “Hey, Sav. How’re you feeling?”
“Like a beached whale,” she groans.
I chuckle. “How long do you have left?”
“Just over a month. I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore.” The diamond on her left-hand sparkles under the light as she rubs slow circles over her belly.
“Think Liv will be back in time?” I ask as I unload the groceries from the bag and begin moving about the kitchen.
Savannah nods. “She’s only supposed to be gone a few weeks, so I’m hopeful.”
“Has anyone told Grayson that she’s only gone temporarily?” Bella asks, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Nope,” Savannah says as picks another grape from the fruit bowl in front of her and plops it into her mouth.
“I saw Killian going to his house earlier. He hammered on the door until he answered.”
“Hunter told me he hasn’t shown up for work all week. Won’t answer the door to anyone. They’re all a bit sick of his pity party,” Savannah says, her tone holding no sympathy for her soon to be brother-in-law.
Can’t say I blame her. If someone had treated Bella the way Grayson has treated Liv, I’d probably be the same.
A few weeks ago, Liv had a car accident that left her with a few cuts and bruises and some broken bones but could have ended a lot differently. Since then, Grayson has ghosted her.
It’d be hypocritical of me to call him a coward for running away out of fear, but that’s exactly what he is. A coward.
“Think they’ll sort things out?” Bella asks, pulling two wine glasses from the cupboard and a can of coke from the fridge. She hands the latter to Savannah and places a wine glass in front of me.
Savannah blows out a breath. “I honestly don’t know. Liv can be stubborn.”
“Well, I sure hope she don’t take it easy on him. ‘Bout time someone slapped some sense into that man,” Bella says, handing me the open bottle of wine.
I pour a generous amount in my glass and immediately take a drink from it.
My ever-observant bestie raises a brow. “Bad day?”
With a deep breath, I close my eyes briefly before looking at her. “I ran into your mom.”
Her frown deepens. “Shit.”
“Yup,” I reply, taking another drink.
Savannah looks between us both in confusion. “And why is this bad?”
I pinch my lips and look to Bella, allowing her to take the lead here.
“Because my mom is…” she pauses, searching for the right words. “Not the nicest.” Shaking her head, she continues, “No, scratch that. She’s straight up mean. And an alcoholic.”
“Oh,” Sav says, looking at me in surprise.
Guess Bella didn’t share that information with her new friends.
“What did she say to you?”
I shrug. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”
Bella’s shoulders fall, pity decorating her features. “Daisy, I’m so-”
“No, Bells. Don’t apologise for her. I can handle a few snarky comments.”
“But you shouldn’t have to.”
I shrug again. “It is what it is.” Wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction I say, “Tell me about Justin.”
“Ooh, yes. Tell us about Justin,” Savannah adds, waggling her eyebrows suggestively and pulling a grateful laugh from me.
Thankfully, Bella takes the bait and dives into detail about her date with Justin and as the wine finally starts to work its magic, I feel myself relax for the first time all day.