Chapter 2 #2
My head is a swirling mess of Daisy leaving, my father’s desolate mansion, his absent wife, the job at Oakham Exports I’m supposed to just slot myself into, Mr B’s wedding in my back garden, Harry bloody Ellis and the friendship I lost .
. . the friendship I fucked in the bin because I’m a grade-A assface.
“Oh my god,” Daisy whimpers from behind the curtain, pulling me from my solo pity party. She’s already tried the red and teal dresses on, and both were a hit, but I have a feeling this gown will trump them all. “Lan.”
The curtain is shoved aside by Catherine, and Daisy stands before me in the black dress looking like she’s ready to receive her best actress Academy Award. She’s stunning, and it’s perfect, and I feel sick just looking at her.
“That’s the one,” I say without a smile.
She turns back around and faces the mirror. The rear view of the garment is as gorgeous as the front, and it pulls at an achy and hollow spot in my chest.
“It’s black, though. Can I wear black to my dad’s wedding?” She wants me to say yes. I’ve known her for fifteen years, long enough to know every question she throws at me in this moment is rhetorical. It’s more like an invitation to cement her decision, to let her feel secure in her choice.
I could derail it right now. I’m feeling bitter enough that lying and spoiling her mood could be a possibility, but I don’t. Because it’s Daisy, and I still fucking love her more than anyone.
“Mathias is wearing black,” I explain instead. “I’m wearing black since I always wear black. Pretty much every dude there will be wearing black.”
“True, true,” she says, staring fuzzy-eyed at her reflection, her hands stroking the flared fabric over her hips. “But is it . . . a little too slutty?”
“We’ve been over this before.”
She nods and finally turns to face me. The skirt swishes around her legs in the most mesmerically Disney-like way. “Lan, it’s so expensive, though.”
I don’t even think before my next words escape, but I don’t regret them. “Think of it as a goodbye present, then.”
Daisy purses her lips into a tight line. She swallows hard and simply stares at me. I don’t let my eyes leave hers. Her cheeks grow pink, but she still doesn’t respond. Beside her, Catherine’s gaze bounces between us.
Eventually, I break the stare-down. “Catherine, do you have the black Jimmy Choo court shoes with the cut-out heel in a size five?”
It’s like the sales assistant has been zapped with a defibrillator. She bursts into life, slapping her hands together, obviously grateful for the end to the awkward as fuck encounter. “Certainly. I’ll get this gown wrapped up for you both and then grab the shoes.”
I don’t want to wait around while she undresses Daisy. “I’m going to find a suit.”
I choose a Dolce and Gabbana black wool-blend three-piece suit and a matching black shirt, which I’ll wear sans tie for the wedding and with a tie but no waistcoat to Father’s office.
I don’t try it on, don’t waste time browsing for anything else, don’t even look at shoes.
There are plenty of shoes in my closet at home.
Yacht loafers would be a cute choice for both occasions.
Daisy waits for me at the cashier’s desk. She’s deep in conversation with Catherine and another assistant, who all stop chatting the moment they see me.
“Lan?” Daisy pleads.
The guy who followed me from the menswear department hands a bag containing my suit to Catherine to ring through.
Daisy places her hand on the back of mine. I don’t move away, but I also don’t look at her. I can’t do this right now, right here. I’m having big feelings, and I can’t summarise them into something palatable that can be digested in front of strangers.
“Lan, I just wanted to—”
“Excuse me, sir. Sorry to interrupt, but your payment card has been declined,” Catherine says.
It takes a good five seconds for the meaning of those words to register.
“No, that’s not possible. There’s a twenty grand limit on that card. Try it again,” I say, though my heart is beating like a fucked clock and seeds of suspicion are already sowing themselves deep within my stomach lining.
The male cashier joins Catherine, and together they process my Mastercard again. “My apologies. It’s been declined again,” he whispers, as though the shame of having six thousand pounds worth of garments go unfunded is easier to bear in baby volumes.
“God, Lan, have you maxed it out again?” Daisy says, laughing.
I ignore her. “Okay, try this one, then.” I toss my AMEX onto the counter and deliberately do not look at Daisy.
The cashier slow blinks his eyes closed and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“Oh my god, this isn’t happening,” I whisper. I’m nauseated, my stomach cramping like I’ve necked an entire bowl of macaroni cheese.
“Can’t you just call your dad?” Daisy says while the sales assistants share subtle glances.
No, I can’t just call my dad. I’m not that guy.
At least I’m not going to be that guy in front of these idiots.
I have a few more cards in my wallet, but the next one I present doesn’t bear my name.
In fact, it’s a debit card with MR W. C.
OAKHAM on the front, and it’s my last shot at not leaving the store empty-handed because I already know what’s happened.
Because of course it has. He’s cut me off. Just like he’s been threatening to do for years.
I key in my father’s PIN number, and everyone sucks in their breath as we wait.
The device beeps, and the transaction is accepted.
Catherine lets out a relieved little laugh. Daisy does too. I simply grab the bags and start my journey out of the store.
“Lan?” Daisy runs after me. I picture her glancing back to the sales assistants with that apologetic look everybody does on my behalf, like I’m a dog that’s growled at someone trying to pet me.
“I’m so sorry about him. He’s usually so good with other dogs. I don’t know what’s got into him.”
“Lando, are you okay?” she says, jogging after me. I don’t slow, don’t give her five-foot-two frame any chance to catch me up.
We get a cab to the underground car park I valeted the car in. Neither of us speaks for the entire twenty-three minute journey, and every time we stop at traffic lights, I feel her eyes on me, feel words on her tongue that she’s desperate to say, but she holds them until we get into my car.
“There’s probably been some mistake with the cards.”
“There’s no mistake. My darling father wants me to take a job at his company. I’m willing to bet this is his way of forcing my hand.”
Daisy shakes her head in disbelief. “He wouldn’t do that. You’ll just have to call him later and explain.”
“I’m not calling him,” I say, making sure my tone leaves no trace of doubt that I’m shutting down the conversation.
She sighs, and her stomach gurgles aggressively, but there’s no way I’m stopping the car to get food. I don’t want to prolong this journey any more than I have to.
“Lan, you’re behaving like a . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
“Behaving like a . . . ?”
Daisy still doesn’t finish, and we sit in awkward silence for forty-five minutes. Or until we join the M4. Or until I’ve mustered the courage to dislodge one of the eight thousand thoughts tumbling around inside my brain.
“I’m . . . gonna really miss you,” I say, and miraculously for once in my miserable little life, I’m not crying.
Her hand shoots out to caress my bicep. “Oh, Lan. I’m not leaving yet. I might never leave. You could be stuck with me forever.”
I pull my arm out from under her grip, suck in a deep breath, and puff it all out in slow motion. “It’s just that everything’s changing. Everything. Nothing will be the way it’s supposed to be.”
Still, I don’t apologise for my behaviour, even though I know I should. Probably. There’s more I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words out loud.
No more Daisy and me.
No more me and Daisy.
No more dinners out at random Hookborough restaurants.
No more karaoke duets.
No more crawling up the steps of Daisy’s dad’s pub to the little flat above it and collapsing in her bed.
No more cuddles.
No more shopping sprees to London or Bath, but mostly because I won’t have any fucking money any more.
No more ad hoc holidays because Daisy will want to spend every free second with her stupid girlfriend, and I won’t have any fucking money any more.
No more rotting away in front of my telly because I’ll have to be punching the clock nine to five every day like a total pleb.
I’ve only ever loved three people in my life. Daisy and my mum are amongst that very exclusive crowd.
I lost Mum when I was thirteen, and now I’m losing my best friend too.
Correction: only friend. The one singular friend I have in this entire universe is trying to abandon me. So forgive me if I have a momentary lapse in decorum.
Also, fuck, I have no fucking money now either.