Chapter 39
THE MEETING
Stay cool, I tell myself as I step into the bustling atmosphere of the super-smart restaurant in London’s West End.
The mirrored walls make the whole place seem glittering and boundless, adding to the enigmatic aura that entangles the room.
The air is filled with the clink of expensive silverware against delicate china, a soft musical hum complementing tasteful murmurs of clever conversations.
Chandeliers of sparkling diamonds hang solemnly from the ceiling, casting a warm glow upon Lenka and I as we slide smoothly into a corner booth of buttery soft leather and tufted velvet.
We sit in silence for a moment. I cross my fingers under the table, as if the simple action might suffice to offer some comfort, any solace at all. Even though Lenka invited me to meet her here, she’s too erratic for me to feel at ease. Anything could happen.
Lenka clears her throat, taking my attention from my fingers to her glowing face. She’s suddenly wearing that knowing smile of someone about to reveal a secret.
‘So, let me tell you something,’ she begins, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
‘Your illustrations were total Marmite – completely divided the team. And that’s exactly what we wanted!
A unanimous no is bad, but a unanimous yes means mediocrity.
Nothing truly extraordinary is loved by everyone, so the fact your work splits us right down the middle is ideal!
In the end, we went to Matilda Wilder herself to decide. ’
My illustrations have a bold and expressive style, so I get why they may not be for everyone, but unlike last time when Lenka and I met, I know these are good. I know they’re my best work – I’m proud of them, and I’m going to stick by them, whichever way the needle falls.
I bite my lip, waiting for the verdict. My heart pounds so hard it threatens to escape my chest like a frantic, captive bird.
Matilda Wilder is the author of Forest Fables, her words the very lifeblood that gives character to the pages I so carefully crafted.
To have her approval, or, better yet, her appreciation, would mean everything.
Lenka leans forward, her eyes twinkling with joy. ‘She picked yours, Daisy. Congrats.’
In that moment, time seems to freeze, crystallising into a memory that can’t be tarnished.
In a completely surreal, absurdly improbable, un-Lenka-style move, she pulls me into an embrace…
Lenka is hugging me. As I feel her arms around me, my entire body fills with both fear and elation, but I accept the congratulations, clinking our glasses in celebration, and I marvel at how wonderful this moment feels.
Matilda Wilder, the greatest living children’s author of our time, has chosen my illustrations. It’s a dream come true.
Suddenly, a carefully wrapped package slides across the table towards me, the anticipation in Lenka’s eyes almost as tangible as the weight of the small present.
My fingers tremble as I pull away tissue paper, revealing a signed first edition from Matilda herself.
Through my tears, I read the simple yet profound words inked on the page: ‘Thank you, Daisy.’
I’m so grateful for this achievement, but I also know that it was Innisfree, and the creative passion and self-belief I felt there, that really gave me this success. Without that spark of inspiration, I wouldn’t be here today.
A soft breeze tickles the air as I step out of the restaurant, feeling as if my entire world has shifted.
The busy London streets are alive with swirling colours and vibrant energy, and I walk with true purpose, carrying the treasured Matilda Wilder book tucked under my arm.
Goosebumps crawl up my arms as the reality of the contract and the book’s significance wash over me.
As I make my way home, I feel a tug towards The Fox. It’s a stark contrast to the posh restaurant I just left, but I know it’s the perfect place to truly celebrate. I want to share this with Big Sean.
The doors to The Fox open with a creak. The air is thick with the familiar scent of hops and the raucous chorus of laughter and music that accompanies any good Irish pub day or night.
Big Sean and I exchange a heartfelt hug before settling into the cosy, worn leather seats.
We’re soon sharing a pot of tea together, reminiscing about old times and catching up on everything that’s happened since I left for Innisfree.
Big Sean gazes into his cup for a moment and then turns his misty eyes to me. ‘Daisy,’ he begins, his thick Irish brogue softened by emotion, ‘I’m so glad you’ve found happiness again, but I have to ask – did you ever find out why your mum never returned?’
Silence descends as I consider the question. It’s a mystery that’s haunting me still, but after everything, perhaps I’ll never know the full answer. My heart aches with the knowledge that there’s still a void where my mother’s reasons should be as I explain all this to Big Sean.
‘Some closure is better than nothing, Daisy,’ he tells me. ‘You can lay your mother’s past to rest now. And your father’s.’
It’s true. But I still feel so restless.
Just then a thought occurs to me, offering a glimmer of hope. There’s still a way to find out the truth.
When I’m back home, I glance around the flat, taking it all in.
The realisation that I can go back to Innisfree, that I can keep the house and make a home there, fills me with immense happiness.
The thought of Kayla staying in my flat here, enjoying the peace and quiet that I know she needs, brings a warm smile to my face.
Still, a voice in the back of my mind whispers to me, reminding me of the uncertainty waiting for me in Innisfree.
James… I don’t know how things will be without him there.
But as I think more about it, I realise that there’s still so much left to discover.
Big Sean is right: some closure is better than none, but still, I’m desperate for answers.
I try to imagine what could have pushed my mother to leave Innisfree – the idyllic setting, the kind faces, Mick’s love – but I come up empty.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
I’ve always believed that everyone has a story to tell and that I deserve to know mine.
My roots lie in this village, but my mother’s flit to London has left a piece of me missing.
A piece I won’t be able to find until I know the full story.
I can’t simply give up, not when I’ve discovered the identity of my father and the love he shared with my mother.
My heart races as I open my laptop and search for my flight to Ireland. One way.