Chapter 34
XXXIV
DAISY
A week later, Daisy found herself scanning Hyde Park when she saw him seated at a bench, book in hand, and a scarf wrapped around his neck.
For a while, she watched him, questioning if under his black wool coat, he was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt and a new tattoo or two, when he looked up and spotted her.
“Miss Daisy,” he called out, placing his book into his bag as she approached. “How lovely it is to see you.”
He stood, and for a moment, they stared at each other, unsure whether to hug when he extended his hand.
She shook it, unable to hide her smile. “Here I was expecting you to be in a T-shirt and jeans.”
“What can I say, I’m becoming refined in my old age. Come on, take a seat.”
They sat for a while, watching as strangers walked past deep in discussion, when he nudged her gently.
She expected him to say something, but he didn’t.
Instead, his eyes held hers a moment too long, and she felt the unexpected pull of nervousness take hold.
He seemed more at ease with the silence between them than she was, and as her gaze shifted to the ground, she heard him inhale sharply.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The email. I know it must have been hard for you to share all of that.”
She swallowed hard, unable to shake the guilt. It was as if everything good and kind that had ever existed in her—everything others believed she was—had been tainted by the part of her that, in the darkest corners of her mind, longed for a different reality.
“You must think I’m a monster.”
“You’re many things,” he said, nudging her again, “I wouldn’t classify a monster as one of them.”
A gentle breeze swept through, dusting them with a fine layer of snow from the trees, and Logan laughed, his gaze meeting hers once more.
He stared for a long minute, and Daisy wondered if he was trying to figure out if she’d left any words, buried inside. He’d admitted once that the quickest way to decipher someone was in the eyes, and she wondered then, what did he see in hers?
“You know,” he added, clearing his throat. “All these years later, and here we are.”
“I know,” Daisy said. “Ida is three now, and Callan, he just turned—” she cut herself off.
It didn’t feel right to talk about him; she’d already shared too much.
Logan shifted in his seat and brought his hands together.
“Can I suggest something?” he paused, but didn’t wait for her to reply.
“Get him a different therapist. Not some middle-aged woman who looks like she sends her kids to King's College and listens to Robbie Williams by choice. How could he relate to that? How could anyone?”
She couldn’t help herself. A laugh escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth. It was a stereotypical assumption, but true; Callan’s therapist, Jude, fit the bill. “A bit rich, don’t you think? Coming from someone who right now is wearing a coat that costs more than my whole month's mortgage?”
He grinned, raising his hands in mock defeat. “For the record, I didn’t buy this for myself.”
“Who did then? Let me guess, your girlfriend did?”
“There’s no girlfriend. Unlike you, I haven’t had much luck in that department.”
Caught off guard, Daisy stammered out an admittedly pathetic reply about how it was never too late when Logan stood up.
He laughed, shaking his head. “If you must know, Tad bought it for me. For my birthday. At least, that’s what he says.
Between you and me, though, I think his wife bought it for him, and rather than admit he hated it, he ‘misplaced’ it.
Anyway,” he added with a smile, “it’s freezing.
Why don’t we go somewhere, grab a drink, and something to eat? ”
She sensed he was trying to end the conversation and hesitated.
The thought of being alone with him again, in a more intimate setting, sent waves of anxiety through her.
But she agreed, not because she was sure she wanted to or even because she thought it was a good idea, but because the way he said it made it impossible to refuse.
Seated across from him, Daisy couldn’t help but stare. While his hair had begun to pepper, unlike hers, his eyes seemed more alive than ever.
They talked about life, and it surprised her how easy it felt to be honest with him about everything.
“You know what I’ve come to realise,” she said, reaching for a menu.
“People offer to help to make themselves feel better, but not you. I mean, I don’t blame them.
It’s superstition, right? If you give a bit of good karma, maybe life will give you a break in return.
” She paused, glancing up at his bemused expression. “Sorry, I’m not complaining—”
“Complain all you like. I’m all yours.”
She knew he meant it. She’d been talking for over five minutes, and his gaze hadn’t drifted in the slightest.
“I hate it, you know,” she continued. “People look at me and think: that poor girl, her husband is borderline brain dead. She’s a solo mum. They don’t see me; nobody sees me anymore. All they see is my situation.”
He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, as though trying to push away a painful truth, but before he could dig deeper, she shifted the conversation onto him.
“Enough about me. Tell me about what you’ve been doing since we last talked.”
He leaned back, thinking for a moment. “I travelled. Eastern Europe, mostly. Then I made my way to Italy.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“To be fair, you inspired me,” he said. “To visit Sicily.”
“Did you like it?”
“I loved it,” he said, laughing. “Minus the hills.”
The mention of Sicily pulled her inward. When she’d gone to Italy, it had been to escape Idris. She’d wanted a reason not to run into him or his friends on the street, but because she hadn’t dealt with the baggage, she’d ended up loading it on the plane with her.
“I wish I could do my twenties again,” she admitted. “Sicily—all of it.”
“You never know. One day, you might go back.”
She pulled a face. “We both know that’s unlikely. I can barely get Callan out of the house, let alone on a plane.” She mirrored him, reaching for a food menu, and when she looked up, she saw in his eyes what he meant. She swallowed, placing the menu back down. “Can we talk about something else?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. Just not…not about him.”
He thought for a moment. “Okay, I have a question for you,” he said at last, settling back in his chair. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
Daisy blinked, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “Reincarnation?”
“Yeah, you know, when you die and come back as an animal. That kind of thing.”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
“Well, if, say, you did. What would you come back as? I’d come back as a finch.”
“A finch?”
“See, here’s the thing about finches.” He leaned in, resting his forearms on the table. “They go unnoticed. Imagine sitting on someone’s fence and people-watching all day. It would be fascinating stuff.”
“So even if you were given a second shot at life, you’d still want to figure people out? Isn’t one lifetime enough?”
He laughed then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Daisy. When it comes to the mind and all its inner workings and meanings, one lifetime would never be enough.”