Chapter Twelve Tom
Chapter Twelve
Tom
Looking back, Tom probably should have asked if Daisy could do another day for the makeover, given that he always had Martha
on Wednesdays, but she was doing him a favor and he didn’t want to let her down. Instead he’d called his dad that morning,
knowing that if Martha didn’t have advanced warning of the change of plan, she would be inconsolable at the news of no ice
cream. To his surprise, Martha had screamed in delight at the prospect of an afternoon clothes shopping instead, provided
there was an ice cream thrown in at some point.
Laura, on the other hand, was confused.
“You’re doing what?” she asked, taking the phone from Martha to stare at the screen, something she rarely did, which caused
Tom to flinch. He wasn’t used to having his dad’s wife’s face staring back at him.
“I need some new clothes and I thought Martha could help,” he said. It was only as he ran through the plan in his head that
he realized the genius of it. Daisy would be there and Martha would meet her and then Martha would go home and tell Laura.
Between the two of them, it was definitely going to get back to Sophie.
“She’ll be tired. She does PE on Wednesdays,” Laura said.
“I know. I’ll make sure she eats and rests and hydrates, don’t worry.”
Laura frowned. “What’s the urgent hurry for new clothes?” she asked.
“No urgent hurry, it’s just organized for today.”
Laura looked away from the phone. “Hold on,” she said.
His dad reappeared.
“Hiya, Tom.” He came way too close to the screen, his jet-black hair ruffled and slight stubble on his chin. Tom could see
objectively that his dad was a good-looking man, he just wasn’t sure he was good-looking enough to end up with someone young
enough to be his daughter.
“Hey, Dad!” Tom said, giving a small wave.
“You okay?” his dad asked, concern on his face.
“Yes. Why?”
“Well what’s the urgency for new clothes?”
Tom laughed. “Your wife just asked me that.”
“I know, and I’m backing her up. It’s weird.”
“Is it?” Tom frowned.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you always go for ice cream on Wednesdays. It’s a thing.”
“I want to buy clothes,” Martha shouted and there was a sharpness to her voice, which meant things were about to escalate.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Tom’s dad said. “Clothes it is.”
Tom didn’t bother to comment on the very different approach to parenting his dad had with Martha. It was best not to.
“Great. It’s a deal then. See you later, champ,” he shouted, hanging up so that his dad and Laura could no doubt delve into
it in great detail, without him present.
And now, here they were, approaching Daisy outside John Lewis on Oxford Street with Martha quizzing Tom over and over about what his superpower would be if he were a Pokémon. No answer he gave was good enough for Martha and so they went on.
“Just flying is boring, you need to fly and do something.”
“Like what?”
“Like fart power that makes you fly,” she shouted, giggling, just as they reached Daisy, who was dressed in a long beige coat that Tom wasn’t
sure he’d ever seen before, her hair tied back in a ponytail revealing her sharp cheekbones.
“Daisy, Martha. Martha, Daisy,” Tom said. “I apologize in advance for any—”
“What about burps that are also fire balls?” Daisy said, crouching down. “Hi, Martha. I overheard from here,” she explained.
“Just flying is very boring, Tom.”
Martha’s eyes widened as she leaned back. “Or burps that kill people because they’re so stinky.”
“What about bouncy feet that go so high you land in space,” Daisy said, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “You could be called Bunny Hop?”
“Like Scorbunny.” Martha did an involuntary leap into the air, she was so excited.
“Exactly. Although we all know Jigglypuff is the best.”
“She’s my favorite!” Martha shouted as Tom looked down at her, shaking his head. It was the opposite of what she’d told him
the other day.
Daisy reached into her bag and moved a hand behind her back. “Now I heard we’re going for ice cream which means you’re probably
not also allowed this.” She put her hand up behind Martha’s ear and pulled out a Curly Wurly, as Martha turned to Tom with her mouth wide open. “I won’t tell him if you don’t,” she whispered, despite it being very obvious that he could see the whole exchange.
Tom pretended to look the other way as Daisy took off the wrapper and held a hand out to Martha, who immediately took it and
hopped excitedly along beside her.
Ten painful minutes later and Tom had a handful of clothes on his arm carefully selected by himself, Daisy and Martha as they
waited to go into a changing room. Some he’d wear, like the dark navy Levi’s, but some were probably much more suited to someone
born at least ten years after him.
“I got magic powers,” Martha blurted out, as she leaped from one chair of the changing rooms to another.
“You do have superpowers,” Daisy replied kindly. “You are superfast. And superstrong.”
“I am,” Martha said. “But that’s just me. My secret power is this!” she shouted, jumping off the chair into the air and then landing in a heap on the floor beside Daisy’s feet.
A dressing room opened up and Tom approached it, feeling self-conscious.
“Are you two going to be okay?” he asked once he’d hung the clothes up, poking his head back out of the curtain to see Martha
hanging from one of Daisy’s arms.
“We’re going to be great. Shopping is most definitely more fun with a pet monkey,” she said, tickling Martha under an armpit
so she giggled and let go, hanging from just the one arm and then, once again, dropping to the floor.
Tom listened to the chatter outside as he pulled on outfit number one.
“Miss Knight choked on a crisp today. It sprayed everywhere.”
“Is Miss Knight your teacher?”
Tom did up the navy-blue jeans and pulled off his gray sweatshirt, changing into the—actually quite tight once buttoned—navy shirt and adding the smart jacket Daisy had chosen.
He stood staring at himself for a long time, unable to recognize the man that stared back.
He hadn’t worn an outfit like this, even for a wedding.
He’d always reverted back to his black-suit-and-white-shirt look.
This was different. It was smart but also .
. . classy? Was that good? Did he want to be classy?
“Show us, show us, show us,” came the clapping chant from Daisy and Martha before Martha started cackling. If Laura thought
she wouldn’t enjoy herself, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Tom had rarely heard Martha having more fun, though that was
partly to do with Daisy.
Tom came out of the dressing room and both Daisy and Martha looked up, very different expressions passing across each of their
faces.
“Yes!” Daisy shouted, clapping her hands together as Martha scrunched up all her features and shouted, “Yuck!”
“Hang on,” Daisy said, standing up and walking toward Tom. She was wearing the same floral perfume she wore on the bus, which
made sense. It was just, sometimes those 4:00 a.m. moments between them didn’t seem quite real. Seemed almost dreamlike. As
though there could be a completely different version of Daisy who walked around in daylight hours, that Tom would never meet.
One who walked and talked differently and wore a different scent. Who belonged to a different world to the one Tom got to
see.
She lifted her hands to his neck, undoing the top button and the one beneath as Tom held himself as still as possible, keeping his breath steady.
They’d touched a few times now and each of those had felt natural in a way he hadn’t expected.
Holding hands as they ran away from the bus stop.
Dancing at the ceilidh. Sitting side by side on the N73.
This time, as Daisy reached for his second button, her index finger brushed against Tom’s chest and his pulse jumped at the unexpectedness of it, an electric jolt flying through him as he felt the softness of her skin against his bare flesh.
His throat dry, he tried to discreetly swallow as Daisy whipped her hand away and stood back, surveying him again.
“Much better.”
Tom nodded, licking his lips, before walking back into the dressing room, allowing a second for his pulse to slow before he
took another look at his reflection. She was right. This did look much better. Much more casual. It would, in fact, be a great
outfit for the opening night and private viewing of his exhibition.
“I actually love it,” Tom said.
“Me too,” Daisy said.
“Not me,” Martha shouted, jumping again, loudly, off the chair and onto the floor. She was getting bored.
Tom took the outfit off and scanned the items Martha had chosen, reappearing in bright orange trousers, a green T-shirt and
an olive-green corduroy jacket.
When he stepped back out, Martha squealed in delight, clapping her hands together as he knew she would.
“What do you think, Mar?” he asked, holding his arms out and spinning for her. Daisy had broken into a grin, before holding
a hand to her mouth. Her signature move, he’d noticed, for when she was either trying to stop herself from saying something,
or when she was delighted. This might have been both.
“You look like a carrot,” she said, unable to hold the words in.
Martha roared with laughter. “Or an orange,” she shouted as the two of them fell about laughing all over again.
Tom nodded solemnly. “That was exactly the look I was going for.”
Martha surveyed him, squinting her eyes. “Can I ask one teeny, tiny question,” she said, holding a finger up in the air as
though he were her teacher.
“Of course.” Tom steeled himself. It could be anything at all.
“Why are you doing this?”
“To—” he started to say as Daisy spoke over the top of him.
“He wants Sophie to love him again,” she said as Tom swung his head to stare at her. She had no idea that Tom wouldn’t want
Martha to share that with her mum. That now his excitement at all of this getting back to Sophie would be thwarted by Martha
having extra intel on the situation.
Martha frowned, standing up on the arm of the chair once more, holding her arms out for balance. “Shouldn’t Sophie just love
you in your normal clothes?” she asked, before leaping off, the thud echoing around the room.
Tom looked down at his orange trousers and back up to find Daisy watching him. She signaled toward Martha, who was lying on
her back singing on the carpet, and shook her head. “She’s scary smart,” she mouthed. Tom nodded.
“You’re right,” Daisy said. “You’re absolutely right, Martha. People should love other people for who they are. Let’s get out of here.” She took Martha’s hand, pulling her up and she shot off toward
the door. Daisy moved in Tom’s direction, leaning close to his ear, her breath hot against him. “But buy that navy ensemble,
just in case,” she whispered, the hairs on his neck standing on end. “It suited you. A lot.”
Tom watched Daisy as she walked away to join Martha, a slight heat to his cheeks, before he dived back into the dressing room
to get dressed, and grab everything Daisy had approved of.
Daisy told Tom she wouldn’t be able to stay for ice cream, but Daisy clearly hadn’t met anyone as convincing as Martha before.
In unheard move after unheard move, Martha begged Daisy to stay, even offering to share her ice cream and sprinkles, which was an offer Tom had never received.
“I just . . . I need to get back before . . . Zack’s expecting .
. .” Martha stood in front of her, eyes squeezed shut and hands pressed together in silent prayer.
Daisy glanced at her watch. Her expression was similar to the one she pulled when the bald man approached her with his beer.
That is to say, Tom realized, she looked scared.
“A quick one then,” she said, replacing the expression with a fixed smile so quickly that he wondered how often she was used to doing it. And why.
“You really don’t have to stay,” Tom said, as Martha ran ahead to find a seat in the café. “Kids are allowed to be disappointed
sometimes. Do you remember being disappointed as a child?”
A wave of something washed across her face and, as he often found himself doing with Daisy, Tom wished he had his camera.
Not necessarily to capture that moment from an artistic point of view, but so he could analyze it later. Just as before, a
smile replaced it within seconds.
“I do, which is why I refuse to be the person she links that feeling to. You’ve seen Inside Out, right? Me refusing ice cream could be a core memory for her.”
Tom stared across at her, taken aback by her protection of Martha. By her clear intentions to ignore whatever it was she was
afraid of in order not to upset her. Tom knew he did that with Martha, but she was his sister. Half his flesh and blood. That
was a bit different.
“And I know what I said to Martha, but you still need to take a selfie of yourself in that outfit when you get home and post
it. I’m hoping for a hat trick of comments from Sophie,” Daisy said, shaking Tom out of his analysis of her and back to the
reason he was now weighed down by a John Lewis bag.
“Absolutely,” he nodded.
“Don’t do all the buttons up,” she added.
“Absolutely not,” he replied, smiling. “Yes, boss.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I have a feeling the plan is working,” she said, waving to Martha who’d found a table and was beckoning Daisy, and just Daisy, over to sit with her. Tom wasn’t used to this.
“I sort of do too. But I thought maybe it was just me.”
“Not just you,” she said, her eyes kind, before she left to sit with Daisy. “Belgian chocolate please. With a flake,” she
shouted back at him, the same forced smile on her face.
“Same,” shouted Martha, high-fiving Daisy before clambering onto her lap.