Chapter Fifteen Daisy
Chapter Fifteen
Daisy
“This is huge!” Daisy leaned forward and hugged Tom, his camera pressing against her as it sat, the way it usually did now,
around his neck. “What did she want?”
They’d met at the Southbank Centre for a live storytelling night called The Moth. Daisy had sent Tom the link, along with
a quote from Orlando.
“We write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person.”
They were at the bar ordering drinks while they waited for Clara, because Daisy had wanted to be able to look Zack in the
eye when she told him where she was going. It had felt better, at least, to tell a half-truth.
“She was asking if a pair of her shoes were at mine and if she could somehow get them.”
Daisy snorted, then covered her nose.
“What?” Tom asked, laughing.
“She clearly wanted to hear your voice.”
His eyes widened in surprise, which amused Daisy further.
“You think so?”
“Definitely. Surely she has other shoes?”
“I hope so,” he said, his mouth setting in a straight line. “She has very delicate feet. They couldn’t handle a life without
shoes.”
“The things you come out with,” Daisy said, shaking her head.
She was trying to imagine Zack ever describing her in any of the ways Tom described Sophie.
It was as though Tom saw the intricate details of someone and Zack saw only the surface of Daisy, or what she had once admitted in therapy sessions.
The thought stalled her for a moment. Did it bother her, or was it something she’d just noticed?
“So do you think you might put your name in the hat? Get up and tell your story?” Daisy asked, as the bartender finally approached
to take their order.
“Me?” Tom asked. “Hell no. You’re the wordsmith around here.”
A flash of heat hit Daisy’s cheeks and she wondered if she’d ever stop blushing at Tom’s compliments. “It could be the one
though,” she said. “Orlando writes stories and poems for literally hundreds of years. He’s very passionate about it. In fact,”
she continued, following the bartender with her eyes, “I read that the book was basically Virginia Woolf’s love letter to
writing and to literature. Well, that and to her girlfriend that she was seeing at the time behind her husband’s back.”
“What? How do you know all that?”
“You read the book a million times and you never bothered with the introduction?”
“Who bothers with the introduction?” Tom asked, frowning, at which point Daisy burst out laughing.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Clara said, appearing beside Daisy at the bar, just as the bartender handed over a bottle of white
wine and three glasses. “Felicity sent in some last-minute audio from Jack Black that had to go out.”
“All good,” Daisy said, smiling and hugging Clara, before signaling to Tom.
“Clara, Tom. Tom, Clara,” she said and Tom reached his arms out, immediately giving Clara a hug.
“I have heard a sickening amount about you,” Tom said.
“Ditto,” Clara said back. “All very average.”
Tom leaned back laughing and Clara smiled, then turned to Daisy, mouthing fit, her eyebrows raised. Daisy rolled her eyes and picked up the wine, nodding her head at the bar to where Tom was already
collecting the glasses.
“So from what I understand, we’re here because Daisy here believes that attending this event will win back your ex-girlfriend,” Clara said as Daisy handed over their tickets
and walked into the main auditorium, where the live slam was taking place.
She walked to a round table to the left of the stage. “Yup. If Sophie sees that Tom has been to a live storytelling event,
she won’t be able to resist him.”
“But why?” Clara asked, taking the seat one away from Daisy, leaving space in the middle for Tom, who laughed.
“I see the journalist coming out in both of you here,” he said. “I didn’t even really think to ask, I just trust Daisy implicitly.”
Clara turned to Tom, her eyes laser-focused. “You’re very wise to do so.”
“Wait,” Daisy said. “You didn’t finish the story. Tom’s ex called him last night,” she explained to Clara. “How long were
you on the phone for?”
“About ten minutes. I asked for permission to use one of her photos in my exhibition and she sounded really surprised I was
doing one. I was a bit annoyed I hadn’t saved that to use later, to be honest.”
“Thinking like a true professional in the get-your-ex-girlfriend-back mission these days.” Daisy nodded her approval, holding
her hand up for a high five. He pressed his palm against hers before lowering it.
“I think it’s good she knows now,” she continued. “It gives her time to wonder whether she’ll be invited or . . .” Daisy took in his expression and raised her eyebrows. “Or not, because you . . . already . . . invited her?”
“Blurted it out almost immediately,” he answered solemnly, and Daisy lit up at his expression—like a naughty child who’d done
exactly what he’d been told not to.
Clara poured wine into their glasses and pushed one toward each of them as more people wandered into the room, taking their
seats at each of the tables.
“That’s okay,” Daisy said, shrugging. “You’ll just need to add a bit of mystery and intrigue to the event.”
“Ooooh . . .” Clara said, her voice rising in excitement. “I know.”
“What?”
“Daisy can pretend to be your date for the exhibition! Nothing gets an ex back faster than jealousy, trust me.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering up your best friend’s services? Without even checking with her? Because I’m not sure
I’d want a pretend girlfriend unless it was her.” He fixed his eyes on Daisy and she picked up her glass to cover her burning
face. “Anyway, wouldn’t that sort of be like . . . cheating on Orlando? A pretend girlfriend isn’t in the book.”
“I reckon Ginny would most definitely approve of this, but you’re right. We’ve gone rogue,” Daisy said.
“We have. We’re going it alone. Off-piste. Rebels.”
“You just need an eyebrow piercing and a shaved head and you’re there,” she said, leaning over to nudge Tom with her shoulder
as he laughed. “You’ve finally reached bad boy status for agreeing to an idea that is not in Orlando on how to get your ex-girlfriend back.”
“Hey,” he said, nudging her back. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Clara was looking between the two of them, frowning. “I have no idea what’s going on here. You two are like an old married couple with their own language no one else understands. What the hell happens on that bus?”
The lights dimmed and a man took to the stage, a single spotlight pointing at the microphone. Daisy could still feel Clara’s
eyes on her, even as the host started speaking.
“Welcome,” he said, looking around the room and nodding a few times. “Thank you for joining us and it is my pleasure to announce
tonight’s surprise theme. I say pleasure, perhaps that’s the wrong word, because what we’re talking about is the most universal
topic of all . . .” He paused for dramatic effect. “Heartbreak.” Clara snorted and Tom let out a groan as Daisy’s stomach
dropped. Of all the things it could have been. “The pain caused by loving someone, or by being loved.” Tom and Clara swung their heads toward
Daisy. “Heartbreak,” they both mouthed as Clara shook her head in mock disbelief and Tom clutched a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know the theme,” she whispered back, biting down on her lip.
“It’s often said that hurt—grief—is the price we pay for feeling so deeply, and in this room some of you have put your names
in a hat, ready to tell your story. So without further ado, let us commence with tonight’s theme: Love Hurts.” The crowd broke
into enthusiastic applause.
“You’re a fucking sadist,” Clara whispered at Daisy and the three of them started giggling so hard that only the dimming of
the lights hid their shaking shoulders as the first person approached the stairs to the microphone.
Tom, Clara and Daisy got through their bottle of wine by the interval as they listened to five very brave strangers tell five completely different stories about love and why it hurts.
Daisy wiped tears away hearing about everything from the loss of a childhood pet dog to a man ghosted after a two-year relationship, to a funny and heartwarming story one woman told about falling in love with Aladdin as a child, only to learn he was animated.
Tom took a lot of photos of the crowd during that one.
In the interval, Tom turned to Daisy while Clara was at the bar getting another bottle of wine.
“We need to get a date in with you and Zack to discuss your wedding photos,” he said, nodding down at his camera. “On a lighter
note to all this heartbreak.”
“We do,” Daisy said, trying to imagine a meetup between the three of them and how that would go. “I’ll speak to Zack,” she
added. “Arrange something. But . . . he doesn’t know. About this.” She moved her index finger between the two of them. “It’s
just easier that way.”
A flash of something crossed Tom’s face. “That’s why you ran from the shopping trip,” he said. It wasn’t a question and she
swallowed instead of answering him. He’d noticed she was on edge. He’d noticed and knew not to mention it. “Well . . . Noted.
I am just some boring dude you found on the internet.”
“Perfect,” Daisy said, relieved. “The boring bit is vital.”
“I’ll put on a monotone voice. Talk . . . like . . . this . . .”
She laughed at how impressively dull he’d made himself sound.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “To ask you to lie to him, like that. It’s just . . . he’s wary of other men. Thinks they’re
always only after one thing, which is true because in your case the one thing, or person, sorry, you’re after is Sophie, but
it just isn’t worth trying to explain it.”
Tom swallowed, squinting slightly. “Whatever makes your life easier, I’ll do,” he said and he met her eyes for a moment, silence
falling around them. A rush of gratitude filled Daisy, her chest expanding at his kindness.