Chapter Nineteen Daisy #2
was if he had been thinking it over this hard. Daisy swallowed and started walking. “You’ve given it a pretty good go,” she
said, shaking herself out of wherever she’d just gone, the ache remaining in her chest. “Is it worth setting yourself some
sort of deadline? Like if she isn’t back by Christmas, you . . . give up? Move on? However you want to phrase it.”
“A pragmatic approach to heartbreak, I like it. You know,” he said, gazing toward the University College Hospital where someone
spoke animatedly on the phone, one arm gesticulating wildly, “I feel such relief in hearing that.” He paused, fixing his eyes
directly ahead of him. “I feel relief at the thought of giving up,” he said as if confirming it to himself.
“Then maybe that’s your answer,” Daisy said quietly.
He nodded. “Maybe it is.”
A lump formed in her throat. Even before he said it, she’d had a feeling it was coming.
The end. The moment where everything was about to change.
“So that’s it?” she asked. “No more Orlando?” She tried to keep her voice light, but she heard it crack on the word more, the sound of it unfamiliar, even to herself.
“The end of an era,” he said, kicking his foot against the pavement. “But yes, I think it is. I think it has to be.”
They turned the corner opposite Warren Street and Tom lifted a hand into the air, staring at his finger before looking up
at the sky and across to Daisy, eyes widening.
“It’s snowing,” he said. He lifted both hands, palms facing the sky and they both watched as small flakes dropped into the
center of them.
“It’s snowing,” Daisy whispered, laughing as she watched the flakes growing in size, as they started to fall more heavily
around them. She looked ahead. “And look,” she said, pointing farther down Tottenham Court Road, where the Christmas lights
were glistening in the still-darkened sky. Giant yellow bows on top of red square presents, with stars shooting from them.
A snowflake landed right on the tip of Daisy’s nose and she blinked as Tom laughed, reaching across and wiping it from her
face.
“I heard that means you get to make a wish,” he said, turning to her, the snow melting into water on the tip of his finger.
“I wish you a most excellent exhibition,” Daisy said, reaching out and squeezing Tom’s finger, where the snow had been. She
kept hold of it, looking up at him. “I really do. You deserve it.”
They’d reached Goodge Street and Tom pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head, the flakes now falling so heavily that
it was immediately covered in snow.
“Thank you,” he said. “Though I’m fairly sure the wish is meant to be for you.”
“I’m fairly sure you don’t make a wish for snow landing on your nose, Tom,” Daisy said and his eyes lit up, his mouth curving
into a smile.
“I’m not sure who gets to make the rules about when wishes can be made.” His voice was little more than a murmur and she had to lean closer to hear him.
Daisy reached up onto her head, pulling the hat off and handing it to Tom, pressing it into his hands as he wrapped his fingers
around hers, holding on.
“Thanks for this,” she said, her voice thick as she squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again, trying to refresh the
moment. Trying to still the pounding in her chest. “I better go in and check all the celebrities are still alive and well.”
She pulled her hands away and held them together, heat pulsing through them.
“I guess I better try to get some sleep,” Tom said, pushing the hat into his pocket. “And thanks for this,” he said, nodding
upward. “I’ve never been more grateful for insomnia.”
She wanted to stay right there in the moment with him, and she knew that was a thought she shouldn’t be having about him.
About her friend.
“See you tonight,” Daisy said, forcing herself to turn away despite the pull she felt toward him.
“See you tonight,” Tom replied. “Looking forward to an evening with my fake girlfriend,” he called after her, her heart burning
at the words. More specifically, at the word fake. Daisy breathed in the cool air, allowing it to scorch her throat, punishing herself for a fleeting thought she shouldn’t
be having. Then she turned and smiled.
“Your fake girlfriend will see you later,” she said, and she stepped out into the empty road, crossing over, feeling Tom’s
eyes on her until she turned up the street toward the office.
“You’re out at something with Clara tonight, right?” Zack asked as their paths crossed briefly when he returned home from
work to collect his gear for padel, and Daisy’s stomach sank.
It hadn’t been a lie at the time. Daisy and Clara had intended to go together, prior to their fallout.
A fallout she couldn’t tell Zack about without upsetting the very foundations of their relationship.
Yet another thing she was keeping from him.
The fact Clara wasn’t going was enough to make Daisy nauseous.
Maybe in getting so defensive about her relationship with Zack she’d pushed away her greatest supporter.
And now, not only was Daisy pretending to be someone else’s girlfriend without Zack knowing anything about their friendship, but this morning something had shifted.
Something that made every thought of Tom turn solid in her stomach, and made her lie, for the first time, feel like a true betrayal.
One she was struggling to forgive herself for.
Struggling, and yet she was desperate for Zack to leave so she could concentrate on getting ready.
“Wish me luck. I’m playing with that arsehole Postie Paul tonight, who shouts ‘mine’ for every shot. I literally have to jump
in front of him and steal his returns,” Zack said from the doorway.
“I thought it was a team sport?” Daisy frowned, already backing away toward the bedroom.
“Hey,” Zack said, tapping his lips with his index finger, so Daisy had to walk back to him, leaning forward to kiss him. “Be
good tonight,” he said. “And save some energy for me. If I get a win, I might want to celebrate.” Winking, he opened the front
door and walked off toward the bus stop, leaving it open behind him.
Daisy closed it and ran to the bedroom, showering and pulling on the skintight tie-dye dress she’d ordered to work and smuggled home the previous day.
She added a black blazer and paired it with black boots and red lipstick.
Even she had to double take her own reflection, but it was her first-ever private viewing and she needed to look like a potential love interest for Tom.
She wasn’t so sure the 4:00 a.m. version of her would make someone like Sophie jealous.
Or the version of Sophie that Daisy had made up in her head, which was the only one she knew.
She’d taken a change of outfit in her bag, so she could return to the minimal effort Zack would expect from her before she got home.
Daisy ducked under an arch off Tottenham Court Road and down the familiar side street, lit up by small lanterns. It always
felt like a different world when she arrived for work and it felt the same, now, at night. A hidden quiet part of London,
sitting just off one of its busiest streets.
When she reached the gallery, the door opened as she approached, the sound of laughter and chatter spilling out onto the pavement.
As she stepped inside, someone immediately appeared by her side, reaching for her coat as he held a tray of champagne.
“Thanks,” Daisy said, taking a glass. “I hope you get one at the end of all this.” She scanned the room, looking immediately
for Tom. She should go straight to the photos. Show an interest in his work before she showed an interest in him, but she
just needed her eyes on him for a moment first. Turning, slowly, she finally caught sight of him in the far corner, deep in
conversation with two men. He looked so at ease, dressed in the outfit she’d picked out for him, with his hands in his pockets
as he leaned back on the heels of his shoes, laughing lightly. It was the first time she’d seen him like that, she realized.
Out in the world, without her. Every other time she’d seen him he’d been walking toward her on the bus, or meeting her outside
a school hall, or turning up on her doorstep with his portfolio of photos—he’d been in her world. Now, she was in his. She
watched for a moment, seeing him through a different lens. Wondering who he was to other people. If he was the same person
to them as he was to her.
“Daisy!” came a voice and a little body came charging through the center of the exhibition, propelling themselves onto her legs.
Daisy looked down, her face lighting up. She hadn’t thought for a second that a six-year-old might be present at such a fancy
event, but of course Tom wouldn’t do this without her.
“Martha,” Daisy said, bending down to wrap an arm around her as Martha squeezed as tight as possible to Daisy’s knees. “How
is my favorite monkey in the world?”
“Good,” she shouted, reaching for her hand. “Come and see the pictures,” she said, pulling her in the direction of a smaller
room.
Martha took her immediately to the photo of herself, obviously. If there was anything a six-year-old was interested in, that
was it.
“It’s me,” she said, as though it weren’t obvious.
“So it is,” Daisy replied. “And what a beautiful photo.”
She stood back, holding onto Martha’s hand as she took it in. There was canned laughter playing in the background and the
combination of that with Tom’s photos brought everything to life. The one of Martha was giant and took up most of one wall.
She was on her knees in her pajamas, her back arched and her head thrown back, eyes half closed and pigtails bouncing as she
laughed. There was a light above her so it looked like she was under a spotlight, a shadow falling across the ground beneath
her. “Just a Star” it said on the label beneath, a red sticker beside it.
“Mummy and Daddy bought it,” she said.
“I bet they did,” Daisy said. Who wouldn’t buy that photo of such a magnificent moment captured of their daughter?
Turning, Daisy took in the other photos in the room. She saw a few people standing in front of one of a homeless man, resting
against the fountain in Trafalgar Square. He was staring up to the sky, his face displaying pure ecstasy. It was . . .
“Stunning,” a woman whispered, whistling under her breath.
She was wearing a fur coat that definitely looked as though it were real skunk and as she turned to Daisy, eyes wide, Daisy recognized her as supermodel Kiki Lawrence.
“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” Kiki added before moving onto the next room and Daisy felt her chest rise with a pride she probably didn’t deserve to feel, but he really was.
She already knew he was, but seeing these photos on such a big scale made it even more apparent.
Slowly she took in the other photos, walking into another room where two old ladies were giggling on a bus as music Daisy
recognized played in the background. It was a jig. It was music from the ceilidh. She kept walking, standing in front of each
photo in turn, her breath catching slightly as she finally came face-to-face with Sophie. Not the real version of her, but
a blown-up version of her face. It was immediately obvious how in love with her Tom was. The photo was breathtaking. The sharp
lines of her jaw as shadows fell across the bed, the white sheet pulled up around her as she rested her head against the wall
behind her, laughing with her face in profile. She walked quickly on, passing the photos of people on a picnic blanket and
an older man who had to be Tom’s dad. Daisy started to feel like she shouldn’t be there. Who did she think she was, to try
and make that woman jealous? She didn’t want to stand side by side and be compared to her, did she? There was no comparison, and she’d
always known that.
Turning the corner, Daisy stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat as the biggest photo of the entire exhibition appeared
ahead of her under two spotlights. As the picture came fully into focus, it was so unexpected that her hand raced to her chest,
pressing hard against it. It was her, on the largest scale she’d ever seen. All that time she’d spent questioning why Tom
wouldn’t post a photo of her. Presuming that she just wasn’t a good enough subject for him to make “the grid.” Believing that
it was probably just the worst of the photos he’d taken at the ceilidh . . . but all along he’d been saving it. For this.
Head spinning, she stepped backward before refocusing. In the background, a soft voice was talking about great achievements involving great risk.
The person in the photo wasn’t the Daisy she knew. She didn’t recognize herself through Tom’s lens. This woman looked strong
and alive and happy. Leaning forward, Daisy looked into her own eyes, sparkling like she hadn’t seen in years. He had captured the version of
her that she always hoped to be again one day. He’d held his camera up and he had fully seen her. That’s why she was so drawn
to him and why she enjoyed his company so much. He had always understood her and accepted her for who she was, and she could
imagine no greater example than this photo.
As the gentle voice kept saying things about risk and the meaning of life, Daisy felt a rush of adrenaline fizzing through
her body. She needed to tell him. She needed to tell Tom everything. What these past few months had meant to her. How much
she appreciated him for understanding her. How he’d taught her there was a different way to be cared for, and actually she
thought that maybe she preferred his way. He’d said that it was time for him to move on from Sophie. Was it time for Daisy
to move on too? The question flew at her out of nowhere, landing with such force it was like a punch to the side of the head,
her stomach churning. Was that what all the fear was about the wedding? She kept thinking it was just the standard love avoidant
behavior, but was it more than that? Was there a part of her that could imagine a future without Zack?
It felt impossible to answer that question, even as her body pulled her away from the photo of herself and around the corner
toward the man who always showed her the very best version of herself. Toward Tom.