‘Dad doesn’t know,’ confessed Daisy. ‘Mum said not to tell him because he’d go mad.’
I knew it might not be ideal to think about your fourteen-year-old daughter having a boyfriend, but I liked to think that Nick was more reasonable than that.
‘Why does she think that?’ I asked.
‘Because my boyfriend’s different from us.’
‘Who’s us?’
‘I mean … not you. Mum and Dad. And Granny.’
I frowned, not getting it.
‘You mean he’s …?’
I hoped she’d fill in the gaps.
‘From a really rough area. His mum’s a single mum and works in the bookies. Mum reckons I can do better, but I don’t want to,’ said Daisy, a new set of tears filming her eyes. ‘He’s perfect. He’s so funny and cool and he’s in a band and we talk about all sorts of stuff, like writing lyrics and our shit parents.’ Daisy looked up. ‘Sorry,’ she said, clearly worrying about having sworn in front of me.
‘No need to apologise. I know all about what it’s like to have shit parents.’
‘You do?’
I nodded. ‘He sounds nice. This boy.’
‘He is. Was. But now he says he doesn’t want to be in a serious relationship. He’s called it cooling off, but I know what that means.’
I put my arm around Daisy. ‘He’s young. He probably doesn’t know what he wants. But, whatever happens, you have to remember that it is no reflection on you. And that if it doesn’t work out with him, it will be hard, for a little while, but then it will be OK again. And you’ll meet someone else and it will be better than you’d ever imagined.’
Daisy nodded gratefully, blowing her nose again. ‘Do you think?’
I mustered all my enthusiasm. ‘I do.’
But if that was the case, if what I was telling Daisy was true, why did I still think about Aidan sometimes? And why didn’t my life with Nick feel ‘better than I’d imagined’?
London
Two Years Earlier
Aidan took my hand on the walk from London Bridge tube round to the Shard. I was clip-clopping along in my only pair of heels, having thought that a black jeans, silk cami top and nice shoes combo was the best bet to attend an event for which I had absolutely no idea what the dress code was. And Aidan was no help, but then he always looked smart. It was one of the things I liked about him, actually, an unexpected thing. Where I grew up, all the guys wore tracksuit bottoms and football shirts. That was an exaggeration, of course, but I didn’t remember anyone in my hometown ever looking this good in a shirt and trousers.
‘Are you sure they’re not going to mind you bringing a plus-one?’ I asked.
‘Course not,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I hate going to press events on my own. Standing awkwardly in a corner, thinking that I should be making small talk with someone but not quite having the energy to approach anybody and start it off.’
I laughed. ‘So, basically, I’m only here to make you feel better.’
‘Basically,’ he said, grinning at me.
We passed through the Shard’s security in record time and got into the lift up to level thirty-five. We were moving so fast that my ears popped and when we stepped out into thefoyer, it felt as though I had arrived in a different, quieter, head-in-the-clouds world over a hundred and twenty-five metres above London.
A woman with a clipboard ticked off our names.
‘Welcome to the Shangri-La Hotels and Resorts press event,’ she trilled. ‘Help yourself to champagne and food. And don’t forget to take a goodie bag on your way out!’
I raised my eyebrows at Aidan. ‘You didn’t mention goodie bags,’ I said out of the corner of my mouth as we headed for the drinks table.
‘I was keeping that as ammunition in case I needed to pull out the big guns to persuade you to come,’ he replied.