TWO

       Daisy Mack

      is feeling a little perturbed. Is this a good sign?

      Lou Stephens Depends what it’s about!

      Jenny Martin Can perturbation ever be good?

      Suzanne Allen Yes, that is definitely good. Perturb away – it will help.

      Daisy Mack Great, thanks Suze. Now I know it’s good to be perturbed, I am less perturbed. Is this a paradox?

      Georgia Ling Everything ok hun? xx

      Five months ago, my mum died. It was her second outing into breast cancer, and unfortunately it didn’t go as well as the first. But isn’t that always the way with sequels – never as good as the original, are they? Look at Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. Still a great film, don’t get me wrong. Col and Hugh are still geeky sex gods, they still fight like inept girls and Bridge gets to snog both of them again. But … We’ve seen it before, haven’t we? We know she’s hopeless, and can’t stop smoking and wishes she was thinner. And as much as we love her, in the end we’d have preferred to watch the first film again. It had a much better ending.

      I’m watching Love Actually in my silky dressing gown now. Second time today. I’m supposed to be cleaning. Better get on with it, I suppose.

       Daisy Mack

      Gloves, actually.

      Suzanne Allen OK, I’m deciphering that to mean you’re cleaning.

      Daisy Mack Wow, you’re good!

      Suzanne Allen Elementary. It’s spring so they’re not woollen gloves. You don’t own a motorbike. You don’t like gardening. You don’t work with radioactive material or infectious diseases. Oh, and puppets scare you. Ergo, cleaning. Well done! X

      Daisy Mack Mind = blown.

      There, that’s that done. Abby’s coming round in about half an hour so I may have to finish the film off later. She wants to talk about the MoonWalk. When she told me she’d signed me up for that, I have to say I panicked.

      ‘Shit, Abby, you haven’t!’ I yelled. ‘I can’t do it! I failed science, remember? And I hate heights, and fast things. Remember Alton Towers? I nearly passed out on that Nemesis thing. And that’s only, like, a hundred feet off the ground. I can’t go ten million miles up, I’ll die! And look at me – I’m so unfit, you said so yourself. I’ll never get through the training programme …’

      I stopped there because she was already laughing. I mean really, really laughing. She actually bent over and put her hands on her knees. Then she stood up, took a deep breath, looked at my face and started laughing all over again.

      Turns out she didn’t actually mean a walk on the moon. Apparently they don’t offer that to members of the public. Well, how was I supposed to know?

      ‘It’s a night-time walk, Daze,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘It’s called the MoonWalk because it’s at night. It’s a twenty-six-mile walk round London, starting at midnight, for charity. Nothing to do with Michael Jackson, and we don’t have to walk backwards.’ Her face calmed at this point and her smile faded. ‘It’s for breast cancer.’

      Which meant of course that I couldn’t say no. I don’t think Abs would have let me say no even if it had been for Homeless Llama relief, or something. Anyway, how hard can it be? It’s only walking.

      Back on the sofa now, my instant messenger pops.

      Abby Marcus All right you, I’m leaving now. Get off your computer and clean up a bit. This is important.

      How did she know I was on my computer? I might have been doing the hoovering.

      Abby Marcus Don’t try and convince yourself that you might not have got that message. I can see your name on my screen and it says you’re online. You’re always online. Get offline NOW.

      Daisy Mack OK, I’m going …

      She wants to talk to me about training today. Apparently she’s got a plan. No doubt it will involve a lot of walking. I’m thinking, the walk itself is just under two months away, on May 30th, so we should get a couple of good walks in a week or so beforehand. No need to go mad. I’ve been walking for years – piece of cake. I can do it almost without thinking now. I glance at the film. Hugh has just seen Billy Bob Thornton trying to kiss Nathalie. Ooh, he’s mad about that.

      Abby Marcus Get offline, numpty!

      I close my laptop and put it down on the sofa, then pause the film on Liam Neeson’s face. Abby’s right, I don’t really have time for this any more. Time is running out.

      I have already picked up all the rubbish and dirty crockery from the living room floor, so it looks a lot better than when Abby arrived yesterday. And I’m dressed, in jeans and a clean-ish hoodie, so she won’t hassle me. Not that she judges me, I know she doesn’t. She’s been so fantastic since Mum died, I don’t know what I would have done without her. For the first couple of days I just lay on the sofa under a blanket and Abs stayed, rubbing my back, bringing me food and drink, stroking my head. Nagging, eventually. It’s what she does best, love her. Get out of bed, change your clothes, clean your teeth, all that. Of course, I didn’t really have the luxury of lying prostrate with grief for very long. Mum’s husband, Graham, my stepdad, ill with emphysema, still relied on me then to look after him, which Abby knew. He of course was grieving too and didn’t come out of his room for a week, so could have starved or shrivelled up to a dry old husk in there for all I knew. I was so consumed by my own wretchedness, I didn’t even think about him. I was unbelievably selfish, and Abby let me be. She took over the job of looking after Graham until I felt up to it again. And then two months ago, three months after Mum, Graham died too. As if he’d looked at living without her, given it a try, but didn’t like it. Nah, it’s not for me, he thought, and jacked it all in.

      Oh, she’s here.

      ‘Well, this looks a lot better,’ she says when I let her in. She walks around the room like Mary Poppins, checking the floor for wrappers,