Chapter 2

      Daisy was grateful when they pulled off the M4 and away from the madness of Bristol. There had been a time when she loved nothing more than heading into the city with her friends or Hugh and soaking up the buzz of the cosmopolitan hubbub.

      Now she couldn’t cope with it. She wanted to scream at everyone that they were being too noisy, too energetic, too alive. The countryside was quieter, allowed her to think, enabled her to remember Hugh properly, although Lisa believed she needed to make new memories. As she had pointed out, she was just fine with the ones she had. It was all she had, and she didn’t want to let go of them – but was it time?

      Lisa drove quickly in her convertible, top down even though it really hadn’t warmed up enough, towards Atworth where Daisy lived – had lived – with Hugh. Hugh had become an incredibly successful banker and bought an enormous manor house on the outskirts of the village. Daisy had never, growing up, imagined she would live and own such a glorious pile with its creamy sandstone walls, and ivy and wisteria creeping ever higher up to the tiled roof. The front garden alone was so picturesque it often took her breath away to this day, with its aged stone benches and cherub spouting water into the lake. It was actually just a big pond but Tom, her other best friend, said it was a lake. He was quite sure of it.

      ‘A pond, Daisy darling, is the size of the paddling pool we had in our student house, yours could take a rowing boat. Catch my drift?’ To which he fell about laughing at his own wit.

      The back garden was sublime. Wild roses and an oak tree that Hugh adored. He would often sit for hours at a time on the weekends (he was rarely around in the week), reading his Financial Times and snoozing. He never knew but Daisy used to watch him and fall in love with him all over again. Hugh had worked so hard to buy the house and to keep her in a lifestyle that her own mother, a farmer’s wife, had thought was too grand for the likes of her daughter.

      ‘Well, Daisy, don’t forget it’s was me and your father putting our hands up sheep’s asses that allowed you to go to university, you hear? Don’t you ever forget your roots.’ She had a strong Gloucestershire accent – you could almost smell the grass and taste the cheese when you listened to her.

      They drove up to the house and Lisa turned the ignition off.

      ‘I’m afraid I have to go and feed the red-trousered folk of Cirencester.’ She pulled a face. ‘So that should mean an evening of over the top laughter and women claiming the crudités are “so filling, darling, couldn’t eat another morsel”, and then the men will drink their whisky and talk golf and skiing.’ She laughed. ‘It’s a joy.’

      Daisy smiled. ‘You know, I feel your luck is about to change.’

      Lisa giggled. ‘Why, have you found me some rich banker friend? Because if you have, I don’t even care what he looks like.’ She snorted. ‘You know it’s best to have sex in the dark anyway. You just imagine they’re George Clooney, job done.’

      Daisy grinned and got out of the car. ‘You, Lisa Davidson, are my best friend and a gem.’ She paused and indicated the length of Lisa’s body. ‘You have kept in such good shape and look great, Tom is probably one of the best-looking gay men on planet earth, James is just,’ she smiled, ‘lovely… and I’ve… got a good sense of humour.’

      ‘Good sense of humour?’ Lisa shrieked with laughter. ‘That’s what fat people say when they’re advertising themselves on dating sites.’

      ‘Exactly.’ Daisy winked. ‘don’t forget I’m bubbly too.’

      Daisy was suddenly hit by the fact she hadn’t said anything about Hugh. For a second, she felt quite breathless – maybe she was beginning to move on.

      ‘And Hugh,’ Daisy said quickly, looking up at the sky, ‘is up there looking down at us.’

      ‘Thinking, James is a dish, Lisa’s still a complete loser, Tom is over the top, and I love Daisy.’

      Daisy’s eyes teared up. ‘Oh God, get out of here before I cry again. My mother always told me not to make a scene and look, I now spend my life making scenes.’

      ‘Bye, beautiful lady. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Find out what James has up his sleeve.’ Lisa started up the car and swung it around, speeding out the drive, a cloud of dust behind her.

      It amazed Daisy to this day that Lisa was still single. She was gorgeous, fun and flirty. Wasn’t that what men wanted? In fact, Daisy used to be like that herself but marrying Hugh so young meant she had felt comfortable early on. Even as she piled on the pounds, he loved her and she felt good for it. In fact, he would often encourage her love of baking. She was not good at it but he always politely and solemnly tried her day’s bake. Lisa and Tom often tried it too.

      Hugh’s reaction would be, ‘Darling, that is marvellous.’

      Lisa and Tom, however, would be stood behind him pretending to put their fingers down their throats and then come up all smiles. ‘Yes, darling, it is… words just can’t describe it!’ James would just give her that look, a look she had never been able to describe, and smile at her.

      Hugh did over time learn to relax around her other university friends and it had felt like they belonged to a club. They would, especially in the last two years of Hugh’s life, when he would have periods of being very tired, help each other prepare kitchen suppers and then dance and drink to whatever tunes were on the radio. It had been oddly perfect when she could forget about the future, about what would happen, about what did eventually happen over a year ago.

      She reckoned grieving (she hated that term) would have been easier if they had had children but they didn’t try for the longest time. They didn’t want to break their happy bubble, however, she had always lived with a nagging feeling that they should have been trying for children. But then she had convinced herself that it was okay to be an older mum and what was the rush? Plenty of women were having children in their late thirties and early forties. Despite her doctor telling her she was geriatric when it came to having children, even three years ago.

      ‘Jesus,’ she had said to Dr Sawyers. ‘I am not geriatric, I’m in my prime.’

      Dr Sawyers nodded sagely, his plethoric face not looking up from his notes. ‘You may be having the time of your life.’ He paused. ‘But your ovaries are not.’

      With that, aged thirty-nine she told Hugh they had to go at it like rabbits. Admittedly some of the romance was taken out of the moment with statements like that but this was a matter of urgency; a time bomb no professional could disarm. She had to get pregnant.

      Only, as if Sod had laid down his law, a month later Hugh found out he had terminal cancer. Suddenly she didn’t want children, she just wanted to spend every moment she could with her husband. He would become so tired and immobile, that she couldn’t