Her lips curled in a sad, sceptical smile. “Anyone can look good in a photo. Real life is always different.”
Part of him wanted to press her, to dig deeper and burrow himself into the world Daisy had kept hidden. But instead, he stood.
“I really should get going.”
“I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I?”
“No, not at all,” he lied, but she saw straight through it and released a sigh.
“She hasn’t come to see him. It’s been two days since he got here. Where is she?” She paused, burying her face in her hands. “Where is she? If she loved my son, where is she?”
It hit him then: the woman didn’t know she was now a grandmother, or that Daisy was in London, bedridden after nearly losing her life. There was so much she didn’t know, and at the same time, there was so much he didn’t know either.
Time slowed, bent, and warped. He stood there without an answer, without a defence for Daisy’s absence that wouldn’t breach the unspoken agreement between friends. Then he inhaled sharply, knowing that if the roles were reversed, what he would want Daisy to do.
“She isn’t here because she’s had the baby. Actually, she nearly died; they both did.” He looked at her, holding her gaze. “I know right now, you’re scared. You’re frightened for your son, for the future, and I can imagine you have a million questions right now, and not a single person in this building has the answer for at least one of them. But Daisy right now, she’s going to need you. They both do.”
The woman blinked once, long and slow. Her mouth opened to say something, only no words came. Then, still holding his gaze, she said the words he’d half-expected but had hoped would never come.
“Get out,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “Now!”
XXIV
DAISY
The relationship between Daisy and Callan’s mother had always been somewhat strained. It wasn’t that the woman was outright unkind; she simply had a blunt nature and a tendency to speak without much thought. Her dismissive remarks and general lack of warmth made it clear she’d never pictured someone like Daisy for her son. Callan had joked about it more than once, saying his mother was still holding on to the hope he’d one day marry his childhood friend, Sadie.
Sadie had been everything Daisy was not. Well-educated, from a respectable nuclear family with an optometrist for a father and a hospice nurse for a mother. And she was beautiful—tall, slender, with flawless porcelain skin seemingly incapable of blemish.
“She’ll come around,” Callan had assured her before he deployed. “Spend some time with her, and she’ll love you as much as I do.”
He’d always been an optimist, perhaps to a fault. In his absence, she’d made the effort to narrow the distance between them, extending invitations for coffee on multiple occasions. Once, Callan’s mother had failed to show up entirely. The other three times, she’d cancelled at the last moment, each time promising to reschedule. In time, Daisy had come to understand that his mother had never intended to follow through. She might be her daughter-in-law by marriage but she would never be her friend.
By the time she arrived at the hospital, Callan’s mother was already there, impeccably dressed in one of her Ted Baker coats, her peppered hair neatly pinned back into a bun.
“You’re here,” she remarked, glancing at both her and the infant car seat. “I expected you’d at least call.”
Daisy bit her tongue, swallowing the words threatening to surface—something dripping in sarcasm about how terribly sorry she was for being slightly preoccupied with childbirth.
“How is he?”
“No change. The doctors are with him now.”
She took a seat across from her and waited. Moments later, a younger brunette appeared, her bright blue doe eyes striking against the sharp line of her blunt-cut fringe.
“I take it you are Mrs Thomas?”
Daisy nodded and rose to her feet.
“I’m Doctor Cartwright, one of the neurospecialists overseeing your husband’s care,” the woman said, extending a hand. Then, her gaze shifted to the car seat. “And who is this wee madam?”
A flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. Naming the baby had not been high on her priority list; she’d assumed it was something she and Callan would do together.
“I haven’t…I mean, we haven’t named her yet.”
“It took me a full two weeks to name my youngest,” Doctor Cartwright admitted with an easy smile. "It'll come."
The warmth was fleeting, however, as Callan’s mother had already risen, throwing a pointed look in her direction—one that silently but firmly asserted her place in the conversation.
