Her dad gave a calm yet constant running commentary on all the things the perfect Kelleways did or acquired that annoyed him. Their shiny replacement windows, the fancy hot tub nestling in its own little open shed in the corner of the garden and the grand kitchen extension with lantern roof.
‘Here we go again!’ he’d huff as MrsKelleway greeted builders with trays of tea and bacon sandwiches before they’d so much as lifted a hammer. He seemed to particularly obsess over their ostentatious barbecue sitting under a wooden bandstand structure that was artfully strung with fairy lights, and from where the tinkle of glassware, the subtle rise of communal laughter and the waft of good meat filtered over the fence and through their windows. He disliked it all.
Of course, he didn’t dislike any of it, not really. What he disliked was living in his deceased mother-in-law’s house with his wife, Lisa, son Jake and her, Daisy, watching helplessly as the roof leaked, the fence rotted, weeds popped up between the cracks on the uneven crazy paving and the kitchen clock ticked ever louder. And so she’d verbally agree with his huff-laden observations, offered with a rasp of disappointment to his voice, as he peered from behind the curtain.
‘Anotherdelivery! Can you believe it? What could they possibly need now? Place must be bursting at the seams!’
But she didn’t agree, not deep down, and would lie beneath the duvet at night wondering what it might feel like to be a Kelleway just for a day ... She’d sit in that hot tub for a start and then Zoom herwhole class from the marble work surface in the kitchen, the installation of which MrsKelleway had told her all about. And Daisy would do this with a fancy latte in her hand and Cassian in the background. In his underwear. He was a bit of a legend around school, what with having lived in Australia and everything. Picking up speed, she pedalled fast, her legs moving automatically and rhythmically, the handlebars tilting and turning as if her bike knew the way, while her thoughts stayed firmly in that hot tub ... She could but dream.
As ever, she arrived at the back of the restaurant on the high street without remembering the ride. The heady aroma of garlic and fresh herbs wafted from the building, making her mouth water. No matter what was going on at home, this food, free when she was working, filled her with joy.
With her transport locked and propped up in the alleyway, she removed her beret and cotton scarf, both to be placed in the bottom of her locker at the back of the restaurant next to the staff bathroom. It wasn’t that it was cold, far from it. Dusk, mid-June, and the weather was clement with a sun that seemed reluctant to retire for the evening. No, she wasn’t cold, but preferred to hide as much of her body and face as possible. A hat and scarf helped shield her a little from view. She wanted so badly to be attractive and popular but was, in her own rather diminished view, without the traits that might give her a fighting chance.
Her hair was thin with a cow’s lick on the top that prevented her from perfecting nearly all the styles she favoured. Her skin was greasy, prone to breakouts, her breasts non-existent and her knees were one of her most hated body parts. Great clumping lumps of bone that drew the eye, meaning minis, shorts, swimming costumes and any item that might reveal her ‘wrestler’s knees’, as Jake had once described them, were not an option. Having spent more time than she was willing to admit googling medical interventions that might make her knees presentable, she was convinced surgery wasnot an option. In fact, just the memory of the images she’d seen in her quest to discover how to achieve the perfect knee was enough to make her feel queasy.
She was also smart. Seriously smart, and yet most of the boys she liked the look of were pretty and dumb. Her intelligence, she figured, might be less than alluring. Who wanted to go out with a wannabe astrophysicist when girls like Julianna Norton and Katie Priest were all bouncy curls, white teeth, fits of giggles and normal knees? Not that it would bother her, going out with a stupid boy. Not in the least.
Unbidden, and not that he was especially stupid, a picture of Cassian flew into her mind, as it did when she first woke up, again on the bus to school, during lessons, break time, over lunch, on the journey home and right before she fell asleep, when, for good measure, her dreams were peppered with delicious stomach-warming images of the two of them. Sometimes they were entwined on a beach or bed, or walking hand in hand, but always with him staring at her with a look of such intensity it caused the words to stutter in her throat and made her shiver with a longing that she carried with her for much of the following day.Cassian...
It was mental self-flagellation of sorts. There were boys in her class who had flattered her with praise, but they barely ignited a flicker of want. If anything, their nasal braying, scrupulous note-taking in lectures, and encyclopaedic knowledge ofStar Warsdisgusted her. It just wasn’t what she desired. She had attempted to rail against her most basic wants, but there seemed to be no way to justify or temper it.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’ttriedto feel attraction for boys like Dylan Roper, who was tall with enviably thick, long hair. Dylan was in fact sweet, smart and nice. He paid her attention, and she appreciated it, even when he over-laughed at her jokes and poppedbreath mints before sitting next to her in chemistry. But he was no Cassian Kelleway.
She understood that life might be easier if only she could figure out how to stay in her lane. But alas, her misery was only intensified when she understood that it was nothing more than basic biology, and there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it. It seemed her loins only jumped and her stomach only folded for a lithe, blond boy who moved in a pack and whom she doubted had ever noticed her. He knew her, of course he did – she was Jake’s little sister, and Jake was his best friend – butnoticeher? No, that was a different thing entirely.
It was her fate to be a background girl. Wallpaper. If only Cassian would give her a chance! She wasn’t interested in his opinion on cubism with a specific focus on Cézanne, whether he could mentally resolve complex quadratic equations or his thoughts on alternative energy sources. It didn’t even matter if he didn’t share her passion for botany – all topics she held in fascination. No, she just wanted to kiss him and for him to kiss her back. And not just a peck, but the kind of kissing that led to other stuff. The other stuff she imagined as she dawdled home from school or when she was in the library where, with a weighty textbook in her hand, she elevated her mind to the dizziest of heights, while stealing glimpses at him and any other athletes who roamed the halls in vests and shorts, her thoughts very much in the gutter.
‘Evening, Daisy.’
‘Hi, Gia.’
Walking into the kitchen, she greeted the co-owner and chef, who stood with her lustrous dark hair piled on the top of her head and a piping bag in her big hands. How Daisy envied the woman her hair and her ample bosom which jiggled as she worked. Twisting the top of the piping bag, Gianna released fatribbons of her delicious mascarpone mix, which she speedily and expertly laid in a delicate pattern of waves over the top of the coffee-soaked sponge.
Daisy knew it was a smell that would always make her mouth water and one that she was certain in years to come would transport her right back to this kitchen of the Italian restaurant where she had worked for the last two years, graduating from pot washer to waitress when Piero had left. And now, with business not quite as brisk and their opening hours pared down a little, it was just the four of them who kept the cogs turning and the machine of the restaurant oiled – an older lady, Nancy, worked the shifts Daisy didn’t. And Doug, who lived upstairs, came in to wash dishes on the rare occasion they were super busy.
The money was better waiting tables, but there had been something gloriously rudimentary about spending hours with her hands submerged in the murky water of the sink where a constant stack of dishes waited to be rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher. It was freedom of sorts; no happy face required, but somewhere Daisy could simply be lost to the handling of heavy pots where the crust of charred meat clung and pale-coloured licks of sauces sat like tide marks inside them, waiting to feel the heavy swipe of a scouring pad and a sluice of lemony scented bubbles. A place where she could order her thoughts and breathe ...
‘Did you get your essay back?’ Gianna asked without looking up from the task in hand.
‘Yep.’ She stashed her scarf and hat, happy that the woman took this interest in her, remembered things like the return of her essay. ‘I did okay.’ It felt easier than confessing to the red-ringed A+ on her paper, putting her at the top of the class for her year group.
‘Clever girl.’ Gianna smiled. ‘There’s lasagne in the oven or I can make you a salad. Or would you like both?’
The way Gianna fussed over her was one of the very best parts of her day. Daisy ran her hand over her stomach; the scent from the oven was way too tempting ...
‘Lasagne will be lovely, thank you, Gia.’
‘My pleasure!’
Daisy fastened the apron around her waist and pulled her inadequate hair into a ponytail as she walked through the half louvre doors into the dimly lit thirty-cover restaurant.
‘Fully booked!’ Carlo clapped his hands, as he did when he was happy. His happiness, it seemed, was entirely dependent on the amount of money they were going to make.
‘Great.’ She smiled; they would all rather be busy. Not only did this make the hours fly, but it meant tips were better.
‘Gia set up after lunch, so we’re all good. We have a table of eight in at seven o’clock! It’s a wedding anniversary. The daughter is bringing a cake.’
Oh no!She felt her stomach drop.
