‘Leave him alone? I’m only saying how handsome he is. I bet you’ve got all the girls chasing after you, haven’t you, Cass?’
Daisy felt the air rush from her lungs. She held her breath, her finger poised over the computer, about to print the bill for table nine, but she was paralysed, wanting more than anything to hear Cassian’s response, and feeling like she might throw up again, as a cold film of sweat doused her.
‘Not really,’ came his inadequate response.
‘Course you ’ave! Like your dad, I bet. He was always popular, weren’t you, Loz?’ Winnie’s rounded vowels slipped away with each sip of wine, revealing the voice of her childhood.
‘I don’t remember it quite like that.’ He pulled a face at Julie, who closed her eyes lovingly.
‘Yeah, you were! They all wanted you.’ The woman wasn’t done. ‘What with you being picked up to play for Tottenham Colts, all the girls were interested in you. A professional footballer! I’ve never been so proud. Never.’
‘Careful, Winnie, we’ll never get his head in the car!’ Julie leaned over, put her cheek on her husband’s shoulder. Daisy liked the gesture; it was full of love, supportive and kind. She wished her mum and dad would behave in a similar way, show love to each other, give love to each other. It would be nice to spend time in an atmosphere where this radiated.
‘Yeah, and look how that dream turned out. Can we talk about something else?’ Lawrence tried to shake off the topic. Daisy saw him roll his ankle under the table, as if mention of his career-ending injury was enough to cause him physical pain.
‘You got nothing to regret! Absolutely nothing!’ MrsKelleway spoke loudly. ‘You had a wonderful life in Australia, all that time by the beach, and now you’ve got a beautiful house, lovely Mercedes, two fantastic kids, brand-new sofa, your own business. You’ve done as well as any footballer and it’s marvellous!’
Cassian snorted.
Lawrence looked down and shook his head, clearly embarrassed to be so publicly reminded of his success.
‘Your mum’s right. It is marvellous.’ Georgie raised his glass. ‘I’ve already told Daisy you’ll be picking up the tab tonight, MrMoneybags, haven’t I, Daisy?’ he called over to her. ‘I mean, there’s no point shoving it under my nose; I drive a van for a living. I can just about afford the starter!’
‘You do more than all right.’ Cleo reached up and kissed her husband’s face. ‘Ignore him, Daisy!’
‘Sorry?’ Daisy felt her face blush scarlet as she pretended she hadn’t been earwigging intently to every word.
‘I said can we have some champagne? Loz is buying!’ Georgie quipped.
Cleo laughed, as Julie, she noted, looked down into her lap, arranging and rearranging her napkin as if she were a little embarrassed or maybe she just felt a little awkward about the topic. It can’t have been nice to have their wealth so publicly dissected and discussed. Not that Daisy would mind; it felt like a small price to pay to drive that fancy car and live in a big old house on Newman Road. There were harder things to deal with, this much she knew.
‘I’m only teasing him. He knows that.’ Georgie turned to his brother-in-law. ‘It’s only right everyone’s so proud of you, bruv.’ His tone was sincere. ‘It’s true. What you’ve achieved, it is brilliant, and I know more than most how gutted you were to have to hang up your football boots. It’s all you used to talk about at school. But just look at you now. I love you, mate.’
Lawrence raised his glass to his friend, who had married his sister. This, too, Daisy knew because her mum had been at school with both men.
‘Oh, boys! Now look what you’ve done.’ MrsKelleway took the edge of her napkin and ran it under her eyes where a smudge of tears and mascara lurked. ‘Family! My wonderful family!’ she shouted.
‘Come on then, Daisy, more wine over here!’ MrKelleway slapped the table, as she popped the bill on table nine and twirled back to the bar.
‘Did you hear about the tree?’ MrsKelleway called across the table so all could hear. ‘They’re going to take down one of the oaks.’
‘Which oaks?’ Georgie asked.
Daisy was tuned in as she gathered bottles from the cold wine fridge.
‘One oftheoaks, Georgie, one of the four oaks!’ MrKelleway filled him in.
Daisy paused in her task. Surely not! They couldn’t do that. She felt a little stunned and swallowed the urge to bombard the customers with questions. Why? Why would they do that? She loved those trees. Loved them! They were part of her family history! Markers that guided her home. They were her grandparents!
‘We got a letter from the council,’ MrKelleway continued, and she remembered the mail she had popped on the cool box. ‘If it’s a dangerous tree it needs to come down. Folk might not like it—’
‘I don’t like it!’ Winnie cut in and Daisy loved her in that moment for taking the side of the tree.
‘Yes, but you’d like it a lot less if it came crashing down on your car or your house or your kids who happened to be walking past!’
MrsKelleway bit her lip, seemingly she had no answer for that.
‘They’ll have to rename your area, Winnie!’ Georgie chuckled. ‘Three Oaks! Doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it? People will be sitting in care homes saying, “I remember the good old days when there was four of them!”’ He reached for another slice of garlic bread that had long ago gone cool, and stuffed it into his mouth. ‘Everyone will no doubt get their knickers in a twist over it, but they’ll soon get used to it, like everything. A shock at first but it quickly becomes the norm. Like contactless credit cards and self-serve tills; we recoil at the thought until we find ourselves going with the flow.’
