Lottie Phillips - Sunshine at Daisy’s Guesthouse

‘Are you trying to tell me, Lisa, that after all these years you haven’t come to love the leopard print, velveteen cushions and the life-size framed photo of The Nude Man ?’ Tom grinned broadly. ‘I even bought you zebra print under sheets for your birthday, you ungrateful cow.’

Daisy snorted with laughter and she looked at James who sat there wide-eyed.

‘Is that all true?’ he asked Daisy.

She nodded. ‘Yes, all true. Every single word. But, most importantly, Tom has forgotten to tell you about his love of an artist who paints… um, man parts.’

‘Lucky you!’ James furrowed his brow. ‘Man parts, huh?’

Daisy laughed, her mind returning to the idea of the B&B. It was true, she did love a project and if it involved anything to do with interior décor and was moving in the direction of being the next Kelly Hoppen… maybe this was what she needed, otherwise, as Tom so often bluntly pointed out, what else did she have?

‘OK, just say I was to say yes…’ Lisa squealed and Daisy smiled. ‘I get to choose the décor and there’s one rule: no one goes into Hugh’s office or our bedroom.’

They nodded solemnly.

‘That’s the one place I can be with Hugh, it means the world to me.’ Her eyes glassed over. ‘OK? It really would mean so much to me if I can trust you to stay out of his office.’

The gathering nodded in unison.

‘In which case…’ She grinned broadly. ‘OK, what have we got to lose?’ She frowned as everyone jumped up to hug her. ‘Well, probably a lot but it is exciting.’

‘First thing tomorrow morning before Mum comes for lunch I will go into Cirencester and start ordering furniture and curtain material.’ She paused. ‘Then I can tell her our plans.’ Daisy visibly flinched. ‘That’s going to be a treat.’

James looked confused. ‘I thought she loved Hugh.’

Daisy nodded. ‘Don’t you remember me telling you? Hugh wasn’t the problem. Mum never agreed with me marrying Hugh. She said that I’d grow too big for my boots living in a house like this. I was a farmer’s daughter and farmers’ daughters don’t marry men like Hugh.’ She grimaced. ‘To this day I can’t tell if it’s because she genuinely believes that or almost doesn’t want me to be happy.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘Who knows? She’s a complicated thing, dear Mum. Anyway, here’s to Atworth Manor and our plans.’ Daisy clinked everyone’s glasses in turn and looked at the ceiling.

‘I hope you’re happy, Hugh, you silly sod,’ she whispered.

The next morning, nursing a boisterous hangover in which it felt as if the drums behind Tom’s song were still going strong, she geared herself up to face her demons: the tour of her own house. Tom and Lisa who had already claimed their rooms at the top of the house, where they always stayed anyway when nights socialising rolled into morning, had returned to their flat to officially hand in their notice; the landlord wouldn’t care. He had wanted rid of Tom and his leopard print many moons ago. She had met the landlord once; a gentleman dressed head to toe in tweed, even his brogues possessed tweed fabric inserts, and the owner of the most horrid Jack Russell on planet Earth.

‘Nigel.’ He had proffered a limp handshake. ‘Oh, you’re another friend of Tom’s, are you?’ he had said, his voice so far back, it was probably being wired over from a previous era. ‘Well, any friend of Tom’s is no friend of mine.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she had said, resisting the urge to slap him across the face.

His mangy mutt stood at his owner’s feet, baring his teeth and looking like he wanted to eat Daisy for his breakfast.

‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Don’t you and…’ She indicated the dog.

‘Bitsy.’

‘Ah.’ She forced a smile and looked him the eye. ‘Don’t you and Bitsy look so alike.’

Nigel nodded and then pulled a face. ‘Yah, I suppose we do.’

Her phone buzzed in her pocket: James. He too was already halfway to London, apparently to collect more belongings. He had been very happy to stay on the sofa last night until rooms were sorted. Daisy had already decided he could have the one next to hers. It would make her feel safe knowing he was near. He was to keep his apartment back in London; he owned it outright and Daisy was grateful. That was one less person to entirely financially support. She loved Tom and Lisa to bits – they were as much family to her as her own had ever been – but to think they would quit their jobs, albeit jobs in a restaurant and bar, and now they were giving up their shared home too. It didn’t bear thinking about and she had to remind herself that if it didn’t work out, which she suspected it might not, they could all go back to how they were. She was sure the restaurant would want them back. On the other hand, she was positive the landlord wouldn’t want them back polluting his Cirencester house but there were other rented houses out there. She nodded; yes, they were grown-ups and really, they could make their own decisions.

Her phone beeped again. Tom.

‘Daisy, darling, have dropped credit card down the outside drain trying to break into house. Could be longer than expected.’

They still only had one key between them, she realised, and shook her head in disbelief.

‘Don’t worry, taking tour of my own house. Scared.’

Moments later: ‘Don’t be scared. We love you.’

She smiled and felt a surge of strength. Now, standing at the top of the stairs, she bypassed her and Hugh’s bedroom and walked to the first unused bedroom. She drew a deep breath and pushed the door open. It squeaked loudly on its hinges and a rush of stale air hit her square on. Tiptoeing, as if not to disturb its dormancy, she made her way to the window and pulled open the internal shutters letting the light flood in. She turned and looked back at the room, her eyes immediately stopping at the fireplace. How they had argued over that fireplace! The thought sent a shock of pain through her and her breath caught.

‘I think we should rip it out,’ Hugh had said adamantly. ‘I mean, it’s not functional.’

‘No!’ She crossed her arms. ‘We are not ripping it out, that would be like ripping out someone’s heart. It is part of the fabric of this house. We just clean it up and it becomes a feature.’ She had closed her eyes, wishing that Hugh had some sort of mind that didn’t involve maths. He would not be subtracting this one from the room, not whilst she lived in the house.

Then she had felt a kiss, ever so gentle, on her nose. ‘You funny thing. If it means that much to you, we keep it. You know best, after all…’

Daisy returned to the present, her eyes smarting with these fresh memories. She supposed that would keep happening. The remembering stuff.

The question now was could she do this? Was she strong enough? Maybe Tom, Lisa and James were wrong; maybe she was herein meant to be a sombre widow who would grow old in the quiet pattern of the life she had adopted since Hugh’s death. But then, a movement at the window caught her eye. It was Mr Robin: a gardener’s best friend and, to her mind, Hugh’s best friend. As Hugh gardened, no matter the time of year, Mr Robin would appear. She felt for the latch on the window and gently pushed it open. Mr Robin stayed put.

‘What do you think, Mr Robin? Can I do this?’

As if to answer he bobbed closer and to her utter amazement, he entered the room and sat delicately on the wrought iron radiator. He cocked his head and even when she put his hand closer, he didn’t move. Then, moments later, he moved back out onto the windowsill.

‘Extraordinary,’ she muttered. ‘Maybe you’re Hugh?’

With that, she felt once again lifted, and a bit like peeling a plaster off, she moved quickly from room to room, opening the shutters both inside and outside, letting the light flood once more into Atworth Manor. With each window she opened, the robin flew nearby and she grew almost exhilarated at how liberating the whole process was. Dust clouds danced through the air with her quick and determined movement and with each window she opened, the spring air outside appeared to smell sweeter and fresher.