It Could Have Been Her(33)
“Not really,” says the handsome man. “People come and go, anyone who might have known the family probably left years ago, and the people who’ve stayed didn’t know the family. If anything, you hit the jackpot with George. He knows Daisy better than most people. But there is a woman—she lives just around there, up that path, Larch Cottage—and I know she sometimes used to collect Daisy from school and bring her home, sit with her for a while.”
“Oh! Amazing! What’s her name?”
“Jane, I think.”
“Same as me!”
“You’re called Jane?”
“I am.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Jane. I’m Spencer.”
“Nice to meet you, Spencer.” Jane shakes his hand, feels a hit of something pleasantly scintillating in the touch of his skin against hers, thinks: Down, Jane, down, and then says goodbye.
* * *
The Other Jane comes to the door of her tiny clapboard cottage. She is small and pretty and wears her silver hair in a bun, and lots and lots of eyeliner. She looks about sixty-five. Behind her Jane sees a strong aesthetic message: clashing patterns, rampaging wall art, bright colors, chandeliers. “Hello,” she says, “are you Jane?”
“Yes.” The woman smiles warmly, quite happy, it appears, to see randoms on her doorstep at four thirty in the afternoon. “What can I do for you?”
“I wonder,” says Jane, “if you happen to know anything about Daisy Black, the girl who lives up the lane? My stepson went to school with her and he’s trying to track her down for a reunion. But nobody seems to know where she lives these days. And the nice man around the corner, Spencer—”
“Oh yes, I know Spencer. Lovely man. Him and his lovely boy.”
Jane nods and makes a mental note of the fact that there doesn’t appear to be a Mrs. Spencer in the picture. “Well, he told us that you sometimes used to collect Daisy from school? When she was small? I wondered if maybe you’d kept in touch with her at all?”
Jane looks beyond Jane and Dexter, from left to right, as though there may be others lurking out of sight in this silent, deserted backwater. “Why don’t you come in?” she says. “If you have time?”
They follow her through the tiny door and straight into her cozy living room, which smells of scented candles and expensive furniture polish. She gets them each a glass of water and invites them to sit side by side on two small tapestry poufs.
At the back of the room, French doors open out onto a tiny courtyard garden crammed with potted plants. Jane spies a black cat curled up in a shaft of sunlight. She thinks: This is nice, small, manageable. She thinks: I could live here. And then she remembers that she has four huge dogs and sighs softly.
“Daisy Black,” says the Other Jane. “Gosh. I mean, where to start. Such a funny little girl. Grumpy. Very grumpy. And then of course she went to big school, and I barely saw her again. But you”—she glances at Dexter—“you went to school with her?”
Dexter shrugs and smiles. “Well, not for that long.”
“No, because she left, didn’t she? Early?”
“That’s right,” Dexter rejoins smoothly. “Just after lockdown. I never really saw her again after that. And we’re having a reunion, and someone asked if I could invite her. I couldn’t remember her address to send her an invitation, but I did remember what her house looked like. The man who lives there wasn’t very helpful, though.”
“Well, no. That doesn’t surprise me.”
“So, who exactly is that man? He said his name was Stuart?”
“Yes. Stuart. I feel that he might be some kind of carer? I know he took over looking after Daisy when she was about ten. Didn’t see so much of the mother after that. I never really see anyone coming and going anymore. And you know, that dog of theirs? It walks itself. You’ll see him, just there”—she gestures toward the far end of the Vale where Thornwood meets the crook of the Heath—“just snuffling around. He gets picked up sometimes by people who think he’s a stray, taken to that posh vet in the village, and they say: Oh, that’s just Hugo. And someone drops him home.”
Jane is taken aback. “So nobody walks him?”
“No. And I mean, he is getting a little old now, I suppose. But still. I do feel a little sorry for him.”
“Do you have any idea where I could find her?” asks Dexter. “Daisy, I mean? Or would you be able to pass on the invitation for me? If you have a number?”
She shakes her head. “I lost touch with Daisy a long time ago. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her. I assume she still lives here, but then again…”
“The boy around the corner,” says Dexter, “George. He said he thought she might have moved out.”
“Well.” The Other Jane shakes her head gently. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. I can’t imagine it was a heap of fun living in that house as an only child.”
“What was it like in there?”
“I never went in. The mother would come and collect Daisy from here. Or the grandmother.”
“The grandmother?”
“Yes, Daisy lived with her mother and her grandmother. There used to be a grandfather, and an uncle too, at one point, I vaguely recall. But they both seem to be out of the picture now.”