No one tried to dissuade him. It was impossible to change his mind once it was set. Maybe that’s why, in the early days, Daniel got whatever he wanted. It was only when his wish list became illegal that my parents started to lay down boundaries. And by then it was too late.
What, I wonder, as we wait at Exeter station for Dad to pick us up, will it be like this year? In the past few years, Mum has had a glazed, bright, ‘it’s all right’ look firmly fixed to her face from the second she wakes. It fools no one. Then, when she’s had her third gin before lunch, she’ll start talking about Daniel in the present tense. ‘He’ll love these new lights, don’t you think?’ she’ll enquire, as if my brother is going to come downstairs any minute.
Dad will wear an air of forced resignation. At the same time, he’ll look after Mum with a tenderness that smacks of guilt. When a couple go through a tragedy, they either become closer than before or drift apart. I suppose I ought to be grateful my parents finally chose the former.
It’s cold here, in the station waiting room with the draught blasting through the door. I shiver. And not just because of poor Merlin, who died because of me. Or because of his unknown murderer. (Sarah’s uncle had a firm alibi according to the police, although, as Tony said, he may have put someone up to it.)
No. It’s because sometimes – and you might think this is stupid – I wonder if I’m living up to my name. Lilies stain if their pollen brushes something. The recipient is tarnished with a substance that is difficult to remove. It seems to me that I stain whoever I try to love. Daniel, Daniel’s horse, Ed … Who is next?
Joe?
Don’t be ridiculous, I tell myself sharply.
Noticing my distress, Ed tries to put his arm round my shoulder, but I shrug it off. How does he expect me to react when he’s been drawing the face of the woman he was once engaged to?
‘Do you still care for her?’ I’d yelled, throwing coffee all over the rug.
‘No.’ He seemed genuinely perplexed, like a lost small boy. ‘She … she just keeps coming up in my work.’
‘Work?’ I’d screamed. ‘Advertising is meant to be your work.’ I waved my hand angrily at his sketch of Davina, her head back, laughing throatily.
I couldn’t help myself. ‘Are you having an affair with her?’
‘When would I have the time? But even if I was, why would you care? All you’re worried about is this case of yours. Not our marriage.’ Ed was angry now too.
Before we knew it, the argument turned into an out-and-out screaming match – something that seemed to be happening more and more.
Since then, we’ve barely spoken to each other, save for making Christmas arrangements. The day itself at my parents’ in Devon. Boxing Day with his, further up the motorway in Gloucestershire.
Ed’s warm hand is a festive peace offering. But I’m too wound up in my own thoughts. Daniel. Merlin. The note.
‘Here’s your father,’ Ed announces, relief in his voice because we will no longer have to stand together in angry silence in the cold wind.
‘First Christmas as a married couple, eh?’ says Dad beaming, opening the doors of his old Land Rover for us to get in.
I can’t even look at Ed as we exchange jollities. All I know is that my parents will be using our sham marriage as an excuse to be cheerful; to forget the empty place at the table and the saddle still hanging on the rack in the boot room because no one can bear to throw it away.
Part of me longs to tell them how miserable I am. But I can’t. I owe it to them to make up for what happened in whatever way I can.
‘Darlings!’ My mother is at the door. Her eyes are unnaturally bright. Her hand is shaking. The glass she’s put down on the hall table is half full. ‘How lovely to see you.’
‘Great tree,’ says Ed, taking in the monstrosity behind him which reaches up through the circular staircase to the third floor. ‘How did you get it in?’
My mother beams. ‘Daniel helped us. He’ll be down in a minute. Now come on in and make yourselves at home.’
‘What’s going on?’ I hiss to Dad as soon as I get a chance.
He looks miserable. ‘You know what she’s like at this time of year.’
‘But she’s getting worse, Dad. Surely she should be getting better?’
Ed, to his credit, is every inch the gentleman. When Mum gets out the photograph album showing Daniel and me down the years, he appears genuinely interested.
But his questions – ‘And where was this taken?’ – are directed towards my mother. I am ignored.
At Midnight Mass in our small village, people I haven’t seen for ages come up to embrace me and shake hands with Ed for the first time. Thanks to my mother-in-law’s insistence that ‘all Macdonalds’ get married in the small family chapel on their estate, there had only been room for immediate relations. ‘So this is the lucky man,’ says one of the old boys who used to prop up the bar at the local every night when I lived at home. ‘We all love Lily, you know.’ Then he claps Ed on the shoulder. ‘Mind you take care of her.’
This time it’s me who can’t look at him. Instead, we trudge in silence behind my parents towards home, breathing in the salty air. When I was a teenager, I’d itched to get away from this place, scorning it for being so ‘parochial’. Only now do I realize how precious it is, how touching the concern for everyone in the flock. And how this little town represents real, solid values. Not outright lies or half-truths or games – whichever way you see them.
Joe Thomas seems another world away.
‘Now, who’s going to check on Merlin?’ asks my mother as Dad fumbles for the back-door key under the stone wall. ‘Someone needs to make sure he hasn’t knocked his water bucket over again.’
‘Mum,’ I begin gently. ‘Merlin’s …’
But Dad steps in quickly. ‘I will, love. You go off to bed. Nothing to worry about. The turkey’s already in the Aga and this young couple will want to go to bed.’
I shiver. It’s not just Dad’s lies or our couple charade. It’s also fear. I told Dad to be careful about security after the note. Yet here he is, still leaving the key in its usual place. Where anyone can get it.
In the morning I’ll talk to him, I tell myself as I get into bed, while Ed is still in the bathroom. By the time he is finished I have turned off the lights and am pretending to be asleep.
‘I’m sorry.’ My husband’s voice clearly indicates that he isn’t fooled by my turned back and pretence of even breathing.
I sit up, my back against the pillow. ‘I presume we’re talking about Davina here. But are you sorry you’re in love with her? Or sorry that you married me? Or sorry that …’
‘I’m sorry about Daniel. It must be very hard for you all.’
Ed’s words sink into the silence. Would he say that if he knew the full story?
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I say now, turning away from him.
Then I sleep. Easily. Deeply. The best sleep I’ve had for years. I’m running along the sand after Daniel. He’s still young. Laughing. Jumping in and out of the water. Picking up shells, which he organizes in precise order on the windowsill in his bedroom. Then someone in my dream (who?) moves them. Daniel is screaming because they are spoiled. He’s throwing the shells out of the window and now he’s collecting new ones all over again …
I wake with a start. It’s night. There’s a strange scratching sound on the roof. A seagull perhaps. I wonder what Joe Thomas is doing now. Is he awake? Going over those figures again and again? Deciding whether to reveal the secret source who sent them to him?
And Tony Gordon. What might he be doing? Is he in bed with his wife? He rarely speaks about his personal life. Only once has he mentioned a child, and that was when he had to take a call from his wife about a school play that he’d missed. Not that he told me this; it was merely something I gathered from overhearing the conversation. He had expressed remorse, but when he put the phone down appeared to forget it fast, returning to our paperwork.