It was the scariest thing Daisy had ever done. But somewhere before they reached the top, a strange thing happened. Daisy’s fear blew away like feathers in the wind. At the bottom of the tree, she was tiny and the tree an invincible giant. At the top, the tree was still huge, but tiny though she was, she had climbed it.
It was the best day of the summer holidays. By the time they walked home across the playing field, the park was nearly empty and a man riding a mower was about to cut the grass. As Daisy got ready for bed that night, with her new school uniform hanging on the wardrobe door, she noticed in the mirror that one of her hair bobbles was missing. It must have fallen out as they walked home across the park. But the face in the mirror was a new face; happy and excited. Today Daisy had learned how to conquer a giant, and tomorrow she was going to big school.
Laura replaced the hair bobbles on the shelf and came out of the study closing the door behind her. Her reflection in the hall mirror was of the face that belonged to the old Laura before Anthony and Padua; hollowed out, defeated. The clock struck nine. She would have to go. She picked up her keys from the small Maling bowl on the hall table where she always left them. But there was one extra. Underneath her bunch of house and car keys was a large single internal-door key. Suddenly Laura understood, and the face in the mirror was transformed by a slow smile. Anthony had left the door to his secret kingdom unlocked for her. His trust in her resurrected the resolve that his death had dissipated. Today she had been left a kingdom and tomorrow she would begin unraveling its secrets.
CHAPTER 13
Eunice
1976
Arrogantly sprawled across Eunice’s desk, Portia flicked cigarette ash into a pot of paper clips. Eunice had nipped across the road with Douglas to fetch donuts from Mrs. Doyle’s, and Bomber was seeing a client out. Portia yawned and then sucked greedily on her cigarette. She was tired, bored, and hungover. Too many Harvey Wallbangers with Trixie and Myles last night. Or rather this morning. She hadn’t got in until 3 A.M. She picked up a manuscript from the top of the pile which she had carelessly tumbled as she arranged spiky limbs into praying mantis posture.
“Lost and Found: A Collection of Short Stories by Anthony Peardew,” she read aloud, with singsong derision. As she flipped over the title page it ripped free of its treasury tag.
“Oopsy!” she sneered, Frisbee-ing it across the room. She peered at the first page as though she were sniffing milk to see if it had turned.
“Good God! What a load of drivel. Who wants to read a story about a large blue button which fell off the coat of a waitress called Marjory! And to think he wouldn’t publish me; his own sister.”
She threw the manuscript back onto the desk with such violent disdain that it toppled a half-empty cup, soaking the pages with coffee-colored scorn.
“Shag and shit a pig!”
Portia cursed as she retrieved the soggy sheaf of papers and hastily hid it halfway down the precarious stack of the “slippery slope” just before Bomber bounded back into the room.
“Absolutely tipping it down out there now, sis. You’ll get soaked. Would you like to borrow an umbrella?”
Portia looked up and about as though trying to locate an irksome bluebottle, and then addressed the room in general.
“Firstly, do not call me ‘sis.’ Secondly, I don’t do umbrellas, I do cabs. And thirdly, are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes,” called Eunice, bundling back up the stairs; a muddle of mackintosh, damp Douglas, and donuts. She dumped Douglas on the floor, the donuts on Bomber’s desk, and hung up her dripping mackintosh.
“I think we might need a bigger boat,” she muttered, tipping her head ever so slightly in Portia’s direction. Bomber bit back the laugh that threatened to escape. Eunice saw that he was teetering and started “duh-da-ing” the soundtrack from Jaws.
“What is that ridiculous girl going on about now?” Portia squawked from her perch.
“Just a cinematic reference to the inclement weather,” Eunice replied cheerfully.
Portia was unconvinced, but more concerned by the fact that Douglas had wheeled himself as close to her as he could manage and was about to shake his wet fur in her direction.
“Get that blasted rat away from me,” she hissed, retreating, and promptly fell backward onto Eunice’s desk, scattering pens, pots, and paper clips in all directions onto the floor. Eunice swept Douglas into the kitchen and soothed his hurt feelings with a donut. But Portia’s rudeness had finally toppled even Bomber’s extraordinary equanimity. His customary geniality slipped from his face like a landslide after a storm. Thunderstruck, he grabbed Portia by the wrists and heaved her from Eunice’s desk.
“Clear it up,” he commanded, gesturing at the mess she had made.
“Don’t be silly, darling,” she replied, picking up her bag and searching inside it for her lipstick in an attempt to disguise her surprise and embarrassment. “I have people to do that sort of thing.”
“Well, they’re not here now, are they?” fumed Bomber.