Xian stepped forward and touched Daisy lightly on the arm. ‘You be careful. Seriously. You’re not just nipping up to town for a nice lunch and a wander. That’s a proper trauma he’s going through. People get all over the place with that sort of thing.’
‘I’ll just pop up and back. It’s nice to have someone to give him a bit of moral support. You know?’
Holly smiled. ‘We know and he’s lucky to have you. Not everyone would get on a train for something like that.’
‘I packed a few bits just in case.’ Daisy glanced at her bag. ‘Though I don’t know if I’ll stay. Depends on how it all feels. Mum’s holding down the fort.’
Xian nipped her flask again. ‘Go with your gut. If it feels off; come home, if not stay. Thank goodness for the fast train, eh?’
‘And if he needs you, stay,’ added Holly. ‘You’ll know what to do when you get there.’
‘Anyway, just to let you know, I’m up to date with work and I’ve messaged Chloe, so all good there.’
Holly flicked her hand. ‘Don’t be silly. Don’t even think about that.’
Daisy made a face. ‘You know I’d never let Chloe down.’
Xian nodded and sipped her flask again. ‘True that. We do, which is why we want to keep you.’
Holly cackled. ‘Correct. Anyway, I hope everything is okay. I’ll text you about the meeting. Don’t worry about the newsagent’s sale.’
Daisy checked the time. ‘I’d better head in. The train’s in ten, so I’ll get going.’
Holly touched Daisy’s arm. ‘Keep us posted, yeah? Send a message later or let Chloe know and she’ll pass it on.’
‘I will.’
‘And tell Miles we’re thinking of him and his poor mum,’ Xian added. ‘We don’t know him very well, yet, mind you, but if he needs anything, we’ll sort it.’
‘Thanks.’
As Daisy walked in the direction of the station entrance, Holly called out behind her. ‘And Daise, be careful! London’s not Pretty Beach! Watch yourselfallthe time.’
‘I know!’ Daisy called over her shoulder. She did know that without a doubt, which was precisely why she didn’t want to go. Really didn’t want to go.
24
Daisy had spent most if not all of the train journey worrying about the newsagent’s building sale, what it could do to her business and how bad she felt for Miles’s mum. As she got closer and closer to the train’s destination, her brain became befuddled into a vague confusion of where she actually had to go. She could count the number of times she’d been to the city on two hands and had never really enjoyed it, whatever the reason for her trip. Give her Pretty Beach andonlyPretty Beach any day of the week. She was, however, on a mission to be there for Miles and so had sucked up the mild panic that engulfed her about being on her own in the big smoke. She swallowed at the thought of alighting from the train and having to navigate not only the labyrinth of public transport options but also the sheer throngs of people, neither of which were up her street in the slightest. In fact, all of it filled her with a feeling of sheer and utter dread.
As the bright blue and yellow express train from Pretty Beach pulled into the station, she stood behind a very nicely dressed woman and a man who was talking way too loudly on his phone. As the doors hissed open, she followed the pair off the train and stepped onto the platform. The times she had taken the fast train, a few of which had been with Miles, it had never ceasedto amaze her how many people actually got off the carriages, hurrying about their business as fast as their legs would carry them. Annabelle and Maggie did it a couple times a week. Daisy felt no envy at all.
Walking along straight into a thick wall of noise with people hurrying in what felt to her like every direction, heads down, shoulders squared, Daisy tried not to get overwhelmed. Everyone seemingly knew exactly where they were going and how they were going to get there. Which was precisely the opposite of her. So, she paused for a moment just by a large bank of rubbish bins, let the crowd surge past her and attempted to gather herself. A man brushed past with a briefcase in one hand and a croissant in the other, muttering into his phone about delays and meetings and she felt for a mum who was struggling with a buggy and a toddler.
Adjusting her bag, Daisy took a breath, decided to go at her own pace and not be hurried and moved forward slowly, following the crowd towards the end of the platform. Her eyes flicked up and around and her pace slowed as she took in the gloriousness of the station.
Goodness, she had forgotten how breathtaking it was; it might be borderline scarily busy and not her cup of tea but itwasgorgeous. High, imposing, elegant iron arches loomed overhead, stretching upwards and outwards from a time when buildings were made to last and meant to impress. Thick black beams curved above, crisscrossed with rivets and rivulets of light filtered through skylights. An impressive glass ceiling was smudged and streaked from rain and pollution, but it gave off an old-world shimmer that made Daisy blink, stare and blink a little bit more. Just so very nice.
A few pigeons fluttered overhead on the girders, a man with a broom ushered them along and just ahead of her, a young woman in high heels dragged a suitcase behind her and shoutedinstructions to someone via her AirPods. Daisy stepped to the side slightly to let a group of tourists shuffle past, all of them in puffer jackets, and holding phones out in front of them like compasses. Tilting her head back, she took in a huge square clock that hung above the far platform and stared at cream and tobacco-coloured brickwork, warm and layered with age. Standing still for a good few minutes, she took in the detail of it all around her. The sort of imposing largeness that in her little Pretty Beach world was not seen very often: gigantic black metal struts, old railway signage with gold lettering, curved decorative filigree wrapped around high windows and tall pillars appearing to hold up the sky. From where Daisy stood, there was something very grand, old and deeply British about the whole thing. All of it swarmed around her; the weight of hustling people, the smell of dirty old train engines, coffee, bagels and whatever else the little kiosks near the notice board were trying to flog.
Continuing to follow the sea of movement, Daisy observed that at the ticket gates, people stepped forward, quickly tapped their cards, paused, then darted and pushed their way through. Following the same scenario, darting and pushing, she swallowed and stepped quickly out of the way to the side to check where she was going. She had a rough idea about the route, though not quite a map in her head, but just enough to follow her nose. She’d been up to London a few times with Miles; to meet his mum, to have dinner with his brother and wife, so she wasn’t completely in the dark, but to say she was not enjoying it was an understatement. It had been one time too many and Miles had picked up on her vibes well enough that she preferred Pretty Beach.
She pulled out her phone, double-checked a message from Miles and then stood for a minute in front of a faded underground map fixed to the wall beside a WHSmith full ofcrisps, newspapers and water bottles. Mortlake. South West. That meant a change and then another train altogether. Miles had sent her the route and she’d reiterated it on her phone. She just needed to get her bearings.
Making her way down towards the Underground, she kept to the edge of the flow, not quite hugging the wall but definitely not marching through the middle. People charged about at such a pace that it made her feel like she was walking backwards and not a soul looked up or caught her eye. Oh, to be back walking along the laneway in Pretty Beach, where people smiled and said hello. As she reached the escalator, she stepped to the right and let a tide of Londoners pass her by, all of them looking straight ahead or at their phones as if they’d been briefed not to look at anyone else. All very strange.
At the bottom of the escalators, it was warmer, stuffier, dirtier. Tiled walls echoed with the arrival and departure of trains and Daisy checked the notes on her phone again. She boarded the next train, found a seat by the window and wedged herself in between a man in a navy suit reading an old-school copy of the Financial Times and a teenager chewing gum with headphones plugged into both ears. With her bag on her lap, she couldn’t wait to get off and get out as the train moved off and they clattered through tunnels. Looking at her reflection in the glass, she shook her head and wondered about quite how she’d come to be charging across London having left the twins all the way back in Pretty Beach, after a man whom she had very much fallen in love with. A man who sent hampers with love notes, who had appeared out of nowhere and somehow nestled his way into her world.
As the train hurtled around, Daisy sent a message to her mum to check that everything was okay and let her thoughts wander to her and Miles. She thought about the last time they’d come to London together. How he’d clocked her discomfortwithout her needing to say a word. He’d wrapped his arm around her back as they’d crossed some confusing intersection and said something about taking her straight back to Pretty Beach. The fact that he’d said it had made her feel instantly better. She’d joked back and bantered that it was the place that she belonged. Now that sentiment felt even more true.
