Maximum Exposure (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

Jack’s front door was green. Not a lovely, rich forest green, nor even a spring-fresh bright green, but a kind of light sage. Daisy didn’t like it. It was the shade she called ‘old people’s green’, the colour that seemed to be universally favoured by decorators of public lavatories.

She was standing in front of the door, dressed in her finest Jack-catching outfit (chosen so carefully with Sharon’s advice) and plucking up the courage to ring the bell. It was eight o’clock on Thursday evening and she hadn’t seen Jack for nearly two weeks. She’d been working so hard on the Provost Porter story that her schedules had been seriously disrupted. But now was the time to go for it. Her confidence was high, thanks to her new slimline figure and the success of her work at the
Herald.
She needed to capitalise on that before the Ben/Lizzie situation began to get her down, because there was a real risk of that.

It was nothing to do with jealousy, she told herself. She didn’t mind Ben and Lizzie being together. She was pleased for them. Rather, it was the difficulty of the situation – sharing the cottage with Lizzie, being there when she brought Ben home with her, knowing they were together in the next room, feeling … feeling so isolated in the face of their obvious happiness. It wasn’t
jealousy
, because it was Jack she ached for, not Ben.

Jack Hedderwick. Jack of the baby blue eyes and the feather-soft golden hair. Jack, who she was going to offer herself to
right now
. Dressed in the micro-length black satin dress, with its plunging back and deep cleavage, the pieces held together only by the slim halter looped round the back of her neck, her luminous purple heels so high she was seriously nervous about falling off them, she was the absolute image of sexiness. She knew that because Sharon had assured her it was so, despite her slight doubts about looking tarty rather than sensual.

‘You wanted a man-catching outfit, and that’s exactly what this is, Dais,’ she’d said, admiring Daisy in the harsh light of the changing room of the high street store. ‘Team it with purple accessories and a bit of bling and you can’t fail.’

‘Really?’ Daisy had been dubious.

‘No doubt about it. You’ve lost so much weight recently, you’re looking breathtaking.’

‘Promise?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

So she’d gone for it. But after Sharon had gone upmarket and bought a slim, calf-length skirt, twin set teamed with Mallorca pearls, immaculately cut wool slacks, and a pair of flat brown leather loafers, she’d voiced her reservations again.

‘Are you
sure
that dress isn’t tarty, Shar? I want to be sexy, not trollopy. Perhaps I should get something a bit less flashy.’

‘Trust me, babe. You look hot.’

She looked different, that was for sure. In all her life Daisy had never worn a dress made of so little fabric. Closing her eyes to blot out the ghastly green of the door, Daisy drew a deep breath, raised her hand, and pressed the doorbell. Nothing. She couldn’t even tell if the bell had rung and she was just lifting her hand to push it again when the door was pulled open. There was Jack, looking divine in a sky blue shirt that exactly matched his eyes, and with a flush on his cheeks that gave him a healthy glow.

‘Hello, Daisy!’

He was surprised to see her, naturally. She’d never called round before and she hadn’t told him she was coming. ‘Hello Jack.’ She gave him her sweetest smile and waited.

‘You’re looking … you’re looking …’ Jack didn’t seem to be able to find the words to describe how she was looking.

‘Delicious?’ she supplied hopefully.

‘… different. What are you doing here? Did Iris invite you?’

‘Iris? Invite me?’ For the first time, Daisy was dimly aware of the hum of noise from behind a door in the hallway. Like voices. A lot of voices. Jack wasn’t on his own. The realisation dawned on her in the same instant as the living room door flew open and Iris appeared, wearing something long and floaty and floral, her hair swept up in a loose coil, her face flushed with excitement, looking prettier than Daisy had ever seen her look.

‘Who is it, darling? Oh, hello Daisy. Are you coming in?’

She’d picked the wrong night. It
was
Thursday. It was cookery class night, She’d checked and double checked that, but for some reason, Iris hadn’t gone to the class. They were having a party instead. Pink with embarrassment, Daisy hovered uncertainly. Her every instinct told her to run. Swivelling on one very high purple heel, she started to turn. Then her ankle, wobbling with nerves, twisted over to one side and she crashed to the ground, arms akimbo, legs splayed, her micro skirt riding up the last inches of her thighs to reveal the flimsy purple silk knickers she’d selected so carefully to match the bag and shoes.

‘Careful! Daisy! Are you all right?’

Her head had banged backwards onto the border at the edge of the neat lawn. Rain earlier in the day had dampened the earth and she could feel small lumps clinging to her hair. Hastily rearranging her legs and trying to tug her skirt down, she rolled onto her knees.

‘Here. Let me help you.’

Jack was standing above her, looking alarmed. Behind him she could see Iris, her face concerned. One of her shoes had gone flying. She took Jack’s arms and hauled herself up slowly. Her right leg was some four inches shorter than her left and she felt as though she was lurching at an alarming angle. ‘I’m fine. Sorry. Listen, I was just … I thought … I’ll head off. Sorry …’ she mumbled, her embarrassment now excruciating.

‘Here’s your shoe. Are you sure you’re all right?’ Iris had found the shoe that had gone flying and had laid it neatly in front of her foot so that she could slip it back on.

‘Thanks. Yes. Thanks. I’d better … Ouch!’ Her ankle seemed to be swelling rapidly. ‘Damn!’

‘Listen, come in. Bring her in Jack, she’s hurt, poor thing. And looking so nice for our party, too. What a shame. We’ll get you cleaned up, Daisy, don’t worry. One of my friends is a nurse, I’ll get her to look at that ankle for you.’

Iris was chattering on, being solicitous. Being nice. Daisy didn’t want her to be nice. She couldn’t bear it. She liked to think of Iris as a cow, the woman who’d stolen her Jack. If she was nice it would make it much more difficult – in so many ways – to win him back again.

‘And it was so sweet of you to come to our engagement party, wasn’t it Jack? I’m so glad you asked her.’

Engagement party.
The noise from inside the house was loud now. Someone had put on music and people were spilling out of the living room to see what the excitement was outside. Jack, still supporting her weight on his arm, was looking down at her with the oddest of expressions. He hadn’t asked her – and now he knew that Iris hadn’t asked her either. She’d got it all wrong. Realisation flooded into her numbed consciousness with a sudden clarity, like walking out of a patch of damp fog into an icy landscape where the air was pure and bright and shiver-makingly cold.
Jack Hedderwick didn’t love her at all.
At least, not in the wanting-her-back, still-really-loving-her kind of way that she’d imagined.

He was getting married.

To Iris Swithinbank.

She had lost him.

For ever.

‘Sit down, Daisy.’ Jack’s touch was as gentle as his voice. But she knew now that it wasn’t love she was hearing, it was pity. All the time, at the gym, he’d just been being nice to her. Fucking, fucking
nice
. Nice because of what they’d had in the past. Nice because he was sorry for what he’d become at the end of their relationship. Maybe even nice because he was
sorry
for her. The full horror of her misjudgement seemed to hit her behind the knees because she collapsed onto a chair in the dining room, where he’d brought her, blinking away the tears. She would not cry. She absolutely
would not cry
. Instinctively, her hand went to her pocket in search of Tiny Ted.

Only she didn’t have a pocket.

And she didn’t have Tiny Ted.

She didn’t have Lizzie.

She didn’t have Ben.

She didn’t have Jack.

And very probably, she wouldn’t even have a job in the very near future.

Now she was shivering for real. The stark reality of her situation had moved somehow from her knees to her solar plexus and she started to feel very sick. She had nothing.
She was not going to cry.

‘Here. Put your ankle up on this.’ He pulled across another chair and eased her leg onto it. ‘That’s not looking too great. Let’s get it cleaned up.’

‘No really … it’s OK … sorry … I need to get home …’

‘You can’t drive. Not yet anyway.’ He looked at her again. ‘You’re shivering.’

‘I’ll get her a wrap.’ Iris’s voice.

‘No really … I’m …’ But her teeth were chattering.

She looked down at her leg. There seemed to be a great deal of it. She wasn’t used to short skirts. Her knee was covered by a large greeny-brown smudge. Pushing back her hair, Daisy glanced down at her hand. It was smeared with earth too. What a sight she must be. At least he hadn’t taken her into the room where all the action seemed to be.

‘Can I help? Oh, it’s you, Daisy dear.’ Hell. It was Jack’s mother. She hadn’t seen Mrs Hedderwick since the night, a whole year ago, that she’d raced round to her in floods of tears, hysterical, begging for her help to get Jack back.

 ‘Arthur?’ Mrs Hedderwick called to Jack’s father, who appeared at her shoulder. ‘Look who’s here.’

‘Daisy. How nice.’

Daisy tried to smile, without success. Of course. It was an engagement party. It would be just her luck if the whole Hedderwick tribe appeared soon. She was right. Within minutes, Jack’s two sisters and their respective partners, four cousins, and assorted nieces and nephews had all crowded into the dining room and were milling around, their greetings surprisingly friendly and concerned. She couldn’t bear it. She simply couldn’t bear it. She’d known them all so long, they felt like
her
family. They had been more of a family to her than her parents had ever been. But the truth was they weren’t her family. And now they never would be. With each greeting, Daisy felt her mouth growing more and more numb, her words more and more asinine, her head more and more dizzy. And when, finally, Jack’s favourite little niece Emily, five years old now and the spitting image of her uncle, put her chubby arms up for a hug and lisped, ‘Love you, Auntie Daithy,’ her mind imploded completely and she felt the world grow dark.

When she came to, she was on the carpet. Someone had covered her with a blanket and put a cushion under her head. The room had been cleared of people. Mercifully, it was perfectly quiet. A small table lamp had been left on in the corner of the room. Daisy lifted her head a fraction and looked around. The dining room door had been closed. From behind it, she was dimly aware of the hum of conversation. So the party was still going on.

She sat up, carefully. What
was
she wearing? In the semi darkness, she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as she remembered. The tarty dress. She’d kill Sharon. Why had she ever trusted her? When Jack’s parents had come in she’d felt like a whore – or at least, what she imagined a whore must feel like. In comparison with Iris, so tastefully covered from head to toe in a pretty floral silk, she felt cheap and shabby. She had to get out of here, now. Tentatively, she rolled onto her knees and tested her ankle, then yelped with pain. Fuck. She really had twisted it.

‘Here. Let me help.’

A woman’s voice, one she didn’t recognise. She looked up.

‘I’m Carol. I’m a nurse. Here.’ The girl who was speaking was young, petite, auburn-haired and she positively radiated calm authority. Her mind still in complete turmoil, Daisy relaxed gratefully into her care and allowed herself to be helped onto a chair.

Carol inspected the injured leg. ‘It’s quite swollen. Can you waggle it?’ Daisy waggled. Carol tested the area gently, feeling with her fingers. ‘That’s good. I don’t think it’s broken. Let me clean it up a bit, then I can put a bandage on it. Iris had one in her first aid kit. How are you feeling?’

‘Fine,’ Daisy lied, allowing Carol to sponge the dirt away. Of course Iris had a bandage in her first aid kit. Of course she
had
a first aid kit. Iris would be organised, efficient, ready for every eventuality, the kind of girl that Jack really wanted, not a shambolic, forgetful, indecisive worrier like Daisy Irvine.

‘Dizziness gone?’

‘Yes,’ said Daisy, more truthfully this time. ‘Listen, you’re very kind, but I have to get home.’

‘Can you stand?’

‘Not very well,’ Daisy admitted, trying.

‘Can someone come for you?’

Daisy sat back down on the chair and looked around for her purple handbag. It looked ridiculous to her now, cheap and plastic. She found her mobile and reluctantly dialled her parents’ number. No answer. She tried her mother’s mobile, but without much hope. Janet Irvine hardly ever had her phone switched on. Damn. What was she going to do? She absolutely had to get out of here. Lizzie. She’d have to phone Lizzie. She dialled the number but the cottage phone rang out and she remembered that Lizzie had talked about staying with some friends over Melrose way. Sharon. She’d got her into this mess, she could bloody well get her out of it. Sharon’s mobile switched instantly to voice message. She finished the call without bothering to leave a message.

‘I’d take you myself but I’ve had too much to drink,’ said Carol sympathetically. ‘What about a taxi?’

Daisy tried two local taxi firms, but one had three drivers off sick and the rest all out and the second firm had a block booking and no spare cars.

Ben. Ben Gillies was the only person she could think of to call. She wasn’t too keen on the idea, but better calling Ben than staying here. His number was still on short dial. She pressed the button and was connected at once.

‘Hi, Daisy. You all right?’

Relief flooded into her as she heard the familiar timbre of his voice. Then finally, unable to hold back any more, she burst into tears.

Chapter Twenty-five

‘Circulation’s dropped.’

Sharon was perched on her desk, her legs swinging rhythmically, her fingers drumming on the desk top.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Shar, stop that noise will you?’ Murdoch, trying to file a story, was irritated.

‘What?’ She looked pained, but the drumming stopped.

‘Who says?’ Daisy asked from her corner. She’d had to take a week off after her disastrous attempt to win Jack back. Her job was more or less impossible if she couldn’t drive.
The Stoneyford Echo
had lent their trainee, who had succeeded in achieving quite a presentable portfolio over the week, much to Daisy’s chagrin. Since then she’d been subdued, depressed. Her world had imploded. She’d spent the week at her parents’ house, unable to bear the idea of Lizzie tending to her or, worse still, Ben. Even with the ankle mending, she was finding the sheer effort of getting through day by day a daunting one. The fight had gone out of her. She felt deflated and defeated. There was no point in anything any more. No point in going to the gym. Why, if she couldn’t use it as an excuse to be with Jack? No fun in sharing meals with Lizzie – to say that their relationship had become strained was an understatement. As for work, she felt defeated there too. Everyone could see the writing on the wall. Sharon’s bleak statement was no surprise.

‘Figures are just in.’ Sharon picked up a piece of paper and waved it disconsolately. ‘Chantelle says advertising’s down too.’

Dave was angry. ‘But
why
?’ he exploded. ‘
The Messenger
’s crap. Their journos can’t write, their photos are practically non existent –’

‘– they get all the celeb gossip from the mothership with half the pages laid out for them and their overheads are really low,’ Murdoch broke in.

‘You and I know the writing’s rubbish, Dave,’ Sharon said gloomily, ‘but half the neighbourhood doesn’t seem to care. It’s free. It’s not great, but it’s not bad for free.’

Silence fell. Daisy packed her camera and limped out. She had a school class to photograph over at Main village. Planting trees. It would be no surprise to find one of the freelancers flogging their photos to
The Messenger
there, trying to out-think her, grab a cuter image.
The Echo
she could handle. That, in a way, seemed like a fair fight. This was grim, because she was not alone in feeling they had lost the battle already. Hungry freelance or no, she was pleased she had a shoot. Going anywhere was better than being in the office.

The Hailesbank Herald
survived for exactly eight weeks after the
Messenger
was launched.

Of course they all knew the end was coming. Chantelle and the advertising team did their best, but in a small town there simply wasn’t enough money to go around. Curiosity drove the locals to pick up the freesheet, which had been supported by a massive promotional programme, including give-aways of chocolate bars and DVDs. Their competitions had great prizes, making the
Herald
’s look inferior. The dejected staff of the
Herald
had to admit that the content, design, and photography of the
Messenger
were actually not bad.
The Hailesbank Herald
simply did not manage to sustain its advertising revenue and circulation figures in the face of competition from the new freesheet. A last-ditch attempt at salvaging the ailing paper was made in the form of an appeal to the locals. The staff took their places outside the offices holding sad-looking placards reading ‘Save our Paper’ and ‘Don’t let
The Herald
Fold’, but they were unable to stir up enough feeling to get a full-on campaign going.

At the end of June, Jay called everyone into a meeting. They could tell, from his body language, that the blow they’d all fought to stave off was about to fall.

‘When I arrived in this office, just a few months ago,’ Jay said, speaking into absolute silence, ‘I was a conceited git who thought he knew it all.’ There were a few murmurs of dissent. ‘There’s no need to be kind. I look back at the person I was then and shudder.’ He paused and looked around. ‘But you’ve changed that. All of you. You’ve changed me. I used to think the only place worth being was London, the great metropolis. I thought that by taking a job in Hailesbank I was really scraping the barrel. And heaven knows why, but I thought that after television news reporting and presenting, running a small local newspaper would be a piece of cake.’ He ran his hand through his hair and looked around. There was no sharp suit today. No striped tie. He was wearing denim jeans with fashionable soft brown leather trainers and a washed-blue polo shirt. He looked oddly young. ‘I was wrong on all counts. Running the
Herald
was the biggest challenge I ever faced. I found that actually, I began to value the things that Hailesbank offered me. Fresh air. A sense of community. People who care about people. The biggest regret of my life is that I have let you down. This week we will be printing the last edition of
The Hailesbank Herald.
’

The silence continued. It was hardly a shock, but there was a terrible finality about hearing the words they’d all dreaded. No one seemed to know what to say, so no one said anything. Jay pursed his lips, spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness, and continued, ‘There will be a process to go through, of course. A few of you will be given the opportunity to work for
The Stoneyford Echo
…’

‘Bugger that,’ said Ma Ruby stoutly. ‘What would Angus MacMorrow say?’

Daisy, remembering how news of the threat of closure had felled Big Angus outright, had no doubt about what he’d say. And it wouldn’t be polite.

‘… others will be offered a redundancy package. I’m sorry, guys. I thought we’d done enough to turn the paper round, but the
Messenger
has knocked our future firmly on the head.’

He was a changed figure from the rather bored-looking, egotistical man who had walked through the door back in February. Was the failure of the paper his fault? Daisy’s view was that it had been the competitive market that had finished them off, not Jay’s leadership. But one thing was certain in her mind – he was a much more likeable person than he had been five months ago.

‘What will you do, Jay?’ Daisy asked afterwards, as they milled around aimlessly, discussing what had happened, each worrying about the future.

His smile was rueful. ‘Oddly, this closure has come at rather a good time for me. It seems crass to admit it, when everyone is so down, but I’d say – rather cautiously – that I’ve started mending relations with my wife again.’

‘That’s great.’
Everyone has someone to love. Except me …

‘Yes.’ He smiled, briefly, apologetically. ‘I thought I was doing so well, going clean, starting to turn the paper around, feeling I had even made a few friends here –’

‘You were, Jay.’ Impulsively, Daisy laid a hand on his arm. She’d warmed to Jay considerably since the Kelso incident.

‘Thank you, Daisy. Ironically, it wasn’t until Amelia realised that things were starting to go wrong that we began to get close again.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Ironic, because she’d kicked me out saying that unless I made a success of my life she never wanted to speak to me again. And now, job-wise, I don’t know what I’ll be doing. A five-month stint as the editor of a failed newspaper is hardly the recommendation for a high flying post, but if I’ve got Amelia by my side again …’ He straightened up and an air of resolution returned to his body language, ‘… I feel that things will be all right.’

‘I’m sure they will.’ Daisy smiled. Jay would be all right. But as for what would happen to her ... her mouth twitched and the small movement changed her expression from sadness into anxiety. She’d been right, the night of Jack’s engagement party, when she finally realised what an arse she’d made of herself. She had lost everything. Every single thing she cared about. Even her camera kit belonged to the newspaper.

‘What will you do, Daisy?’

‘Oh, I’ll find something,’ she said airily. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

Ben, laying out the last ever pages of the paper on the other side of the room,
was
worrying about Daisy. He’d spent a great deal of time worrying about Daisy ever since he’d gone to pick her up from Jack Hedderwick’s house the night she had twisted her ankle.

‘Take care of her, will you?’ Jack had said to him when he arrived, drawing him aside to explain what had happened.

‘She’s hardly mine to look after,’ Ben said stiffly.

‘No? She always speaks very highly of you.’

‘Even so.’ He could hardly accuse Jack of anything. It would be easy to lay blame at his door, to accuse him of misleading Daisy, but actually, she had propelled herself along that particular cul-de-sac. ‘Where is she?’

Daisy, sitting forlornly in the dining room, looked whiter than paper. She was wearing the skimpiest of dresses, a little black affair held together by hope and prayer. Her feet were bare. One ankle had been neatly bandaged. A pair of very high-heeled purple shoes sat on the floor beside her. There seemed to be earth in her hair and there were grimy streaks down her face where she appeared to have wiped tears off with grubby hands. Ben longed to scoop her up in his arms and protect her, banish the miserable delusions that had haunted her, set her back on her feet. He wanted to watch her beauty blossom in the sunshine of his love, but her face was guarded, defensive.

‘Hello, Diz.’

‘Hello, Ben. Thanks for coming. I’m sorry to bother you but there really wasn’t anyone else.’

Last on the list. That was how low she rated him. ‘No bother. Glad to help.’

Helping her to her feet, he realised that it was the first time he had touched her since she’d snuggled up to him on the sofa after the concert. That night he’d thought, for a few sublime minutes, that they were going to get it together. Wrong. She’d never thought of him in that way. She’d had eyes only for Jack. Ben’s heart melted with the pity of it. But Daisy didn’t want his pity and she didn’t want his love. Her body felt stiff and resistant and it seemed to him that she leaned as far away from him as the need for his support would allow.

They drove all the way back to the cottage in silence.

‘I don’t think I can manage going to the cottage,’ she said in a small voice when he turned off the engine.

‘Wait there, I’ll come round.’

She took his hand, needing help to get out of the car, and she put her arm round his waist, leaning on him heavily as she hopped to the front door.

‘I’ll manage now. Thanks, Ben.’

‘Sure? Lizzie’s away, there’s no one to help you get to –’

‘I’ll
manage.’

‘OK, fine, if you’re sure.’

There was no option but to leave. His car, ever temperamental, started first time, just when he might have used it as an excuse to stay – at least then he would have been able to keep a watchful eye on Daisy, make sure she was managing. Sometimes she seemed to need him, then she seemed so damned determined to manage on her own.

He reversed into the road and turned the nose towards home. It all felt horribly final.

A Human Resources team from the central office of the Havering Group was dispatched to Hailesbank to sort everything out at the paper. Ma was over retirement age and got her pension. Murdoch was only a year away from retiring and was happy to go early. Dave was offered, and accepted, a job with
The Stoneyford Echo
. Sharon was also offered a job, but at a more junior level than her current position. She decided to turn it down.

Daisy, much to her surprise, was offered a post too. She decided not to accept it, which was even more surprising because she hated insecurity, so the decision was completely out of character and certainly well out of her comfort zone.

‘Surely it’s a good offer?’ was her father’s comment when she told them.

She’d anticipated his disapproval but she no longer cared what he thought. ‘It’s not bad,’ she conceded.

‘Then what will you do, Daisy?’ her mother put in. ‘Why not accept?’

Why not indeed? She’d had three days to think about the situation. It had been the oddest of years. Angus’s death. Ben coming back. Her naïve delusions about Jack. Fighting to save the paper. Failing.

Feeling that … feeling that there must be more to life than this, that maybe, after nearly ten years as a newspaper photographer, there might be something else waiting for her and that now was the time to find it.

Feeling that she’d missed out on something really special, a chance of building the kind of sweetly loving, strong, mutually caring relationship that maybe only came once in a lifetime.

Wondering whether Ben Gillies had ever felt anything for her, in the way that she was beginning to think that she felt for him.

Realising that her stupid, blind refusal to accept that Jack Hedderwick really did not love her any more might just have driven Ben into Lizzie’s arms.

She’d been looking in the wrong direction all the time. And now there was only one course of action. She had to get out of Hailesbank, out of Scotland, out of her comfort zone, away from anywhere Ben and Lizzie might be.

‘I need a break. That’s all. Sharon’s asked me to go on holiday with her, just for a couple of weeks. We’re going to France. She’s found a great deal in Nice and we can fly direct from Edinburgh. I’m getting some redundancy money, enough to keep me going for a while. After that, we’ll see. I’ll find something. I can always freelance for a while.’

Her mother looked dubious. ‘Well, no one would grudge you a break, Daisy. I just hope you’ll find something when you get back.’

‘Don’t expect us to support you,’ her father grunted.

As if
, thought Daisy. ‘It’ll all be fine. It’s just a holiday.’

Two weeks in the sun. Two weeks to relax and empty her mind. Two weeks to consider the future.

What could be better?