Chasing Daisy

York.’
    She’s trapped by her wealth, I can see that so clearly. But I won’t let that happen to me. I won’t.
    That night when we return to the apartment, I go straight to my bedroom and call Holly.
    ‘Can I stay with you?’
    ‘Yes!’ she shrieks. ‘A million times, yes! When are you coming back?’
    ‘Give me a few days to get it sorted.’
    ‘You know we’re in Belgium this weekend?’
    ‘That’s right, yes. Do you get back on Sunday?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I could come then . . .’ I think aloud.
    ‘If you fly into Heathrow around the same time, we could share a cab back to my place. I’ll get my itinerary and text you the details.’
    ‘Cool.’ Pause. ‘Do you still have my things?’
    ‘Of course. They’re in the loft. I’ll put them in your bedroom.’
    ‘So you didn’t give them away to charity?’ I check, smiling.
    ‘Hell, no. Who do you think I am, Laura? Sorry, bad joke
    .’ I don’t speak.
    ‘Daisy?’ she says tentatively. ‘Are you going to be okay?’
    ‘I don’t know, Holly. But I’m sure as hell going to try.’

 
Chapter 22
     
    My plane ticket is booked, my bags are packed and, yes, I even packed them myself. I’m taking with me only what I brought here – the designer outfits I’ve boxed up and sent to Cindy, Lisa and Donna. They may be rich, but they still like a freebie, and they’ll have more use for them than I will. The only thing left to do is tell my parents, and my father is typically late home from work again. My flight leaves in a few hours, so I don’t have long. Part of me hopes he doesn’t return in time, but three years ago I left without saying goodbye and now I’m determined to be stronger.
    I find my mother in the living room. She’s doing what I usually do, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the joggers in Central Park. I stand there and watch her quietly for a moment, feeling a rush of love for her. It surprises me. Maybe one day I’ll understand what she’s been through and the choices that she’s made, but right now I’m still finding it difficult. If anything, perhaps being away from her again will give me the space to forgive her for being the person that she is.
    ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’ she asks quietly, slowly turning her head to look at me.
    ‘Yes,’ I reply.
    She nods. ‘When?’
    ‘Tonight.’
    ‘And what will you do?’
    ‘I’m going back to work with the Formula 1 team.’ I turn around and look towards the door as I fidget with my hands.
    ‘He’s not going to be happy about it,’ my mother says.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Daisy . . .’ she starts.
    ‘Yes?’
    She begins to speak in Italian again. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘For what?’ I answer back, also in Italian.
    ‘For everything. I’m sorry you didn’t have a happy childhood. Or adulthood,’ she adds. ‘I wish you would stay.’
    ‘I’m sorry, too,’ I reply, ‘because I can’t.’
    ‘I know. And I will miss you. Please don’t leave for as long this time.’
    ‘I won’t.’ I hesitate while standing there, and then walk to the sofa and sit down. She joins me. ‘What was he like?’ I ask. ‘Andrea.’
    She’s not surprised by my question. ‘He was fiery, passionate, but we were only young. I don’t know what sort of a man he turned into.’
    ‘Did he get married? Have children?’
    ‘Married, yes, children, no.’
    ‘So I don’t have any half brothers or sisters.’ It’s not really a question, more a statement.
    ‘I don’t know if he was your father,’ my mother says. ‘I don’t know how important it is for you to find out. But I know that it would kill Stellan.’
    ‘Kill his reputation, you mean.’
    ‘It’s the same thing.’
    I stare at her and wonder to myself if I need to know. What would I do? How would I handle it? Is there any point, now Andrea is dead? Perhaps not. I don’t know how I’ll feel in the years to come, but I guess I don’t have to decide anything right now.
    ‘I think I’ll leave it alone for the moment,’ I say.
    She smiles tearfully and reaches over to hold my hand. ‘I’ll miss you, my little star.’
    I’m taken aback. ‘That’s what Nonna calls me!’
    ‘It’s what she called me, too, when I was growing up.’
    The sound of my father’s voice makes both of us jump. ‘What are you saying to each other? Why are you speaking in that language?’ He’s standing at the doorway, staring at us angrily. I notice a figure creeping around in the corridor behind him and realise