Chasing Daisy

and, after a while, Holly puts her hand on my arm.
    ‘Why don’t you come back downstairs to the kitchen?’
    ‘No.’ I shake my head and look up at her. ‘Where’s his bag?’ Panic throbs through me as I see the empty room. ‘Where’s his bag?’ I ask again when she doesn’t immediately answer.
    ‘Karl took it for his family.’
    ‘But his T-shirt! I want his T-shirt!’ I need his T-shirt. I have to have his T-shirt. It’s MY T-shirt! It’s all I have of him!
    ‘I’m sorry!’ she cries.
    ‘Stop saying you’re sorry!’ I scream at her, and she backs off. ‘I NEED HIS FUCKING T-SHIRT!’ I scream again.
    ‘Daisy, please! It’s gone! His bag’s gone!’
    ‘BUT I NEED IT!’
    ‘What’s going on here?’ Frederick suddenly storms in. ‘Enough! We’re ALL upset! Go home, Daisy.’ He turns to Holly. ‘Take her home.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘Get her out of here!’ he shouts.
    I don’t remember what happens next. It’s all a muddle. I vaguely remember Holly speaking to a doctor. I vaguely remember taking the pills she told me to take. I vaguely remember sitting in a car as we crawled bumper-to-bumper out of the car park, and then staring out of the window at greenery flashing past. I vaguely remember being in my own bed in my flat on Camden Road, surrounded by bags ready for my forthcoming move. I vaguely remember Holly checking on me during the night and giving me another pill to take in the morning.
    When I finally come out of my drug-fuelled daze, it’s Tuesday, and she’s asleep on the sofa.
    The flat is bright and warm, light spilling in from the south-facing windows. Holly didn’t pull the curtains last night, and for a moment I bask in the heat of the sun, completely unaware of what happened just two days previously. Then reality sinks in and I feel my throat close up with the pain.
    ‘Holly!’ I try to rouse her as tears fill my eyes. ‘Holly!’
    ‘Yes?’ she mumbles, before reality sinks in for her, too, because she shoots upright in bed.
    ‘When’s his funeral?’ I demand to know. ‘When’s his funeral?’
    ‘Today. This afternoon,’ she replies, rubbing her eyes.
    ‘Where? In Cambridge?’ That’s his home town.
    She nods groggily. I climb out of bed.
    ‘What are you doing?’ she asks, alarmed.
    ‘Getting ready for his funeral! Jesus, how the hell are we going to get there? Can you ring the train station to find out about tickets? Or would a bus be better?’
    ‘No, Daisy, wait.’
    ‘Come on!’ I shout. ‘We’ve got to hurry!’
    ‘Daisy, wait! ’ She climbs out of bed.
    ‘ What? ’ I’m annoyed now.
    Her expression is pained. ‘You can’t go to the funeral.’
    I stare at her, dumbfounded.
    ‘It’s for family and close friends only.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ I cry. ‘I’m a close friend! I was almost his girlfriend!’
    ‘I know, but . . .’ She puts her hands on my arms. ‘No one knows about you. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Laura is the one he left behind.’
    Laura is the one he left behind . . .
    I collapse down on the sofa, too shocked even to cry. I can’t go to Will’s funeral? I can’t say goodbye to him?
    ‘Who else is going?’ I ask. ‘Is Simon going?’
    She looks shifty. ‘Yes, I think so.’
    That means she knows so. ‘What about Luis?’ My tone is hard.
    ‘I think he’s going with Simon.’
    I stare at her angrily. I don’t know why. It’s not her fault. But I so want to shoot the messenger right now. She doesn’t meet my eyes, looking balefully down at the bags on the floor.
    Oh, God. I was going to go and stay near Will.
    I fall to my knees and burst into tears, sobs coursing through my body as I place my hands on one of my bags.
    ‘Daisy, it’s okay,’ Holly says. ‘You can move in with me.’
    And then my tear-blurred vision makes out the tiny corner of a newspaper poking out of Holly’s bag.
    I rush over, tugging it out amid her protests.
    A LOVE LOST
     
    The headline screams out from the front page, and underneath it is a picture of Laura, tear-stricken and anguished.
    I scan the story. It’s all about Will and Laura, how they grew up together, how they fell in love, how they were destined to be wed. The journalist recalls Will’s answer on the grid to the marriage question, and how he flashed a mischievous grin at the interviewer, implying that a wedding wouldn’t be far off. Only I know that he was avoiding the question because of me.
    I suddenly see his face – quite clearly