Chasing Daisy

one.
    My phone rings. It sounds distant, far off. In a trance I get it out of my bag, pressing the green button to answer the call. I don’t speak, just put the phone to my ear and listen, breathing heavily.
    ‘ La mia stellina !’
    My little star. Nonna.
    And then the tears return.
    ‘Oh my darling girl, I know, I know . . . I’ve been waiting for you to call.’ I sob down the line, unable to catch my breath as my grandmother makes soothing sounds.
    ‘How did you get my number?’ I ask eventually. I haven’t given it to anyone except the people at work.
    ‘I tracked you down through your boss at the team’s headquarters,’ she explains. ‘Are you still in England?’
    ‘Yes,’ I reply, trying to catch my breath.
    ‘Have you spoken to your parents?’
    ‘No.’ I rest my head on one hand in despair and cradle the phone to my ear as the roots at the base of the tree dig into my backside.
    ‘Your mother called me,’ Nonna says.
    ‘Did she?’
    ‘She hasn’t been able to get hold of you.’
    That was my intention when I didn’t give out my number.
    ‘Have you called her recently?’ Nonna pries.
    I don’t answer.
    ‘I think you should,’ she continues. ‘She wants to hear from you.’
    My tears slowly come to a stop.
    ‘What will you do, now?’ Nonna asks.
    I look around at the green field and nearby river and it sud denly becomes very, very clear.
    ‘I think it’s time to go home,’ I reply.

 
Chapter 19
     
    The yellow taxi cab pulls up outside the tall building on Fifth Avenue. I hand the driver some money and tell him I don’t need help with my bags. I have just one suitcase – the rest I left with Holly, who promised to send them on later. I only need to reach into the trunk before the doorman waiting under the gilded canopy comes running to my aid. He pulls out the suitcase and then turns to me, before leaping back in shock.
    ‘Miss Rogers! I wasn’t expecting you!’
    ‘Don’t worry, Barney, no one was,’ I reassure him as I lead the way into the marbled lobby. He hurries after me. ‘Just leave it there, Barney. Thanks,’ I tell him as I reach the elevator. He starts to protest about accompanying me, but I firmly assure him there’s no need. I step inside and put my key in the slot on the elevator panel – the only slot there is – and the elevator doors whoosh closed. Floor after floor I shoot past until I finally reach the very top. The penthouse. I hear the buzz of the intercom as the doors begin to open, and know that Barney has hurried to inform my parents about my arrival, but I get there first, and the look on my mother’s face as I step out onto the landing inside my parents’ apartment – once my home – is a sight to behold.
    ‘Hello, Mother,’ I say as I put my bags down on the plush, cream-carpeted floor.
    She drops the intercom receiver so it swings on its flimsy cord and bashes against the wall. ‘Daisy!’ she cries in shock.
    My mother is a well-dressed woman in her late forties. Her clothes are tailor-made, created for her personally by the world’s best designers, and her dark hair has been highlighted blonde and is neatly coiffed. I take after my mother and her side of the family – although you’d hardly know she’s Italian when looking at her. Her once-olive skin tones appear lightened from avoiding the sun and wearing too much face powder. She doesn’t look any older than when I left her three years ago. I’ll put that down to the Botox.
    ‘You’d better pick that up.’ I nod to the receiver. ‘Barney is probably still on the other end of the line.’
    She hastily does as I say, before turning back to me, not knowing if she should hug me, kiss me, or even, God forbid, shake my hand. I save her the trouble of deciding, calmly walking to her and planting a quick peck on her cheek.
    ‘You’re back,’ she says to me. ‘Are you back?’ she asks again, not sure what’s going on.
    ‘For now,’ I reply.
    ‘Come in, come in.’ I leave my suitcase where it is as she ushers me through to the sitting room. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over Central Park, green with summer’s leaf-laden trees. I take a deep breath. I’d forgotten how beautiful this view was. In fact, I don’t think I ever properly appreciated it before.
    ‘We didn’t know. Did you call? Martina will have to make up your room. Martina!’ my mother shouts.
    ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ I quickly tell her. ‘Don’t make a fuss. I can sleep in one of