She was absolutely right; it wasn’t easy at all. I had to rub my new trainers in the flower borders to get them dirty, and then rake over the earth afterwards to hide the shoe prints. Then I had to clean the rake. Putting it back in the shed was always a bit tricky. I had to make sure I put it back exactly where it came from, without disturbing any of the other tools. I started off trying to memorise how everything went, then after the third day I realised that was stupid and just took a photo of all the tools with my phone. But she was also right about the effort being worthwhile. She started to transform from pale and worried to glowing and happy. Which made me feel all warm inside.
I’ve taken my trainers and socks off now and am rolling over onto my stomach. The sun on the backs of my legs is delicious. I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. I love this park. My mum used to bring me here when I was little. Well, not here exactly. Not this actual park. But one similar. One park’s pretty much just like the next really, isn’t it? Especially when you’re five or something. I can’t really remember it, but there was definitely grass, and some trees. Probably dogs with Frisbees in their mouths. Old people: they’re everywhere. I was forever wandering off back then, foraging, exploring, discovering new territories or previously unknown species of things. I remember I once found an uncharted island in a park that was exactly like this one – except it had two very important things that this one lacks: a gigantic lake in the middle; and my mum. I spotted the landmass from the shore, and went straight into the water in my daisy-spotted wellies (needless to say, I adored all things daisy) so I could study its flora and fauna and make a detailed record in my log at home. By the time I got to the island in the middle of the lake, (OK, it was probably more of a pond than an actual lake, but I was only five or something), thick muddy water was sloshing over the top of my wellies and filling them up, forming a new habitat for several different types of algae and a couple of lizards. But I barely noticed. Why would I, when I was about to make a significant geological discovery? I climbed onto the landmass and turned back triumphantly, shielding my eyes and peering through the haze to view the distant shore.
‘Daisy Macintyre, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’ Mum said, four feet away from me. Maybe it was more of a large, deep puddle than an actual pond. But to me it was an ocean, with new terrain to be charted and an indigenous population to be encountered and studied. ‘Come back here, please.’
‘I found an island!’ I yelled, as if she were a speck on a far-away horizon. ‘Look at me – I’m the conker!’ I punched the air with a grubby fist.
‘Conqueror,’ Mum automatically corrected. ‘Daisy, look at the state of you. You’re absolutely filthy.’ She put her hands on her hips and pressed her lips together. ‘I am furious with you. You will come back here straight away, or there will be consequences.’ Slowly she moved her gaze down my mucky self. ‘Do you want me to march right over there and get you?’
‘You can’t march across the sea. And anyway, you haven’t got an army.’
‘I don’t need one. Are you coming back, or am I coming there?’
I glanced around me quickly, looking for potential weapons or allies. A large duck was standing on the mud next to me, calmly observing the hostilities escalating. I pointed at it. ‘I’ve got a terrible froshus beast on my side,’ I called across the channel. ‘It’s gonna eat you.’
‘It’s a herbivore,’ Mum countered, ‘everyone knows that. Anyway, ducks are impartial. They don’t take sides.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means it doesn’t take sides. Do you, Impartial Duck?’
We both looked at the duck. It said nothing.
Mum turned back to me. ‘See?’ she said.
Like the duck, I didn’t move.
‘So are you going to surrender peacefully, or do I have to storm your battlements?’
‘Storm!’
Mum stared at me for a few moments, then took her hands off her hips and rolled up her sleeves. Then she bent down and took off her trainers and socks and rolled up the bottom of her jeans. She straightened up and looked at me. ‘You can’t win, Daisy Duck,’ she said calmly. Her hands went back to her hips. ‘If I have to come over there and get you, we will both be filthy and disgusting, which will not make me happy; or you can surrender peacefully and we have a chance to negotiate the terms of your defeat.’ She raised her eyebrows and I started to experience a resigned feeling, although I don’t think I recognised it at that point. ‘Either way, the outcome is the same.’
‘What’s the outcome?’
‘It’s what’s left at the end. And in this case, it will be you coming back here, either willingly, or’ – she slitted her eyes – ‘under my power.’ Her expression at that point went with the word ‘power’ so well, I still remember it now. It was like Voldemort. ‘Which is it to be, Queen Daisy of the Ducks?’
I knew she had power. I had always known it. She was the mummy, after all. I had no choice but to surrender peacefully, and I was on the verge of doing it when a high, cold voice called out sweetly from somewhere behind her, ‘Oh Daisy, why are you always such a problem child?’
It was my sister Naomi. She was sitting on a blanket next to where Mum was standing, eating a slice of Battenberg, sunlight bouncing off her long shiny hair. Wearing a yellow dress. What happened next was thoroughly deserved, I thought. Well, I was already holding handfuls of mud and filth. I barely had to go to any effort at all.
My phone quacks in my pocket so I lift one hip off the ground and reach down to wrestle the phone to the surface. It’s telling me I’ve got a message on Facebook, and I think I know exactly what that’s about. I touch the screen and open up the web page.
Abby Marcus Daisy Quackintyre, what are you doing?
Daisy Mack It’s OK Abs, I’m in the park right now, as we speak. Or, you know, type.
Abby Marcus Oh good. That’s more like it.
Daisy Mack Yeah – I do still remember everything you said on Sunday, believe me.
That’s true, because most of what she said on Sunday were swear words.
Abby Marcus Excellent. Keep it up, Daze. I’m proud of you
Right. Time for me to go, I think. Abby is a truly great friend, and a good person, with the soul of an angel and the heart of a giant. She is kind and thoughtful and considerate and gentle, and when she gets annoyed fire comes out of her nostrils and her voice can split atoms.
‘You haven’t been fucking walking at all this past week, have you?’ was her opening gambit on Sunday afternoon. I almost didn’t understand her because her jaw was clenched together and she barely moved her lips as she spoke.
You know that feeling you get when you’ve been found out doing something? Or not doing something? Or something you’ve done, and shouldn’t have, has been discovered? Well that’s exactly the feeling I got at that moment. It was like something solid and heavy plunging down through my abdomen, making me curl inwards and grasp my tummy.
I frowned. ‘Abs,’ I started to say, but I didn’t have anything else.
She raised her eyebrows
