WHATS CUT SHORT, CANT BE PUT BACK
When Daisy showed her wedding photos to friends, she always laughed, Oh, that dress nearly finished me off! Gorgeous, yes, but heavier than a Sunday roast! Next time I get married, Im choosing something light and floaty, not a tent with beads on it.
Everyone assumed Daisy (no one ever called her anything as grand as Daisybelle) was joking, and chuckled along. Of course she was joking. Everyone knew Daisy had married for love. It was your classic seaside whirlwind. Daisy was 21, Simon was 28.
It was August, the sea a proper delight, prosecco flowing, the sky just packed with stars you know, the whole romantic bit. All that magic somehow turned into a marriage certificate. Mind you, Simon did have to get divorced from Wife Number Two first, and Daisy had to move to his hometown.
London Brighton London. For ten years, this would become Daisys heartbreakingly familiar train route, so familiar she couldve worked as a ticket inspector.
But lets not get ahead of ourselves. At first, the newlyweds needed a place to live. Simon had very generously given his flat to Wife Number Two, whod threatened all sorts of melodrama overdose, acid attacks, defenestration if he so much as batted an eyelash elsewhere.
Anyway, in time, Wife Number Two faded quietly into the background. Perhaps Simon had promised to come back if his third marriage tanked. As for Wife Number One, Simon never mentioned her. Water under the bridge, as they say. That first marriage barely staggered past a year and a half.
Afterwards, Simon conveniently matched off his first wife with an old friend, making everyone (including himself) wonderfully happy. Wife Number Two lasted a touch longer three years of Simon being increasingly alarmed by her distaste for children (she called them human spawn hows that for charm?).
Daisy sailed obliviously past this family debris field. She was self-sufficient, ambitious, and perfectly aware of her looks and uniqueness. Simon adored her. He was convinced hed arrived in paradise (in Croydon, mind). If he bought flowers, it was bouquets so big she could barely carry them. If he bought a fur coat, there were three, for variety (very unsuitable for England, but never mind). When it came to shoes, Daisy couldve had her own branch of Clarks. Simon whisked Daisy off to London, Paris, and yes, even to Montenegro, in search of new horizons before the family expanded.
Soon their little girl, Milly, was born. While Daisy doted on the baby, Simon promptly bought a cottage and filled it with everything a small family might or might not ever need.
They celebrated their housewarming, Milly was packed off to nursery, and Daisy launched herself energetically into self-improvement. She preferred studying back in London (where the air was supposedly clearer, and, really, where her mum lived and even the surliest shop assistants seemed lovely). Under her favourite linden trees, Daisy always felt at peace.
Little Milly would be left with Granny, who adored the child beyond words. During term time, Daisy would be off in London. Simon, meanwhile, got so worryingly jealous hed chase Daisy down to London, stake out her street, and accidentally bump into her in Starbucks, like some comedic P.I.
To be fair, Daisy rarely did anything to warrant suspicion. Or, at least, she was good at appearing innocent. The truth was, she just yearned to escape domestic tedium. Shed study anything, so long as it meant she didnt have to scrub floors or listen to Simon drone on about the office. She felt life was rushing by and she, dazzling and brilliant, was meant for higher things than laundry and leftovers.
By this point, Daisy was the proud owner of three university diplomas, all with top marks, none of which she ever actually used. Her main degree: psychology. She carried them in her handbag, mostly so she could thrust them dramatically at potential employers. But Simon wouldnt hear of her getting a job.
Have I not got enough money for us? Simon wailed, Ill end up in an asylum waiting for you to clock off! Daisy, love, lets have another. Boy or girl, Im not fussed just be around a bit more.
Daisy, however, couldnt imagine motherhood repeating itself. She was certain her mission was complete: gave birth, check; gave Simon a daughter, check. What more? Simons mum, earwigging on Daisys artistic philosophy, suggested she keep Milly full-time until Daisy (perhaps miraculously) grew up.
With absolutely no fuss, Daisy agreed. Off she flew to London, not bothering to tell Simon her plans. Ill ring once Im there, she muttered as she grabbed her suitcase.
But in London, guess who showed up? Simon, detective hat on, had cottoned on to all Daisys tricks. Daisy, wheres Milly? Why are you here, not in Brighton? Are you seeing someone else? he bellowed.
Honestly, Simon. Theres no one else, Daisy replied not even bothering to fake concern. Its just, well Im bored senseless. I want my freedom!
Freedom? goggled Simon. From me and your own daughter? What happened to love? Has it evaporated? Midlife crisis, is it? Well get through it together, Daisy easy! Together!
We wont get through it, Daisy said, finally ending the conversation.
Simon ran to Daisys mum, hoping for help. She shrugged. Sort it out yourself, dear boy. Daisy is relentless youll never change her mind now.
Simon returned to Brighton, alone, unable to work out a plan to win Daisy back, or even how to put the family back together. No one wants my good intentions, he mused. Days flew by. Weeks, too. Daisy answered Simons calls with chilly one-liners. Im fine. Dont worry about me.
Life marched on. After much reflection, Simon decided to sell up, fetch Milly, and move to London in a last-ditch effort to put his family back together. Daisy was unmoved. She tried to talk Simon out of it: Milly would have to change schools, lose friends, and Granny would be heartbroken. In truth, these were excuses. Daisy was revelling in the single life. Live like a bird in the sky was her motto.
She started up a sewing business, rented a flat, collected admirers (of both sorts), and generally enjoyed herself immensely. Simon and Milly? No thanks. Daisy wanted to erase her domestic past. She was as hard as a nutshell it was as if everything before had happened to someone else.
Simon ignored Daisys protests and moved to London with Milly. He clung to a fragment of hope that the family might knit itself back together. His dogged love for Daisy still flickered away, through pure habit.
Hed wait for Daisy after work and show up with Milly (who was, incidentally, Daisys double). Useless. Daisy was as animated as a waxwork. Nothing could shake her composure. In the end, Daisy called time: Simon, leave me alone! Lets get divorced. Milly can come and stay every holiday.
By now, Milly was eleven, hardly in need of putting up. She had a loving dad and a Granny turned bodyguard who prayed for her night and day. Milly loved her mum (of course), but never understood why she was so easily abandoned.
Time, as ever, pressed forward uninterruptible. Life carried on, giving each their due.
Simon stopped fishing on a dry riverbank, as his gran would say. He finally realised hed never get through Daisys defences.
Fate delivered Simon a proper down-to-earth woman her feet planted in Wellingtons, not up in the clouds. She lived in the countryside, brought her own two sons from a previous marriage, and wanted none of Simons fancy talk or Parisian trips. Give me a pair of rubber boots for the mud and a warm jacket for the cows, and help me get the lads set up in life, was about the extent of her ambition.
Simon found genuine peace, comfort, and warmth in such simplicity. (As the English saying goes, Where all is plain, theres angels by the train; where its all muddle, not one remains.) Soon, a daughter was born, and at last, Simon had a taste of true happiness even if it took him four tries to get it right. He preferred not to mention the first three marriages, as if they’d never happened.
Meanwhile, Daisy moved in with her mum, still in Mums house. One of her business partners once promised her the moon on a stick, then fleeced her like a spring lamb. The sewing venture unravelled, and her fan club dissolved faster than snow in May.
In short, they all left in the end. Daisy works as a school psychologist now those degrees had to come in handy somehow. She claims she never regrets anything. But hearts are deep, arent they? Who knows if, one day, the free bird will feel a twinge of regret?
Milly, now grown, married and living with Granny (who raised her) in Brighton.
On her wedding day, Milly wore a wedding dress light as a feather. Guess who gave it to her? Mum Daisy.
