wanted to see you and when you got out of the car everyone just sighed.’
‘I was shaking with nerves.’
‘Shaking? No! You were so beautiful. So perfect. And then you looked right at me and blew a kiss. Silly, you didn’t know I was there…’
‘I was thinking of you.’
She looked up. ‘Were you?’
And Ivo…
No. She wouldn’t, mustn’t think of him. She’d never forgive herself for what she’d done to him, but he was a man. Strong. He’d be hurting, she knew that, but he’d survive without her.
Daisy would not.
‘I thought you might be watching,’ she said, pushing the thoughts away, concentrating on the girl in front of her. The future. ‘I hoped, if you were, that you’d know it was just for you.’
‘I should have trusted you. I thought…’
‘I know what you thought. I let you down, wasn’t there when you really needed me, but that will never happen again. Whatever happens, whatever you do, I will love you, be there for you.’ Then, ‘Tomorrow we’ll see about getting a headstone for your Dad, hmm?’
For a minute they held each other, clinging on to each other amidst the wreckage of their lives, and Belle knew that a crisis had passed. Not the last crisis, but perhaps the biggest.
Ivo stayed at home to watch Belle’s last morning. Every minute of it: the news, the papers, a celebrity interview, a fifty-year-old cab driver who’d written a book, a woman with cancer who was campaigning for some new treatment, the weather.
All the usual ingredients, Belle the glue that held it all together with her warmth, her charm, a little touch of steel that he’d somehow overlooked. Or maybe that was new. Something she’d found in the Himalayas. Something that made him love her all the more. He just hoped her wretched sister understood how lucky she was.
Today, her last day, the editors had put together a montage of her ‘best bits’ to end the programme. Her famous ‘telethon’ moment of discovery. Her first day on the set, making a hash of the weather. An interview that had gone hilariously wrong. Belle, eyes wide with excitement, at the wheel of a double-decker bus on the skid pad.
There was a shot of her interviewing the Director of the United Nations too. One of her with a much loved actor a few weeks before he died. That report to camera from the Himalayas with blood trickling down her face.
He’d expected it to end there with the credits rolling over that image, but instead the camera focused on her again.
Belle had a rare stillness, a presence in front of the camera, but today there was something new, something more. A maturity that had nothing to do with her grown-up haircut, more casual clothes. She had, he realised, finally learned to believe in herself and, despite everything, he found himself smiling. Urging her on to new heights, new challenges…
‘I’ve been part of this programme one way and another for nine years,’ she began, ‘and, despite what you’ve just seen, the one thing I’ve learned is that it’s not about me, but about you, the people who take time to tune in each busy morning, whether for a few minutes or an hour. It’s about you, your lives, your news.’ The camera went in close. ‘Today, as you all know, is my last day on this sofa so I’m going to beg your indulgence and use these last few minutes to talk about myself.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, not just about me. I’m going to tell you the story of two little girls…’
He stood and watched as she told the world the story of her life. Of the horrors, but of the love too. And of a sister who she’d lost and had now found.
As she finished, she turned to smile at someone and the camera pulled back to reveal Daisy sitting beside her, sharing her sofa. Skinny as she was, lacking her sister’s curves, she looked, at first glance, amazingly like Belle the day she’d smiled uncertainly up into a handheld camera. No doubt the studio make-up had emphasised the similarities and yet there was something…
For a moment there was complete silence and then the entire crew walked into the shot, applauding Belle, hugging them both.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, even when the door opened and Manda joined him. ‘I’ve been watching next door. She’s pretty amazing, your Belle, isn’t she?’
‘Not mine.’
Only for a few unforgettable moments yesterday afternoon, when the truth had set them free. When they’d used words that had been locked away.
Until the day he died he’d remember that moment when, poised above him, she’d kissed him, said, ‘I love you…’ before taking him to a place he’d only dreamed of.
‘But yes, she is amazing,’ he managed, through a throat aching so much that he could scarcely swallow.
‘I was so sure she’d hurt you. I thought…’ He put out a hand to stop her, but she shook her head, refusing to be silenced. ‘I thought all she wanted was your money, but it wasn’t like that, was it?’
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It wasn’t anything like that.’
‘Don’t let her go, Ivo.’
‘Her sister needs her more than I do right now.’
‘Maybe she does, but Belle will need you too. We all need someone, a rock to cling to when things are bad.’ She leaned against him. ‘Or, in your case, a damn great cliff face.’ Then, when he didn’t respond, ‘Her sister will move on, Ivo. Make a life of her own.’
‘Eventually.’ It didn’t matter. Next week, next year, next life, he’d be there, if Belle should need him. Always be there.
Somehow he doubted that she would.
‘What’s she going to do, do you know?’ Then, ‘What can she do? The sister.’
‘Daisy? I’ve no idea.’ He turned to her, remembering his promise. ‘Actually, I did tell Belle that you might give her a job.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Her standard response when he dumped some tedious job in her lap. He managed a grin, but she shook her head. ‘No, I mean it, Ivo. Really. Thank you. For believing in me. Taking care of me. Saving me…’ And suddenly his spiky, sharp little sister was the one struggling with words. ‘I’ll talk to her. Find out what she’d like to do.’
‘She’s fragile,’ he warned.
‘I won’t break her; in fact she might find it easier to talk to me than Belle.’ She glanced back towards the television set, where Belle, holding flowers that someone had thrust into her arms, was smiling into the camera as the credits rolled. ‘What about Belle? What’s she going to do?’
‘I’ve no idea. She did have an idea for a documentary on adoption and I suggested she form her own production company.’
‘That’s not really her thing, is it?’ Then, ‘I can’t see her heading up a media company. But maybe there is something she could do.’
‘Leave it, Manda,’ he warned.
‘I hear what you say, Ivo, but are you saying “leave it” because you don’t want me involved? Or are you warning me off because you can rely on me to do the exact opposite of what you say?’
‘You’ve grown out of that nonsense.’
‘Have I?’
‘Don’t be clever.’
‘I just can’t help it.’ Then, ‘I’ll have a little chat with Daisy first, I think. But not just yet. I’ll wait a week or two. Give them time to get bored playing happy families.’ Then, ‘Don’t mess things up by sending her flowers or supportive little emails, will you?’
‘If you’re playing reverse psychology, you’ve picked the wrong man,’ he said.
No flowers. No emails.
Just emptiness.
