Page 107 of Little Wing
‘Dougie,’ said Nell. ‘You could not have known. It is not your fault that Daisy did what she did. There are no clues in these photographs. Please, Dougie – you need to look.’
And so, finally, Dougie looked.
Daisy.
There you are.
Nell was right. The photographs were just of a girl smiling for the camera on a weekend at her boyfriend’s when the weather changed every five minutes.
‘I didn’t know,’ said Dougie. ‘I just thought she was – zany.’
‘It wasn’t your fault that you did not know.’
‘She was pretty bloody maddening,’ Dougie said. ‘I thought Harris would be good for her, that she could take a breather. But the truth is, she didn’t seem that bothered. I remember at the time how that disappointed me. And I kind of knew that our relationship was coming to a natural end anyway. But ten days later, Nell. Ten days.’
‘Sometimes, darkness doesn’t encroach, it just swoops,’ Nell said. ‘The times when my mum went down – and I’m talking chasms-deep – I never saw it coming. Because she’d been up and laughing and dancing and taking me to drag clubs and to see the floodlit castle and cooking crazy banquets for just the two of us. It felt like I’d turned my back for a second and bang! down she’d gone, so deep into a fug she couldn’t move or be moved, she couldn’t talk or be spoken to. She was this heavy shell of herself. Terrifying. And I always blamed myself – I used to get furious with myself – why hadn’t I seen it coming? Why could I not see the hole so big it swallowed her in a single gulp? I tried, sometimes, to pinch and poke her. And sometimes, I’d pinch and poke myself to stay awake, stretching my eyelids open with my fingers, so that I could keep watch. Stop her falling.’
‘Nell.’ Dougie stroked her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
Nell shook her head and smiled. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she told him. ‘This much I know. There was no way of knowing and nothing I could have done anyway.’
‘Daisy was twenty-two.’
‘Dougie, you cannot incarcerate her in this box – because doing so imprisons part of you in there too. And you don’t deserve that. You did nothing wrong. There must be no more punishment.’
Nell looked at the eleven photographs again, each in turn. The images were exquisite.
‘These should be seen,’ she said gently. ‘What were you telling me about Ansel Adams? About how a negative isn’t fixed? Why don’t you print them again, alter the exposure, develop other aspects – see her in the light of today, Dougie?’
Cautiously, Dougie looked through the prints.
‘Which is your favourite? Which do you think is the best photograph?’ Nell asked. ‘Show me.’
He chose an interior shot.
‘So the other ten photographs,’ Nell said, ‘they need a home. They need to be on walls and shelves and looked at and chatted to each day.’
‘Her parents lived in Guildford,’ Dougie said.
Nell laid the photograph of Frank on the arm of the sofa and, next to him, the print of Daisy that Dougie had chosen. She put the lid on the box and turned to Dougie. ‘You were there with me – when I walked into the studio. I will be there for you when you take these to Daisy’s family. These are theirs, really. They are no longer yours to keep. Daisy was their beautiful lost girl.’
* * *
The fries came in a tin pot and the burger juices ran down their chins and Dougie asked Nell if she had a spare hair-tie, which she did. He made a ponytail and she took the piss mercilessly which he loved the sound of.
‘Stops the sauce getting in my hair,’ said Dougie.
‘Whatever you say, Heathcliff,’ said Nell.
‘You’re eating my chips.’
‘Oh, sorry – I thought they were mine.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Do you begrudge me your chips, Dougie?’
‘No, Nell – go ahead, knock yourself out.’
