Page 24 of Wanting Daisy Dead

Lauren

I’m in a dining hellscape at a table in my old university halls with four former housemates, one of whom I never wanted to see again in my life.

Georgie’s in a man sandwich, looking lovingly at Alex one minute, then turning to hiss like a cat at Dan while he tries to get my attention.

It’s pathetic. I suddenly recall the rumour about them having a threesome with Alex, and want to throw up.

I never believed it at the time, but now I see it. I have to look away.

I have to say, though, Alex has brought a real positive energy with him, and even Georgie’s smiling, which is a first. But he seems to only have eyes for Maddie; they were standing together throughout the pre-dinner drinks, walked arm in arm to dinner and arrived after everyone else.

I’m confused, because there’s definitely some kind of connection, but he’s just told us he met a kind, sweet, beautiful woman and married her.

I hope Saint Alex isn’t cheating already.

Everyone is at the table now, heading down memory lane – ‘Do you remember when ...’ and ‘I’ll never forget the time that ...’ The stories we can only share with old friends who were there at the time.

I’m suddenly reminded of something, and I’m so keen to share this memory that I start telling the story before remembering what happened at the end.

‘I remember being out with Daisy and Maddie in Exeter once, and this woman stopped us in the street,’ I start, when there’s a lull in the conversation.

‘She was American, said she was a model scout, and she said, “Hey, you guys are so beautiful.” And we all smiled and said thanks, and then she said, “Have any of you ever considered modelling?” We all looked at each other and she said, “My name’s Eddie, I work for Models 1 and I just think you guys have got a great look, very now .”’

I stop and take a little sip of wine, and they’re all rapt, even Maddie who was there.

‘Anyway, she goes on to say, “Please take my card, I promise you this is legit, and in a couple of years you could be on the cover of Vogue .” But Maddie’s like, “No thanks, I have to go home and feed my hamster,” or something equally classic Maddie.’

Everyone laughs at this, including her.

‘Then Daisy pipes up, “Can you make me rich?” This woman looks surprised. I think she was used to people just saying yes , but she says, “Yeah, honey, I reckon I could. You’re young, tall and beautiful, so it wouldn’t be difficult.

I could get you on the catwalks of Paris.

” And Daisy rolls her eyes, and says, “Nah, can’t be arsed. ”

‘This Eddie woman looks a bit surprised, and walks away, but she only takes a few steps and then suddenly marches towards me and I’m so excited.

I think she must have seen my potential .

..’ They all laugh again. ‘So, she pushes this card into my hand, and I say, “Thank you So much, I’d love to be a model, you’ve made my dream come true.

” And she looks me up and down and says, “Sorry, honey, it’s not for you, but could you make sure you give it to your friend, the one who can’t be arsed ? ”’

They chuckle at this. ‘Talk about an insult,’ I add. ‘She wasn’t at all interested in me, but still wanted Daisy even though she couldn’t be arsed!’ We all chuckle at this.

‘So did you give the card to Daisy?’ Georgie asks, as if I wouldn’t.

‘Of course I did,’ I reply firmly. ‘As soon as we got back to our apartment, I handed it to her, but she threw it in the bin. I said, “Daisy, aren’t you at all interested in being a model?” And she said, “Are you kidding? I’d absolutely love to be a model on the Paris catwalks or cover of Vogue , who wouldn’t?

But it was a scam – that woman was a con artist.”

‘I thought the woman had seemed pretty genuine, but didn’t give it another thought, until, after Daisy died, I .

.. I was in her room – I felt closer to her there .

.. and I saw the card still lying in her bin.

It must have been there for ages – she never tidied her room,’ I say affectionately.

‘And I don’t know why, but I took it out of the bin, and called the number.

’ My voice is breaking as I continue, and you can hear a pin drop as everyone waits for what I say next. ‘It was Models 1, and Eddie answered.’

Everyone’s expectant face drops. They wanted a punchline, a happy ending, and all I gave them was more tragedy – and a reminder of a young woman’s enormous potential, erased.

There are nods and murmurings, and after a few moments we all try to break the tension of sadness hanging over us, led by Alex who takes the white wine from the ice bucket and starts pouring.

That’s something that Dan would have done last night, and it’s fascinating to see how the dynamic has changed since Alex’s arrival.

It looks like Dan isn’t the alpha anymore.

Suddenly, the double doors open and in walks a woman – a stranger to me. She’s middle-aged with blonde hair, and looks vaguely familiar, and Maddie stands up.

‘Teresa, it’s been a long time,’ she says, and walks towards her. Both women open their arms instinctively and hug warmly. Then Maddie grabs her hand and walks her towards the table where we’ll all sitting expectantly.

‘This is Daisy’s mum,’ Maddie declares, and we all stand up, eager to make her feel at home with us.

We shake her hand or hug her individually, and all the usual things are said about how pleased we are to meet her and how much we loved Daisy, none of which are entirely true. ‘Thank you,’ she says graciously, and she takes her seat at the table.

Everyone makes small talk now, and it feels very awkward. Daisy’s mum seems nice enough, and as a mum myself I can only imagine what she’s been through.

‘Your interview was moving, Teresa,’ I offer, but just then the starter arrives, and she doesn’t have a chance to respond.

I look down at my small plate filled with leaves and foam, and think of Finty waiting for my first draft.

I have no appetite, but I nibble at the leaves and force myself to swallow.

If I want to write the book, I have to keep them all onside and continue the facade.

So, I smile at everyone around the table and try to look fascinated while talking about nothing.

The book would certainly benefit from an in-depth interview with Teresa. It would be worth giving the victim’s mother her own chapter. So I give her a big smile, and start talking.

‘Teresa, hi, we haven’t had chance to chat,’ I start.

‘I’d like to explain a few things in context to you,’ I say, referring to what Teresa said in her interview about Daisy accusing me of copying her coursework and me attacking her.

‘I’m concerned you may have got the wrong impression of me from Daisy. ’

She looks up. Her stare moves from the foam to my face. ‘No, I think Daisy gave me a very accurate impression.’

I wonder how much Daisy told her about our arguments.

Does she know that I pulled a clump of Daisy’s hair out?

It was in retaliation for her scratching my face, but still, now she’s dead I’m on the losing side of that one.

If Daisy told her anything out of context, Teresa might think I’m a terrible person.

And the way she’s glaring at me over her duck-and-pistachio terrine with cherry foam and nasturtium leaves would indicate that I was indeed misrepresented.

But, being me, I don’t give up – especially when I want something – and, imagining the great potential of Teresa in my book, I just keep going.

‘I always envied her, having such a young mum.’ I put down my fork. I’m now in creep overdrive; I need this woman to like me. ‘You had a lovely relationship, just like best friends.’

‘We were.’ She spreads terrine on her toast, and speaks before eating.

‘She used to phone me all the time. “Mum, how do you make spag bol?” and “Mum, how do you get red wine off the carpet?”’ She smiles, then looks at me and says slowly, ‘“Mum, David told me that Lauren came on to him, tried to get him to give her higher marks.”’

No!

Everything goes quiet around the table, and I feel like I’m underwater. My mouth is moving but there’s no sound.

She then puts the toast to her lips and takes a dainty bite, and places the remainder neatly on her plate.

‘I’m sorry, Teresa, but that just isn’t true!’ I say in my most assertive voice.

‘Isn’t it?’ she asks, wide-eyed. ‘And what about you tearing a clump of hair from her head in a rage? And stealing her course notes?’