Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“It’s just an ideal,” Prim puts in.
I glance my sister’s way, wondering if it cost her to say that. We both handled the absence of a father in very different ways. I went off the rails, and she made sure not to deviate from them an inch. The wilder I became, the straighter she laced.
Maybe her behavior was more in tune with being my antidote.
The thought makes me so sorry.
“Primrose is right. Perfect is like make-believe. It’s also boring because it’s our mistakes that make us unique. You know what unique means?”
Daisy nods.
“The world would be boring if we were all perfect. Mistakes are real. And real is beautiful,” I say, wiping away her tears with my thumb.
“We have a philosopher in our midst,” Primrose murmurs under her breath.
“Trying to make things perfect zaps all the fun out of shi—shizz. You’re allowed to make mistakes, Daisy.”
“Like mum made Lavender,” my sister chirrups. If she was nearer, I’d probably kick her. Out of love, though.
“Joke’s on you,” I mutter, “because the best portion of you ran down Polly’s leg.”
“Eww, that is disgusting! I don’t ever want to think about Polly in those terms. Or how I came into existence.”
“Who’s Polly?” Daisy asks. Out of all the potential questions, that one is the easiest to answer. It’s also a good reminder of our audience.
“She’s our mum.”
“Oh.”
My heart aches for the little girl who is clearly missing her mother.
“She’ll be here later, and then you’ll see why Primrose is as silly as she is. But for now, I think you should practice making mistakes. Lots of them. On purpose.”
“Why?” By her expression, you’d think I asked her to go out and punch toddlers.
Because it’ll take the pressure off, I hope.
“Can you ride a bike, Daiz?” I ask rather than answer.
She nods her head. “Uncle Raif taught me how.”
Uncle Raif. A dad on the streets and a daddy between the sh—
So not finishing that thought. And really, the suggestion remains to be seen. And experienced. My tummy turns over, but I ignore it.
“Did you ever fall off while you were learning?”
“A few times,” she admits.
“Can you remember what you were thinking before you did?”
“Probably that she didn’t want to fall off,” Prim says, gathering Daisy’s artwork. The little girl nods.
“Well, that’s pressure. Trying to make something not happen usually has the opposite effect. So if you try to make mistakes—on purpose—what do you think might happen then?”
“I might not make them?” she asks doubtfully.
“It’s worth a try, right?”
“But when I make a mistake, I feel bad,” she says in a tiny voice. “And I don’t like feeling bad.”
“That’s not great, but it’s not a catastrophe, is it?”
“People might laugh at me.”
“People laugh all the time at Primrose, and she’s survived.”
My sister reaches up to scratch her nose. With her middle finger.
I don’t retaliate. Wow, this being sensible and sensitive takes it out of a girl.
“Look, Daisy. Nobody’s perfect. But you know what everyone wants?”
She shakes her head again.
“To have fun. So that’s what we’re going to do. Those old clothes you brought with you?” I say, curling my knees under me to stand. “Go and put them on. We’re going to do a little project.”
22
LAVENDER
“Oh my!”
Polly’s exclamation pulls my attention, but not Daisy’s, as she gleefully flicks paint onto the oversized canvas. She’s wearing an old T-shirt that Tod likely left here after we whitewashed the gallery walls because the old clothes she’d brought were unsuitable. Now Tod’s T-shirt is wearing as much paint as the canvas. And the wall behind. And I’m pretty sure her fingernails will be indigo for a long time to come, but boy, is she having fun. Which was the whole point. The whole messy point. Though it had taken some persuasion for her to give it a go.
“Hey.” I send a cursory smile my mother’s way as the back door clicks closed behind her. We’re in the tiny communal backyard. I’d warned the other commercial residents we’d be getting messy out here for an hour or so because no one wants to be splattered with paint when you’re trying to have a sneaky cigarette out the back. Thankfully, they’re a nice, accommodating bunch, which leads me to believe they’re all aware of who my brother is. I suppose he is their landlord as well as mine.
I’ll take the perks where I can, including the lack of complaints received about our Christmas decorations. Or should I say Tod’s artistic vision? He’d made a Christmas tree from rolls of wrapping paper that was meant to be a statement against consumerism and waste despite the fact he bought the rolls from the local Sainsburys. But I suppose the butt plug baubles (yes, butt plug baubles) were purchased from various local charity shops. Though why anyone would recycle a sex toy, let alone be in the market for a secondhand one, is beyond the realm of my comprehension.