Read Online The Daisy Picker by Roisin Meaney - Free Book Online Page A

by the same competent pair of hands that produced the shepherd’s pie. She knows it would
be delicious, and it takes a huge effort to shake her head. She’s giving up desserts – one of her fresh starts. But does the waitress know where she’d find a B&B?
    ‘Actually, we have one here. Hang on a minute and I’ll call my mother.’
    They have one here.
Lizzie’s first night away from home is turning out just fine. She sits back again and imagines waking to – what? A glass of just-squeezed juice, freshly
baked crusty brown bread, a perfectly poached egg sitting on buttery toast, or a couple of fat meaty sausages – or maybe a feathery, herby omelette dripping with cheese . . . Bliss.
    Everyone else has left except for the elderly man, who’s reading a paper over his coffee, tilting it in the direction of the wall-lights. And walking towards Lizzie is a woman her own age
or thereabouts, with short blonde hair and perfect skin and a striped apron and an anxious smile.
    ‘Hello. Dee tells me you’re looking for a bed for the night.’
    ‘Yes, she said you do B&B here.’
    The woman pulls out a chair and sits opposite Lizzie. ‘We do, yes, and normally you’d have no bother at this time of the year; but, would you believe, just this afternoon I got a
call – I didn’t get a chance to mention it to Dee. A group of Americans – they were in here a while ago; you probably saw them.’
The three couples.
‘They’ve taken all my rooms; I’m really sorry.’
    ‘Oh, right.’ Lizzie feels a jolt of disappointment – so much for her lucky break. But at least she can get directions to another B&B. ‘Is there anywhere else I could
try around here?’
    The other woman shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid we’re the only ones in Merway, apart from the hotel, that are open all –’ Then she stops and looks thoughtfully at
Lizzie. She says, more slowly, ‘Now, the only thing is, I have a – ah, no, you probably wouldn’t be bothered; it’d be cold – but I could put the gas fire on . . .
It’s just that I don’t like to see you stuck . . .’ She trails off, looking uncertain.
    What is Lizzie being offered? The roof garden? The shed out the back? A tent on the beach? Whatever it is, she knows she’ll take it. The last thing she wants to do right now is get back
into the cold car and head off in search of a bed. And Jones needs to come in; he’s been sitting out in that car for nearly an hour.
    She smiles at the woman sitting across from her. ‘I’m really not that fussy; whatever you’ve got will be fine.’
As long as it’s not a blanket on the floor under
the stars – I’ve turned that one down already today
. ‘I’ll probably be moving on tomorrow, anyway.’
And I have a rather large cat waiting for a roof over his
head
.
    The woman smiles back apologetically. ‘Sorry – you must be wondering what on earth I’m talking about. It’s actually a little caravan, out the back.’ She screws up
her face in embarrassment. ‘We don’t use it much, but it’s quite sound and easy to heat – I just thought, if you didn’t feel like driving all the way to Seapoint . .
.’
    Lizzie is intrigued – the last time she slept in a caravan was years ago, on one of the family summer holidays. They only did it a few times; the beds didn’t suit Daddy’s back.
Could be a laugh; and she’ll more than likely be moving on first thing in the morning, anyway. She nods at the other woman gratefully. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine for the one
night – thanks a lot. And my shepherd’s pie was wonderful, by the way. I presume you’re the cook.’
    The woman relaxes and smiles back at her. ‘Yes; cook, bottle-washer, landlady and caravan owner. Glad you enjoyed it; it’s one of the favourites around here. The secret’s in
the garlic – I put it in everything.’ She puts out her hand. ‘My name’s Angela, by the way.’
    ‘Lizzie. Nice to meet you.’
    Angela stands up. ‘Give me about half an