Page 4 of The Life Daisy Devlin Designed
“Just messing with you, Rosie.”
Something smelt good, she realised. Maybe James had got home early and was making his Chicken Korma. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d made it.
“Daisy, are you still listening?”
“Er, you were thanking me for helping to mind the kids at the weekend.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Rosie sounded indignant. “Penny told me you spent the whole weekend in town seeing your friends, and the only time you saw them was at meals or to sneak them chocolate.”
The child was being groomed in her mother’s image, Daisy thought. In fairness to her parents, they hadn’t been remotely bothered that she hadn’t hung around while Rosie and Séan had been off celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary. They’d always been relaxed, but becoming grandparents had elevated them to a whole new level of Zen.
“Rosie, have you rung just to lecture me? Because you could have saved it up for your usual Friday phone call.”
Rosie huffed a sigh. “I’m phoning about the twins’ birthday next Saturday. I put a reminder in the family group.”
Crap, she’d muted the family WhatsApp group because it had been full of messages from Rosie instructing their parents about her kids, while she and Séan skived off for their dirty weekend. Daisy couldn’t understand why Rosie didn’t just message their mother privately about food intolerances, GAA practice and bedtimes, but her sister was a law onto herself. Now, she’d completely forgotten about the twins’ birthday. She’d never have gone down for the weekend, if she’d known she had to hightail it back down so soon.
“It’s in my diary. And I’m,er, Penny’s godmother.”
“Annie’s,” Rosie sighed.
“Right. And they’ll be four.”
“Five.”
Daisy stepped out of her heels and, with her free hand, tucked them in beside James’ shoes on the shoe rack under the coat rail.
“There’s a lot of noise in your house, Daisy.”
“Um, yeah, it’s Kayley Lynch, you know, that American country singer?” Alma, the Swedish post-grad student who’d been renting their spare bedroom for the past two years, liked her.
Daisy really hoped James just happened to have her playing – they could do with a night to themselves.
“So, what do you think?” Rosie was saying.
About the noise?The party. Daisy stifled a sigh. “Yeah, we’ll be there, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Rosie said. “I just wondered whether you’ll be staying over with Mum and Dad, or with us. We’ve plenty of room.”
“I know, yeah.”
Rosie and Séan lived in a six-bedroom bungalow, and Rosie was forever going on about road frontage and picture windows, and the fact that their kitchen was bigger than Daisy’s whole house. Daisy knew her sister was horrified by the fact that she and James shared their meagre fifty-five square metres with a complete stranger, just to help with their mortgage. Still, the thought of being under the same roof as Rosie and all her kids for even a night was too much. “It’s grand, we’ll stay with Mum and Dad. It’ll be nice for them to see James.”
“Hmm, they were saying that you came down on your own on Friday night.”
“Yeah, well, James was working, and I wanted to catch up with friends. Sure, he’d feel like a spare tool hanging around.” That was definitely enough about her and James. “What would the twins like for their birthday?”
“Well, Penny likes books and Annie likes art, but keep it small, Daisy. You know Séan and I don’t like anything over-the-top.”
“There goes the Knuttel I’d planned to give Annie, so.”
“You’re hilarious.” Rosie’s tone was dry. “The party starts at two, but why don’t you scoot down a bit early, and help us get ready? We’re having a bouncy castle and face-painting on the day, and the boys are allowed to invite whoever they like – so fingers crossed for a decent bit of weather.”
Should she tell her that there was another storm forecast for this week, Daisy wondered. Nah, her brilliant sister could figure that one out for herself.
“Listen, Daisy, I have to go, it’s mad here. See you then, bye.”
Rosie hung up and Daisy rolled her eyes. Her older sister always pretended Daisy was the one trying to keep her from her vastly busy life. Although, to be fair to her, ifshehad four children under the age of eight, she’d be busy too. Or probably just dead from exhaustion.
