One time when I was small, we all came here. My parents were still alive. I can’t remember exactly how old I was but I’d imagine I was about 6.
A few days into the trip Dad said he wanted some father and son time with Julian and said he thought it would be nice if Mum and I had some time together too.
So off they went first thing in the morning, him and Julian, Kekoa and the few boys we had at the time1 with them, left Mum, me and her security guy.2
I woke up early how kids do, bounced into my mum’s room — excited for the day with her.
She said she needed to sleep more and she’d be up soon.
A bit past eleven, she swanned downstairs dressed and ready for the day.
“What are we going to do?” I smiled up at her.
“I’m going to go shopping—” She gave me a tight smile.
“Oh.” I gave her another smile anyway, because I didn’t really care what we did, I was just happy to be there. “Okay — where are we going?”
“Er—” She gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m going to go in by myself with Ankers. It’s just easier, Dais, you know? You wouldn’t like shopping — you don’t like shopping.” She gave me a curt smile. “You’d be so bored.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “But there’s no one else here?”
“Oh.” My mother looked around, annoyed. And then a gardener walked past.
“He’s here—” She pointed at him. “Excuse me—” she called to him, beckoning him over. “Would you mind watching her for an hour of two?”
He glanced over at me, frowning. “Scusa?”
Mum rolled her eyes, checked her watch. “Ti prenderai cura di mia figlia?” She waved in my general direction. “She’s very easy. Buono. Brava ragazza.”
The man watched me for a few moments3 and then he nodded.
Mum clapped once, happy with the outcome.
“Have fun!” She gave me a vacant smile and her and Ankers left.
The gardener stared over at me. There are some faces you just don’t like immediately, do you know what I mean?
I didn’t have a reason4 but I could feel one brewing underneath the surface.
He moved towards the kitchen and opened the cupboard. Honestly, he seemed more confused than me. He’d look over his shoulder every now and then, make sure I was there, make sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
He walked back over, carrying an armful of snacks.
“Caramella?” He offered with a shrug. “Vuoi guardare un film?”
I said nothing.
“TV,” he said.
I nodded, following him to one of the rooms.
It started out okay, but about half way through Pinocchio he was sitting too close to me, taking every chance he had to tickle me.
Subtle at first, friendly at first, but the weathervane that sits inside of me could sense a change in the wind afoot.
I jumped up to my feet. “Possiamo giocare a nascondino?”
“Sì.” He stood.
I pointed to myself. “Me first.”
He nodded.
And then I ran.
Dad and Julian had been training me all my life for things like this. They made it sound fun, like a game.
“How good are you at hiding, Dais?” they’d say at least once a week.
“I’m the best one!” I’d say.
“Show me,” Julian would say.
Places like closets, a trunk at the end of a bed, obvious ones that you’d hide in naturally as a kid, they wouldn’t humour me, they’d find me straight away.
“I heard you run up those stairs—” my dad would say. “It made you easy to find.”
“Do you know what I would do if I wanted to win at hiding, Dais?” my brother said. “I’d run up the stairs as loud as I could, and then slide down the banister as quiet as a mouse.”
If I ever picked a hiding spot that was terrible, behind a curtain, underneath something with an open back that wasn’t up against a wall, they’d find me and tell me why they could.
“I can see your toes, Face,” Julian told me once, as he stepped on them.
“Lost that one, angel,” Dad would say. “Let’s try again.”
I like to be the best at everything I do, so I learned quickly that sometimes you have to be uncomfortable to win the hiding game, and that’s when I became good at it.
I ran up the stairs loudly, like my brother taught me, and then once I heard the feet coming up the stairs, I slid down the laundry shoot.
A laundry room might be a place someone would look for me though, I remember thinking that. There was a door that opened onto the main courtyard and a tiny window that dropped out near the lake’s edge. The window was tight but I could squeeze and I love winning hiding games and this one felt important to win.
I slipped out the window, landed and froze. Got down on the ground and crawled to the dock where one of Dad’s Rivamares were. I lay down on the floor of the boat for a minute of two, but it felt like my dad and my brother would find me too quickly if we were playing. I went to put pillows on myself, but when I’d done that before, Julian had sat on me and found me straight away. I went to place to cushions back on the transom when I saw a hidden little handle that leads to the hold.
As soon as I was inside, I crawled in as deep as I could into the hull and buried myself in some life jackets.
I don’t know how long I was in there. You know how time is different when you’re small? Twenty minutes can feel like eight hours.
It also might have actually been eight hours.
I didn’t wake when they started calling my name. They were looking for me for hours, apparently.
It was my brother who found me.
“Daisy?” he called into the hold.
I didn’t say anything for a second.
“Is the game over?” I asked after a few seconds.
Julian breathed out all relieved. “Yeah, Dais — the game’s over.”
He offered me his hand and pulled me out, onto his lap where he hugged me so tight, I could tell something was wrong.
“Why were you hiding, Dais?” he asked me as he carried me back towards the house.
“The man mum left me with kept wanting to play tickles but I didn’t like it.”
Julian said nothing, just kissed my cheek, nodded and brought me inside.
The second he brought me inside there was this collective sigh of relief from everyone.
“Ah!” my mother sighed, merrily. “See, she’s fine.”
“Leesh5—” Dad pointed at her. “You shut your fucking mouth—”
He rushed over, plucked me from my brother’s arms, hugged me so tight that he hurt me a bit, and as soon as I was out of my brother’s arms, Julian had the gardener pinned against a wall, his arm pressed on his throat.
“You fucking touched my baby sister?” he growled. He would have been sixteen or seventeen at the time, something like that.
“Julian—” our dad said, pointing at my brother, gesturing for him to let him go and move away.
“Baby girl.” My dad shifted me in his arms so he could see my face. He was handsome, my dad. Heavy brow, dark eyebrows. Brown eyes. The sort of facial hair you might see on a well-kept farmer. His jaw was always tense, eyes were always serious.
“Tell me what happened,” he said to me calmly.
“When I woke up you and Julian were gone so I went to find mum but she said she was still tired, so for me to go downstairs and so I did—” He nodded once. “And then when she came downstairs—”
“How long were you downstairs by yourself, Dais?” he asked.
“Mmm.” I wiggled my mouth around, thinking about it. “I don’t know. Do you mean before or after Mum left?”
My dad flicked a look over at my mum and her eyes went wide, nervous.
“Before.”
“I don’t know still.”
“Did you watch TV?” he asked with a smile. I nodded.
“How much?”
My mouth tugged.
“There’s no such thing as too much TV on holidays, is there?” My dad gave me a warm smile. “What did you watch?”
I shrugged. “I just watched two movies and then a bit of one more—”
My dad’s jaw went tighter.
“And then Mum came down?”
“Yeah, she wanted to go shopping with Ankers.”
Dad looked over at her with threadbare eyes.
“And then what happened?”
“Well—” I rubbed my eye. “She said I wouldn’t like to come so she asked that man to play with me.”
I pointed to the gardener.
Dad nodded. “And why were you hiding, my angel?”
“Just because he wanted to play tickles all the time and I didn’t like it.”
My dad’s nostrils flared. “Where did he tickle you, sweetheart?”
I shrugged again. “Just everywhere.”
“Where your swimsuit goes?”
“A bit.” I nodded. “But I didn’t have my swimsuit on, just my normal clothes.”
My dad nodded once, shifted me a little in his arms and then pulled out his gun6 and shot the gardener dead on the spot. Two shots, straight in the head. He only needed the one.
And then, without hesitation, he swung his gun around and planted it square on my mum’s forehead.
“You’re going to leave my daughter with a fucking paedophile?”
I was frozen, squeezing my dad’s neck so tight I was probably choking him.
Julian was eyes wide, still. “Dad—”
“Hadrian—” Kekoa moved towards him.
“Fuck off—” Dad said without looking back at him, as he knocked the gun into her head again, pressing it further in.
“I — I didn’t kn—” she stammered.
“Dad—” Julian edged closer to him. “Put the gun away—”
“Julian, you stay the fuck out of it—”
My mum’s eyes, they weren’t on my dad, but on me, like it was me holding the gun to her head, me doing it to her.
“Let my daughter be touched by some fucking pedo so you can go shopping with your boytoy?” my dad roared, knocking her head with his gun.
“Just give me Daisy, Dad—” Julian said quietly from the side of us.
He looked over at my brother then down to me, like he forgot I was there in his arms.
He passed me off to Julian and in a way that was a mistake because as soon as Jules had me, Dad grabbed her throat and pushed her against a wall, gun to her head.
Her eyed filled with reluctant tears and she stared over at me, glaring, saying without saying it was all my fault—
Julian ran me out of the room and up the stairs, closed the door behind him, turned the TV on loud. Jingle All The Way even though it was the summertime.
I sigh, chin in my hand, sitting in the room all that happened in however many years ago.
In case you were wondering, it has been as weird a trip as you’d imagine it to be,7 maybe this house just brings out the weird in people?
“You’re wearing the cardigan,” Magnolia says, smiling as she watches me. I’ve lost count of how many new clothes I get on a weekly basis because she just puts them in my room. With the exception of my bra from La Perla,8 this whole outfit9 is from her, I think.
“Are you okay?” she asks, watching me from the doorway.
“Yeah—” I shrug dismissively. “Fine.”
She doesn’t buy it and takes a step further into the room. “Are you sure?”
“Just — a weird memory—” I shake my head.
“Tell me it.” She takes another step towards me and gives me a kind smile.
I give her a curt one. “No—”
She sort of sighs, flashes me a tired smile and turns to walk away.
“My dad shot a man there once.” I point to where she’s standing.
She goes still. “Oh.” Shuffles to the left a little bit. “Why?”
I think of what to say. “Just a bad man, I think.”
“To you?” she asks, delicately.
I nod.
She sits down opposite me, her chin in her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I got away—” I shake my head. “Hid.”
She shrugs. “I’m still sorry.”
“My mum left me with him,” I say, I don’t know why.
“Oh, fuck—” She blinks twice.
“When our dad found out, he went ballistic.”
Magnolia just nods.
“Gun to her head and shit.” She frowns, sad, and I shake my head. “They weren’t really the same after that.”
“Oh.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “Did she leave him?”
“No—” I shake my head. “You couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She loved him and my brother—”
“And you,” she reminds me because it’s the normal thing to do, but I shake my head.
“No.”
“I’m sure—” She nods.
“No, I don’t know—” I shake my head. I’m not fishing. “When they died — do you know how they died—?”
“I know they were killed, I know,” she offers. “I’m afraid your brother hasn’t gone too more much into it—”
Can’t really believe he went into it at all.
“They were shot on the beach.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “The shooter — he tried to kill us too.”
Her face falls, devastated.
“Oh my God.” She blinks.
“Julian fought him off,” I tell her and I think I see some pride in the smile she flashes me.
“How?”
I tilt my head at her. Give her a look — tell her without telling her — I don’t want to entirely shatter whatever illusion she has about whoever she thinks my brother is, but I think I still do anyway.
“Oh,” is all she says and the pride dissipates, and maybe some fear starts to seed.
“When the shooter pulled the gun out, my dad dove in front of me, not my mum—”
“A father’s instinct.” Parks nods, then thinks to herself for a second and shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, my father has none—”
“It always felt like my fault that she died—”
“Well—” She gives me a look. “It’s not.”
I give her one back. “Except it is, a bit.”
“No.” She shakes her head firmly. “That’s your mind playing tricks on you, but it’s not true. It wasn’t your fault.”
I sigh, roll my eyes at her dismissively for trying to talk to me about something she couldn’t possibly understand.10
She purses her mouth, brows knitted into a frown. She swallows.
“BJ and I… well — I got pregnant in high school.”11
I freeze and stare over at her. “What?”
“We lost the baby.”12 She shrugs with her body like it’s casual but her eyes look crushed.
“—Oh my God.” I blink over at her.
“And…. I’m twenty-four—” She touches her chest, squeezing her eyes tight shut. “And I know — I know — that I didn’t kill her—” then her eyes open nervously as she stares over at me. “But sometimes it feels like I did, though.”
I tilt my head. “Magnolia—”
“I was… very thin back then.” Back then? I stare at her a bit blankly. I can’t imagine her being much thinner now. She gives me a sad smile as she shrugs. “I don’t know that I was all that healthy—”
I don’t know what to say so I shrug a bit. “You were in high school…”
“I know.” She nods. “I know that and you know that, and when you hear that, you know that I obviously—” she pauses. Composes herself. “—that I didn’t. But sometimes if I were listen to the wrong parts of my mind, it can feel like I did—” she gives me a look. “So even if it feels like what happened with your mum was your fault, I know that it wasn’t… okay?”
My eyes feel heavy13 but I nod anyway. “Okay.”
She turns to walk away and then pauses.
“Christian knows,” she says.
“Okay.”
Purses her lips. “But Julian doesn’t.”14
“Okay.” I nod.
Her eyes go to pleading. “Don’t tell him?”15
I shake my head a little. “I won’t.”16
She pinches her lip in absentminded nervousness. “I just have this awful feeling that if he were to know, that secret decency he has that just you and I know about might activate and he’ll do the right thing and end things with me.”
“Right.” I swallow, feel myself frown a little bit. “But should he?”
Magnolia’s mouth pulls. “Probably—” She nods, giving me a sad smile. “Um — probably. But I don’t really want him to.” I think saying that sentence out loud catches her off guard. She shakes her head quickly. “Not yet.”
And I get it, I get a ‘not yet’. And I know what she means about my brother… What it’s like to be with him or under his protection. He’s like the ozone layer, like without him she’d just be scorched earth.
“Okay,” I tell her with a small nod.
She flashes me a quick smile and goes to leave.
“I’m sorry—” I call after her. “That that happened to you…”
She gives me a small, grateful smile. “I’m sorry that that happened to you too.”
1 Security was less of a thing for us then.
2 A Dutch guy called Ankers, who I think she might have been sleeping with, but I can’t prove that as they’re both dead.
3 And my stomach did an uneasy flip.
4 Not yet, anyway.
5 Laoise, was my mother’s full name, in case you didn’t know. Everyone called her Leesha.
6 Smith & Wesson Model 648 22Mag Revolver.
7 Too many conflicting agendas, too much tension, etc.
8 Logo-trim U-neck bra (La Perla).
9 Cropped embellished mohair-blend cardigan (Alessandra Rich); Open Ankle Loungewear Trousers; BV Lido 90mm quilted mules (Bottega Veneta).
10 How can she be so annoying?
11 Oh my God.
12 Holy shit. They instantly make so much more sense.
13 But I’d legitimately probably rather die than cry in front of her, so…
14 Shit.
15 Double shit.
16 Triple.
