Daisy: April 2020

The next day I wake up early. Something’s different, but it takes me a few moments to work out what it is. And then I realise. Instead of the mutterings of the wind walkers, carried on the constant buffeting of the wind against the walls of the house, there is silence. The air in my bedroom is milder too and so where usually I would pull the blankets around me and linger in bed, reluctant to brave the bitter cold, I jump up and pull on my clothes. Downstairs, the others are still asleep. I let myself out, quietly pulling the door closed behind me, and walk a little way up the hill.

At the top of the village, I perch on a wall beneath a string of faded prayer flags and look around. This view can’t have changed much since Violet’s day, and I feel closer than ever to her as I take in the sights and sounds of the village as it awakens. A raven calls from the branches of a birch tree, asking ‘Why? Why?’ and I remember one of Jack’s anagrams: SILENT = LISTEN.

Most of the snow has melted now at this level and the fields are a rich brown, ready for planting. The sky overhead is still empty of clouds and aeroplane trails, and the wall of soaring white peaks dazzles against it. The first wisps of smoke drift from chimneys here and there, suddenly blooming into unruly billows as the kindling takes, before the fires begin to blaze with more heat and the smoke-swirls fade to a faint haze. The sun pulls itself above the ridge line and I hear the calling of birds and the faint clank of yak bells as the animals rouse themselves and begin to graze. I lift my face to the warmth of the new day, basking in the golden light.

A woman emerges from her house, tying on her apron, and then brushes her long black hair, twisting it into a braid and pinning it at the nape of her neck. She pulls the loosened strands from the brush, casting them away for the birds to use as nesting material, then shakes out a blanket and spreads it over a wall to air in the sun, before disappearing back behind the cloth curtain covering the doorway of her house. A man passes just below me on the path, carrying a bamboo basket of fodder on his back as he goes to feed his yaks, gently nudging aside the babies who crowd round him with curiosity as he approaches. Then the first sounds of Dipa busying herself with her pots and pans in the teahouse kitchen reach my ears, and I climb down from the wall and go to see if I can lend a hand with the breakfast.

The Wi-Fi is working well today and I’m able to send my email to Mum with what Themi has told me so far of Violet’s life here. I push my luck, sending a few photos of the village as well, but am expecting no response as it must be the middle of the night in Scotland. So I almost jump out of my skin when my phone actually rings with an incoming call.

‘Mum!’ I say, excited to hear her voice again. ‘What are you doing up at this time? Sorry if I woke you.’ But the smile on my face quickly fades at her quavering words.

‘Daisy, my darling, it’s so good to hear you. But we’re worried about Davy. He’s caught the virus. He’s been feeling bad for a few days, but then yesterday he was really struggling to breathe. We managed to get an ambulance to come, and they’ve got him in the hospital now. I’m not allowed to go and see him, though.’ Her voice breaks with worry and exhaustion and she starts to cry.

‘Mum ... it’s okay.’ But it’s not okay and my words sound hollow, even to my own ears.

There’s a silence at the end of the line and then I hear her take a deep breath, trying hard to compose herself. ‘It’s so frightening, Daisy. This awful disease. We all feel so helpless. I can’t get through to the hospital, the phone just keeps ringing and ringing. They must be overwhelmed, trying to cope.’ I hear her hold the handset away as she chokes, coughing and crying again.

‘I’m sure he’ll be all right,’ I say, although the words are empty platitudes, of course, because I have no idea at all whether or not he will. I try to sound more convincing than I feel, making my voice as strong as I can so it carries hope and reassurance to her over the thousands of miles that separate us. ‘You know how tough he is. And he’s in the best place to be well looked after. You still need to rest, yourself, you know. But he’ll be back soon.’

She sniffs back her tears. ‘I know, my love. Sorry, it’s just getting to us all at the moment.’

‘I’ll try to come home, Mum,’ I say, suddenly needing to be with her.

‘No,’ she says, her tone sharper. ‘Stay where you are. You’re safer there. I don’t think you can travel anyway, but even if you can you’ll be putting yourself at risk.’

I feel so useless, unable to be there when she needs me, and I swallow down the hard lump of emotion rising in my throat.

After a few moments’ silence, Mum’s voice comes through again, softer this time. ‘Honestly, Daisy, please don’t try to come home just now. Things will be better soon, surely. It helps me knowing you’re safe and well. Just sit it out and wait until the Foreign Office says it’s okay to travel again. Promise me?’

I sniff hard, then say, ‘I promise. Oh Mum, I miss you so much. I wish I was there with you. Keep me posted, won’t you? And send my love to Davy if you manage to get through. He’ll call you the minute he can, I know.’

She’s quiet again.

‘Are you still there?’ I say.

‘Yes, still here.’ She sounds so tired, so weak. So unlike herself.

‘Get some sleep, Mum,’ I tell her. ‘You need to look after yourself so you can take care of everyone else.’

‘Okay, Daisy,’ she replies. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Mum.’ Reluctantly, I ring off, not wanting to cut the tenuous thread that links us.

A few minutes later, a message pings on my phone from her. Sorry, just tired. And everything always seems worse in the middle of the night. Going to get some sleep now. Take care xx.

I send her one back, but the ticks beside it remain faint, showing she hasn’t opened it. I hope it’s because she’s resting. I push my phone into my jacket pocket and follow Dipa and Sonam outside to help break the newly thawed ground in the field below the lodge so we can sow this season’s crop of buckwheat.