DAISY 

The taxi jolts to a halt.

‘Why are we stopping?’ I lean forward so the taxi driver can hear me through the glass window.

‘Traffic.’ He says in a bored voice.

It’s a typical day for him, but not for me. I can’t be late, not today. I have to get to this appointment on time.

‘For once in your life, Daisy, be on time’ I can hear my Mum’s voice in my ears: ‘First impressions are important!’ I can feel my heartbeat rising and my breath becoming shallow just thinking of her.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

A calmer voice surfaces in my mind. A voice I learned to trust, with the years, more than my Mum’s tone.

I don’t have time for this now. I pay the driver, get out of the taxi, and start my power walk. I’m late because my last client of the day had a major breakthrough. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her time was up and she should leave. That’s not the way therapists - or rather good therapists - work, according to my book of conduct.

Just as I’m around the corner, I see Mike waiting for me. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m late. He leans against the wall of the grand house with showy letters saying, “Dodson Fertility Clinic”. His foot braced against the building, scrolling through his phone, Mike looks like an overgrown teenager.

He’s oblivious to others’ curious looks as they pass him. No one in their right mind would guess this chubby-looking guy with his old jeans and T-shirt is one of the sharpest minds in the City. Mike’s natural home is more Canary Wharf than Harley Street.

In that sixth sense way of his, Mike raises his head from his phone and waves to let me know it’s ok. It does not make me feel better. I quicken my step, but before I reach him for a hug, my bag flies open. Files, papers, and other rubbish fall to the ground. Mike swoops down and picks it all up for me.

‘You’re on time.’ He kisses me.

I laugh. ‘We both know you mean Daisy Time and not Greenwich Mean Time.’

‘It’s all the same to me.’ Mike shrugs.

I look up at the grand entrance of the clinic, adorned with pillars and stone lions. The whole place screams elegance and money. In contrast, I’m out of breath, red-faced, and looking like a mess. I blot my clammy hands on my wrinkled skirt

 IRIS 

Iris Bach-Dillen elbows her way through the crowded train to find a place. Even approaching her 60s, Iris is a woman on a mission, even when that mission is inconsequential.

At last, she finds a compartment with space. She takes a seat and opens her laptop and mobile phone without even looking at her fellow travellers. Her usual mantra plays in her head: ‘No time to lose! So many tasks, so little time.’

Her constant inner judge calls out when she glances over her list of ‘To-Do’, highlighting the most urgent tasks. Iris picks up her phone and dials ‘DAISY’.

Daisy does not answer. It’s not the first time she’s tried calling Daisy today; her irritation turns into resentment. Feeling despondent, Iris lets her gaze roam around her compartment and the people in it. Her face reflects in the window of the train. She looks outside, drinking in the beauty of the landscape the train passes through. Lavender fields stretch into the horizon between rolling green hills.

‘Why can’t I stop myself from running all the time? The whole idea of moving to the countryside is that I would leave the rat race and slow down. But somehow, no matter what, I never enjoy the moment of being with nature and the beauty of it all.

Iris sighs, allowing herself to close her eyes and lean back. For a while, all she feels is the movement of the train. It puts her into a trance. Though her body shifts into a relaxed state, the voices in her head keep going.

‘I wonder if a day will come when I can let go of my need to run everything and stop being a control freak like everyone says I am. What was it Mum always used to say?’

‘Iris, you can’t make everyone like you all the time!’

She opens her eyes. A teenager that reminds her of Joy sits in front of her. The girl is reading ‘Anna Karenina’. Iris smiles; that’s just like Joy as well. There aren’t many youngsters who still read physical books. Without thinking, Iris leans forward.

‘You do know he got it all wrong?’ Iris says.

The girl looks at her, surprised. ‘Who?’

‘Tolstoy. Not all happy families are the same. Everyone is happy in their own way.’

The girl has no idea what Iris is on about. She smiles civilly and continues reading.

Feeling embarrassed, Iris tries calling Daisy again, but the call goes to voicemail. She dives back into her long ‘To-Do list’ to avoid catching the girl’s eye again for the rest of her train ride.

 DAISY 

‘What did you think?’

I hear Mike saying something, but I have no clue what he is talking about.

‘What?’ I ask to gain some time to think.

‘What’s your verdict on Dr Hamburg?’ Mike repeats.

I go into my automatic mode of apologising and giving excuses. ‘Oh... sorry… I was miles away.’

‘I noticed,' Mike says with a laugh. ‘So…?’

‘I don’t know,’ I murmur. ‘It felt as if I’m talking to a technical manual. I couldn’t connect to him at all.”

“I guess it’s what professionals are’. Mike responds.

‘I want a professional and a human being. He was a total jerk. Judging me for waiting until this age to have kids!’

‘So it’s a “no” from you. I agree.’

I can breathe easier knowing Mike is on the same page concerning the clinic.

‘The only problem is, we’re back to square one on this issue,’ I mention.

I can see Mike has something on his mind. Knowing him, he is looking for a way to assert it as politely as possible. I can literally hear the wheels whirling in his brain. I can’t take it any longer.

‘Spit it out!’

‘Don’t be upset… but why don’t you ask Iris? She has experience with giving birth late in life and did well.’

I shake my head so hard; my ears practically start ringing. ‘No one knows yet.’

The look on Mike’s face tells everything. He never had to deal with my family’s lack of understanding of personal boundaries. It has taken me years to establish those borders. If I tell them too early, I know they will ride roughshod over me.

‘I’ll have to tell them this weekend,’ I mutter, more to myself than to him.

‘Do you think they’ll object?’ he asks.

‘No, but I want this weekend to be about Dad, not about me. The truth is, I don’t have the energy to put on a happy face and do the whole Bach Bunch routine of one big happy family.’

‘Then we can find an excuse and not go.’

Mike doesn’t really know my family, even after all these years together.

'It’s Dad’s eightieth birthday, and we worked so hard on this. Besides, Iris will kill me if I don’t show up.’

Mike squeezes my hand reassuringly. ‘I’m sure your Dad will understand. And if you do tell them, I’m certain he’d think it’s the best gift you could give him.’

‘It’s not Dad I’m worried about. It’s Mum, and she’ll have a new excuse to start controlling our lives.’

This reminds me I switched off my phone hours ago. I turn it on and nearly choke.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Loads of missed calls from Iris. You’d think someone died. Most likely, all she wants are more stupid details about the damn party.’

Mike roars with laughter. ‘You’d better call her back, or she’ll have a heart attack!’

I think it over. ‘No. I want to go home, take a shower and wash this appointment off me before I call Iris.’

 HEATHER 

Heather Bach could have been a beauty queen if she’d wanted. But she and fashion were never friends, which could explain why it took longer to perceive the beauty behind her plainness. Even well into her forties, she managed to maintain a slim, youthful figure and striking looks. Zoe cuddle up together in their compartment as the train passes through the countryside.

Heather is not looking forward to the coming weekend. ‘I just want it to be over as soon as possible so we can return to Berlin.’

Zoe looks like a young Amazon. She has an open face and ready laughter, two reasons why Heather was attracted to her. She knows Zoe balances her seriousness.

‘It won’t be that bad!’

‘You say that, now. Wait till you meet my Mum.’

‘I’m excited to meet your Mum,’ Zoe replies.

Heather grits her teeth. ‘Why on earth do you want to meet her – or my family? You’re out of your mind! You could have a marvellous weekend in Berlin. Instead, you’re stuck here with me.’

‘I’d have to meet your family, sooner or later, if we want this relationship to go anywhere. If so, what better way than your Dad’s party.’

‘Some might call it a party. I call it a show, especially when Iris is running it. I’m telling you now: you don’t want to get to know my family.’

Zoe stares at Heather. ‘I suppose it’s a case of the old saying, ‘you can choose your friends but not your family’.

'They also say blood is thicker than water,’ Heather snaps.

Zoe looks away, hurt. Heather gazes out the window. The train’s PA system dings with an announcement.

‘Next stop, Oxford station. Please don’t forget to take all your belongings.’

When the train enters the station, Heather stands up to take their suitcase, and her eye catches a familiar face on the platform.

'What the hell is she doing here?’ She cries out loud in a cold voice that could freeze the fires of hell. 

Excerpt From: Vered Neta. “Things we do for love.” iBooks.