Daisy's Secret (13 page)

‘No, thank you, it’s late. Heavens, it’s nearly midnight.’ Laura stood up. ‘I really must go.’

He didn’t press her to stay longer or make any silly jokes about her changing into a pumpkin on the stroke of midnight. He simply collected her coat and offered to walk her back up the fields. Laura shook her head. I have my torch, and I came properly shod.’ Slipping off the indoor shoes she’d brought with her, she pushed her feet into a sturdy pair of boots. They looked rather clumsy against her long blue evening skirt but would keep her feet dry, and what did glamour matter out in a field in the middle of the night? ‘Thanks for a lovely evening. Most enlightening.’

‘Glad you came?’

She glanced up at him, at the relaxed way he stood before her, hands in pockets, his smile warm and friendly, ‘Yes,’ she said, finding to her surprise that she meant it. ‘I am. You must come to me next time. I cook pretty good too.’

‘There is going to be a next time then?’

A small pause. ‘I expect so. We’ll have to see, shan’t we?’

‘I shall look forward to it.’

It was as he opened the door onto a still and cloudless night that he asked her the question that had clearly been on his mind all evening. ‘What about your husband. Doesn’t he object to you having dinner with strange men?’

Laura busied herself fastening buttons and tying on her scarf so that he couldn’t see the troubled expression in her eyes. ‘Oh, probably, but he isn’t here, is he?’ She stepped over the threshold into the yard before he could pursue that particular line of conversation any further. ‘Look at the stars. Aren’t they magnificent? We can rarely see them in town these days. Too much light pollution, I suppose. It’s good to know they’re still here, keeping watch over us.’

‘Perhaps Daisy is one of them now, keeping an eye on us all.’

Laura turned to him with a lopsided smile, ‘What a lovely thought. Thanks again for the delicious meal. Perhaps we can talk again some time, about Daisy.’

‘Of course. There’s lots more I could tell you, I’m sure.’

She let out a regretful sigh. ‘If only she’d left a journal, as the Victorians used to do. It would make things so much easier.’

‘I suppose it would, but sometimes a little effort can be so much more rewarding, don’t you think? Good night Laura.’

When Thursday came round, Daisy was in a dither of indecision. What should she wear for her first date with Harry? She had very few clothes and no money to buy any new ones. Yet for some reason she felt torn in two, anxious to look her best, wanting him to like her while at the same time being unwilling to give the impression that she’d made any special effort. Mindful of the disaster that her first love affair had led her into, Daisy was afraid of making a mistake, and reluctant to take any similar risks, or encourage him in the slightest way.
 

In the event, in the hours before he was due to arrive Daisy was kept so fully occupied she didn’t have a moment to think, let alone study the contents of her meagre wardrobe. To start with she was late home from work, then the moment she came through the door, Mrs Chapman sent her straight out again to join a queue she’d heard was forming at the butchers. She hadn’t the first idea what it was for but if something good was available, she wanted some. Daisy stood impatiently stamping her feet against the winter cold, fretting and worrying about how long this ritual might take and when, an hour later, she returned bearing the prize of half a dozen pork sausages, Mrs Chapman tartly remarked that it had hardly been worth the effort

‘If only you hadn’t been late, and had joined the queue earlier, then you might have been more successful.’

Daisy gritted her teeth against the desire to defend herself by saying that Mr Chapman was the one to blame for her being late, by asking her to tidy the stationery cupboard quite late in the day. He’d then hindered the process by keep popping in to interrupt and check on how she was getting along. She knew he only meant to be kind but there’d been one moment, when he’d squeezed into the cupboard with her, that Daisy had felt quite claustrophobic, trapped by his bulk in the confined space. He was a large, stocky man and when he’d reached up, quite unnecessarily, to bring down a box for her to sort through, the smell of sweat from under his armpits had made her feel quite nauseous.

‘You don’t have to stay,’ she’d told him. ‘I can get a stool and manage very well on my own, thanks.’ She didn’t like to say that there wasn’t room enough for the two of them in the narrow space.

‘No, I’m happy to help. I’ll lift you up, shall I?’ To Daisy’s alarm, he’d grasped her by the waist and lifted her off her feet so that she could reach the next box. She could feel his plump fingers digging into her ribs just below her breasts and went quite hot with embarrassment.

She’d been saved by the arrival of one of his clerks who came to tell him a client had arrived for their appointment. He appeared not in the least nonplussed to find his employer lurking in the stationery cupboard with the post girl, nor did he seem to notice how flustered Daisy was. But it was this small incident which caused her to experience her first doubts about Mr Chapman and his veneer of kind generosity.

As if this wasn’t enough, she was further delayed by Megan and Trish who were waiting for her at the garden gate full of excitement over some news they were bursting to tell her.

‘What d’you think Daisy, Mrs Marshall is going to have a baby.’

Daisy was startled. She hadn’t realised ladies as old as Mrs Marshall could still have babies. She must be very nearly forty, if not that already. ‘Really, how do you know?’

‘We heard her telling the cleaning lady. She said how they’d been trying for years and had given up all hope. Isn’t that good, Daisy? Trish and me like babies. P’raps they found the right place what sells them.’

‘Yes, perhaps they did,’ Daisy agreed, but even as she nodded and smiled, promising to meet up with them later for their usual early evening doggy walk, there was a smidgen of worry at the back of her mind. Would Mr and Mrs Marshall still be prepared to keep the two little evacuees once they had a baby of their own?

But all of these concerns melted away as anticipation of the evening ahead tightened in the pit of her stomach, making her feel very slightly sick. She couldn’t get the image of Harry’s cheerful face out of her mind as she set about her nightly chores with extra vigour, eager to get them done quickly then she could be on her way.

Daisy cleaned the kitchen, polished Mr Chapman’s shoes and sharpened a batch of pencils for the holder on his desk, not forgetting the promised walk with the children and the dog, which left her just enough time to quickly wash her face, drag a comb through the tangled corkscrew curls and pull on the first clean blouse and skirt that came to hand. So much for studying her wardrobe.

Even though she flew down the stairs the moment the door bell rang, pausing only to grab her coat, by the time she reached it Mr Chapman was already standing in the hall, holding the door wide open. ‘There appears to be someone here for you, Daisy.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, slightly breathless from her headlong dash and from the blast of cold wind that roared up the lobby. ‘Hello Harry.’

Looking exceptionally smart in his blue uniform, he deftly saluted her. ‘Evening.’

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young man, Daisy?’

She did so, hearing her own voice sounding all stilted and embarrassed, stumbling over the words although why it should affect her in that way, Daisy couldn’t imagine. It was really no business of Mr Chapman who she went out with, and, strictly speaking, Harry couldn’t be called her ‘young man’ at all, only a friend who happened to be male. But Mr Chapman was frowning at Harry in a curiously critical way and she was anxious, suddenly, to be off.

‘I won’t be late,’ she called, grabbing Harry’s arm and pushing him out onto the step, in readiness for a quick exit.

‘Indeed I should hope not. That wouldn’t be right, not on such a short acquaintance. It would be most unseemly of your young man to return you home much beyond nine.’

‘Nine?’ Daisy was appalled. That barely gave them more than a couple of hours together.

Harry bravely remarked, ‘We’re going to a dance, sir. I could have her back by ten.’

Mr Chapman appeared to consider. ‘Very well then, ten o’clock. Not a moment later. We are responsible for you to your parents, after all, Daisy. What would they think if I absconded on my duty?’

Daisy made no response to this as she hurried Harry quickly down the garden path and along the street, though she could feel him bristling with anger. ‘Who does he think he is to lecture me about what’s right or wrong? Does he imagine I’d do something to hurt you? Silly old cove. Anyway, how does he know how long I’ve known you, or what your parents would think of me?’

Daisy knew for certain that her mother would jump quickly to the conclusion that Harry wanted to have his wicked way with her, as Percy had done. If she’d been here, Rita would have warned her to make no mention of her dreadful secret, not if she wanted to keep her reputation intact, nor be taken advantage of.
 

Not that Daisy had any intention of ever telling anyone about the precious, nameless baby who’d been taken from her, though for a very different reason. It was a subject far too painful to discuss with anyone, let alone a new acquaintance. Giving no indication of these troubled thoughts, she smiled brightly up at him. ‘Take no notice, Harry. Like he says, he is responsible for me, in a way, since I’m an evacuee. And I am only seventeen.’ She felt properly grown up now that she’d had another birthday.

‘And I’m only twenty-two. Too young to be fighting in a war. But if I’m old enough to die for my country, I’m old enough to take out any girl I fancy.’

Daisy cast him a sidelong glance from beneath the sweep of her lashes, her mouth pursing upwards into a teasing smile. ‘So you do fancy me then, eh?’

‘I fancy you rotten, and don’t pretend you don’t know that already.’

The dance was being held at the village hall, put on specially for the ‘boys in blue’ by grateful locals who feared for what these young men might soon be facing, wanting their last memories of this small Cumberland village to be happy ones. Outside, the helm wind might blow across the tops with its usual fervour, guns might be sounding in far distant places, but here, within these four walls, all was merry and light hearted. The music was loud, the room packed with air crew and starry eyed village girls; a substantial supper of pork pies, sandwiches and home made cakes to satisfy healthy young appetites during the interval. No one spoke of the war, or where they might be tomorrow, or the day after that. Here, for one night at least, everyone could feel safe and warm, happy and free to simply enjoy themselves.

Daisy was having the time of her life. She danced every number with Harry, even the square tango and the Boston Two Step at which they were both so hopeless they fell over each other’s feet and very nearly ended up in another tangle on the dance floor.

‘Oh lord, me mam always did call me a clumsy oaf,’ Daisy mourned and, for the sake of the other couples still dancing, suggested that perhaps they should sit the next one out. ‘Otherwise we might get ourselves arrested for causing an obstruction.’

They sat on a couple of the hard, wooden chairs set around the perimeter of the room, Daisy sipping a lemonade while Harry quaffed a welcome beer. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers and this somehow seemed strangely intimate. Smitten with a burst of shyness, she couldn’t think of a thing to say throughout the length of two more dances. The long silence was nevertheless a contented one and it was Harry who broke it by saying it was getting late and perhaps they ought to be starting the long walk home. ‘In any case, I don’t know about you, but I could do with a breath of fresh air.’

The January night was crisp and frosty, with a horned moon riding high amongst the stars in a clear, bright sky. All around were the undulating folds of the Northern fells, filling the horizon, deceptively benign, their smooth faces blanked out by the darkness, it was here that the RAF aimed their dummy bombs. Daisy had watched them practise day after day, flying in low, searching for the wooden arrows on the ground which marked their target. Some time soon their target would be a real one, and not quite so passive. Tonight though, all was silent, save for the crack and splinter of ice underfoot as the young couple walked along the rough track. Harry tucked up the collar of Daisy’s coat. ‘Are you warm enough?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

He put an arm about her and hugged her close to his side, just to make sure, he explained. Daisy didn’t object. She liked the feel of him beside her, warm and strong, solid and comforting, and the pressure of his hand moving up and down her arm was bringing small shivers of excitement deep in her belly. The more time she spent with Harry, the more she liked him.

They walked for a long time in silence, and then he said, ‘Back home, in Manchester or Salford, wherever it is that you live, is there anyone special?’

‘Special in what way?’ Daisy asked, knowing full well what he meant, but needing time to consider her answer.

‘You know in what way.’

‘Well - there was once.’ She knew she sounded hesitant and unsure, unwilling to speak of it.

‘But not now?’

For one mad moment she almost told him. She could simply say: I was young and foolish and got myself into trouble because I thought we were in love. Except that instead of marrying me, as I’d hoped and longed for, he joined up and left me to deal with the consequences on my own. Yet how could she? She was scarcely much older even now. A wave of sickness hit her, and she was back in that Mother and Baby Home, arguing with Mam, pleading with her to let her keep the baby, crying for Percy to come for her.