Daisy's Secret (46 page)

‘But you’re right about Megan and Trish, in one respect at least. I did want a stable home for them. And why not? We all deserve a happy childhood and them two little ‘uns have had a raw deal so far. But I’m the one responsible for them, no one else, for all Clem loves them to bits. I can tell that by the way he never stops talking about them.’

‘Talk? You’ve got Clem talking?’

‘Never stops. All I have to do is listen.’

‘Perhaps that’s a skill I should cultivate.’ Florrie gave a weak smile as she shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’ve achieved so much, Daisy, know so much about them all. I can see that you really care, that you’re not at all the sort to get depressed; to give up and sit about feeling sorry for yourself, as I was. Still do, I suppose. You’re far more capable than me.’ She fell silent again, her quiet gaze still on Daisy, measuring her up, considering the situation.

In Florrie’s opinion, Daisy was not in the least bit as she had expected, or rather as Rita had led her to believe. She wasn’t flighty or silly, nor beautiful in the conventional sense of the word. Not at all the sort of drop-dead beauty you’d expect men to go for. She didn’t flirt or flash her eyes, or behave in the giddy way young girls often do. Her hair was soft and well washed, a lovely brown; her smooth young skin lightly tanned and freckled from a summer spent largely outdoors. She was no Betty Grable, that was for sure, so, if Clem had taken a shine to her, there must be some other reason, some inner beauty that had appealed to him. And perhaps this was it, her generosity of spirit. The love that shone out of her for her fellow human beings. Perhaps he saw her as a daughter, replacing the one he’d lost.

After a moment Florrie said, ‘And what about the bairn? What about this little chap? Have you decided what to do about him? We mustn’t forget that he needs a mother.’

Softly, Daisy said, ‘Maybe he’s got two, one in me, and one in you. I know about Emma. Clem told me. I’m so sorry.’ There was a long, drawn-out silence which seemed to go on for ever. Daisy didn’t dare breathe as she waited for Florrie’s response. At length it came, spoken in the softest of voices.

‘Jealousy is a terrible thing. Like loneliness, it eats into the heart of you, robs you of your soul. Seeing you with little Robbie was like losing Emma all over again. I know it’s not the same, it’s just . . . it reminded me . . . brought back all those feelings . . . all that pain.’

‘I can understand that. But more than one person can love a child.’

The two women looked at each other, the hope in Florrie’s eyes meeting with compassion in Daisy’s. ‘I don’t know whether I can beat it or not, Daisy, but I’ll give it a go. That bairn needs a young mum, not an old one. I’ll settle for being his favourite aunt.’ She smiled, a genuine smile this time which warmed them both. ‘You deserve him, Daisy Atkins, if only for making Clem a happy man again.’

‘So you and he are. . .’

Florrie blushed to the roots of her bleached blonde hair. ‘No, I wasn’t meaning owt o’sort. Me and Clem have a long road to climb yet, I reckon. And happen he isn’t even interested in trying.’

‘Are you?’

There was anguish in Florrie’s gaze as she turned to look out the window on to the empty fells beyond. ‘I reckon it’s too late for us to make a fresh start. I’ve blown me chances. I very much doubt he cares enough about me now to give me another.’

That very evening, as if to make up for her sulks and misery, and to stop herself brooding over the state of her marriage, Florrie flung herself into helping Daisy with renewed energy. She willingly laid the dining table without needing to be asked, and offered to serve while Daisy dished up.

‘Many hands make light work.’

‘Florrie, you’re a treasure.’

Daisy smiled to herself at the sound of her aunt’s red sling-back shoes clattering back and forth up and down the passage. In the background she could hear the strains of a Fred Astaire number coming from the front parlour, now the record player had been put back. At least Florrie didn’t have time to be lonely now, and it was good that she was willing to set aside her jealousy. If only she and Clem could talk things through properly, she might have some chance of shaking herself free of depression too. But the distance between husband and wife seemed to be going worse, not better.

Florrie spread the big table which the guests shared in the dining room with a bright blue check tablecloth, set out all the knives, forks and spoons and was on her way back for the cruet, which she’d forgotten, when she cannoned into Tommy Fawcett. To her utter surprise and astonishment, he pulled her into his arms and swept the blushing Florrie into a two-step to the tune of
Lady Be Good
, right along the passage and back into the kitchen just as if he really were Fred Astaire.
 

He didn’t let her go until the record had finished, by which time he’d twice circled the kitchen table, making Daisy jump out of the way to avoid his flying feet and spun Florrie around in a dizzying pirouette to finish the number.
 

Megan and Trish, both sitting at the table eating boiled eggs, watched the entire performance goggle-eyed. Little Robbie, chortling with glee, banged his spoon on his high chair very nearly in time to the music.
 

‘What a star she is. Did you see that step and slide? A professional couldn’t have done better.’

Florrie, one hand leaning on the table while she nursed a stitch in her side with the other, burst out laughing, her cheeks flushed to an even brighter pink. Tommy doffed his brown trilby which had miraculously stayed glued to the back of his head throughout, winked outrageously, then declared himself mortified at not being in a position to take her to a proper dance that very evening.

‘I’ve promised to accompany Ned Pickles to another dull lecture on the need for new health reform. You could always come with us?’ he suggested hopefully. Florrie hastily shook her head, before finally regaining sufficient breath to actually speak.

‘Some other time perhaps,’ she puffed, patting her hair back into place and glancing flirtatiously up at him through her lashes. Hadn’t she known all along that being over forty didn’t mean she was past it; that she was still young enough to attract a man? Yet even in her wildest dreams she’d never imagined being actually asked out on a date. ‘You can always ask me another evening, if you like. I used to be quite good on the dance floor once over. So I might even say yes.’

‘I shall hold you to that,’ Tommy said, clowning a cheery salute, then with a click of his heels he looped an arm about her waist and hung her backwards over his arm in a fair imitation of a tango, or the pasé doble, making Florrie screech with delight and the children cheer and loudly applaud.

It was at this precise moment that Clem walked in. He stood at the door in his blue work overalls, mouth sagging open in surprise to find his wife thus engaged.

All of a fluster, Florrie pushed Tommy away and pretended to scold him, though not very convincingly. ‘What a card you are Tommy Fawcett. Behave yourself, do. We’re just having a laugh,’ she said, seeing the grim expression on her husband’s face.

‘So I see.’ It was very plain that Clem didn’t see at all.

Tommy stepped hastily forward, whipped off the brown trilby and bowed low. ‘It was all my doing, Mr er..um...Dingle ... er Tingle,’ he joked, just as if he didn’t already know his name. ‘Dear me, I’ve quite lost my senses over your charming wife.’ Florrie stifled a giggle while Daisy quietly groaned as she saw Clem’s face darken.

‘The name is Pringle, Clement Pringle,’ Clem stiffly informed him, with not a trace of his usual good humour. ‘As I am sure you are aware. And Florrie is my
wife
. Happen this’ll help you remember in future.’ Then he lifted one clenched fist and popped it on Tommy Fawcett’s nose, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor, a surprised expression on his face and blood spurting everywhere.

As Florrie rushed to help him to his feet, Clem spoke to her in his frostiest tones. ‘When thee’s finished flirting or dancing or whatever it is you were having a laugh about, I wouldn’t mind a bit of supper, if’n you’ve time. Nor, I am sure, would our guests.’

‘It’s almost ready,’ Daisy hastily intervened, dashing to the stove. ‘I’m about to dish up.’ But Clem had gone and she was talking to the kitchen door.

‘Sorry about that, love,’ mumbled Tommy, dabbing at the blood with his handkerchief. ‘Must’ve got a bit carried away.’ He made a hasty exit.

Florrie met Daisy’s eye and they were both smiling. ‘Seems you’ve nothing to worry about at all, Florrie. The green-eyed monster might be working in your favour for once.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Harry came one damp autumn day in early October. He arrived while Daisy was still serving breakfast, taking them all by surprise. With only a twenty-four hour pass, he’d managed to get an overnight train and had hitched a lift from the station. Just the sight of him standing there before her, beads of rain on his uniform greatcoat, his forage cap tilted provocatively at just the right angle, brought an ache to her heart. She’d longed for him to come for so long and now here he was. The moment of truth had arrived.

Daisy left Florrie to dish up the kippers and dragged him away from the house, and from prying eyes, as fast as she could. Blencathra was covered with a thick layer of mist that morning, so this wasn’t too difficult a task. She took him behind the barn, certain no one would venture out on such a morning.

It was only after they’d satisfied the first flush of kisses and Daisy was cuddled within the unbuttoned great coat, held close against the solid warmth of his chest that Harry asked the question: ‘So what’s all this about then? What difficulty is your mother causing?’

Daisy wished the sun was shining and they could lie in the sweet smelling green grass together, or they were in Silloth on the sand dunes. She felt a desperate need to have everything appear wonderful and perfect when she told him her news, so that it wouldn’t seem quite so terrible. A wet mountain swathed in mist seemed entirely inappropriate, the least romantic place in the world. She ached for all the missed chances, all the times she could have opened her heart to him and hadn’t done so.

She glanced up at him from under her lashes, trying to judge the right approach, having gone over it a thousand times in her head. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. Something I couldn’t say in a letter.’

Harry grinned. ‘Obviously, that’s why I’m here.’ And when still she said nothing, he took her cold face between his two warm hands and held it in a loving caress. ‘Whatever it is, remember that I love you. So come on, tell me. It can’t be so terrible.’

Daisy’s eyes filled with tears. Grasping his hands she held them tightly in her own for a moment before taking a step away to give herself space to think. ‘I’m going to say it quickly, to get it over with, right?’

The smile faded and his expression became solemn. ‘You’re frightening me now, Daisy. What is it? If you’re trying to say that you no longer love me. . .’

‘No, of course no. It isn’t that.’

‘Well, thank heaven for that, then nothing else. . .’

‘I have a child.’

‘What?’

‘He’s turned two years old. I had him at the start of the war when I was just sixteen.’ She didn’t look at Harry while she announced these blunt facts, then shot him a quick glance, noting the stunned expression in his eyes, the way his jaw had tightened. When he made no response she hurried on, explaining all about Percy not wanting to know about the baby, him joining the navy and her mother packing her off to a mother and baby home and forcing her to give him up for adoption. Finally, running out of both breath and words, she fell silent.

Harry hadn’t moved a muscle. He stood looking down at her for some long moments before he spoke. ‘Well, that’s a shaker. The last thing I expected.’

‘I know. And I would understand if it was too much for you to accept, if it means that you no longer want to marry me, I . . .’ She was forced to pause. There was a lump in her throat the size of a golf ball. ‘I realise it’s asking a lot, only I’d just say in my own defence that I was too young and ignorant to properly understand what I was doing. My mother wasn’t the sort to fill me in on essential details which might have helped me avoid such an accident, if you take my meaning. Not that I’m trying to put all the blame on to her, or wriggle out of it. I was stupid, there’s no denying that. All I’m saying is that I didn’t make a habit of it, I’m not a loose woman. It was only the one time and . . .’

‘Daisy, stop it. Don’t torture yourself. I don’t want to know the sordid details. And I don’t, for one minute, see you as a loose woman.’

Now they both fell silent, Harry trying to digest what she’d told him, Daisy unsure how to proceed. But she’d only told him the half of it so far, and proceed she must. ‘There’s more,’ she said at last, in the smallest of voices.

‘What else can there be?’ His face had become rigid, etched with pain.

‘He’s here.’

‘Who is here?’

She drew in a deep, shaky breath and launched into the rest of her tale: of Rita and Florrie being involved in the bomb blast, of how they’d found Percy, the only survivor from his own family, and little Robbie who’d been returned to her after being looked after by Percy’s sister all this time and not sent to strangers after all. None of it could have taken more than a few minutes to relate. It felt like an hour.