Daisy's Wars (32 page)

Not that it wanted her, it hadn’t ever wanted her kind, the Irish were no more welcome nearly a hundred years after their arrival than they had been on their first day there. No, it
didn’t want her, but it owned her and at least there she wouldn’t be allowed to be any better than she should be, the Geordies would see to that. Newcastle would take her back to punish
her for Bernard’s folly in coming to the area.

Not if Daisy could help it, though. In these last few years she had learned that it was possible to be noticed for what you could do, for your worth, not for the sound of your surname. And for
how you presented yourself, she thought with a grin. A little acting ability went a long way.

They stopped at Coldstream, a little place in the Borders, where they lunched on the contents of a particularly fine hamper the Major had provided, full of succulent items that the people
outside the car hadn’t seen for a long time, if ever. Then it was on to Glasgow, a dark city showing the results and atmosphere of years of war.

When they arrived at Eileen’s home she noticed that her friend had altered in some indefinable way. Motherhood, she supposed. After the hugs and tears she gazed at the beautiful, ugly
little bundle Eileen held in her arms, a dark-haired little girl called Anne, after Calli and Eileen’s mothers, and Martha, after both their grandmothers, two coincidences that doubtless had
convinced them that they belonged together forever. The little girl had a vertical line of annoyance between her eyes that so reminded Daisy, and Eileen, too, no doubt, of her father, who had died
without knowing she had been conceived.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Daisy cooed, ‘she’s really beautiful!’

‘I know,’ Eileen laughed.

‘And the image of—’

‘Her father, yes,’ Eileen said sadly.

‘And you’re well? Everything’s, you know, all right?’

Eileen nodded. ‘Everyone up here sees her like Alex,’ she said. ‘They had the same colouring, if you remember. Dark hair and eyes, that’s all they see.’

‘Well that’s OK then, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Eileen replied, but it didn’t sound convincing.

‘So what’s wrong?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The plan has worked out, Daisy, but at the end of the day Calli’s still gone, isn’t he?’ She laughed uncertainly. ‘Just being ungrateful, I
suppose. At least I have Annie, don’t I? And what about you? The Yank, is he the one?’

‘Oh please!’ Daisy said dismissively. ‘You know better than that! He was fool enough to try to impress me with claims that he could provide me with transport anywhere I wanted
to go, so I called his bluff, that’s all.’

‘He’ll be hoping for something in return, though!’ Eileen chuckled.

‘No harm in hoping, is there?’ Daisy laughed. ‘People do it all the time!’ And they laughed together almost like the old days of nine short months ago.

‘So there’s still no one special?’ Eileen asked.

‘No,’ Daisy replied brightly. ‘I’m surprised you even ask!’ Her mind tried to suppress an image of Frank Moran.

‘And how are the others?’ Eileen asked.

‘Well, I think Edith and Doug are fine.’

‘Doug?’

‘Yes, I decided to graciously allow him a name other than “Edith’s Aussie” after she asked me to, and besides, he’s really all right.’

‘For a Fly Boy,’ Eileen teased.

‘Exactly!’ Then Daisy told the tale of Doug versus the Great Walendo to justify her change of heart about him. ‘Besides, he doesn’t consort, if you get my meaning. He and
Edith may well win.’

‘Well, then, that’s good. And Dotty?’

‘Up to her ears in sick Fly Boys, from the little I hear from her. Not at all the gadabout she once was.’

‘It comes to us all, Daisy, we all have to grow up,’ Eileen said. ‘Except you, of course, you were born grown up!’

I wish, Daisy thought, laughing back, I wish.

All too soon the visit had to end so that Daisy could be back in Nottingham for her shift the next day. The two young women clung to each other and wept.

‘Will you keep in touch?’ Eileen asked.

‘Of course, of course. And you’ll send pictures of Annie for the girls to go gooey-eyed over?’

‘Yes.’

‘Eileen?’

‘Yes?’

‘Will we ever see each other again?’

‘Of course we will!’

‘Honestly?’

‘Get on with you, you silly cow!’

The visit to Eileen had been a brief one. It had felt as though there had barely been time to say ‘Hello’ before the car was turned round and the return journey started. Daisy
doubted if the driver had time to step out from behind the steering wheel, and now Glasgow had been left behind as they headed once more in the direction of Nottingham. On the journey south they
would pass through Newcastle again. Oh joy, Daisy thought.

The anticipation that had made the journey up from Nottingham seem short had disappeared. Now she was pensive, a bit down, though she was having difficulty fully understanding why. The American
Major beside her was totally oblivious, prattling on as usual. On the way up he had regaled her with the merits of the various bridges crossing the River Tyne, almost lapsing into poetry when he
talked about the big iron one, as though he thought that just because she had once lived there he was praising her by association.

There was probably a compliment in there, she thought, if she felt like looking deep enough, which she didn’t. Still, there was little to be gained from being unpleasant. Nottingham and
Glasgow were both a long way off and she didn’t feel like walking to either, especially if he pushed her out of the car in Newcastle. A fate worse than death, she thought glumly. So she sat
there smiling as required, while thinking that the only good thing about the bridges, even the iron one, was that they took you out of Newcastle, north or south, it didn’t really matter, just
as long as they took you away.

On the return journey the driver had noticed the changed mood in the rear seat and was glancing back more often. He could have been watching the traffic very carefully, of course, except that he
was making eye contact with her in the rearview mirror, so either he was concerned about her or he was just giving her the eye. Probably the latter, she thought with a sigh. He was a man, after
all, and few of the breed didn’t chance their luck where Daisy Sheridan was concerned.

Sitting in the back of the staff car as it sped through Newcastle, Daisy was thinking of her life, past and present, and wondering what the future held. She looked at her reflection in the car
window. If she had seen a woman like herself when she’d been growing up, she would have said, ‘She’s a film star.’ The Adelaide or the Empire cinema screens were the only
places women like her existed where she came from. She shook her head wryly, remembering the child she had been: Background Daisy. She had no idea how the transformation had come about, but
somewhere inside the woman of the world who stared back at her from the window, she knew that ‘the real Daisy Sheridan’ was still alive and waiting, even if she wasn’t quite sure
what she was waiting for. Not that it mattered; she suspected life had been arranged so that there would always be something else to wait for, but maybe everyone felt like that, especially in
wartime.

The war had been a godsend to young people like her. It had given them freedom, even if that freedom meant death. You never really thought about the death part, not at the time, just the
freedom, until death touched you at any rate, and it had touched Daisy in many ways these last few years. She was hardly alone in that, though. There was no going back, certainly no going back
home, not least because Newcastle had never been home.

Daisy could feel a sense of danger lurking if she let her mind wander down that road, so she sighed again and tried to turn her thoughts to something else. She had always had trouble switching
her mind off. ‘Too bright’, that was what her father always said, though not bright enough to see
that
one coming, she thought, hankie at her eyes again. That was the trouble
with long journeys, especially in boring company. They gave you time to think, and Daisy didn’t want to think, at least not now. There would be plenty of time for that when she got back to
the base.

RAF Langar was her domain, where real life existed. Now Eileen and their friendship existed in another time and she suspected that time was over.

Oh, God! There it was again, that prickly feeling behind her nose. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to think herself away from the moment, trying desperately to come up with a
different thought. She opened her eyes again and stared determinedly out of the car window on her right, as the American Major’s southern voice drawled on – about the bridges again!
Dear God! Into her left ear the words went, as irritating as a buzzing insect she couldn’t risk swatting, at least not yet, in case it stung her. Why did they always think they should, or
even could, provide diverting conversation? she wondered, nodding at various intervals in his monologue as though she gave a damn.

Having finally managed to get up to Glasgow to see Eileen, she now realised she had been as unprepared for what she found as she had been for Eileen leaving Langar. An old friend and her
new-born daughter, that was what she’d expected to see and that was what she had seen, but her own reaction had thrown her. And now here she sat, weeping quietly in this talkative
Yank’s staff car, or some other Yank’s staff car, more likely, wishing he’d shut up.

It was over, completely over. As they parted it felt like they had just seen each other for the last time, which made the whole sad, sorry affair that much more touching. Daisy knew, knew
without a shadow of a doubt, that they wouldn’t keep in touch, far less meet again. The first time she had seen that beautiful, ugly little bundle Eileen held in her arms would be the last
time, too, she realised, though she suspected she would always wonder about her and never be able to get her or Eileen out of her mind for the rest of her life.

The whole world was bleak, of course, had been for years, but Daisy had never felt so trapped in it as she did now. She felt alone and friendless now that Eileen – and Annie – would
fade from her life. She pictured Eileen waving her off, Calli’s precious child in her arms. There was something strangely touching about true love, and something infuriatingly stupid as well,
almost as infuriating as the way her eyes kept filling up.

Why was this happening when everyone knew Daisy Sheridan didn’t do tears? Tears were for the defeated, the ones who couldn’t think themselves out of a paper bag. Tears were an
admission that there was nowhere to turn, and, as a matter of principle, Daisy always had somewhere to turn. Daisy thought round corners, in advance, tactically. That’s who she was: people,
especially her girls on the base, depended on it. And yet, and yet. There had been something totally disarming about the sight of Eileen and the tiny, unsuspecting little soul that had caught her
off-guard, another female brought into the world fighting from her first breath, before that, in fact. Why was it that females had to battle for everything?

It was always the innocents who came a cropper, Daisy mused. How many times had she said that to yet another intake of fresh-faced young girls into the ranks of the WAAFs? ‘Look after
yourself,’ she would say, ‘because no one else will,’ even though she was doing just that. ‘Don’t take
any
chances,’ she told them sternly.
‘Don’t have anything to do with Fly Boys. They’re men, they’re only after one thing, and they want it today because there might not be a tomorrow, for them especially. And
they’ll use that line every time, so don’t fall for the “I may be dead tomorrow” routine. What you have to remember is that that’s not your fault, it’s
Hitler’s, and I don’t see any Fly Boys demanding their oats from that bastard. Don’t give in, because when they’ve had what they want they’ll leave you in one way or
another. They’ll go on to the next innocent or they’ll die, and you’ll be left to pick up the pieces. Keep away from them at all costs, and if they give you any trouble, come to
me and I’ll sort them out.’

And she’d been right, too. Eileen was the latest living proof of that. She should add that to her next speech: ‘Look at my friend Eileen, my ex-friend Eileen.’

She dabbed at her eyes again and the American Major smiled at her. ‘Never mind, honey,’ he said kindly. ‘One day that will be you.’

Daisy returned his smile, but inside her head she said, ‘Don’t bet on it, sunshine!’

And it wouldn’t be, it would never be her. Never. She glanced at the Major from the corner of her eye. They all thought they knew women, but they didn’t, and the male chattering on
beside her was no exception. All he had was the wherewithal to provide himself with a few luxuries, and he regarded Daisy as one of them, though she saw it differently. These days she knew how to
deal with these situations.

For instance, with the Yank, she allowed him only what she chose to allow him. There was no chance of gaining Daisy Sheridan’s favours with a couple of packs of stockings and a Hershey
Bar. Daisy Sheridan was never short of stockings and she didn’t like their Hershey Bars. There was nothing special about their Hershey Bars, yet the Yanks handed them out as if bestowing the
purest gold.

She closed her eyes again to indicate that she would welcome silence from Major – what the hell was his name anyway? she wondered, and smiled to herself. She hadn’t bothered to learn
it, not that it mattered. She knew from the moment she’d met him that he would ask her to marry him. It was how all the Yanks operated, and she was tempted to accept with gushing enthusiasm,
just to see the look on his face as he backed away in panic, but she would be civil to him until they reached Nottingham. He’d taken her to Glasgow and back after all.

Eileen and her baby popped into her mind again and she pictured Calli’s handsome young face. ‘Eileen’s lovely boy,’ she murmured.

Beside her, the Major – she must try to remember his name, she thought, or maybe not, seeing as she had already decided he wouldn’t be around long enough to justify her taking the
trouble – said, ‘Boy? I thought you said it was a girl, Daisy?’