Daisy's Secret (30 page)

He grinned. ‘What sort do you like?’
 

‘Tizer.’

They sat enjoying their treat in silence, too full of emotion to find the words to express them. Then they lay together in the curve of a dune, protected from the wind and the eyes of the world, and Harry told her over and over how much he loved her as he kissed and caressed her. He promised faithfully that he’d always come home to her safe and well, war or no war. Daisy held him tight, kissing him with all her love, fighting back the tears and desperately striving to be brave ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she said, ‘if you wanted to - you know.’

‘I would, very much.’ He sounded faintly shocked. ‘What sort of a chap d’you think I am? If there weren’t a war on. . . No, I won’t say anything, not yet. I can’t.’

‘Say what?’ Heart in her mouth, Daisy had believed for a moment that he was about to propose, but that was foolish. They’d hardly known each other five minutes.

Harry looked down at her, his loving gaze moving over her face as if memorising every feature, but he said nothing, only shook his head, giving a sad sort of smile.

Daisy frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’re quiet today. What is it?’ Then she put her hands to her mouth, her face going all white as the blood drained away. ‘Oh, no! You’ve been posted, haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell me right away?’

‘I didn’t want to spoil our day.’

‘Oh Harry!’

He put both his arms about her then and let her weep into the solid warmth of his tunic. ‘You see, that’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you upset.’

‘I’d have been upset anyway.’ After a moment or two, Daisy dashed the tears away with the flat of her hand and gave a determined smile. ‘But you’re right, there’s nothing we can do about it, so we must enjoy today. Every minute of it. I want you to think of me smiling, not blubbering all over you.’

He kissed her mouth, a soft, sweet, lingering kiss that held a promise of so much more. ‘That’s why I love you.’

‘Oh, and why is that?’ she teased.

‘Because you’re so strong, so full of life and joy, so - so thoroughly nice.’

Daisy giggled. ‘If you like nice girls, you picked a wrong un here.’

‘I don’t believe that. I picked the best.’

Daisy swallowed. ‘Oh Harry. You say such lovely things.’

They each had difficulty resisting the emotions that were running high between them as they kissed and cuddled, but it was Harry who pulled away first, his face filled with guilt and pain. ‘We leave the day after tomorrow. Don’t ask me where to, because I don’t know, but you can be certain, Daisy love, that I’ll write to you at the first opportunity I get.’

And she had to be satisfied with that. She had to send him on his way with love and hope in her heart, after which she got back on the train and cried all the way home.

Chapter Seventeen

A winter of bombing gave way to yet more fears of invasion and finding themselves in greater danger in their billets on the coast, many evacuees returned to their home towns. Megan and Trish were allowed no such luxury. Their new guardians, a Mr and Mrs Carter, were at pains to point out how very fortunate they were to be billeted with them, and what a mistake it would be for them to go back to their mother and their drab city lives.

They burned all the clothes the children had been given by the Marshalls. ‘Just in case,’ Mrs Carter told them, barely touching them with the tips of her dainty fingernails. Megan wasn’t sure what she meant by this exactly but when their mam came on her next visit and all three of them were expected to sit in the garden and not come into the house, she said it again. ‘You all stay out there. Just in case.’ The fact that it was bitterly cold and starting to rain didn’t seem to strike her as a problem.

Megan suggested it might be because a bomb could drop on the house while they were sitting having tea, but her mam said they didn’t get bombs in Penrith, which was why she felt safe to leave them there, so the mystery remained. Not that it greatly mattered. The children were too thrilled to see their mother to care one way or the other where they sat, or whether or not it was raining.
 

Daisy had visited them once or twice but it was a long way for her to come now she was in Keswick and without their best friend they were desperately homesick. Trish had been sick twice recently, just from crying too much, and Megan hated her new school with a fierce loathing. They tried once more to persuade their mother to let them come home but, sadly, she was having none of it, telling them horrifying tales of the blitz, and what lucky girls they were to be missing it.

‘Don’t I love the bones of you both? What would I do if anything happened to you two? I’d be fit for nothing and die of a broken heart. No, no, you stop here, warm and snug, till it’s all over.’

But the mystery deepened when, on discovering new scabs between Trish’s fingers, Mrs Carter moved them out to what she called the summer house, little more than a large shed at the bottom of the long garden. ‘There,’ she said, ‘won’t this be exciting, sleeping here in your own little house? Think of it as your very own air raid shelter.’

‘Why, is Penrith going to be bombed after all?’

‘Of course it isn’t, don’t be silly. Now be good little girls and don’t ask quite so many questions.’ Mrs Carter appeared flustered as she began to fetch blankets and pillows. No sheets, Megan noticed with some relief. They weren’t expected to die out here then.

Trish spotted a spider and began to cry. ‘I don’t like it. I want Daisy.’

Megan said, ‘Have we to stop in this shed all the time?’

‘It’s a summer house, dear.’

‘Whatever it is, it’s a bit draughty,’ giving a little shiver to prove her point.

‘Nonsense! Good, healthy temperature. If necessary I could always send Trish to a hostel for problem children. That might be for the best. Just in case.’ So there it was again, those same words.

‘In case what?’ Trish asked in a panic, when camp beds had been made up for them and Mrs Carter had vanished indoors, leaving a trail of Attar of Roses in her wake. ‘What are problem children, and why have I to go to hospital?’

‘A hostel,’ Megan corrected her, cold fear gathering about her heart.

‘I’m not going nowhere without you, our Megan.’

‘No, course you aren’t. I don’t expect either of us is going anywhere. We’ll stop here in this nice shed - er summer house.’

Tears gathered in Trish’s eyes as she glanced anxiously about her, on the lookout for more spiders. ‘Why can’t we go indoors? Why does she want to send me away? What have I done wrong, Megan? I haven’t been naughty, have I?’

‘No, love, course you haven’t,’ and Megan hugged her little sister tight. The whole thing was a puzzle beyond her comprehension, but her small mouth was a tight curl of anger and misery. She’d quite lost patience with the war, with do-gooders who took in vacees when they really didn’t want them. With Mr Churchill who kept prattling on about everyone needing to be brave and strong and pull together, and with Mr Hitler who had started all this mess in the first place. When adults fell out, they caused a whole lot of bother for everyone, in her opinion. And she’d take a guess neither of those men were living in a garden shed.

The new year brought no let up. Eighteen years olds were now liable for call-up and also, for the first time, women between twenty and thirty years old. They were obliged either to register for war work, or join the women’s forces. Daisy’s occupation at the farm was accepted as ‘doing her bit’. However, since that day on the beach at Silloth, an idea had been growing in her head. One that refused to be dislodged.

It came to the fore again one wet day in late January when a Miss Geraldine Copthorne came to the door. She was a tall, ungainly woman in her mid-forties, not in the least out of breath from the long walk up the hill, to politely enquire if they had rooms to let.

Daisy was flabbergasted. ‘Well, that didn’t take long for the local jungle drums to start beating. I only mentioned in passing to the fishmonger the other day that I’d have no objection to taking in a lodger.’

‘It’s enough,’ Clem dryly remarked, eyeing the newcomer with wary rumination.

‘I need to be close to the children.’

Miss Copthorne informed Daisy that she was unmarried because of a tragedy to her fiancé during the first world war, nor had any intention of ever being so. She had devoted herself to teaching, and was in the area in charge of a group of children from her home city of Newcastle. ‘It really is most unsettling and often distressing to see some of these youngsters missing their homes and families so dreadfully. They’re coming and going all the time, and don’t always fit in well with the village children. One does what one can, of course, but it never seems enough.’

Over a cup of tea and a scone, Daisy told Miss Copthorne all about Megan and Trish. ‘I recently tried to contact them in their new billet but was put off going to see them. The woman seems a very pleasant, no-nonsense sort but she explained in her letter how they’ve been a bit homesick and it would only upset them more if I went. I haven’t had a letter in ages and I suspect they may be wanting to go back home. They did run away once, as many evacuees have. But their mother sent them back again.’

‘Poor things, they sound as if they’ve had a remarkably tough time. I could always try and find out something about their situation, if you like. I do know the right people to ask.’

‘Oh, that would be lovely. How very kind.’

Miss Copthorne went on to explain her dissatisfaction with her current lodgings, since the landlady had taken to denying her the right to sit in the front parlour, or to have a fire if she did. ‘Would that be allowed here?’ she enquired.

Daisy assured her that it would. It was not a room that they used, except on rare occasions, so it would be for the exclusive use of their guests. ‘Coal is extra, mind,’ she was careful to explain.

‘Of course.’

In view of their getting along so well, Daisy had not the slightest hesitation in offering her a room and it was agreed she would move in the following Sunday, her day off.

‘Are you asking for references?’ Clem wanted to know later as they sat discussing the matter over supper.

‘No, why should I? She didn’t ask for references from me. We’ll either suit each other or we won’t. We’d better spruce the place up a bit, don’t you think?’

‘Happen,’ Clem admitted, looking glum.

By February, Daisy had turned the house upside down. Miss Copthorne was warned of the impending chaos but didn’t seem in the least perturbed. ‘Don’t fret, Daisy. I’m sure we’ll get by. What right do I have to complain when there are so many far more inconvenienced.’ She was a remarkably placid and unflustered sort of woman. Probably this was necessary if you were in charge of children. ‘And I’m still making enquiries about your young friends. I haven’t forgotten.’

The Spring cleaning proved to be a mammoth task but at least served to keep Daisy’s mind from worrying too much about the two children, and about Harry. Just remembering that lovely day they’d enjoyed together by the seaside was enough, for now at least. Each night, cuddled up in bed in her loft bedroom, she would replay every moment of that magical day.

She was doing it even now as she scrubbed and cleaned and tidied.

‘This place will be like a new pin when I’m done,’ she said. Clem was backing out the door, anxious to be off up the fells before she found him a job to do too. She’d really got the bit between her teeth. Wanting to please her, he told her that he’d never seen the kitchen look so clean.

‘Of course it isn’t clean. It only looks better because there are no dirty dishes in the sink. There’s a deal of work to be done yet.’

The kitchen cupboards filled one entire wall and it took half the morning to simply empty them. By the time Clem returned for his midday meal, Daisy was standing in the middle of the floor surrounded by every pot and pan, ladle and colander, every dusty utensil and item of crockery.

 
‘By heck, we could feed an army here, if we had to. Thee’s enjoying this, eh?’ Clem challenged her,’ and Daisy giggled.

‘I suppose I am in a funny sort of way. I’ve never lived in place like this before. It’s marvellous to have so much space to live in, as well as all this light and fresh air.’ She handed him a plate piled high with sandwiches. ‘Only cold today, I’m afraid.’

‘Looks gradely.’ There wasn’t an inch of table free so they ate their meal perched on stools, munching companionably. After a while, Clem said: ‘Florrie didn’t take to country life quite so well as you seem to be doing.’

Daisy didn’t know what to say to this but confined herself to platitudes about how the long holiday with her sister would probably help Florrie to see things in a different light. ‘Anyone spending several months with my mother would be bound to view anything as an improvement,’ and they both laughed.

‘Happen we should let them know that you’re here like, safe and sound,’ Clem said, giving her a sidelong look.

It was some long moments before Daisy acknowledged the remark with a half shrug of agreement, reluctant to do anything which might bring the forces of Rita bearing down upon her. ‘There’s no rush is there?’

‘Happen not.’