Daisy's Secret (41 page)

‘Most? Then there’s some still empty by the sound of it. Like I say, I only need one.’

The instinct to dispute any plans Rita made was still too strong in her for Daisy to let go of the argument; even when, strictly speaking, she really had no right to say who lived here and who didn’t. That was up to Clem. But knowing how soft hearted he was, she didn’t want to put him in the position of having to decide. It wouldn’t be fair. He’d feel obliged to say yes, simply because Rita was her mother. But the prospect of living under the same roof as Rita was too appalling, far too dreadful to even contemplate. It would be a living hell. ‘We need those bedrooms too, all of them, for occasional visitors, for Charlie and his girl, and for Mr Enderby, and those who come to see relatives, forces’ sweethearts and the like. There are plenty of regulars who come and stay.’

‘Well, they’ll be unlucky in future.’

Daisy could feel herself starting to panic. She could not, would not, allow her mother to destroy this little piece of heaven she’d found, or the business she was building with such love and care. ‘No, I’m sorry. We’ve no room.’

Two spots of feverish crimson appeared on Rita’s flat cheeks as her face tightened with fury. ‘No room? So you’d turn me out into the cold, would you? Your own mother, a homeless widow.’

Daisy was struck silent by this awful truth. Put like that, her attitude did indeed sound heartless and cruel. Yet Rita had always been the cruel one, the one with a heart of stone.
She’d given away her own grandchild, for God’s sake
! ‘I swear to God, Mother, I could never be as heartless as you.’

‘I only did what I thought was for the best. If I was wrong, I’m sorry. Truly sorry.’

‘Are you?’

‘Didn’t I just say so? What more d’you want, for me to prostrate meself on t’floor? What about this babby then? Doesn’t he deserve a mam? You‘d find room for him, no doubt?’

‘You know I would,’ Daisy said, in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘If I could truly believe he was mine.’

‘Well, then. Why don’t you ask his father?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Why don’t you ask Percy himself. He’s coming over on Sunday, to say hello. Did you know he’d been invalided out of the navy? Got shot up, apparently.’

‘No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.’ This was all happening far too fast. Daisy couldn’t think, or quite take it all in. ‘Why would he be coming here?’

‘He wants to see you?’

‘After all this time?’

‘He’s worried about the babby. Now his sister and her family are gone, God rest their souls, he wants to be sure little Robbie is taken proper care of. I reckoned you’d be pleased to see him, in the circumstances.’

Daisy’s heart was thumping like a mad thing. Dear lord, how would she feel about seeing Percy again, after all this time, after all that had happened as a result of their foolishness? There was no love between them now, no feelings of any sort, not now that she’d found Harry. And he wasn’t coming for her sake, only for the baby’s. It was good of him to be so considerate, particularly when Daisy recalled how uninterested he’d been in his son when he’d been born. Perhaps fighting in the war had matured him, made him grow up a bit as he needed to, as they both had needed to do. For the first time, a kernel of hope sprang up inside. Could it really be true? Could this be the answer to her dream? ‘It’d be nice to see him again.’

‘Course it would. You was always fond of young Percy. So, I reckon I deserve a bit of consideration, don’t you, for arranging it all? It would be a pity if you missed this opportunity to be reunited with your own son.’

Daisy became very still, her gaze narrowing as she watched her mother pace about the room, picking up a jar here, a plate there, as if inspecting it for any sign of careless dusting. ‘What are you saying? Are you suggesting that I can’t have my son back unless I agree to take you in as well?’

Rita’s smile was triumphant. ‘I’d say that was fair, since I found him, wouldn’t you?’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Unable to sleep for the turmoil in her mind over her growing feelings for David, Laura was sitting by the kitchen range reading more of Daisy’s letters. She must have written to Harry several times a week for one bundle contained a flurry of letters all dated within quite a short period of time, full of amusing snippets of all that had been involved in getting the boarding house ready, and welcoming the first guests.
 

Obviously Florrie must have returned around that time as one said: ‘
Florrie was cross with me today because I’ve made some changes she doesn’t approve of. It can’t be easy for her with the way things are at present. It’s her kitchen, after all. She insists that my boarding house idea is doomed to failure. Clem said to her, “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Florrie. We knew you’d be keen.” He has such a droll wit at times he makes me laugh, but Florrie can never see the funny side of anything which makes him worse. What a pair they are. You will get some leave soon, I hope. I’m desperate to talk to you.
’

This one was dated September, 1941. So even though the boarding house was up and running by then, life was not entirely without problems. And poor Florrie was being her usual, pessimistic self.

Laura picked up another and read it with painstaking care, the writing even more crabbed and scribbled than usual, as if dashed off in a great hurry. She could feel the anguish in every word, like a cry from the heart: ‘
There’s something awful happened. I need to explain and it can’t be done by letter
…’ The letter closed: ‘
Oh, do say you’re coming soon, Harry. I’m having such problems.
’

What could have happened? What kind of problems was her mother causing now? Laura riffled quickly through the next few letters but could find no further references to Rita, no more letters to Harry after that date, only a mundane catalogue of events or everyday gossip.
 

It was then that she chanced upon one short letter from Harry. Almost in shreds, it had been singed brown, as if someone had tried to burn it and then changed their mind at the last moment just before it burst into flames, which had made it largely unreadable. A few clear words which had escaped destruction almost broke Laura’s heart: ‘
How could you do this to me, Daisy, after all we’ve meant to each other? I think I might die.
’

Laura sat with the letter on her lap and shared his anguish. What had Daisy done that had hurt him so badly? It could only be that she’d cheated on her lovely Harry, after all.

‘Oh, Daisy, how could you? And after your romantic day out in Silloth. What on earth had gone wrong?’

Daisy was so brimming with fury she had to keep her mind firmly on preparing the evening meal for her guests, that way she might manage not to take a knife to her mother’s throat. The whole argument had been so distressing her only refuge seemed to be in anger, otherwise she might start crying and never stop. She desperately wanted to believe that the baby truly was hers, and that she could trust her mother. Yet how could she, after all that happened?

And if it were true, wouldn’t that only present her with a fresh load of problems? What would her guests think to discover that their landlady had a child, an illegitimate child since she wasn’t even married.

And then there was the question of Harry. Oh, darling Harry, why didn’t I tell you ages ago when I had the chance? Daisy thought. Now it’ll be a thousand times more difficult. It’s all going to seem so contrived, as if I planned it all along; as if I just waited for him to properly propose before presenting him with the fact that I already had a child. He’ll hate me now. Any man would. Oh, what should I do?

The blackberry pie had been baked, the two children packed off to bed but Daisy steadfastly refused to go anywhere near the baby, leaving him entirely to Florrie. Florrie had offered to hand him over, cast anguished glances over in her direction while she bathed, changed and fed him.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to put him to bed yourself?’

‘No thanks. You do it. I’m busy.’ Still simmering from the confrontation with Rita and worrying over the complexities of her problem, Daisy was in no mood to take issue over who should care for the baby, not right then. It was all too sudden, too confusing.

Rita, content that everything seemed to be going perfectly to plan even if she had stirred up immense trouble and anguish, headed for the front parlour to meet her fellow lodgers. Not that she considered herself to be one of them, she being family while they were paying guests. Nor would she be eating in the dining room. She would take her meal in the warm kitchen later, with her daughter and sister, naturally.

Daisy was ferociously chopping vegetables, tossing them with such abandon into the pan that Florrie, who had offered to help once she’d put the baby down, kept a safe distance away and quietly laid the tables. It was vital, she decided, that she said not a word, that she didn’t get involved. Just hold your tongue, Rita had hissed at her as she’d slipped by. And indeed, Florrie was an expert in that skill. Hadn’t she had long years of practise?

When the meal was ready, Daisy felt calmer. Cooking was proving to be a good therapy, homely fare but always well received by her guests. She’d made a big pan of stew, to be followed by the blackberry pie and custard.

‘We shan’t ever want to leave here,’ Miss Copthorne told her, as Daisy took round the pie dish for second helpings. ‘You look after us far too well.’

‘
I
certainly shan’t,’ agreed Ned Pickles, managing a small smile by way of reward for Daisy’s culinary efforts, while holding out his plate for more. Daisy had grown used to his lugubrious air. She thought him a dear man if rather sad, so determined not to be a burden to his only daughter that he’d settled here as a permanent lodger. It was clear he still missed his wife, not least because she must have tidied up after him all the time as Daisy constantly found herself falling over piles of books he’d left on the stairs. She’d discover his scarf or hat tucked down the back of the settee or under his bed, or he’d leave heaps of lecture notes drifting all over the dining table which she had to move in order to lay it. Why he needed to collect so many, she really couldn’t imagine. In the end she had taken him to task over the matter, pointing out the bookcase she had provided him with, the wardrobe cupboard, the row of hooks behind his bedroom door, and was there perhaps something more that he needed in order to keep his belongings under control? He’d sheepishly declared himself more than content with the arrangements and thereafter made a valiant attempt to be better organised.

‘Your cooking has come on a treat these last weeks, Daisy love,’ he told her now. ‘An absolute treat.’

‘You have too, Ned. You’re a new man, now that I’m around to keep an eye on you. Even your spectacles are polished,’ and he grinned at her, not in the least taking offence.
 

‘S’matter of fact, Daisy, I was thinking of signing up for the Home Guard,’ he confided in a hushed whisper. ‘Now that I’m feeling more settled.’

‘Good idea. Do your bit, eh? Here y’are love, have the last slice,’ and she slid it onto his plate.’

‘Hey, what about me?’ said Tommy Fawcett.

‘You’ve had two already, cheeky tyke.’

‘That’s true. It’s your wonderful cooking, Daisy. Can’t resist it,’ and he jumped up and tap-danced all around the dining room, just to prove how much new energy she had given him, making them all laugh.

Flushed with pride and satisfaction in her work, Daisy went back into the kitchen still chuckling, her good humour restored. ‘We have a house full of satisfied customers.’ Seated by the hearth opposite his wife, sat Clem.

‘I heard,’ Florrie said, without a vestige of pleasure in her voice.

Daisy made herself scarce.

Daisy went to her room and wrote to Harry. She needed him to come on another visit, and quickly. She needed to talk to him, to see him, to explain, just the minute he could get some leave. The last letter she’d had from him was postmarked Ipswich, so it would all depend on transport as much as anything. It was a difficult letter to write as she’d no wish to throw him into a panic but it was desperately important that he come as soon as possible.
 

‘
Oh, when do you think you’ll get some leave? There’s something awful happened. I need to explain and it can’t be done by letter. Mother is here and she’s being very difficult but I daren’t say anything as we can’t get married without her permission. Though you may change your mind about wanting to marry me when you hear what I have to say. Oh, do say you’re coming soon, Harry. I’m having such problems.
’

Yet a secret part of her was overjoyed by this turn of events. That first evening, as she’d gone up to bed leaving Clem and Florrie to talk out their differences in private, she’d crept into the children’s room. Megan and Trish were fast asleep, all curled up together in their usual fashion, like a pair of spoons, cheeks flushed in sleep. Daisy smiled, happy to see them at last thriving and content. Harry had done the right thing by bringing them to her. If only she’d done the right thing by telling him, from the start, about her own child. Oh, Harry, what a pretty kettle of fish this is. What a mess!

On this thought, she moved over to the cot which Florrie had set up in the corner. This must have been baby Emma’s cot. Daisy wondered how much it had cost her emotionally to bring it out and use it for a child other than her own. The baby lay on his back, arms flung up above his head, snuffling quietly, but as she gazed upon him, enthralled, fascinated by the pale blue veins on his eyelids, the curl of his red-brown hair, the sturdiness of him, his eyes suddenly flickered open and he gazed up at her very solemnly, just as if he could read every thought in her head.