Daisy's Secret (45 page)

‘They weren’t doing any harm,’ Daisy protested, aghast at these changes.

‘We shouldn’t encourage those children to misbehave. This isn’t their home and there’s no point in them thinking that it is.’

Daisy felt utterly flabbergasted, at a loss to know how best to deal with this attitude. It was as if she were treading on egg shells the whole time, on the one hand with her mother and Percy, and on the other with Florrie, desperately trying not to cause offence now that she was back home and taking up the reins again. Even decisions over where to site the flour bin, hang the pans, or which drawer to put the wire sieve proved to be a political minefield. And yet, low on patience because of the tension still building inside her, Daisy refused to buckle under. Now she spoke her mind rather forcefully. ‘I can’t agree, Florrie. This is the nearest these people will come to having a home until this war is over. You surely don’t begrudge them a bit of fun?’

‘Why should they have fun, at my expense?’

‘I suppose you mean because
you
aren’t having any. Well, that isn’t
their
fault, Florrie, it’s
yours
. I’m sorry for your troubles but really it’s time to put them behind you and make a fresh start. I seem to remember hearing how you were fond of a bit of fun yourself, once upon a time. Anyway, it’s not at your expense. These people are paying good money - hard earned money, to stay here. They deserve a bit of home-from-home comfort. As for the children. . .’

But Florrie had walked out and slammed shut the door long before she reached the end of the sentence.

Two women in one kitchen was bad enough, three women in one house was quite impossible. Rita would follow Daisy about from room to room criticising whatever she was doing. She’d complain that the floor needed sweeping, or the tablecloth in the dining room was grubby, even when it had been freshly laundered. And when Daisy gave her a job to do to get her out of the way, Rita would robustly declare that she wasn’t here to act as skivvy for her own daughter, and setting tables was not her line of work at all.

‘What is then, Mother?’ Daisy would ask in near despair. ‘What is?’

Rita seemed to take pleasure in being difficult with the guests too, generally insulting them even to ridiculing poor Ned when he demonstrated his new Home Guard uniform, and the fact they had only one rifle between three men. ‘Why would you need more? You wouldn’t know what to do with an invading German if you fell over one. Run a mile, I dare say.’

Ned glanced across at Daisy and gave her a half smile, silently telling her he wasn’t in the least offended, and urging her not to be anxious.

Adopting all the airs and graces she could muster, Rita made it plain at every opportunity that she was not one of them, availing herself of the best chair in the parlour nearest to the fire; often insisting on something different for her evening meal to whatever it was
they
were having. Daisy would grind her teeth with frustration but was determined not to cross her too much, not until she’d had the opportunity to talk to Harry. Oh, if only he’d hurry up and come.

Rita’s self-appointed task appeared to be to issue orders and point out errors and faults when things weren’t quite to her liking. She gave the distinct impression that she was the one actually in charge and running the establishment, and not Daisy at all.

‘I don’t know how she would’ve coped if I hadn’t turned up when I did.’

‘She seemed to be managing well enough,’ Miss Copthorne mildly remarked, resenting this slur on Daisy’s character.

‘Ah, but she was leaning heavily on Clem, and he has enough on his plate, poor man, running this place. And certainly my sister Florrie is no help at all. She suffers from depression, don’t you know.’
 

Miss Copthorne didn’t wonder at it , with a sister like Rita finding fault from dawn till dusk. ‘Still, everything seems to be in order, wouldn’t you say? Daisy has made us most comfortable.’

‘Ah, but you’ve never kept house, have you, you being a spinster, so how can you judge?’

Miss Copthorne flushed, taken aback by such bluntness. ‘I’ll have you know I kept house for years, for my dear parents.’

Rita sniffed. ‘Not the same thing though, is it?’ And sailed away, nose in the air, before the lack of logic in her statement could be questioned.

Daisy picked up Robbie and went in search of some fresh air.

The September sky was a glinting blue, illuminating the patches of purple heather and making the horizon shimmer with light. The day held that autumn stillness, as if the land was revelling in the last of the summer’s heat before it cooled. Somewhere above, clear as bell, Daisy could hear Clem’s voice echoing through the silence: ‘Ga way,’ he shouted. ‘Ga way by,’ as he worked his dogs on the higher fells.

She set little Robbie down and the child gave a shout of pure joy and began to run in his ungainly way towards the sound of this familiar voice, making her laugh out loud. Daisy ran with her son, matching her pace to his, waving to Clem as they drew nearer. He was driving the dogs forward, to have them mark the sheep who were bunching together for protection against this opposing force. Daisy reached for little Robbie and swung him up in her arms. ‘Oh, no, little man, we can’t have you startling either dogs or sheep.’

Clem eased them into the pen, patiently waiting whenever they hesitated and then urging them forward again at exactly the right moment. Daisy watched, holding the child in her arms, marvelling at the skill required. A ewe broke away and a dog quickly cut off her escape, nose down, belly low to the ground, directing her quietly back on course till all were safely in the fold and Clem was able to close the gap with a hurdle. He turned and grinned at her, then with a quiet whistle called up his dogs and walked down the hill towards her.

‘I’ve brought you some tea.’ She held out the blue tin can with its screw lid. ‘And a bacon buttie.’

‘Eeh, grand, I could do with a break. Let’s have a bit of a crack.’ They sat with their backs to a drystone wall, enjoying the sunshine, and a moment’s respite from the day’s routine. Daisy gave a rusk to little Robbie and he went and sat with the dogs to happily share it with them.

Clem said, ‘She doesn’t change much, your mam, does she? She’s exactly as I remember her.’ Daisy giggled, knowing this remark was not meant as a compliment.

‘You don’t have to put up with her bitchiness. It’s your house. You could ask her to leave.’

‘Nay, not with the war on, and everything up in the air like. There’ll be time enough to make changes when we’ve put all of this kerfuffle behind us. There’s talk of the Yanks coming in with us. That’s what we need, a bit of new muscle to help our tired and aching ones.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Daisy wrapped her arms about her knees and was thoughtful for a moment. ‘What about you and Aunt Florrie, or shouldn’t I ask?’

Clem pulled a wry face. ‘We’re like a couple of banty cocks, circling each other and taking a savage peck every now and then. Night before last we had a right old ding-dong.’

‘Does that mean you’re talking again?’

Clem frowned. ‘Nay, I just said we’d happen get a wetting before the morning, and she stormed out in a right paddy. I were asleep by the time she came back to bed. I reckon she thinks me a bit of a bore. Happen I am. But we have to make a show of getting on.’ A shadow crossed his face and some of his bravado deserted him. ‘Happen I should try harder to be more entertaining like. I just want to make her happy, that’s all.’

Daisy realised that she couldn’t add to his troubles by telling him of her own problems with Florrie; or spill out all her fears about losing Robbie if she married Harry, or losing Harry if she married Percy in order to keep her baby. Harry might not want her in any case, once he’d heard the whole sorry tale. He’d probably be ashamed of her, as her own mother was. No, this was her problem, and Clem had enough of his own. She watched with sadness in her eyes as he shambled away in that familiar loping walk, back up the fell with the dogs at his heels.

As if recognising her gloomy mood, Robbie came and put his chubby arms about his mother’s neck to kiss her cheek. Heart full of love, Daisy gave him a hug. ‘What a muddle! What a mess we make of our lives, my little one.’

Maybe the only way was to face it, head on. She could start with Florrie, for their differences had nothing at all to do with card tables or comics. Perhaps it was time to see if bridges could be built.

From the moment the idea of taking in lodgers had occurred to her, Daisy had been nervous of her aunt’s reaction. Florrie had every reason to object to some other female taking over her kitchen, even if it was her own niece. But Daisy hadn’t expected Florrie to make her disapproval quite so plain. If she continued in this fashion, the lodgers would pack their bags and leave, and Daisy would feel compelled to do the same. Florrie clearly objected to having her home turned upside down, taken over by perfect strangers, and all because she left to stay with her sister for a few months. While she’d waited for her aunt’s return, Daisy had played over in her mind every likely reaction but this one. She’d never expected such subversive undermining of all she was trying to do, not with a war on.

And on top of everything else, there was the added complication of the baby, of whom Florrie had clearly grown fond. Daisy felt under siege from all sides.

That evening as Daisy filled the sink with hot soapy water and set about scrubbing the dirty dishes, she began quietly to explain how some of the changes had come about.

‘I need you to know that the linoleum in the bedrooms needed to be replaced because they were unfortunately damaged by the plumbing work.’

She went on to describe how the ever resilient Miss Copthorne had helped her to make new clippy rugs to put by each bed, repair curtains for the windows, not to mention running up new sheets and patchwork bedspreads on the old box Singer sewing machine.
 

Florrie didn’t attempt to interrupt, or make any comment. She didn’t smile or nod her head. She didn’t even laugh when Daisy told the amusing tale of Wandering Winnie, the ewe who’d accompanied them on their shopping expeditions.

With a heavy sigh, Daisy picked up another pan and attacked it with Vim. ‘I turned the farm into a boarding house to help pay my way, and do my bit for the war. But I was wondering if you minded the changes I’ve made. If you have any objection to Lane End, your own home after all, being used in this way then you must say so. We should have this out and get it sorted now, before we go any further.’

When no immediate reply came, Daisy screwed up her courage to glance over her shoulder. Florrie sat very still, like a shrunken, wizened old woman in her chair by the range, hands neatly cupped around an untouched mug of tea. She seemed to be miles away, staring dully into the fire. At length she spoke in a weary, toneless voice. ‘Why should I mind? I dare say I should’ve done something of the sort myself, years ago.’

Daisy paused in the washing up, took her hands from the water and turned to stare at her aunt. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘That was my dream, once. Years ago, before ever I met Clem. Only I had in mind somewhere like Blackpool or Morecambe. A place with a bit more go about it, not these empty fells. I would never have thought to do it up here, as you have.’

Daisy could hardly believe her ears. Life seemed to be full of surprises these days. Hard to fathom at times. She sat down slowly in the chair opposite Florrie, not even noticing that her hands were dripping soap suds all down her skirt. ‘You’re not really against the idea then?’

She shook her head. ‘That Miss Copthorne made a point of showing me the improvements you’ve made to the bedrooms. What can I say? It’s a miracle.’

‘So why all the moving and shifting of stuff in the parlour?’

She cast Daisy a sheepish glance. ‘I suppose I’m a bit jealous, filled with admiration for what you’ve achieved but wishing I’d been the one to think of it. I did wonder if perhaps you were after an easier time of it by moving in with Clem. In need of a decent billet for a change, someone to take them two young evacuees off your hands without you needing to do another stroke. But happen I was wrong. You’re a worker, no doubt about that, so why should I disapprove? You and Clem should suit each other entirely on that front.’

Daisy was shocked, then gave a surprised gurgle of laughter. ‘
Suit each other
? I don’t want Clem. Is that what you think? He’s old enough to be my father. And he’s
your
husband. I just want to make a go of things, to be helpful and do something useful. There are so many homeless people in need of a bit of love and care. Oh, I know we can only take in a few, but these folk were all alone in the world before they came here.

‘Miss Copthorne lost her fiancé in the first world war and has spent her entire life nursing elderly parents, missing out on any chance to find a new man for herself; only coming to teaching late in life, after their death. All right, she rattles on a bit but she means well, and you can’t fault her on the way she looks after her charges. Poor Ned Pickles, well, he’s still grieving for his wife but he and Clem are becoming fast friends, against all the odds, mind, for they’re like chalk and cheese.’ She smiled at Florrie’s bewildered expression. As for Tommy Fawcett, you’d never think so to listen to him but he was the loneliest of the lot. His entire family was killed in an air raid, a fact he spilled out to me one night, and the dancing is only his way of coping, of putting on a front so that he can bear to get up each morning and live through the day.