Daisy's Secret (47 page)

‘So little Robbie’s here. And Percy too, as a matter of fact.’

Harry’s eyes looked like dark coals burning in the death white ash of his face. ‘Where is all of this leading, Daisy?’

‘Well . .’ she began, giving a slight shrug of her shoulders, quite sure he must be able to hear the frantic beat of her heart, ‘. . . he still wants to marry me. Because of the baby. He thinks we owe it to little Robbie to marry and give him a proper mam and dad. Course, I said no, not on your life. It’s you I love, Harry, not Percy, and I’m sure there must be some way round this.’

‘You mean some way you can keep both your child, this - little Robbie - and me?’

Fear clutched at her heart as she noted the brittle hardness in his tone. ‘Er, yes, I dare say that is what I mean.’

‘I think I need to think this through.’ Then he turned on his heels and strode away from her, up the mountain side, hands thrust deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched. He didn’t invite her to go with him, and Daisy knew better than to try.

Laura spent the evening going through her accounts to see what she could afford in the way of extra staff. ‘I’m shall have to try another advert. This isn’t working,’ she informed Chrissy, who was lying sprawled on the sofa watching a Star Trek movie on television with her eyes half closed. Laura wondered whether she should say anything further about the other night, and if so, what exactly that should be. Chrissy had barely spoken to her in days.

‘Right,’ Chrissy mumbled.

Laura sighed. Where was the sparkling wit, the sharp rejoinder for which her step daughter was well known? She chewed on her lower lip, thinking frantically. Money was tight, tighter than she’d expected and July had been surprisingly quiet. Everyone warned her not to get too alarmed about this. August, September and October were the busiest months in the Lakes. There was time yet to make her fortune, or at least a decent income for the season. Yet the prospect of entering the busiest period of the season with no one but a recalcitrant teenager to assist her, was too dreadful to contemplate.

‘Look, I’m sorry about your missing the disco, but there have to be rules. I can’t have you running wild all over the countryside with young men I don’t even know. Sorry, but that’s how it is. If you don’t like it, Chrissy, then perhaps you’d best go back to your mum for the rest of the summer. I’m not sure I feel able to accept the responsibility of having you here, unless you are prepared to co-operate.’

Laura held her breath. Was this the right approach: firm but fair? She hadn’t the faintest idea. She’d tended to leave the discipline side of things to Julia, and to Felix who would weigh in every now and then with a tirade of instructions. Right now, she had enough on her plate without having to learn the tricks of good parenting.
 

Chrissy didn’t take her eyes off the television. Was she genuinely tired or simply sulking? Perhaps that was the problem. They were both in dire need of a break.

Laura put aside her files and papers. ‘Look, what we need is a day out, an afternoon at least, to cheer us up. Where would you like to go? Perhaps for a sail on Derwentwater, or to the theatre and a slap up dinner afterwards? Or would you like to go pony trekking or water skiing?’ Laura was desperately trying to think of ways to amuse a grumpy adolescent. ‘Could I fix up some climbing instruction for you, or canoeing? This is the Lake District, after all, or even a long ramble over the fells. Whatever you like. What do you think? Is there something you fancy doing? My treat.’

‘Forgot to mention,’ Chrissy murmured, completely ignoring the lengthy list. ‘Dad rang.’

‘Oh? He caught you this time then. Good. Did he have anything interesting to say?’ Laura kept her smile in place, controlling the urge to comment tartly on his obstinate refusal to respond to the divorce papers which had been sent for him to sign three weeks ago. She preferred not to make snide remarks about Felix in front of his daughter, or involve her in their arguments, but it wasn’t easy. His long silence was beginning to grate on Laura’s nerves.

‘He’s coming tomorrow to take me out, so you don’t need to bother. Thanks all the same.’

It was one of those put-downs that only Chrissy, in her crass, adolescent ignorance, could employ. A blunt reminder to Laura that she was only a reserve parent, not a real one. No matter how fond she was of Chrissy, and despite the time she’d devoted to her well-being, the PTA meetings she’d attended on her behalf, the wheedling she’d done over the years with irate teachers, and even this overpaid job she’d given her, she would never be anything but a reserve. It was a sobering thought and, at thirty-four, Laura wondered fleetingly, and painfully, whether she ever would have children of her own. Maybe she’d missed that particular boat and it was all far too late. But she had hoped they could at least be friends. She kept her smile firmly in place.

‘Fine. It’ll be good for you to see your dad.’

‘Yep.’ Chrissy pulled the cushion to a more comfortable position beneath her head.

The feeling of resentment was palpable. ‘If you’re so tired after your late night, wouldn’t you be better in bed?’

‘Nope. It’s not nine o’clock yet, and I don’t have a telly in my room, unlike your privileged guests.’

Laura thought longingly of her own bed, soft and inviting, of the small cassette recorder beside it upon which she could listen to Daisy’s tapes whenever she’d a mind. She’d taken the first three back to the library, borrowed the final two, and really couldn’t wait to get to them. Daisy was a good story teller and could describe things well. Laura felt as if she knew the farm, and the people living in it, understand her grandmother so much better now. She’d also enjoyed having the opportunity to meet and talk with Megan. The older woman’s memory had remained sharp, filled with affection and joy, perhaps because she’d been a child at the time. But she’d promised to come again, having thoroughly enjoyed her visit, particularly seeing ‘little Robbie’. The pair had vowed to keep in touch.

Laura stretched and yawned. ‘Well, I think this over-the-hill decrepit would be much better off in bed. I’m going to have an early night. See you in the morning, bright and early.’

Yep,’ murmured Chrissy, idly flicking between channels during the commercials. Laura crept off to bed, leaving her to it.

Having fallen asleep listening to another of Daisy’s tapes, Laura jerked awake to discover it was half past ten and the house was very quiet. She decided to check that everything was secure and locked up safe for the night, the guests each having their own key, and that Chrissy had remembered to switch off the TV. She could make herself a cup of chocolate at the same time. She’d make Chrissy one too, if the girl was still awake. Perhaps they could make friends again over a conciliatory mug of hot chocolate.

Chrissy’s room was empty. She wasn’t watching TV either, or anywhere in the house. What’s more, her jacket had gone from the stand in the hall, and on her dressing table was evidence of a heavy make-up session with bottles and tubes and lipsticks left scattered about. It came to Laura in that chilling moment that the girl had disobeyed her and gone to the disco after all.

Laura tore down the lane in her Peugeot far too fast, concern and anger warring for supremacy. Long before she reached the Village Hall she could hear the pound of music. Without pausing to think, she abandoned rather than parked the car and marched straight over. The room was packed with young people, steaming hot and with ear-splittingly loud music seeming to vibrate the entire building. Any hope of easily finding Chrissy faded instantly. Nor did Laura pass unnoticed in the smoky atmosphere. As she made her way between the sticky, gyrating bodies, she was made to feel very much out of place in comparison with the thirteen, fourteen and fifteen year olds around her. She was seen as being thoroughly ancient and the subject of much ribald humour and laughter.

‘Lost your zimmer frame, love?’

‘Looking for the bingo? It’s on Thursdays.’

Eventually, when she’d trawled every corner of the room, peered curiously into every face to see if she recognised anyone, which wasn’t easy in the dim light, Laura gave up. Chrissy wasn’t here either, so far as she could tell.

Back outside she walked dejectedly to the car. Now what? Felix was coming tomorrow and she’d have to explain all of this, explain why she’d allowed his daughter to break a curfew and go off with a young man Laura hadn’t even met, let alone checked out.

And then she heard the giggle. Unmistakable. Laura stopped in her tracks to peer through the semi-darkness, narrow eyed. Surely the sound wasn’t coming from behind the bike sheds? They were, in fact, behind a hedge and the pair were so wound about each other it was difficult to tell which leg or arm belonged to whom. They could have been any one of a dozen youngsters in similar gear, of either sex, so identical was their appearance. But the purple hair was a dead give-away. Laura marched over and grasping Chrissy’s shoulder, gave it a shake. ‘Right, I think you’d best come with me. You and I have some talking to do.’

‘Laura!’ Chrissy looked up horrified, the dark red lipstick clownishly smudged, the childlike eyes heavily black ringed with pencil liner. What on earth had she done to herself?

‘Come on. It’s a fair cop as they say. Best to come quietly.’

Gary was on his feet in seconds, the tension in his body like a tightly coiled spring. ‘Who the hell are you? Leave her alone. We’ve done nothing wrong.’ He was older than Chrissy by some years, perhaps nineteen or twenty. Far too old for a fourteen year old, in Laura’s opinion.

‘This is between Chrissy and me, thanks very much. She knows what she’s done wrong.’

‘You’re not my parent,’ Chrissy loudly protested. ‘You’ve no right to tell me what to do.’

‘I do when you’re living and working in my house. Come on.’

‘Leave off,’ Gary shouted and as Laura reached out to take hold of Chrissy’s arm he lashed out a fist and punched her in the stomach. Laura doubled up, gasping for breath, as much with shock as anything. ‘I said leave off, will you,’ and before she had time to recover, he kicked her in the shin.

Chrissy started to scream. ‘Don’t do that. Stop it!’ Stop it Gary!’ But Gary wasn’t listening. Perhaps he’d had enough of folk telling him what to do, or being the one on the receiving end but he kept on kicking and punching Laura, long after she’d stopped resisting and lay unconscious on the ground.

Florrie had finished the washing up and cleared the tables in the dining room by the time Daisy got back. Rita, apparently, hadn’t yet risen, for which she felt truly grateful. The two girls had eaten and gone off to school with Miss Copthorne and little Robbie was happily splattering porridge all over his face as he got to grips with mastering his spoon. A perfectly normal morning like any other.

Florrie took one look at Daisy’s face and put the kettle on.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Daisy said defensively. ‘Not just yet.’ She took the spoon from the baby’s hand and cleaned his face with it, then lifted him out of the high chair onto her lap to finish the job off with his bib. ‘Did everything go all right? Did you manage breakfast on your own?’

‘Just about. Mind you, Tommy Twinkletoes took his time this morning. It was near half past nine before I managed to get rid of him.’ Her cheeks were flushed as she said this and Daisy couldn’t help but smile. She could only hope Florrie didn’t push Clem’s jealousy too far. They’d already been given strong evidence of it and, apart from anything else, Tommy Fawcett was a good customer. Not one it would be wise to lose. She had noticed a slight thawing in relations between husband and wife. Some mornings it was almost humorous to see Clem standing on the doorstep, preparatory to making his usual departure, desperately trying to think of something witty and original say, and Florrie patiently waiting, a pained smile of alert attention on her face.

Percy walked in as Daisy was jiggling Robbie on her knee. She was singing Ride-a-Cock-horse, which he loved, as much to cheer herself up as the baby. Putting two and two together, Florrie decided to make herself scarce and hurried away to make a start on the bedrooms.

‘I’ll be along to help when I’ve drunk my tea,’ Daisy called after her. ‘To see a fine lady upon a white horse.’

‘No rush.’

‘Was that him? Lover boy?’

Daisy glanced up with a frown. ‘Don’t call him that.’ Percy’s hair had grown quite long since he’d left the navy and looked tousled and unkempt, there were holes in his sleeveless pullover and his shirt had been buttoned up wrong. A rush of pity came to her, even as she sat waiting and fretting for Harry to decide upon whether or not they had a future together. Percy was a sad imitation of his former self, nervous and constantly restless, always fretting or demanding long explanations over something or other. He was like a fractious child. He would ask why he must wear a coat when he went out. Why did he have to go out at all if he didn’t feel like it? And why couldn’t he tear pieces about the war out of the newspaper if he wanted to, even if no one else had read it yet.

If he wanted to sleep all day, or eat all night, or walk about barefoot if it made his leg feel better; who was she to stop him?

Always, when Daisy was on the point of tearing out her hair in frustration, or ready to scold him for some grumpiness or tantrum, he would put his arms about her, kiss her gently on the cheek and tell her how much he adored her. ‘I love you, Daisy. You’re my very special friend, right?’