Daisy's Secret (50 page)

Felix growled, ‘Give me my half share of the house and you can have one without a battle. And gladly. Otherwise, I’ll fight you every inch of the way.’ Then he turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Laura sank back on the pillow and closed her eyes on a sigh of resignation. If it cost her to be rid of him, maybe it would come cheap at the price. But surely not half the value of the house, he must owe her something for all the years she’d had to put up with him as his long-suffering wife? She’d speak to her friendly solicitor on the matter. Let him sort Felix out. She’d had enough.

She’d almost drifted off to sleep again when the soft touch of a hand on hers brought her eyes flying open again. ‘Laura, are you OK?’

‘Chrissy. Oh, love, never mind about me. How are you? He didn’t hurt you too, did he?’

Chrissy’s eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. The hair framing the pale face glowed a warm nut brown in the stark hospital light. It had been professionally trimmed too and looked enchanting. ‘I was so frightened. I’ve been such a fool, and you were
soooo
kind to me. Can you ever forgive me? And don’t worry about the guest house. I rang Megan and she came right over. She moved into one of the attic bedrooms and has taken charge, with my help. We’re coping fine. So can we still be friends?
Please
.’
 

Laura smiled. ‘I’m thrilled to hear Megan is back. I shall offer her a job forthwith and hope she stays. But if all this is a presage to a hug, can you make it a gentle one?’ And they both burst into a fit of giggles and somehow managed it without too many cries of agony from Laura.

‘There’s someone waiting patiently outside longing to hug you too. Shall I call him in?’

‘I think that’s an excellent idea. Oh, but how do I look? Is my hair a dreadful mess? Felix says I look like I’ve gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.’

Chrissy studied her with a mock seriousness for a moment. ‘For one who’s well past her sell-by date and with a jaw well on the way to matching my previous tint, you look pretty good actually. I doubt he’ll care, anyway, what you look like.’

And, surprisingly, she was right.

It was January 1947 and the severe cold had an iron hard grip upon the land. Temperatures were well below zero with every hollow, boulder and hummock covered by a thick layer of snow. Where once had been a hedgerow or drystone wall, now lay a smooth ripple of drifting snow, dipping only slightly in the lane buried deep beneath it. A fox picked his way gingerly through the dusting of ice and snow in the farm yard, keeping a wary eye open as it looked from right to left. Clem spotted it through the window of the farm house and reached for his gun. ‘There’s Mr Tod going for my hens, the rascal.’

Percy, watching him load, said: ‘I want to see the fox. I’ll come with you.’

‘Nay, lad. You stop here, in t’warm. I’ll fettle it.’

Percy got up and put his hand on Clem’s arm. ‘Don’t. Don’t shoot it, Uncle Clem. It’s hungry, that’s all. I don’t like guns. Call in the dogs. Send for the hunt.’

Daisy looked up from the sock she was darning. ‘It’s all right, Percy. Don’t fret.’

‘Thee knows well enough we don’t have no hounds in these parts, lad, nor fancy horses galloping about the countryside where they’d be sure to break their necks. We go on foot round here, John Peel fashion. But how can the hunt get through in this weather? It’s best I take a pot at it myself’. Don’t worry, I’m a fair shot and he’s an old rogue, a bandit, nowt else. Old Reynard isn’t getting his jaws on my chickens.’

Percy became agitated as he watched Clem stride away, so that Daisy had to get up and go and put her arms about him to soothe and calm him down. It was ever the way of it when something unpleasant occurred. ‘It’s all right, don’t worry. The fox will be long gone before Clem gets anywhere near, frightened off by the sight of him, believe me.’ Which proved to be the case. Clem stalked him as quietly as he could, but the fox dodged capture with wily skill, his sense of smell and acute hearing allowing him to live to fight another day.

Clem returned to the house later, thoroughly cross and very cold. He stamped the snow off his boots, unloaded the gun and stowed it safely away in the case, double locking it carefully afterwards. Percy watched the procedure with great interest. It troubled Daisy that much as he hated the loud bangs made when Clem went to pop off a fox or a rat, yet the guns in the case never ceased to fascinate him. Once, Daisy had found him fiddling with the lock.

‘What are you doing? You know you mustn’t touch Uncle Clem’s guns.’ She’d tried to move him away but he’d resisted.

‘Don’t like guns. Want to move them. Shouldn’t be in the house. Might blow up.’

‘Don’t worry, Percy. They won’t blow up. It’s all right. They have no bullets in them, in any case. Clem takes care of that.’ But the next day, he was back again, picking at the lock with a bit of bent wire. That’s when Daisy made Clem put on a padlock as well, just to be safe.
 

Fearful of a repeat of the incident when he’d suffered a breakdown and attempted to take his own life, they all kept a close watch on him.
 

Daisy didn’t believe Percy was any real danger either to himself or to anyone else, quite certain that her care and control had done its job. All the same, they remained vigilant: Clem, Florrie and Daisy, even eight year old Robbie who followed his father about everywhere. The pair were inseparable and Daisy knew her child was safe, that Percy adored his son too much to harm him.

‘I like foxes,’ Percy said now.

‘You would, you daft soft mutt.’ But Clem was smiling.

Daisy smiled too, relieved Percy was again settling back in the arm chair with his Hotspur comic. She never failed to appreciate the old man’s endless patience with him. Percy was not the same man he once was, had grown ever more simple-minded over these last years, as if he couldn’t face being a part of the adult world any more. He’d settled in nicely at the farm and loved the quiet of the high fells so much that he rarely left them, not even when she drove the old Ford van into Keswick for fresh supplies. Nor did she encourage him to do so, knowing that he felt secure here, and safe. The very quiet of the place kept him calm and happy.

The war had broken him, leaving him quite incapable of looking after himself. The ulcerous sores on his back and legs had never properly healed, and he was very nearly stone deaf. Because of these disabilities, he could become disoriented and easily panic if he strayed too far from the farm. If his routine deviated in the slightest, he would become agitated and nervous. Daisy recognised the signs and knew how to calm him, as did Robbie. Caring for him was very like minding a child, and a stubborn one at times.

Her consolation and joy was found in her beloved Robbie. She had Florrie and Clem for company, and the boarding house kept her fully occupied throughout the day as it continued to prosper, although their original guests were long gone.

Miss Copthorne was back in the North-East, presumably still teaching. Ned Pickles had gone to live with his daughter, who had decided to at last take responsibility for her elderly parent. Tommy Twinkletoes was no longer selling agricultural foodstuffs but running a grocery store in Preston. He called to see them from time to time and bore Clem no grudge at all over the thump on his nose, although Clem remained fairly cool and distant towards him.

The worst moment had come with Daisy’s mother. Following the recovery of Robbie, Rita had proudly showed off her grandson to all the guests as if she personally had rescued him from the jaws of death. ‘Isn’t he a little marvel? And his poor dad couldn’t help it, losing his senses ‘cause he were such a hero blown up in that destroyer. Poor man,’ she warned, tapping the side her head.

Miss Copthorne had jiggled the baby’s hand, then turning to Daisy said, ‘so Percy is your husband, is he? I hadn’t realised.’

Daisy would never forget the intensity of the silence which followed. It probably only lasted a matter of seconds but to her it seemed like an hour: her tongue all tied in a knot so that before she’d got it sorted out, Rita had shoved her oar in, as was her wont.

‘Oh, indeed, yes he is. They were married years ago, before the war. All right and proper. Fine young chap he was then. Daisy doesn’t like to talk about it because it upsets her too much, remembering how he used to be. But he’s done his bit for his country, so no one can ask for more than that, now can they? And we’ll all stand by her in her hour of need, I’m sure. Ours not to question why, only to do or die.’ She spouted many more clichès but Daisy was too dazed to listen.

‘Oh, dear me, yes, of course we will,’ agreed Miss Copthorne. ‘The poor man has given his life, in a way.’ She cast Daisy a look of surprise, as if she thought it odd that she should feel the need to keep her marriage to such a hero quiet. But there was pity in the glance too, for who knows how one might react in similar circumstances? Daisy snatched the baby from her mother’s arms and ran upstairs. She could stand no more.

She’d packed a bag, put on her coat and hat, dressed Robbie in his coat and leggings and gone back downstairs. Guessing something was wrong, all the guests had gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

Daisy began with Rita. ‘You’ve been organising my life for as long as I can remember. Since I first drew breath, in fact. But I’ve already made it clear that I’ll not stand for it any longer. This is the final straw, I’m off. You can look after Percy. I’ve got my baby. I’m certainly not prepared to live a lie, not any longer. I’ve lost the only man I truly love because you made me keep my baby a secret, so I reckon it’s time I faced up to the truth.’

And then addressing the assembled guests: Ned Pickles, Tommy Fawcett, Miss Copthorne, Mr Enderby and one or two others who happened to be staying, quietly made her announcement. ‘I’m not married to Percy but it’s true that he is Robbie’s dad. My baby is illegitimate, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it. Mam gave him away for adoption, and I never thought I’d see him again. Now that I’ve got him back I don’t care what anybody thinks of me, or what the gossips say. I think he’s smashing and he’s mine. I’ve packed me bags, so you won’t be soiled any further by my immoral behaviour.’ So saying, she picked up her bags and set off for the door, balancing the baby on her hip.

Ned Pickles was the first to be galvanised into action. He dashed after her and gently grasped her arm. ‘Don’t go, Daisy. We’d be lost without you. We all love you, and we don’t care what Robbie’s status is, whether you’re married or you’re not. There’s been a war and everything is topsy-turvy, nothing is as it should be. What we do know is that you’ve seen us all through it. We wouldn’t have managed half so well without you and we need you here. You’ve made a big difference to all our lives. Please don’t leave on our account.’

‘Hear-hear!’ A rousing cheer went up. Tommy Fawcett was relieving her of her bags, Mr Enderby was offering her a spanking clean handkerchief to mop up her tears, and Miss Copthorne lifting Robbie from her arms because Daisy looked in dire danger of dropping him she was shaking so much. Ned Pickles simply held her while she sobbed.

Rita had been the one to leave, not Daisy, but not without playing her mischief right to the end. She told Percy that, as Daisy’s husband, he was the most important person in the household.’

‘Did we get wed then?’ he asked, frowning as he struggled to remember the wedding ceremony.

‘Course you did, love. Don’t you recall having a drop too much bevy at the reception?’

‘Aye, I usually do,’ Percy agreed, grinning.

And somehow the idea that they were married, once planted in his head, couldn’t be shifted. He thought of her as his wife, looking pleased as punch as he called her Mrs Thompson. And somehow that stuck too. The regulars, fully understanding the situation accepted it as a game of pretence, rather like playing a game with a child. Daisy went along with it too because it kept Percy calm and content, and in any case she was quite sure it would blow over as jokes usually did in the end.

And if anyone asked she would deny it, straight out. Percy and she weren’t married at all but he liked to think that they were. It was the war that did something to his brain. That way, she wasn’t telling any lies. Just playing along to keep Percy happy and well.

Only the game didn’t go away. By the time the regulars had all left, gone their separate ways to get on with their post-war lives as best they could, the entire neighbourhood had quite forgotten how the fiction had all begun, had become quite convinced that Daisy and Percy were indeed man and wife. In fact, there were times when Daisy herself believed it, calling him her dear husband, and then remembering and feeling guilty, as if she’d been caught out in a lie after all.
 

But although the union didn’t have the blessing of any church, in truth she cared for him like a wife, and a good one, in every way but one. It was a marriage in name only, literally. And there was no law against calling yourself whatever you liked. She’d checked that with Mr Capstick, the family solicitor.

Daisy was happy enough. She’d fallen in love with Lane End Farm at first sight and hadn’t regretted staying. Clem and Florrie would never have a perfect marriage either but were thankfully over the worst of their difficulties and trundled along tolerably well these days. Her aunt could even be heard singing as she went about her daily routine. Having a regular supply of visitors to the farm for bed and breakfast after the war was proving to be good for her too and she was able to spoil Robbie dreadfully, of course, which helped to counter some of the bitterness she would forever carry in her heart for the child she lost.