Daisy's Secret (9 page)

‘Oh dear, you really don’t know anything at all, do you?’ Laughing, he shrugged his wide shoulders and swung away from her, back towards the door. ‘But, if you’re not hungry, either for food or information right now, I’ll leave you in peace. Give me a call if you change your mind.’ And to her utter fury and frustration, he strolled calmly away.

Chapter Five

Daisy and the children slept the clock round, waking late the next morning. It being a Saturday, still with no sign of their host, and facing the prospect of an empty larder for the entire weekend ahead, Daisy made the decision to go into Penrith. She and the children joined the queue at the bus stop with every intention of finding the town hall and making a complaint, or at least a polite enquiry. This was not at all what they had expected by being evacuated. It didn’t seem right that someone, beyond Daisy, wasn’t available to look after these children. Fond as she was of them, the responsibility worried her. There was a war starting, after all. What would happen if something happened to her parents, and she had to dash home for some reason? Who would look after the two children then?

Her more immediate concern, of course, was what on earth had become of Miss Pratt. The old lady had indeed seemed odd, and quite unused to children. Even so, it was most peculiar just to go off with the dogs and leave them, not even think to call in from time to time to see how they were.
 

So engrossed was she in her own troubles, and adjusting the children’s berets and scarves when it started to rain, that it was only when the bus drew up some minutes later, that Daisy paid proper attention to the queue ahead of them and realised it comprised entirely of airmen and soldiers. When it was their turn to get on, the conductress put out her hand to prevent them climbing aboard. ‘Sorry, this is a special services bus, no civvies allowed.’

‘Oh, isn’t it going into town?’

‘Aye, but like I say, it’s for services personnel only. You can allus walk, young, fit girl like yourself.’

‘But how far is it? I don’t know the way.’

‘Stranger to these parts, eh? Thought so.’

‘How long before the next bus?’ Daisy asked.

‘There’ll no doubt be one along in the next hour or so.’

‘An hour or so?’

‘Aye, well, there aren’t so many buses these days. Short of drivers, d’you see. There is a war on, you know.’

‘But it’s so cold and wet, and the children haven’t been well.’

‘That’s nothing to do with me. Not my place to mollycoddle children,’ and she reached up to ring the bell but her hand didn’t quite make it. Her wrist was caught and held, a grip so uncompromising it prevented the conductress from moving an inch.

He was tall, almost six foot, in RAF uniform like all the rest, square jawed and with a wide, smiling mouth, his forage cap tilted at just the right angle over neatly clipped brown hair. His face was more what you’d call homely than handsome but to Daisy it was the most cheerful, the most friendly face she’d encountered in a long while.

Harry Driscoll had been watching this little exchange with interest, and had decided to put in his fourpenneth. He hated bullies, particularly female ones. Besides, the young girl was quite pretty. ‘She’s with me.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ The conductress was furiously attempting to pull her arm free, blotches of scarlet gathering high on her cheek bones. ‘If you don’t take your flippin’ hand off me this minute, I’ll call the driver and have you all thrown off.’

He released her with a small bow. ‘Nevertheless, she’s with me. This coffee and bun fight we were all treated to at the village hall, she helped organise it, so you can let her on. Can’t you see them nippers are soaking wet through already. Have a heart, love.’

‘I don’t get paid to take civvies on this bus.’

‘We’ll have a whip round. Either you let them on, or we all get off. Then we’ll be late back and our CO will want to know why. Ain’t that right, lads?’ A rousing cheer echoed from behind him, most of the men not having the first idea what the dispute was about but ready enough to support a mate. Seeing herself defeated, the conductress’s stance crumbled and, moments later, Daisy, and the children were being found a seat in the depth of the warm bus and being chatted up by at least a dozen service men.

‘Thank you,’ Daisy said, having eyes only for her rescuer who stood grinning down at her. ‘That’s the first good deed anyone has done for us in an age, though that was a fib you told. I didn’t have anything to do with the coffee and bun at the village hall.’

He shrugged. ‘So what? Good deeds are all in a day’s work for we hero types.’ He held out a hand. ‘Harry’s the name. Harry Driscoll.’

‘Daisy Atkins.’ She put her hand into his and felt the warm strength of a firm grip. He made no effort to release it as he looked straight into her eyes, his gaze steady and direct and both of them fell silent, each shyly considering the other. His eyes were a greeny-grey, quite the nicest eyes Daisy had ever seen. The next instant Harry became aware of being studied by two other pairs of eyes, both blue, and laughingly released her hand. Daisy felt bereft, wanting to hold on to him.

‘They’re surely not yours?’ He jerked a chin at Trish on her knee, and the older girl leaning against it. Was that a shade of anxiety in his voice as he asked the question? Daisy smiled and shook her head. ‘Do I look old enough to have kids like this?’

But she did have a child. She did! She did! A shameful secret she must never tell. Daisy pushed the thought away.

‘You don’t look old enough to be out on your own, let alone be getting a free ride with a bus full of service personnel.’

‘We’re evacuees, from Manchester,’ she offered, by way of explanation. ‘Are you a pilot?’

This innocent remark was met by a roar of laughter. ‘They wouldn’t let him loose in a plane. He gets lost with no road signs to help him, let alone no roads.’

‘Anyway, his hair’s too long. It’d get in his eyes when he was flying.’

‘And his mam don’t like him being out at night.’

Daisy laughed along with them, enjoying the banter. They seemed a cheerful bunch, and at least it was warm on the bus. They were certainly eager to chat, telling her how they were undergoing training at the RAF base in Longtown. Also on the bus were men from the tank corps stationed at Lowther, though what exactly they were up to, they were not at liberty to say, they explained. All very hush-hush! Several offered to take her out, give her a conducted tour of the area or fill her in with more details of their life history, strictly in private of course. Nor did they forget the children, who were presented with a variety of sweets, and even a cough drop for Megan. It was all good hearted fun, and Daisy was soon wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, which made a change from the other sort.

She would like to have stayed on the bus for hours but in no time, it seemed, the conductress was calling out her stop and she was getting to her feet and ushering the children off. As a way was made for them along the aisle, Harry grabbed her hand again.

‘Where are you billeted?'

She told him, but quickly added. ‘It’s not very good. I’m hoping they might relocate us.’

‘Move along the bus please, we don’t have all day,’ the conductress shouted, determined to maintain some control over this obstreperous crew.

‘Aw, stop moaning woman. Give ‘em a minute, fer God’s sake.’

Galvanised into action by the conductress’s ill temper, Harry began to desperately search his pockets. ‘I need a pen. Somebody find me a pen.’ There was a flurry of activity, more laughter and joking as the entire busload searched pockets until a pen was finally found and Harry began to write his address on the back of her hand. Once more he looked deep into her eyes. ‘You can’t lose that. Write to me.’

Daisy glanced down at the scribbled words, a mere blur through the stars in her eyes.

‘Are you getting off or not? I’ve a few more runs to make today, if you please,’ the conductress snapped.

As Daisy struggled through the crush of servicemen, she strived to keep her gaze upon him, couldn’t bear to tear it away. There were plenty more offers of addresses but the children were being helped down from the platform, the conductress was dinging her bell with grim determination this time, and if Daisy didn’t hurry the bus would leave and she’d still be on it. As it was, she jumped off just in time before it jerked forward.

‘Don’t forget! See that you write. A letter to that address will find me, wherever I am,’ he yelled.

As she gathered the children about her, Daisy plucked up the courage to call back: ‘I will, I won’t forget. I promise.’

She wasn’t even sure if he’d heard. As she walked away, heart pounding, keeping a look out for anything likely to be the Town Hall, Daisy wondered what right she had to make such a promise? None at all, not with her shameful secret.

After he’d gone Laura headed for the shower, hoping to take the steam out of her temper. Almost at once she began to regret that she hadn’t accepted his invitation. I mean, what else did she have to do but wash her hair and eat a limp salad? Maybe that’s what she needed in her life, a little more impulsiveness. A touch of recklessness. And he was rather gorgeous. She’d really lost touch with how to handle such delicate matters, though perhaps it was just as well. She was still a married woman after all. Laura groaned and stepped under the jet of hot water, letting it do its work.

Later, wrapped in a huge towelling robe, she forsook the salad and sat on the sofa eating crackers and cheese, kicking herself for the missed opportunity. He was probably her best contact to find out more about Daisy, and she’d blown it. Accepting supper, off the cuff as it were, would have meant she could have gone in her jeans, cobwebs and all, with easy informality, just to be neighbourly. Now, although she was burning to hear what he had to tell her, nothing would induce Laura to ring and make a date. It would seem too connived, too artificial, almost like asking him for a date. He’d think her a control freak who must do everything her own way.
 

She switched on the TV, then turned it off again. The sound of it was too startling in the empty room, seeming to emphasise a loneliness she hadn’t previously noticed. But then the ensuing silence folded disconcertingly in upon her, which was worse. They’d had quite a set-to, she supposed. She certainly hadn’t been very polite to him, or welcoming.
 

Laura couldn’t help but compare the sparks that had flown between them, two perfect strangers, to the conversations she’d had recently with her husband. Felix always shied away from confrontations, rode over tender feelings and sensitivities that he had no wish to acknowledge, just as if they weren’t there. Laura had learned early on the fruitlessness of revealing her softer side, for he only trampled on it.

Nothing mattered to Felix except cutting the deal; making the big bucks. He’d even found time on the day of the funeral to read through some papers he’d brought with him, sneaking off into some quiet corner while Laura handed round the sherry and accepted everyone’s condolences. She’d made no comment but, deep down, had been hurt by such insensitivity.

Surely he hadn’t always been that way. He’d once been so full of enthusiasm, so animated about his plans. ‘This is just the start, Laura,’ he’d say. ‘The first of a chain of smart little galleries all over the country. Once we’re established we can franchise the idea and make a small fortune.’ Laura had listened fascinated, spellbound by his passion, at first perfectly in tune with his ambition to make something of his life. Being the son of an unemployed miner had left him with the need to prove that he was as good as everyone else. She’d admired that in him, at least until that need had grown into a huge chip on his shoulder.

Nowadays their relationship was too tired, too predictable to bring any excitement into their lives. And Felix was very much his own master. No one could make him do anything he had no wish to do. She was fortunate, Laura supposed, that he’d agreed to come to her grandmother’s funeral at all, which probably had more to do with wanting to assess the value of her inheritance than to pay any last respects.
 

Why was she so harassed by infuriating men? No wonder Robert approved of Felix, they were alike in so many ways, both obstinately determined to have their own way and be in control.
 

Her father’s parting words following that dreadful lunch came back to her with haunting clarity. ‘Be a good girl and go home to your husband’. It told her so much about herself.

Is that why she’d never asked questions, never liked to pry into her father’s life or emotions? Because she’d wanted him to love her, for him to see her as a good girl? He’d certainly done his level best to govern every last detail of her life, even to keeping her from her own grandmother. The result had been that it had left her a prime candidate for marriage to an equally controlling husband. Laura had never properly appreciated that fact until now. If this were true, then it was long past time she took charge of her own life. She’d been a good girl long enough.

Having stirred up her sense of injustice to a suitably high pitch, she picked up the phone and called her new neighbour to accept his invitation to supper. Though of course, only because she wanted to hear more about Harry.

The visit to the town hall turned into a quagmire of questions and bureaucracy, of being passed from pillar to post, nobody quite being prepared to accept responsibility until, at last, they were taken to an entirely different office, in a separate part of the building where they finally met the billeting officer, a large woman with a sour face. She looked down her nose at the trio as if they really had no right to be there and even after listening to Daisy’s story, denied that any such thing could happen on her patch.