When I Was Otherwise (3 page)

It was the old woman with the carrier bags who stopped at the rubbish bin; she who retrieved the cigarette packet and opened it and stared! Heavens, noted Daisy sternly, nothing understated about
her
performance—back to training school with
you
, my girl! At once! Daisy could see her satisfaction, even in profile.

She saw too that Dan, almost at a standstill, had witnessed it from further down the hill.

But what now? Was it over? He had quickened his pace again. Daisy had to run to catch up.

“Dan!” she called. “Dan!”

This time he spun round, like a truanting schoolboy. Yet his expression of guilt turned to one of welcome. He hurried back.

“Daisy! What are you doing here?” Yes, an enquiry worthy of Sir Percy Blakeney himself! Had he forgotten she lived only about a mile away?

“And I could ask that selfsame question! And intend to—immediately! I've been watching, you know.”

When she said that, he blushed: a grown man in his middle thirties who could still blush! “What do you mean, old girl?”

She described what she had seen.

“Are you being blackmailed?” she asked. “Have you murdered your wife?” But no such luck, of course.

“Oh, well, not quite.” He smiled. (It was an imbecilic smile, totally unbefitting the Secret Service.) “You know I'd never do that.”

“What, then?”

“Nothing much. Really. Nothing at all.”

“Oh, yes, I could see that. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, the thing is, you can't just go up to a person and hand them a couple of pounds, can you, as if they didn't have any pride? And at times like this, those of us who are lucky enough to have a job…” With his eyes, as much as with the gesture of his hands, he pleaded for her understanding.

“Did you say—a couple of
pounds
?”

He tried to turn it into a joke. “I thought she was never going to find it, suddenly crossing the road like that. I thought she'd given up looking in the bins at precisely the wrong moment.”

“For heaven's sake, dear! How often do you go berserk?”

“Oh, hardly ever, hardly ever. It's just that, as I say, when there are so many thousands out of work and desperately feeling the pinch…”

This made her think of Andrew and the attitude he displayed towards his own job: his loathing of it and his sense of martyrdom, “with so many rotten scroungers all leading the life of Riley.” But all she said was, “I don't suppose that old girl was ever
in
work, or indeed ever wanted to be. She's probably been a hobo all her life. And jolly good luck to her, too!”

“She can't have started out like that.”

“Oh, well, one does hope she was a bit cleaner.”

“And she didn't look exactly carefree.”

“But if you're still in the mood for doling out charity then you can treat me to a cup of coffee.”

“Of course! With great pleasure.”

“There's a place up the road that says it does scones with Devonshire cream. So gather ye rosebuds while ye may! That's
my
philosophy at the moment. And always has been, you might say?”

“What were you doing here, anyhow?” he asked her a second time, when they were seated.

“Oh, just enjoying a constitutional. I've been wandering on the Heath.”

“No wonder you look so well.”

“I like to have roses in my cheeks.”

Yet these days he didn't think they were supplied, not entirely, either by exercise
or
fresh air. Daisy had glamorized herself. He thought it suited her. Then he remembered having heard something about it from Erica, who had been told of it by Marsha; but this had been well over a year ago—possibly getting on for two. Oh Lord! Hadn't they seen her, then, for roughly a couple of years? Dan's feelings of guilt returned.

“Though what about yourself?” she asked. “Were
you
on a constitutional?”

“No. I was on my way to buy a special cake for Erica. We bought one recently and she enjoyed it so much I thought I'd try to get her another as a surprise.”

“Oh, how sad it is!” she said forlornly. “No one ever buys
me
a special cake as a surprise!”

And she hung her head winsomely. “Who do I remind you of? Sweet little Mary Pickford in a snowstorm?”

Dan laughed. “Do you like chocolate cake?”

“Chocolate? How could you guess? It's always been my very favourite!”

“Then come with me to the cake shop and I'll get you one as well. We can't have poor old Daisy wandering around London feeling pathetic.”

“No, we can't,” she agreed cheerfully. “You're absolutely right, dear. Though a bit less of the old, if you please!”

But at that moment their coffee and scones arrived.

Afterwards, she asked, a shade belatedly:

“Oh, by the way. How
is
Erica?”

“She's very well.”

“And her mother?”

“Oh, judging from her letters, she's fine. We stayed with her in June. She'll come back to us
next
June.”

“Alternating years? Regular as clockwork? Mind you, it was March when I met her. Something wrong there… And your own mother—how is she?”

“Well, not quite herself, as a matter of fact. She's had the 'flu. It's pulled her down a bit.”

“Oh? Fading, I suppose?”

“Hardly. She's only in her fifties.”

“I didn't realize.”

Daisy finished her scone. She dabbed up the crumbs and remaining smears of cream. “I hope my finger's clean! I don't much care if it isn't!”

“Have another.”

“Oh, I really don't think I should, do you?”

“Sure?”

“Are you going to?”

“No. I'll be having lunch in an hour.”

“What! Don't tell me you'll be bothering with lunch after
this
?” She accepted the second scone.

Later she rummaged for her cigarettes, but couldn't find them. “It doesn't matter. I'm better off without.”

“I'll go and get some.” He was already pushing back his chair.

“You're such a dear. But you must certainly let me pay. No—no—wait!” She'd found her own packet after all, right there at the bottom of her handbag. “How lucky. You might have had to traipse for miles. Here—take one—they're Turkish.”

“But you've only got two.”

“Oh, never mind. I have a gallant young admirer who buys them for me. No chocolate cakes. Yet at least I do get cigarettes.”

She leaned back and blew a trio of smoke rings.

“But I wonder if I'd let you buy me some whether I'd have found two pound notes discreetly tucked inside? Perhaps I've missed my opportunity.”

“I do wish you'd forget that.”

“Peddling hairnets and costume jewellery must be more lucrative than I imagined. I must confess I always thought it a peculiar thing for your parents to put you into, but it appears now that I ought to beg their pardon. You should take this pretty pink packet when we go. It'll show up rather nicely in a rubbish bin.”

He was silent. He waited for her to finish her second cup of coffee. Looked pointedly at his watch.

“I hope you realize she'll only spend it all on drink?”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know? Because I've been through my own do-gooding phase—naturally. We all have. Not that I don't still try to do my bit,” she added, hurriedly.

She blew some more smoke rings. A toddler at the next table, fastened into his high chair, pointed ecstatically.

“You seem to have acquired a new admirer.” Dan had felt resentful but this spectacle of awestruck delight made him laugh.

“Yes. Shall we go?” She stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette. “I suppose you both mean to have children?” She made this (almost accusatory) observation some minutes after they had left the café.

“Well, we'd definitely like one. Or maybe a couple. But up to now, unfortunately, up to now we've…”

Sudden sympathy blended with ferocity. He was surprised at her intensity. “Yes! It's always the way! Those who really want them and would probably make quite good parents…” She shrugged. “Marsha's baby was certainly quick off the assembly line.”

He nodded. “Yes, incredible to think he's already eighteen months! Little Andy.”

“You saw that child in there just now?”

“Of course.”

“Such innocence and trust! Such spontaneity! Where will all of that be in another year or two? The mother looked plebeian.”

She had worked herself into something of a frenzy.

“People have no right!” she cried.

Dan was glad to have reached their destination.

But there was only a single chocolate cake remaining.

“What shall we do?” he asked. “I suppose we could get them to divide it?”

He looked around, with an equal lack of enthusiasm, at all the other cakes on display.

“Nonsense. You take that back to Erica. The pair of you can enjoy it together. Forget about me! As if it makes a ha'p'orth of difference!”

He felt touched. “I think I've found the solution.”

“Inspiration from on high?”

“Yes. You'll have to share it with us. You must come to tea this afternoon.”

“You're one in a million, dear, but Erica might not like it. I mean, she may have other things to do.”

“No, I'm sure not. I'll give her a ring.”

“Besides, I don't quite know what I'd do with myself until teatime. I think it mightn't be worth my while going home, you see.”

“Then, Daisy,” he exclaimed, “you must come to lunch, as well!”

He was, essentially, a very simple young man.

4

They had had a small party to celebrate: Marsha and Dan and Daisy. The latter had insisted on going out to an off-licence for a bottle of Johnny Walker. She'd also bought some peanuts and a bag of crisps. They had now finished their dinner but were still sitting at the table over coffee (instant). “And later we can eat the rest of the cake,” said Daisy. They had begun it—again at Daisy's insistence—to accompany the tinned fruit and long-life cream which Marsha had provided for dessert.

“But Daisy, you extravagant mortal, that cake could do beautifully for tomorrow. There's a good three pieces left.”

“I don't want it for tomorrow. I want it for tonight. Tomorrow let the cupboard be bare. Tonight—while there is lemon-iced Madeira—let us eat, drink, and make the rafters ring! Let us banish all thought of frugality, my fine rollicking fellows! Not to mention stinginess,” she added to herself.

“Daisy, I may be careful, but I am not stingy.”

“Dear heaven! Who ever said you were? Instant death to such a preacher of sedition!” She drew forth her flashing rapier and scanned her surroundings, glaringly, for this calumnious rogue. “Daisy the swashbuckler! A true son of Robin Hood.”

“And rather merry into the bargain,” laughed her sister-in-law, but still with a trace of disapproval.

“What! On just a spoonful or two of pineapple juice and a bit of cream?” Somewhat atypically she made no mention of what she herself had provided. “No, but it was very nice, dear, very nice indeed. You were always a first-rate little cook. Me, I never had the patience to slave before a stove. There was always something more exciting I wanted to get on with.”

Which wasn't wholly accurate. She had not merely kept house for her father during his last few years but at one other period, both later and longer, had again done most of the cooking and had again, by and large, enjoyed it.

Marsha said, “It might have been very different, of course, if only Henry hadn't died.”

“Ah, yes,” murmured Dan, who always grew more than usually sentimental on spirits—and more than usually red-complexioned. “Poor Henry. Poor Henry. Just what year was it, Daisy, that you got married?” The first part and the second were not consciously connected.

“1933,” supplied Marsha, immediately.

“Was it as long ago as that?” he marvelled.

“Yes. I'd have been eighteen and you, Dan—let's see—”

“I was five years older than Henry.”

Daisy said to Dan: “Oh, I remember the way you and he got the giggles in front of that sour-faced old clergyman—for all the world, like a couple of silly schoolgirls!” She chuckled. “It's about the only thing I do remember of that day.”

“Well, Henry should never have picked me as his best man. He should have known! We always set each other off.”

“Yes, I remember that, and I remember the way in which I did
not
get on with Florence—of course, that wasn't just the wedding day. Why did she have this abominable fixation over everybody's age? As though it ever
mattered
! Well, let's simply say that while Henry was alive she and I observed a truce—and afterwards we simply kept out of one another's way. Terrible woman! I don't mean to be rude; I forget she was your mother.”

Marsha didn't look pleased.

“It was a quiet wedding,” Dan interjected quickly—then contradicted what he'd said before. “There couldn't have been any other best man. That's why you had to have me.”

He smiled.

It didn't work.

“It all seems so immensely long ago,” said Daisy, “so wholly unrelated to anything that happens now.” She sat back, let her eyes travel round the dining room, as though seeking for something in it to admire. “And I daresay she was really very nice… If you ever got to know her properly, I mean.” She shook her head, pondering life's impossibilities.

“The trouble was,” said Marsha—and didn't see Dan now mutely appeal to her across the table—“the trouble was, Henry was very young. Very impressionable. I know Mother believed you had him too much under your thumb.”

“Ha!” muttered Daisy. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” But her mutter was rendered inaudible by Dan, who spoke simultaneously.