Daisy's Secret (16 page)

‘This is a surprise,’ she said, for want of something to say.

‘Aye well, when we got Mr Chapman’s letter, Mother thought I should come and, er - um, have a bit of a chat like.’

‘Why didn’t she come herself?’ Now that would have been no surprise at all. One whiff of scandal and Rita Atkins was usually on the trail like a bloodhound.

‘She’s not been too well lately, to tell truth. Not at all herself. That’s why I’m here really. The fact is, Daisy, Mother wants you home.’

‘She what?’ This was the last thing Daisy had expected.

‘She wants you to come home. Most of the evacuees are back by now, since nowt seems to be happening in the war like, so it wouldn’t look odd, and that other business - well, nobody knows nowt about that, save for them involved. It were all quietly and privately arranged. Least said, soonest mended, eh? Like I say, Mother’s not been so good lately and she wants you back. Happen, in the circumstances, it’d be fer t’best.’ It was a long speech for Joe, and left him breathless.

‘In the circumstances?’

He shifted his feet, looking trapped. ‘Well, we don’t want any more - haccidents, do we?’ He pronounced the word with an aitch in it, as he always did when wanting to emphasise a word. ‘Nay, I’m sure you’ve learnt from your mistakes in the past, and wouldn’t dream of repeating them. I told Mother as much, but she said it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Daisy could feel the usual sense of injustice fuelling her anger, and she obstinately refused to show any sign of understanding. Why did her mother always think the worst of her? If her father had something to say, let him come right out and say it, instead of all this nonsense about Mam not being well.

 
Joe again shuffled his feet, glowering down at the polished toes of his Sunday best boots. He thrust his hands in his trousers pockets and pulled them as quickly out again. Eeh, this was a bad business. Why did women have to be so blasted difficult? If she’d been a lad, he could’ve come straight out with it, given him a leathering, and that would’ve been the end of the matter. A girl was more canny, good at saying one thing and thinking another, and this lass of his was as slippy as a wet herring, more like her mother than she cared to admit.
 

‘You know very well what she means. This young chap what you’re seeing. Best you put a stop to all that nonsense afore it all gets out of hand like. Anyroad, what with the way she’s feeling right now, like I say - she needs you back home.’

‘Are you saying she wants me to look after her?’

‘Aye, that’s about the way of it. She’s done her back in, d’you see, summat to do with a slipped disc, and she can barely move an inch. She’s in a proper pickle, having to stop in bed all day and sleep on a board. She needs you to look after the house, make the meals, do the washing and so on. So I’ve come to fetch you home,’ and he beamed at her, just as if he were doing her a favour.

He’d stretched the truth, of course, as had Rita when she’d told him what to say. She’d strained a muscle, lifting something she shouldn’t, but every disc in her spine, as with every cell in her cunning brain, was fit and strong and working well.

Truth or lie, he could see the tale wasn’t working. Daisy was looking at him as if he were out of his head. ‘You think I’d come back after you told me never to darken your doors again? After you threw me out and gave away my baby? You think I’d even want to stay in the same house as you ever again? Don’t make me laugh. Things haven’t been easy since I left home, but life is a darned sight better than it was before, and I’m certainly not leaving here now, not when I’m just settling in.’

Not when she’d just met Harry.

The idea of returning to Salford without Daisy, as instructed, didn’t bear thinking of. Rita would never let him hear the end of it. His face became, if possible, even more sombre and his voice adopted a doleful, censuring note. ‘Don’t let us down again, girl. I told Mother you wouldn’t. Don’t prove me wrong.’

Daisy’s eyes filled with a rush of tears, though whether with temper or anguish she couldn’t rightly have said. She blinked them angrily away. ‘Oh, for goodness sake, why can’t either of you trust me? Why can’t you show some faith in my common sense?’

‘Because you haven’t got any, Daisy. You’re a dreamer. Daisy Daydream that’s what you are, what you’ve always been.’

‘That’s not true. You know it isn’t.’

‘Oh aye, it is, Daisy. You act straight from the heart without even stopping to think, that’s what you do. Always did.’

‘Well there are times when showing a little affection and care is no bad thing. I’d certainly have benefited from a bit more of that from you two. Mam calling me a daydream is her way of avoiding her share of the blame. How could I know about babies and suchlike if she didn’t tell me? And what I did learn from my friends was mainly old wives’ tales and not to be relied upon. I was an innocent, just waiting to be taken advantage of, and she knows it. All right, so I made a mistake, a bad one as it turns out, but I’ve paid a high price for it. And how many times do I have to apologise? Why don’t you both just leave me in peace?’

Daisy thought he might see how upset she was and put his arms about her to comfort her. But in the awkward silence that followed this impassioned little speech, Joe Atkins stood awkwardly wishing he’d gone and played dominoes with his mates and not got himself mixed up with women’s business after all. He certainly wouldn’t again.

Mrs Chapman, listening at the door for an appropriate moment to make her entrance, chose this period of obvious quiet to come sailing in without knocking, and quite unannounced. Daisy turned quickly away to stare out of the window, her vision of the street outside blurred by unshed tears.
 

‘Ah, there you are dear. I do hope you are having a lovely visit with your father. I’ve made tea and sandwiches for him. Go and fetch the tray from the kitchen, Daisy, there’s a good girl.’

The pair of them stood in the street as Daisy explained with a calm and measured firmness, why she wouldn’t be returning with him to Salford. The last hour had passed with painful slowness with Mrs Chapman performing her social role of hostess with an increasing desperation, doing her utmost to maintain a flow of polite conversation while Joe responded in awkward monosyllables and Daisy simply wished the floor would open and swallow them all up.

‘It’s far too late to play happy families. You both had your chance and you let me down, every bit as badly as you seem to think I failed you. Let’s be honest, neither you nor Mam ever had much time for me, and were no doubt glad to see the back of me. Let’s just leave things as they are, shall we?’

Joe looked disconcerted by such plain speaking and, as usual when confronted with an unpalatable truth, avoided responsibility by placing any blame firmly in Rita’s lap. ‘It weren’t my idea to give t’child away and you know how there’s no stopping your mother, once she has an idea in her head.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

‘But she wants you home now. If I go back without you, she’ll say that it’s not your place to decide what’s best, that you’re still under age and should do as we say. Mother has only ever wanted to do what’s right for you.’

‘What’s right for
her
, you mean.’

‘That’s an unkind thing to say Daisy, and unworthy of you.’

 
Daisy looked upon this self righteous stranger who was her father and felt a sadness deep inside. Why wouldn’t he face up to the truth and take some share of the responsibility for the mess they were in. Rita had never given consideration to anyone but herself, and Joe had never stayed in the house long enough to challenge her word of law.
 

‘All Mam cares about is what the neighbours would think, what people might say. That has been her yardstick all along, not
my
welfare, nor the child I gave birth to.’

The familiar choking sensation blocked Daisy’s throat as again she ached to know where her son might be at this precise moment. Whose arms were holding him, who was kissing his soft baby cheek, changing his nappy, giving him his feed? Consequently, her tone acquired a hard edge in her parting words. ‘Tell Mam I’m sorry she’s not well, if that’s really true, but I don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me. I can look after meself these days, ta very much, and I’ve no intention of making my life any worse than it already is by giving in any more to her whims and fancies. I’ve broken free of her domineering ways and mean to remain so. Tell her that!’

Joe looked shocked. ‘Nay, lass. She’ll not like it. She’ll not like that one bit.’

‘Just tell her, that’s all.’

‘Eeh, well, I’ll do me best,’ he said, the mournful note back in his voice. ‘I’ll do what I can, lass, but don’t bank on her agreeing to leave you here. Don’t bank on it at all.’ If Joe knew anything about his wife, she’d never stop her scheming ways, not till they were hammering the coffin nails in.

He swung about and began to walk away, shoulders hunched, hands sliding thankfully into his pockets, as if his duty had been done and he could be himself, at last.

It was as he turned the corner of the street that the thought came to Daisy, and she ran to catch him up. ‘Aunt Florrie - remember? Doesn’t she live here in the Lakes somewhere?’

‘Aye.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘Near Keswick, so far as I can recall. I’ve no idea of the address.’

‘And what’s her name, her married name?’

‘Pringle. She’s called Florrie Pringle.’

‘Thanks.’ She’d never called him Dad, and she didn’t now. The moment had been missed long ago.

Silence descended once again as father and daughter stood awkwardly facing each other, each wondering how to end the misery of this meeting. Joe settled the matter by jerking the neb of his cap in a gesture of farewell, muttered something about not wanting to miss his bus, then sidled away, his pace quickening with each step, as if he couldn’t escape quickly enough. ‘Ta ra then. We’ll see you soon, happen.’

‘Happen,’ Daisy agreed, both aware that this might be the last time she ever saw either one of her parents.

Daisy didn’t linger to watch him go but turned on her heels and hurried inside. She flew upstairs to her room, closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh of relief before promptly bursting into tears.

Chapter Nine

On Tuesday morning, Laura set off bright and early to drive to Keswick. She took Daisy’s clothes to a local charity shop then explored its miscellany of shops and narrow streets, hidden courts and yards, past the Moot Hall and market place, pausing only to eat lunch in a tiny cafe and buy food to take back with her to Lane End Farm. She considered taking in a play at the new Theatre By The Lake but decided against it and settled instead for a visit to the museum and art gallery in Fitz Park where she studied the original manuscripts of Southey, Ruskin and Walpole, among others.
 

At three-thirty prompt, she kept her appointment with the family solicitor, not old Mr Capstick but his son Nicholas, who turned out to be surprisingly young and smart, his office filled with a battery of computers. Even Felix would have been impressed.

He told her to call him Nick, said how pleased he was to meet Daisy’s granddaughter at last, then expressed his regrets on hearing she was planning to sell. ‘It’s not a good time to sell. Farms aren’t fetching high prices right now and Lane End is little more than a small-holding now.’ He chewed on his lower lip for a bit. ‘Trouble is, because it’s so remote, it will only attract a particular sort of buyer. It’s unique. A fine house in many ways and you would sell it eventually, but it could take a year or two.’

‘A year or two? Heavens, I think Felix was thinking in terms of a couple of months.’

Nick gave a hollow laugh. ‘No chance. Not the way things work with this type of property. If I were you, and it’s really none of my business, but unless you’re strapped for cash I’d hang on for a bit. View it as an excellent investment for the future.’

Laura sat back with a satisfied little sigh. He couldn’t have said anything guaranteed to please her more. Now she had some real ammunition with which to fight Felix. 'Thank you for your advice. I’ll tell my husband what you suggest.’

He nodded, punched some keys on his computer and, after a moment, said, ‘Apart from that, everything is progressing nicely so far as the probate is concerned. The land doesn’t come with the house, you do understand that?’

‘Oh yes, that was made clear.’

He nodded. ‘You’re the only beneficiary so there shouldn’t be any complications. Not that there’s much actual cash. The house was her main, well - her only remaining asset.’

‘That’s fine. The house is wonderful.’ Laura got up to go. ‘Oh, my grandmother didn’t leave any papers with you, did she? Letters perhaps, or a diary?’

He frowned slightly while he considered this. ‘Not that I know of. I believe we only have her will. She kept all her papers, such as there were, in her bureau at home, including the deeds of the house. We offered to store those for her too but Daisy enjoyed browsing through them from time to time, because it was the story of Lane End Farm. She said everything had a life story, the house, the mountain, even the stones in the road.’ He smiled fondly. ‘Old folk get that way, a little fanciful in their declining years. But she loved that house, and why not? She didn’t have much of a start in life, I believe, so deserved her bit of good luck.’