Daisy's Secret (28 page)

The year was quickly passing and Daisy knew that here in the Lakes, the back end, as they called it, was actually the start of the farming year, war or no war in a few weeks time the tups would be put to the ewes. Would Florrie be back by then? At length, curiosity got the better of her and Daisy resolved to find the answer.

She found Clem in the barn one morning, mixing a dose for his sheep. It smelled dreadful but, determined not to be put off, she held to her purpose and asked her question. ‘I was wondering about Aunt Florrie. Will she be back soon, d’you reckon? And where was it, exactly, that she went? I’m curious to know.’ She felt all fluttery and nervous inside, fearful of hearing bad news. ‘I’m so looking forward to meeting her. We’ve never had chance to get to know one another proper.’

‘Thee’s only a li’le lass, thee wouldn’t understand about married folk.’

‘How will I know, if you don’t tell me?’

He stood stock still to consider, then took off his cap and scratched his head while he gave the matter more thought. ‘If anybody had told me that being wed were so difficult, I’d never have done it. Once I’d seen her, I thowt I’d be in clover but she’s not easy isn’t Florrie. Not an easy woman at all. Half the time she looks like she’s swallowed a shilling and found a penny.’
 

A shaft of sunlight coming through the door glinted on his silver grey hair and Daisy got the feeling that he wasn’t usually so forthcoming, that in some way he was opening his heart to her. But what could she possibly say in response to this mild criticism of the absent Florrie? And if she really was an old misery-boots, as he seemed to be implying, perhaps she had good reason.
 

Daisy sat down on a bale of hay and waited, vowing that if she had to wait all day, she’d get to the bottom of this puzzle. She couldn’t go on living in another woman’s house, or start making changes to it unless she knew how she stood. It took no more than twenty seconds before he carefully replaced the cap and sat down beside her. His next words stunned her.

‘Odd as it may seem, while you’re ‘ere in Lakeland looking for yer aunt, Florrie is in Salford looking for thee.’

Daisy’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?’ And then she saw why, reflected in the sadness of his faded grey eyes. ‘You thought I’d go after her, if you told me, didn’t you? And you didn’t want me to go. You wanted me to stay.’

‘It gets a mite lonely up here. I like the quiet but. . .’

‘You can have too much of a good thing, eh?’

‘Florrie always says I talk more to the ewes than I do to her. I used to say it’s because they don’t moan all the time.’ He gave a shamefaced smile. ‘Happen she’s right.’

Daisy pressed her lips firmly together to stifle a giggle at this entrancing picture of Florrie talking to Clem and getting no answer, while Clem talked to his precious sheep because they didn’t nag him or moan. But then his next words wiped the smile from her face. ‘It might’ve been different, if’n we hadn’t lost the bairn.’

‘What bairn?’ Daisy edged closer, all ears, and then it was as if a plug had been drawn and Clem, once having started talking couldn’t seem to stop. He told her all about the joy he’d felt when Florrie had given him a daughter, her trip to Salford to see family and friends and how he’d been left in charge of the infant, only to wake and find her dead in her cot. ‘It fair shattered us both, I don’t mind telling you.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘And she didn’t have any more children?’

‘Florrie weren’t keen.’ Clem looked away and Daisy realised she’d accidentally trodden on tricky territory.

‘I see. The pain would have been terrible, of course. I can see why she would be afraid of it happening again.’

‘Can you? It’s not generally summat folk can understand, unless they’ve experienced it fer themselves.’

‘I had a baby,’ Daisy said, surprising herself as much as him by the sudden need to reveal her secret. He turned to stare at her wide-eyed, bushy brows raised in open curiosity. ‘Didn’t you know? I thought Mam wrote to Aunt Florrie.’

He shook his head. ‘Nay, I wouldn’t know owt about that. Women’s stuff. Nowt to do wi’ me.’

Daisy told him anyway. He’d been honest with her and she was equally so with him. He didn’t judge her, or tell her she was a bad lass, but by the time the tale was told Daisy knew they were going to be firm friends.

‘Looks like we’ve both been in t’wars then,’ and they smiled shyly at each other in perfect understanding and acknowledgement of the other’s pain. It seemed in that moment as if they had forged a special relationship, an empathy that Daisy had never experienced with anyone before, certainly not with her own father.

‘You won’t tell, will you? I’m supposed to keep quiet about it. It’s meant to be a secret. Mam says I’ve to say nothing to anyone, because of the shame.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Daisy frowned. ‘I have a new boy friend, Harry.’

‘And you haven’t told him yet?’

‘No, not yet. Do you think I should?’

‘Nay, it’s not fer me to advise.’

‘He’s asked me to marry him.’

‘Then happen, when thee’s ready to wed him, thee’ll be ready to tell him about the bairn. Do you know where it is?’

Daisy shook her head. ‘Mam said he’s gone to a good home.’

‘It were a boy then?’

Daisy nodded, quite unable in that moment, to speak, as they both considered the implications. Daisy instinctively knew that he was wishing he’d known sooner, that he would willingly have given her baby a good home and loved it with all his heart. Yet for reasons best known to herself, Florrie evidently hadn’t felt the same way. Daisy couldn’t bear to think about how grand it would have been to have come here to have her baby, to see it brought up within her own family. And yet, if she couldn’t have him all to herself, perhaps that would have caused jealousy between herself and Florrie. Perhaps Mam was right, and it was better not knowing where he’d gone, or whose arms held him.

 
‘How about a cuppa?’ Daisy offered, fiercely blinking the unshed tears away. ‘I generally have a brew about this time, do you?’

‘Aye, if I get chance.’

Later, he said: ‘You’ll have to forgive Florrie for not offering to help. Happen Rita didn’t write, after all. I’m sure she would have done, had she known.’

‘I’m sure she would,’ Daisy agreed, and didn’t tell him that Rita most definitely had written to her sister, months ago, and cursed her when she’d got no reply.

It had taken only a matter of weeks in Salford to convince Florrie that this couldn’t be considered a permanent arrangement. Rita was constantly dropping hints that she’d like to see the back of her with such comments as, ‘You can’t feed three as cheaply as two.’ And ‘There’s some what just sit on their backside and let others do all the work and worrying.’

Florrie considered both charges to be unfair and would valiantly defend herself. ‘I’ve not been well.’

‘You and the rest of the flamin’ army,’ would be Rita’s stinging response. ‘You need to give yourself a good shake, you. You can start by doing more around the house.’

‘I can’t lift anything heavy. I’ve a bad back.’

‘Don’t try that one with me. You’re as healthy as they come and I’ve told you, there’s no flipping servants to fetch and carry for you here.’

No one could win an argument with Rita.

Joe certainly never attempted such a thing. Florrie had at first felt some contempt for the mild mannered little man, and then a reluctant sort of affection. Joe would sit with his head buried behind the
Daily Herald
, saying nothing throughout his wife’s rants, then he’d quietly put on his cap and go off to the pub.
 

He claimed his rag and bone business was going from strength to strength, with the price of scrap metal being what it was, which would help him to stash away enough savings to get them out of Marigold Court, once hostilities were over. Yet he never seemed to get around to putting these plans into effect. The money went out as fast it came in. Each evening he’d go off to place a bet, or for a pint or two with his mates. Then he’d stagger home the worse for wear, and from the upstairs back bedroom, Florrie would lie listening to the row coming from down below. She’d hear the crash as something was knocked over as he slumped into his chair, or if Rita flung his supper at him. She’d pull the covers over her ears to avoid listening to the furious argument which followed between husband and wife. When Joe was in drink, it was the only time he had the courage to answer her back.

In a way, he reminded her of Clem and yet there was a difference. Clem might have little to say but even Florrie recognised his strength. Clem was a worker. He put everything he had into his farm and there was rarely a penny left over to squander on betting or going down to the pub, despite his liking for a half pint now and then after an auction. Joe, on the other hand, would readily take a morning off work if he was suffering from a hangover. Florrie decided that unlike Clem, who had time only for stark reality, Joe was a man of dreams. But he’d never fulfil those dreams, not in a million years. Joe was weak. He was henpecked by a carping wife and too hell-bent on self-preservation and escape, as a result.
 

Yet he alone offered Florrie some sort of a welcome. ‘Just think of it as yer own home, lass,’ he told her.

‘Nay, we’re not grand enough for that,’ Rita drily commented. ‘How long are we to be honoured with your ladyship’s presence then?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

'Ooh, hoity-toity!’

‘Nay, leave t’lass alone,’ he bravely remarked. ‘How can she go anywhere when blooming Germans are bashing our boys to bits in the skies every night. Have you noticed, Rita, that there’s a war going on outside your front door? It says in the
Daily Herald
here that the East End is taking a licking, and Liverpool was bombed for four nights on the trot at the end of August. Manchester won’t escape. Mark my words.’

‘Never!’ Rita snorted, as if even the Germans wouldn’t dare to cross her, or bomb her city. ‘The worst we’ve had is when that policeman was hit on the head by that bundle of propaganda leaflets.’

‘Well, just in case, I’d best make sure that Anderson shelter is sound and waterproof.’ And off he ambled, any excuse to make his escape, as usual.

Chapter Sixteen

When Laura took the booking for a single room from a Mr Beazley, she’d thought nothing of it, assuming him to be a walker. Strictly speaking she wasn’t open for business until next week as she still had one or two tasks to finish off. But she’d decided it would be good practise before the rush started, so had gladly accepted it. Now Felix was standing on her doorstep smiling his devilish smile and admitting that Mr Beazley was none other than himself, that he’d made the booking in an imitation Scots accent , and looking thoroughly pleased with himself for having taken her in.

‘Well you can’t possibly stay.’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘You tricked me.’

‘But even if you hadn’t just let me a room, I’m still your husband, so stop being hysterical Laura and let me in. We have things to discuss.’

This was certainly true. ‘You stay in the room that you booked, then. No prowling about making a nuisance of yourself, imagining you can turn back the clock.’

‘Of course not,’ he mildly commented, as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

To say they enjoyed a pleasant evening together would be stretching the truth somewhat. Laura explained her plans to him in a civilised fashion, outlined recent conversations with her solicitor and warned him to expect papers to sign regarding the divorce quite soon. He took all this in without argument, in fact they didn’t disagree about a single thing. Were Laura not so thankful that the evening had passed tolerably well, and that he was leaving first thing in the morning, this might have troubled her more. As it was, she carefully locked her bedroom door, and went straight to sleep.

She was woken at six by the sound of an engine throbbing loudly right outside her window, and the hiss of air brakes. Climbing sleepily out of bed she went to the window to investigate. What was going on? A removal van stood at her front door. She could quite clearly see the top of it but because of her bedroom being so high up in the loft, she could see nothing more. She could, however, hear Felix’s strident tones issuing instructions, the words unclear at this distance.

Laura splashed her face with cold water and dressed as quickly as she could, desperate to know what was happening downstairs. By the time she got there, three men were already struggling to get the carved oak court cupboard out of the front door.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Flushed with fury, she stood rooted to the spot in shock. Felix turned and gave her a lopsided smile.

‘Just taking my cut, darling. My share from the inheritance. There are one or two choice items of furniture here which will fetch a good price at auction and since you were too busy to deal with the matter, I organised it myself. It will partly compensate me for your intransigence over the matter of the sale. Of course, should you change your mind about that then I’ll call a halt, since antique furniture of this quality left in situ would hike up the property value quite a bit.’