Daisy's Secret (29 page)

‘Property value? Auction? What is this? Some sort of blackmail? You think you can bully me into agreeing to sell by stealing my furniture? Put that down this minute!’ She stormed up to the three removal men. ‘That cupboard is mine, left to me by my grandmother, and it’s going nowhere.’

Looking troubled and having no wish to become embroiled in a marital dispute, the leader of the little trio at once ordered his men to put the piece down. ‘We’ll leave you two to talk things through while we go and have breakfast in the van. Let us know when you’ve sorted it all out.’ Whereupon they began to shuffle off.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Felix said, blocking their exit. ‘I hired you to do a job and you’ll do it. My wife is simply being difficult but will come around to reality any moment.’

‘Oh, no she won’t.’ Laura briskly informed him, folding her arms firmly across her chest to show she meant business.

‘Indeed you will, darling.’

‘Aye, well when she does,
if
she does, you let us know mister. We’ll be in the van.’ And they scuttled out before he had the chance to stop them again.

‘Now look what you’ve done by your stupid obstinacy. I’ve paid a fortune to get them to drive this far.’ Felix was spitting his fury at her. ‘I could always send in the bailiffs if you prefer.’

Laura was already on the phone, ringing Capstick who told her, in no uncertain terms, that the furniture belonged to
her
, not her husband, and that Felix could not remove it without risk of being sued. She handed the phone to him. ‘Nick would like to talk to you. Be polite, we’re fortunate he’s the diligent sort of solicitor who believes in an early start to the day. I believe he wishes to explain the law of theft to you and how he’d have you arrested before you reached the end of the lane.’

While Felix argued and railed at the young solicitor, issuing dire threats which didn’t seem to get him anywhere, Laura made a cup of tea for the removal men. It wasn’t their fault, after all, and they’d come all the way from Cheshire, making an exceptionally early start, and would return empty-handed. Obligingly, they returned the court cupboard to its proper place, even putting back the precious pieces of china they’d taken out before moving it. ‘I’m sure my husband will compensate you with a hefty tip for your inconvenience.'

‘Damned if I will,’ roared Felix. ‘Don’t think you’ve beaten me, Laura. This is but the first battle in a long war.’

‘Would you like your bill, Mr Beazley, since you’re checking out?’ she sweetly enquired, and he said something very rude to her, climbed into his Mercedes and drove away in a flurry of gravel.

‘Don’t worry love,’ said the removal man with a smirk. ‘We got our money up front.’
 

Large-scale bombing was taking place in every major city from London to Liverpool, from Bristol to Coventry. ‘Britain can take it,’ rang out from everybody's lips. Nobody was ready for giving up, not yet, not ever. Hadn’t Winston Churchill himself urged them ‘to dare and to endure’ in his speech at the Free Trade Hall only last January. Words which were to prove prophetic, for Manchester suffered its first air raid at the end of December, 1940.

Florrie paid not the slightest attention to the siren when it went off on the evening of the 22nd. She was too busy trying to avoid her sister’s constant complaints about how she was going to manage to feed an extra mouth all over Christmas, as well as berating her over something and nothing, as usual. Florrie knew Rita to be notoriously mean when it came to food, and thoroughly self-righteous. She’d ladle a pitifully small quantity of meat on to Florrie’s plate together with a huge pile of cabbage and happily tell her that green vegetables were better for her anyway.
 

‘She rarely even puts the kettle on, and can make a two ounce weekly ration of tea go further than anyone I know,’ Florrie grumbled to Joe.’

‘Aye, by scalding the leaves over and over till there’s no flavour left in them. She once saved up her sugar coupons for weeks in the hope of having enough to make jam, but then the grocer told her that if she could manage a month without her regular supply, she could go on doing without it.’

Delighted that someone could Rita put in her place, Florrie laughed like a drain. And that’s what the current argument was about now: a spoonful of sugar.

Florrie was badly missing her own kitchen, a place where she could put on the kettle without feeling as if someone was standing over her counting how many spoonfuls she used, or whether or not she’d spilled any precious grains, which is what she’d accidentally done on this occasion. ’I need lots of sugar, to keep my strength up,’ she’d defended herself when Rita had flown at her with fury-filled eyes. ‘I’m so tired all the time.’

‘Hard luck! Use saccharine, like the rest of us.’

‘Drat you, Rita Atkins. Can’t you think of anything but food, of anyone but yourself, anyone else’s needs but your own? You’re that flamin’ selfish you turned your own daughter out because of
your
shame, not
hers
. And God knows where she is now, poor lass.’

Somewhere, not too far off, there came a loud explosion and the small house shook, scattering powdered plaster dust over both women. Neither paid the slightest attention, or moved an inch as they stood almost nose to nose, hands on hips, roaring and shouting at each other above the din.

‘Don’t you preach to me, Florrie Pringle! You could have helped our Daisy but you were too high and flamin’ mighty to even write back.’

Because this was dangerously close to the truth, if a somewhat unfair distortion of it, Florrie turned her back and swung away, feeling sick to the heart at her own callousness, knowing it was too late now to do anything. The baby had been adopted and there was an end of the matter. And it was all her fault. ‘I wish you’d just sent her to me, instead of wasting time writing.’

‘What difference would that have made, if I had?’

‘I don’t know. Everything, perhaps. You know how afraid I am of getting too fond of children in case. . . but if I’d been faced with it, I might’ve managed to get over that. You never know.’

‘Oh, put away the violins.’

Florrie flushed. ‘Why do you have to be so heartless? You’re her mother, for God’s sake. You should have done more.’

‘What? What could
I
have done? Don’t put the blame on me. Why would I send my daughter to a sister who never visits, never writes, and can’t even be bothered answer a cry for help. What do you say to that? What’s wrong with us that we don’t warrant more than a Christmas card?’

Florrie turned to leave, oblivious to the dust and mayhem outside, the fires that had started up and down the street and were even now being fanned by a stiff breeze. Before she reached the door Rita made a grab for her sister’s hair and yanked her back, making her scream out in agony.
 

‘Don’t you dare walk away from me, not when I’m talking to you. There’s summat you’re not telling us, and I want to know what it is. What brought you here in the first place? Why have you left this precious husband of yours, all your riches, your posh house and servants. What is it you’re after?’

Within seconds the pair were rolling on the floor, scratching and tearing at each other while countless incendiaries and high explosive bombs dropped on the city all around them. The two sisters simply raised their voices and screamed and yelled all the louder as the argument raged on, so that it looked as if one might surely murder the other before ever the war settled the matter for them. Nobody, certainly not Mr Hitler, was going to interfere with this, Rita’s most important mission in life.

When Joe stuck his head round the door minutes later, looking frantic, he took in the scene at a glance. ‘Flamin’ Nora, what’s got into the pair of you? This is no time for a fisticuffs, the world’s coming to an end out here.’ And he bundled the pair of them under the stairs, Rita loudly protesting that she didn’t want to be anywhere near her dratted sister.

‘Best set your mind to it, or you’ll be sharing a coffin instead.’

The following night when the siren sounded, Rita was the first to head for the shelter, Florrie and Joe hot-foot behind. The three of them ran through the rushing crowds of people, some shouting for loved ones, others shrieking in fear, children crying and explosions going off everywhere. They sat huddled together in silent misery until the “All Clear” sounded some twelve long hours later. When they finally emerged, bleary eyed, black-faced and badly shaken, it was to discover that bombs had fallen on the bus and tram depot on the corner of Eccles New Road and even a tram had been hit, killing all the passengers inside.

‘We’re lucky to be alive,’ Florrie said, appalled by the destruction that met her eyes.

‘Aye,’ Joe said. ‘So I’ll have no more squabbling from you two. Think on, let’s have peace between our own four walls for Christmas, at least.’
 

Back home, they moved blankets and pillows under the stairs, and since all the glass had been blown out of the windows, Joe nailed black roofing felt to the frames. ‘And no more locking the doors,’ he warned them. ‘Just in case we need to be rescued.’

‘We could be murdered in our beds,’ Rita hotly objected.

‘Save Hitler a job then.’

It was a grim thought. And so they spent a cold and miserable Christmas, with neither electricity, gas nor water, only a meagre fire for comfort, and cold corned beef sandwiches to eat since they couldn’t cook. Nor did they take any pleasure in each other’s company by way of consolation. But even Rita was too frightened to complain too loudly.

With breakfast over, and having expelled her excess of temper by beating rugs, bashing pillows and scrubbing baths, Laura managed to get her heart rate back down to normal, and thankfully made herself a welcome cup of coffee. If this was but the first battle, she didn’t care to think what the war might be like. Felix really was the most objectionable man. It made her wonder what she had ever seen in him. Couldn’t he understand that the more he bullied her, the more stubbornly she clung to her rights? She would not be driven into selling Lane End, no matter what tricks he played on her.

Laura reached for Daisy’s letters, as she often did when she needed to feel close to her grandmother. Sometimes her presence was very strong, almost as if she were here beside her, which was somehow a comfort in the grieving process.

She handled the precious love letters with care, some quite hard to decipher in tiny, crabbed writing as if to save paper, others she’d read several times and almost knew by heart.

Laura glanced at one which was simply a diary of events finishing with: ‘
Yet another boring day in the post-room, you will come on Thursday as usual, won’t you
?’ Had that been when she was working for Mr Chapman? she wondered. And then one marked with a later date said: ‘
I love it here at the farm, not that I’m much good at anything yet. I cleaned out the hen house this morning and tried to put mite powder under all their wings. Only caught about three hens but you should have heard the racket! I’ve probably put them off laying for weeks. Oh, and I’m so looking forward to our day out in Silloth. I can’t wait to see you again
.’

Daisy walked arm in arm with Harry on the West Beach at Silloth all the way to the pier. They would like to have explored the docks as far as the lifeboat station and watch the fishermen bring in their freshly caught flounders but Harry said that area was closed to unauthorised personnel, which reminded Daisy about the war and made her feel a bit sick and uncomfortable inside.
 

A few families, and servicemen with their sweethearts, couples like themselves, sat huddled together, warming each other against a cool spring breeze. Once a favourite destination for holiday makers there were few around today, and not simply because it was too early in the season. Holidays seemed to be a thing of the past, taken at a time when the sound of German bombers didn’t fill the air every night, or when the sky over Barrow and Liverpool didn’t glow ominously red.

Evacuation was again underway and Daisy would often think of her two little friends: Megan and Trish. She wrote to them regularly and wished they were here with her now, enjoying the sunshine although the paddling pool was almost empty and the donkeys were nowhere in sight. Daisy had lost a few pennies on the slot machines in the amusement arcade but had soon grown bored. She didn’t have enough in her pocket to risk losing any more, and where was the fun in watching other people win?

But having no money was of no consequence to Daisy. She felt perfectly content. All that truly mattered was that she and Harry were together again after many long weeks apart. This had partly been because of her change of billet, but also Harry had been involved in some op with the Coastal Command.
 

‘It’s seemed like years,’ she said, hugging his arm close and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. The fabric of his uniform felt rough against her skin but it smelled of sunshine and hair cream, of warmth and love and his gentle strength, of whatever made him uniquely Harry. It was an intensely masculine, erotic scent, enough to kindle a nub of excitement within.

‘How about we buy an ice cream each and go and find those sand dunes? We can shelter from the wind and maybe find a bit of privacy for an hour.’

His eyes told her that he wanted somewhere private so that he could kiss her again, and Daisy was more than willing. ‘And a bottle of pop?’