Daisy's Wars

by Meg Henderson

  Daisy stood in silence for a few seconds, gradually taking in, by the fact that he had closed the conversation and turned away from her, that she had been dismissed. So she made her way down the stairs again and went back to the guardroom.

  There she found Dotty.

  ‘I’ve been told no one knows anything about me,’ Dotty said in an offended voice.

  ‘Snap,’ Daisy replied.

  ‘I’ve been told to go on leave till it’s sorted out.’

  ‘Me too. I’ve to get some sun and go on a long walk, apparently,’ Daisy smiled.

  ‘It’s a bit rum, don’t you think?’ Dotty asked, still offended.

  ‘So you’re going to turn down a spot of leave, are you?’

  ‘Not likely!’ Dotty grinned. ‘Where are you going? Home?’

  ‘No,’ Daisy said casually. ‘My family’s away.’

  ‘Why not come home with me to Rose Cottage then, that’s our farm in Gloucestershire?’ Dotty asked. ‘There’s loads to do and Mar and Par love having people to stay.’

  ‘You sure there’s room?’

  ‘Positive! I’ll ask to use the telephone and get Par to send the car to the railway station. We’ll get a lift to the station, surely?’

  ‘Why not get your father to send the car to the camp, then we wouldn’t have to find a lift to the station?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘No,’ Dotty replied. ‘We’ll get a lift OK.’

  The farm wasn’t quite what Daisy had expected, and Dotty’s father was not pottering about in the byre, hay sticking out of his ears as he fed the cows; but there again, the chauffeured Rolls that arrived to pick them up wasn’t a tractor either, so she already suspected something. She looked at the huge country house in front of her, ivy growing rampantly all over it and threatening to cover the many windows on the front.

  Daisy laughed.

  ‘What is it?’ Dotty asked fearfully.

  ‘Rose Cottage?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Oh, that’s just Par’s sense of humour,’ Dotty replied, flustered. ‘It used to be called Bentley Manor, but Par thought that was terribly pompous, so he changed it to something terribly silly. I mean, there’s not a rose in sight, is there? Ivy Cottage, now that—’

  ‘Dotty, the point is that it doesn’t look much like any kind of cottage; doesn’t look much like a farmhouse either for that matter,’ Daisy commented.

  ‘Oh, don’t be a clot, Daisy,’ Dotty replied curtly – to cover her embarrassment, Daisy thought. ‘This is where we live, and it’s not my fault. I just happened to be born here, I had no say in the matter.’

  ‘I’m not saying anything against it,’ Daisy said, dragging her kitbag out of the Rolls only to be relieved of it by someone in a black suit. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all. You said it was a farm; you’ve always said it was a farm.’

  ‘Well, there is a farm attached,’ Dotty replied defensively, ‘so technically it wasn’t a lie.’

  ‘And I asked you if you were sure there would be room for me,’ Daisy said, shaking her head. ‘I feel such a fool!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know why, it’s just a house really.’

  Just then a tall, rangy man in his late forties bounced out of the front door, threw his arms around Dotty and swung her round in a great bear hug as she screeched with excitement.

  ‘Dorothea, how wonderful to see you again!’ he yelled.

  ‘Now, Horace Alfred,’ Dotty yelled back, hugging him and laughing, ‘two can play at that game!’

  She freed herself from the embrace and introduced him. ‘Daisy, this is Horace Alfred—’

  ‘All right, all right,’ he laughed, cupping her face in his hands and kissing the tip of her nose gently. ‘Pax, pax!’

  ‘This is my father, Daisy. He prefers to be known as Farmer Jim, but we call him Par. Par, this is my friend Daisy.’

  ‘So this is Daisy?’ he said in a hushed voice, looking her up and down. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you. You’ve been to a variety of very naughty parties with my daughter, I understand. Our London friends speak very highly of you, and now I can see why.’ He lifted her right hand and kissed it. If you relied entirely on looks and disregarded the affection in his expression and in his eyes, then he was probably the ugliest man Daisy had ever seen, a large face with huge features, huge teeth especially, a great hawk nose and a shock of wiry, prematurely silver-grey hair that seemed to grow in all directions at once, as did the eyebrows above his twinkling blue eyes.

  ‘Oh, stop it, you dreadful old rake!’ Dotty chided, leading the way indoors. ‘Daisy, treat him with contempt. He’s a married man and you know what they’re like!’

  ‘Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t admire a beautiful young woman,’ Par protested, placing Daisy’s arm through his own.

  ‘But it doesn’t mean the beautiful young woman should take any notice of you,’ a voice said amiably but loudly from inside the house. ‘Leave the girl alone, you old goat.’

  ‘Mar!’ Dotty shouted, and threw herself around her mother. ‘Daisy, this is my Mar!’

  ‘You don’t have to call me that if you don’t want to, my dear,’ said the woman. ‘My name is Emilia.’ She looked at Daisy with kindly dark eyes just like Dotty’s. ‘The old goat was right, though, you are indeed a beautiful young woman. How d’you do.’ She retrieved Daisy’s hand from Par’s and shook it with such gusto that Daisy wondered if she would survive the welcome, yet Mar was a small woman, an older version of Dotty in build, and, recalling her friend’s famous right hook, she mused that the Bentley women must all be stronger than they looked. Beyond that, Mar was in her early forties, though that seemed ancient to Daisy’s generation. She had a strikingly pretty pink complexion, her curly hair just showing early strands of greying in places, swept up haphazardly and kept in some sort of order with a variety of pins, as though every time a tress escaped another pin was brought into play in an attempt to keep it in order.

  It must take her hours to remove them all every night, Daisy mused, watching the family’s open affection for each other with a kind of awe. It was open and noisy. Where she came from, people not only stood back but held back from expressing real emotions, and she was suddenly struck by the thought that she couldn’t remember ever being held or kissed by anyone in her family. And now she never would, of course. She felt a wave of, well, of panic rather than grief and put her head down.

  ‘Now we’ve embarrassed the girl, look what you’ve done, Par!’ Mar reproved her husband. ‘Come in and have a cup of tea, Daisy, we’re delighted to have you here; and just ignore that randy old goat.’

  Par followed them, smiling happily and talking excitedly. ‘We’ll be quite a party this weekend,’ he boomed. ‘Your brother’s bringing a couple of his chums this evening.’

  ‘Freddy’s coming?’ Dotty asked, swinging round as she took off her cap. ‘Oh, wizzo, I haven’t seen him in months!’

  ‘Wizzo’, Daisy thought. Why? It was one of the things she resented, this strange way of talking in the RAF. Everything was ‘FFI’, a ‘bad show’ or a ‘shaky do’ and, of course, most of all there was the dreaded ‘wizzo’, and she had always sworn none of it would ever pass her lips. Apart from ‘on my knees’, of course, but she was allowed one lapse under difficult circumstances …

  The inside of the house was like nothing she had ever seen before, except in the movies, and as she looked at the sweeping staircase she pictured herself dancing down the steps with Fred Astaire, suddenly shaking her head again to banish the memory that thought provoked. It was that kind of house, or mansion – it seemed to have been built to put on grand events, to be a backdrop to the grand noise of Dotty, Mar and Par that echoed and ricocheted off every surface.

  Daisy was shown to a room next door to Dotty’s about the size of the hut at Langar, with its own bathroom and dressing room, all in co-ordinated shades of pink. It had the softest bed she had ever known. Lying down to test it, the silence of the countryside hit her like a cosy, warm blow, and sh
e fell instantly and deeply asleep.

  She woke when the light was fading and the room was growing dark, to find that someone had placed a blanket over her. There was a tap at the door and Dotty came in.

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you earlier, you looked so peaceful, but you’ve just got time for a bath before dinner.’

  ‘Fine,’ Daisy smiled, though she would far rather have slept on.

  ‘And we dress for dinner, I’m afraid,’ Dotty continued self-consciously. ‘It’s a bore, I know, but Par thinks it cheers everyone up, though being a man he doesn’t appreciate the work that goes into dressing up for us. I’d far rather wear my PJs, bet you would too.’

  ‘But I don’t have anything to wear,’ Daisy murmured, thinking this might be her way out of dinner. An evening of sleep in this glorious bed appealed far more.

  ‘That’s all right, you can borrow one of mine.’ Dotty produced a black silk dress with a bolero of black lace. ‘What size shoe do you take?’ She peered at Daisy’s feet. ‘Size five?’

  Daisy nodded.

  ‘Thought so,’ Dotty said triumphantly, holding out a pair of black satin high-heels with an ankle strap and a diamanté buckle. ‘I’m next door, give me a knock when you’re ready.’

  Once again; when Daisy got into the bath she didn’t want to get out again. All that warm, soapy water and it belonged to her alone, with no one hammering on the door and shouting to her to get out. But she did the decent thing as far as guests were concerned, and bathed, towelled herself off and got ready. She then knocked on Dotty’s door as instructed.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Dotty cried theatrically, looking at her, her hand flying to her mouth.

  ‘What?’ Daisy asked, horrified. ‘What? Tell me, what have I done wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’ Dotty cried. ‘Wrong? Look at you!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have believed it! We’re about the same size, but you’re, well, you’re distributed differently. It never looked like that on me! I mean, it’s not fair! It looks just like it did on the model when I first saw it. I thought they’d tricked me, but it looks like that on you! Daisy, you look absolutely fabulous! I won’t get a look-in if I stand beside you. You must promise me,’ she said in a mock-serious tone, ‘that you will sit, stand and dance at the opposite end of the room from me all night. Is that understood?’

  ‘You had me terrified there!’ Daisy protested. ‘I thought I was wearing it back-to-front or inside-out!’

  ‘Oh, that’s an idea,’ Dotty said. ‘Would you? Just for me, please? Especially back-to-front, then your unfair advantages won’t show.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘And here I am in this baby-pink rag with awful puff sleeves. I look like Shirley Temple beside you!’

  ‘Will you shut up?’ Daisy begged. ‘You look gorgeous and you know it!’

  ‘Seriously, Daisy, you have the most wonderful shape. Where did you get it? Can I buy it?’ she giggled. She linked her arm through Daisy’s and propelled her down the winding staircase, stopping at the bottom. ‘Now pause for a moment so that everyone turns round to see who’s come in,’ Dotty whispered. ‘Take a deep breath and right foot forward, making sure you don’t make eye-contact with anyone. You’re above any of the erks here.’

  The two young women walked forward arrogantly, superior expressions on their faces, then ruined the effect by laughing loudly and throwing their arms around each other.

  ‘Doesn’t Daisy look wonderful, Mar?’ Dotty demanded of her mother. ‘I won’t bother asking you, Par, your eyes are on stalks as it is.’

  ‘My word!’ Par kept saying over and over. ‘My word, what a pair of stunners!’

  ‘And I don’t think he’s including me there, Daisy,’ Dotty said archly, her eyes dancing with laughter.

  The butler came in with a tray of drinks and bowed as the ladies took a glass of champagne each, or fizzy cider as far as Daisy was concerned. Then there was a noise like a football crowd coming nearer and nearer, before a bunch of young men in dinner suits burst into the room. Dotty leaned across to her. ‘This will be the erks,’ she whispered.

  ‘Freddy!’ Dotty screamed, throwing herself into the air like a ballerina in the direction of one of the young men, who caught her in his arms and spun round with her, hugging and kissing her with shouts of ‘Dotty! Little Dotty! How marvellous you’re here!’

  Seeing Daisy’s bemused expression, Mar leaned forward. ‘My son Freddy,’ she whispered. ‘Noisy pair of perishers, ain’t they?’

  Daisy smiled in reply.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re all like that,’ she said apologetically. ‘I suppose you’ve noticed that? I’m not sure if it comes from living in a big house where we can shout a lot, or if we’d be like it wherever we were.’

  ‘I’d guess the latter,’ Daisy said, laughing, as they watched the performance.

  ‘And your family, Daisy, they’re not, um, loud?’

  ‘No, nothing like this. Raised voices always meant trouble in my family.’

  ‘Meant?’ Mar asked gently.

  ‘Well, they went abroad at the start of the war,’ Daisy said easily, thinking to herself, Where the hell did that come from?

  ‘I wanted to do the same,’ Mar sighed. ‘Where are your people? Canada?’

  ‘No, America,’ Daisy replied evenly. ‘My father has a sister in New York.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to go with them?’

  Daisy shook her head firmly.

  ‘Wanted to do your bit?’ Mar smiled. ‘Good for you, Daisy, our young people have done us proud, though the last generation of young people did, too. Dotty and Freddy would’ve stayed, too, if we’d gone, but with Par getting this job, well, that was the end of that.’

  Daisy looked bemused.

  ‘Didn’t Dotty tell you? Her father’s in the government, very junior of course, very, very hush-hush, too. I don’t know what he does, won’t even tell me, but I do know that in the bowels of Whitehall there is a lavatory kept exclusively for Winston, and it has a big white door marked “WC”. You’ve no idea how much amusement Par gets out of that, and when no one’s looking he sneaks in and has a pee. Watch this. Par! Par!’ she shouted across the vast room. ‘I was just telling Daisy here about WC’s WC.’

  Par immediately laughed so hard he had to lean on the wall to stop falling over.

  ‘You see?’ Mar said to Daisy. ‘Now be honest; is this a man you’d trust with anything really important?’

  ‘I see what you mean,’ Daisy smiled.

  ‘To be perfectly honest,’ said Mar, ‘I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if that was all he actually did. He’s never in any of the pictures in The Times, and I never hear his name mentioned, so for all I know his contribution is to go to London frequently to spend a penny in WC’s WC. One day they’ll catch him midstream and he really will be in the papers, unmasked as a fraud and unbuttoned into the bargain!’

  It struck Daisy afterwards that Mar was a kind woman, that their little conversation had been to take her away from the frantic screaming and hugging, to save her embarrassment. Maybe Mar had seen through her outward show of confidence and knew she felt exposed in this foreign land.

  When the noise had died down a bit Dotty came over to where her mother was talking to Daisy, grabbed her friend’s hand and dragged her to the group of young men. To Daisy, whose experience of groups of young men was of being leered at, shouted at and made to feel dirty, they didn’t look so much like a group as a herd, and she was conscious of fighting against hunching her shoulders, and straining back, even as her feet moved forward. When she looked up she deliberately didn’t make eye contact with anyone, that always made her feel like running and hiding, but looked coolly at no one in particular.

  ‘This is my brother, Freddy,’ Dotty said with obvious pride. ‘He’s a pilot.’

  Freddy held her hand in both of his and when she looked at him she saw he had the same bright, dark eyes and brown hair as his sister. A very good-looking boy
, she thought, even if he did have Par’s nose. The rest of the young men stood watching her, waiting to be introduced, one or two with the kind of looks in their eyes she was used to, others slightly shy. However, one man stayed at the back, looking away from her except for a few swift glances that she felt rather than saw. As she shook hands with the others she felt him there, like an electric presence, and when she finally had to shake hands with him there was the strangest sensation. Suddenly her mind was full of a host of confusing feelings and she was struggling to separate them. It wasn’t that she had known him before, she didn’t believe in that kind of romantic nonsense. It wasn’t even that there was an instant attraction: she didn’t know what that meant. It was more a feeling of peace than of falling madly in love at first sight. Not that she believed in love, let alone love at first sight, she had no use for either one, but in the moments when their hands met she felt a peace. It was the only word she could ever come up with to describe it, yet there was an excitement as well; and just how did she reconcile those opposing emotions when she didn’t understand them? Added to the confusion was a kind of desperation to be gone, a feeling of wanting to escape, and she had to concentrate on her breathing to stop herself turning and running.

  With barely a glance at the man – what was his name? – she accepted Freddy’s invitation to sit beside him at the dinner table, and managed to put up with the usual boyish banter – ‘Trust you, Skipper!’ ‘Hey, we didn’t vote on that!’ ‘Pulling rank again, Frederick!’ – the kind of remarks that normally had her employing a glance that would freeze them to the marrow. All she could think of was keeping away from the last chap, whatever his name was, then she realised that she didn’t know what he looked like either. Nothing of his features had registered, so how would she know him if he approached her later? You’ll know all right, she said to herself, feeling her eyes being drawn to the end of the long table and glancing up quickly to see him there, glancing at her then away again.