Daisy Belle

by Caitlin Davies

  ‘No!’ I said, regretting I had told him. ‘It doesn’t hurt,’ although it did. I carried on, trying not to think of the pain in my arms and the fact my eyes were turning raw from the sun and the salt. Not long to go, I told myself. I wasn’t racing anyone, I had no time to beat, it didn’t matter after all how long I took, only that I made it. ‘Give me chocolate!’ I called to Dob, and as the boat bobbed next to me I saw there were only two men left standing on the deck.

  ‘Where has everyone gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Lying in the cabin,’ called the boatman, ‘as sick as dogs.’

  ‘In a sea as gentle as this?’ I laughed, glad that the men who had doubted me were so indisposed. Then I reached a bell buoy bobbing in the water, its warning bell ringing. Rockaway Beach was only a few miles away; the shore was plainly in sight. I felt calm now, almost as if I were moving in my sleep as fish swam by, silver bodies leaping into the air with glimmering yellow fins.

  But then the character of the water began to change; I was swimming as strongly as ever yet when I looked at the boat it seemed to be rolling just where it was.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked.

  Dob waved that I should come nearer. ‘It looks like the tide has changed.’

  ‘The tide?’

  ‘Yes. It’s impossible. You will never reach the shore.’

  ‘I will,’ I told him, for I couldn’t stop now, the land was in view. I would stand on that beach even if I had to crawl in on my knees. But my stroke was growing more uneven; each time I pulled myself forward a far stronger force pulled me back. ‘Give me a drink and I’ll be fine,’ I said, but my body was moving backwards now, I was actually losing ground and the wind had picked up, turning the sea to waves.

  ‘It’s impossible,’ said Dob again.

  ‘I’ll wait it out,’ I cried, stopping to tread water.

  ‘It will be another six hours before it turns and dark by then, you can’t.’

  ‘I can. I’ll keep afloat and swim in when the tide changes.’ If I had to tread water for six hours to try to stay in one place then I would. I felt the boat come nearer and I kicked my legs to move away, but when I looked up again the vessel was even closer and Dob was leaning an oar over the side. I turned to swim away and heard him shout, ‘You’ll have to stop.’

  ‘No,’ I cried. ‘Let me go on.’ But then a wave slapped at my face and I coughed and gasped for air.

  ‘Grab her!’ I heard Dob shout as I came to the surface and saw the oar was just inches from my face.

  ‘No!’ I shook my head. I would not be grabbed. There was no way in the world I was stopping now. ‘No,’ I said again as a wave thrust me up against the boat and the oar touched my hand.

  *

  I was almost forced from that water, there seemed to be arms clutching me from every side as I was pulled against my will onto the boat, and strongest of all was Dob. I sat down, utterly stunned. What was I doing in the boat? I should have been there in the water finishing my swim. The boatman put a blanket around my shoulders, offered me a drink. I shook my head, I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted to swim. Why had we set off at the time we did if the tide was going to change? Why had nobody told me?

  When we reached the pier at Rockaway I stood up in the boat and saw the seasick reporters crawl out from the cabin. The beach was busy and the crowd who had gathered to watch my arrival began politely to clap. I felt people pat me on the shoulder, asking if I were all right; saw Billy and Violet pushing their way through the spectators to reach me. But it was my husband I was watching as he strode off to join a huddle of men. Why had he touched me with the oar? How dare he ruin my swim? And what business could he possibly be doing now?

  I went into a bathing hut to change, angrily removing my costume, and when I came out Dob was standing on the sand, puffing on a cigar, shaking hands with the boatman and looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Why didn’t you know about the tide?’ I asked.

  ‘They didn’t tell me.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Never trust a Yankee.’

  ‘But I could have gone on.’

  ‘No, you couldn’t,’ Dob tossed away his cigar. ‘You were on the point of collapse.’

  ‘I was not! I sat up in the boat! I climbed out of it alone.’

  ‘You would have drowned, Daisy. You were sinking and barely conscious. It was for your own good.’

  ‘That is a lie.’ I stood there facing him, unable to understand why he wasn’t more upset. Why was it I who was angry? He had wagered that I would make the crossing and I hadn’t. ‘My father would never have done that!’ I cried. ‘He never would have misjudged the tide. Did you want me to fail?’

  Dob laughed. ‘Your father? You’re comparing me to your father?’

  And that is when I knew, as he opened his waistcoat and I saw his thumb resting on a bundle of notes in his pocket. He had not wagered that I could do the crossing; he had wagered that I would fail. I could have gone on and he’d stopped me. That was what he had been doing on the shore, receiving his winnings.

  *

  Dob returned to New York that afternoon; he had business to attend to and would be back in two days. Billy took me to our hotel and it was only when we reached my room that I remembered what I had left on the boat. It was too late to retrieve it. As evening fell I headed to the beach and stood in front of the rippling sea. I had tried to do my best, I always had. I had stayed strong and worked hard and done what was demanded of me, and now I had failed. I wondered what people would say, how the reporters would relish writing their reports, and suddenly I wanted to jump in that sea and give up the fight. Let it carry me away, let it take me where it wanted, back to Sandy Hook, or across the ocean home.

  But then I had another thought: where was that fearless child who had paddled on her own in the ocean at Margate? The girl who had dived from the dome of the Aq and swum in a tank? She would never be beaten and nor would I. Dob had taken revenge for my refusal to continue against Sarah Rosenheim. He had betrayed me, but that did not mean he would win.

  I looked up then to see a figure walking towards me along the shore, a man in bold striped trousers and a blue bow tie. He came nearer with strong buoyant steps, swinging a hat in his hands, and then nearer still until I could see his face.

  ‘Oh Moses,’ said Johnnie Heaven, stopping a yard away from me on the sand. ‘I don’t know that I ever saw such a thing. I couldn’t bear to watch.’

  ‘Were you here?’ I asked, ‘on the beach?’

  ‘I was here.’ He nodded. ‘Waiting to see your triumph.’

  ‘The tide turned. I was stopped.’

  ‘I know, I saw it all. I felt shipwrecked at the very sight. You were so close, so close! I was going to swim out and join you.’

  ‘I wish you had,’ I said, ‘perhaps then I wouldn’t have failed.’

  ‘Failed?’ Johnnie Heaven sounded surprised. ‘Do you regret not making a fortune?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘That’s just as well.’ He bent down and picked up a shell. ‘Because the only real fortune worth finding is to have an aim in life.’

  ‘Such as crossing the Channel?’ I asked.

  ‘Exactly.’ He handed me the shell, as light as a biscuit, bleached white from the sun. ‘It’s a sand dollar,’ he said. ‘It is to remind you of this day. Your failure was not your fault.’

  I felt tears at the back of my eyes and wiped them away with my sleeve. ‘If my husband hadn’t touched me with the oar I could have gone on.’

  ‘I know you could. You could have reached Rockaway and swum back to Sandy Hook!’ Johnnie Heaven laughed, and then his face grew serious. ‘What were you thinking, as you were standing here just now?’

  ‘Oh, I thought I should fling myself into the sea.’

  ‘It is a fine night,’ he sighed, ‘for a swim.’

  I was about to tell him I hadn’t been thinking of swimming, but then he sat down on the sand, began taking off his boots. ‘Shall we go in?’ he asked. ‘Shall we
swim together again?’

  ‘Again?’ I laughed.

  Johnnie Heaven smiled, a slow smile full of promise. ‘Do you think I’ve forgotten the Lambeth Baths?’

  And I looked at him and thought, why shouldn’t we swim? The night was warm; there was no one here to see us. So I sat down next to him and took off my boots and dress, and then we walked in together. The water reached my ankles, then my shins and my waist and a second later in we had plunged, coming up at the exact same time. I turned onto my back, laying myself flat on the sea, and so did he.

  ‘There is something about water,’ said Johnnie Heaven, ‘that makes you feel yourself,’ and I nodded because I knew exactly what he meant. We floated there for a while, splashing a little with our hands, admiring the moon in the sky and the silhouettes of flying birds. I turned on my front, did a somersault or two, and then we both set off, swimming towards the horizon. The sea was black and motionless and each time my face came up so did his, our arms raised at the very same time. I kicked a little stronger, overtaking him now, for if he thought I couldn’t beat him he was wrong. Then we both stopped, panting and laughing, and when his wet hands touched my face I felt as if I had been dipped in sugar, my skin prickling to life.

  I found his lips with mine and threw my arms around him and the sea held us up as we kissed.

  ‘Daisy Belle,’ he said, as I let him go, ‘never forget that you are the most wonderful woman in the world.’

  *

  The next morning I woke alone just before dawn. I knew what I had done was wrong and I didn’t feel condemned at all, because every inch of him had been a joy to me. I kept my eyes closed, remembering the way we had dressed on the shore and how gently he had brushed the sand from my clothes. I could feel him now, even though he was gone, sense the warmth and the pleasure he had left in the room. ‘Let me look at you,’ he had said, as he laughed and whispered in my ear, ‘let me look at you.’ It was as if I had been swimming, pushing strongly against a tide then finally letting it carry me away.

  When I opened my eyes the sand dollar was on the bedside cabinet, placed on top of a neatly folded sheet of paper. I opened it up. There was only one sentence inside, a simple question, but that was enough. I heard Percy chattering in the hallway, Billy knocking on the door, and I pressed the paper to my lips, closing my eyes again. Yes, I told him, I will meet you next summer in Dover.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We returned to England not in state cabins as Dob had promised but in the same small berths. There was none of the adventure of our outward passage; even little Percy was subdued. I said that I was seasick although I was not, but I preferred to stay alone in the cabin, keeping my precious letter to myself and rereading the words to keep my spirits up. I didn’t know where Johnnie Heaven had gone after that night at Rockaway, but I read of his training swims in New York and I was certain that he was waiting until I was free. For now, I had no choice but to leave America with my husband. I had refused to undertake any more swims, but I could not refuse to go home.

  I lay for hours at a time on my berth, venturing out only at night when the wind was fresh and sharp, the clouds had blown away and the stars began to burn in the sky. I heard the cry of ‘All’s well!’ that accompanied the sound of the bell and I didn’t know if all would ever be well as I watched the horizon rising and falling. ‘Don’t worry, little tadpole,’ said Billy one night, ‘it will all turn out all right in the end.’ He knew, I thought, somehow he knew about Johnnie Heaven, and he hated Dob as much as I.

  My husband stayed away from me, as he had done for weeks, and I was grateful for that. The days of our courtship in Margate were over, and I was a different person now. We spent a night in Liverpool before returning to London, and the countryside seemed very sleepy-looking to me, green fields and old red farms, children gathering blackberries who stopped to wave as we went by. When we arrived at Rugby, Dob handed me a newspaper and I gave it to Billy, not interested in any news. Even when I heard my brother let out a muffled gasp I had no inkling of what was to come.

  ‘It’s Father,’ he said, pointing at the paper.

  I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn’t know what Billy meant; perhaps Father was putting on a show but why would either of us care about that?

  My brother put the newspaper on his lap and I saw he had tears in his eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s Father,’ he said again. ‘His funeral took place yesterday, at Nunhead.’

  ‘Funeral?’ I didn’t seem to be able to understand the words, was only half-conscious of little Percy climbing onto my lap. ‘But that’s impossible.’ I stared at Billy, waiting for him to correct himself, to say he had been mistaken.

  But he picked up the paper and pointed at the report. ‘It says there were many splendid wreaths for the famous swimmer Mr Jeffery Belle. And a large number of well-known sportsmen.’

  ‘But how?’ I asked. ‘How can that be?’

  ‘Pneumonia. He was taken ill with pneumonia two weeks ago.’

  We looked at each other, my brother and I, both with the same question: what had we been doing then? Why had we not known, why had some sixth sense not told us?

  ‘It says the end was very sudden,’ Billy sighed. ‘He died ten days ago. The day we boarded the boat.’

  ‘But why didn’t they wait for us?’ I asked. It was then that it hit me and I had such a sense of loss that I didn’t know what to do with myself. All this time, even when I’d run away from him, I had known I would see Father again. Even when I’d torn up his telegram and refused to reply, and when I would not invite him to my wedding, I knew that one day we would be reconciled. I was so full of regret. He was still my father; he had trained me and he’d had faith in me. I couldn’t have done what I had done without him. Despite what had happened, he had given me so much and I wished he were alive so I could tell him, so that I could say those three words back: all is forgiven.

  Had he known we’d gone to America? He must have done, he would have read about our arrival, our performance in New York. He would have kept up with the news of my swim against Sarah Rosenheim, and known of my failure at Rockaway. But he didn’t know the truth, and now he never would. He would have thought his littlest frog Daisy had been beaten by the tide. I glanced at Dob and he looked away. Had he known, I thought, had someone told him Father was ill? And I sat there, rocking gently from side to side as the train carried on, nearing London, taking us to the place where my father no longer was. Why had he left me, why now?

  *

  We rented two gloomy rooms in Kings Cross and when I asked if we couldn’t afford better Dob said the money had all gone on expenses. I stopped myself from asking what had happened to the income from my swims that he had made in America. For what was the use; I was penniless now. Each night Dob slammed the door on the flimsiest of excuses, pulling up the collar of his coat so he looked more like a sewer rat than the man I’d first met. Then he returned in the early hours smelling of brandy and perfume and I lay there beside him, glad that he had no interest in me. Billy and Violet urged me to leave; they were returning to Margate and I should come too. But grief had fogged up my mind. If I ran away, Dob would find me; I was his wife. And if I ran away, I would never get back what I was owed. I took off my wedding ring, our names and the time at which we had met engraved inside, and decided to throw it away. But then I changed my mind, for what I needed more than anything was money. I must swim and I must find money.

  *

  Three days later Billy wrote from Margate to say that Mother was there. She was staying with Auntie Jessie and Minnie was with her. Mother had sent a telegram when Father had fallen ill, she was distressed that we had never replied. Billy explained we had not received any telegram, but when she hadn’t heard from us the burial had gone ahead. Father had left no money; they could not afford to wait. I should have gone to see her then, but my body seemed unable to do the simplest of things, overcome with tiredness and a naus
ea as severe as on my outward journey to America.

  *

  One afternoon Dob came home and asked, ‘Do you think you can still dive?’

  ‘Of course I can still dive.’ I was sitting listlessly at the window and didn’t even bother to turn around. I hadn’t eaten that day, I felt a strange weakness inside and my mouth tasted of burned milk.

  ‘Well here’s the thing.’ Dob thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘I bumped into Robert Winkle…’

  I turned around in surprise. Robert Winkle? I’d not seen him since I had performed at the Aq. I thought of how Billy and I used to call him Mr Kettle and nearly smiled.

  ‘He told me about the bathing pond on Hampstead Heath,’ said Dob. ‘Do you know it?’ His eyes were eager; I could see he was excited and trying not to show it and I shook my head, uninterested.

  ‘There’s a diving display in two weeks’ time, twelve girls from nearly every county in England. See?’ He brought out a showbill and held it up.

  Still I didn’t reply.

  ‘They have the highest diving board in the country. And they want you to open the show.’

  ‘Me?’ I stood up and took the showbill. ‘They want me to dive at a pond?’

  ‘If you dare. It’s the deepest in London, and many a diver has met their death at the Hampstead pond. The offer is a thousand pounds, with the prize money and wagers, enough to see us retire.’

  Us? I thought, I would not let one penny of that money out of my hands, it was I who would retire. ‘Why so much?’

  ‘Because,’ Dob came up behind me and laid one hand on my shoulder; I could feel his thumb pressing into my skin, ‘you will be bound.’

  ‘Bound?’ I shrugged him off. I didn’t like the smell of him; he seemed to carry a scent of rotten eggs.

  ‘They want your ankles and wrists tied with rope.’