‘There’s nothing to go back to. The NAAFI’s gone, direct hit.’
‘Oh, my goodness. You weren’t hurt at all?’
‘I was in my billet – off duty.’ At the thought of Barbara she almost started to cry again. It could so easily have been her. She dried her eyes and sniffed. ‘Look, Mum. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll go up and lie down for a bit.’
She lay on her bed, trying to stifle the memory of the devastation. She could still smell that awful odour of smoke and something else she didn’t want to think about. Poor Stefan, who had danced with her and shown her the photo of his sweetheart - and Barbara who was always smiling. Why them? Why not me?
Gradually she drifted off to sleep. When her mother called up that the meal was ready, she sat up, rubbing her eyes which were red and swollen from crying. She couldn’t go downstairs like this. Not for the first time, she wished they had a bathroom upstairs. She hated having to walk through the kitchen to the scullery to wash, especially in this state.
She could hear Jimmy chattering excitedly to her mother and hoped he wasn’t ghoulishly asking about the air raid. To him, the war was a bit of an adventure. Thankfully, the reality of it had never been brought home to him. She hoped devoutly it never would.
Pasting on a smile, she went downstairs to face the inevitable barrage of questions.
***
After the meal, when Jimmy had gone off to scouts, Daisy made up her mind to speak to her father about her concerns, thankful that, after a day up at the Eastchurch airfield, he was not on duty that night. Perhaps there was a simple explanation for what she’d seen and Dad could set her mind at rest.
After listening to the six o-clock news, Stan picked up his newspaper but before he could become immersed in his reading, Daisy said, ‘Dad, I must talk to you.’
He put the paper down with an irritable sigh, but, as she sat down opposite him, he scrutinised her face.
‘What’s wrong, love? I know it was hard for you today but you must try to put it out of your mind.’
‘No, Dad. It’s not that. I’m sad about Barbara and Stefan of course but...’ she hesitated. ‘It’s something else. I think Mr Browning is stealing from the stores.’
‘Oh, love, I’m sure you’ve got it wrong. Anyway, we all know it goes on – a bit of pilfering, a packet of fags here, a tin of ham there. Don’t worry about it.’ He picked up his paper again.
‘No, Dad. It’s worse than that – whole boxes of stuff. I saw him loading up his van.’
Stan listened more attentively as she told him about the day she’d seen the van being loaded with stuff for the Eastchurch NAAFI. ‘But when I got there, I looked in the stores and there was no sign of any of it. And the chef told me they were short of supplies.’
‘Hm. That does sound a bit suspicious,’ Stan agreed.
‘That’s not all. A few weeks ago, June and I saw him outside the pub, taking a box of stuff inside. I didn’t think much of it at the time but, added to everything else...’ She paused.
‘Well, go on, what else?’ Stan rustled his newspaper impatiently.
‘Dad, listen. This is important. You saw him today – that van was full of boxes. All sorts of stuff – not just cigarettes.’
‘He told me he’d managed to save some of the stores after the raid.’
‘That’s what he said. But he knew about the raid before he got there, and that the NAAFI had been hit. Dad, you saw the damage for yourself – there was nothing to save. And what little there was would have been smoke and water damaged. The boxes I saw were clean, still sealed. No sign of any damage.’
‘Perhaps he was making a delivery, didn’t realise how bad things were.’
‘So why lie about trying to salvage stuff? Besides, he must have known we didn’t need supplies.’
‘I don’t know, Daisy. Anyway, he’s probably taken everything back to the store here.’
‘I suppose so.’ Daisy sighed. Dad didn’t seem convinced. Well, she would carry on investigating. When she went back to work tomorrow, she would find an excuse to visit the stores. If the boxes she’d seen in the van were there, she would have to concede that her suspicions were groundless.
She got up at the sound of a knock on the front door. Her mother got there before her and called out, ‘It’s your friend, Daisy. Shall I ask her in?’
‘It’s all right, Mum. I’ll come out.’
She was pleased to see June standing there but her friend was not alone. For a moment she felt a slight jealous pang. Why were they together? Then Chris smiled and said, ‘No duty tonight. We heard you were back. We thought you’d like to come out for a drink.’
‘I’ll come if you promise not to talk about what happened today. I can’t go through it all again.’
‘Promise,’ June said, and Chris nodded.
Daisy called back down the passage, ‘Just going out for a while, Mum.’
They headed up the High Street to the Old House at Home, a quaint old pub with a snug, where they could sit and chat, ignoring the noise from the public bar.
Chris ordered their drinks and brought them over to the table. ‘So, how was Eastchurch?’ he asked.
‘Fine, until today.’
‘It must have been awful,’ June said. ‘Mr Browning told us about it. Lucky you weren’t on duty.’
Daisy nodded. ‘But we agreed not to talk about it.’ She took a sip of her shandy. ‘Tell me what’s been going on here.’
‘Same as usual, I suppose. We’ve missed you. That new girl Mavis isn’t very friendly and Lily hasn’t been too well – always having time off. I’ll be glad to have you back.’
‘Well, I’ll be in bright and early tomorrow.’
‘I thought they’d give you some leave after what you’ve been through,’ Chris said. ‘You need time to get over an experience like that.’
‘I’m fine. I’ll be better working.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re OK. I’ve been worried about you.’
June grinned. ‘He came into the canteen asking if we had any news. When I said I was going to call round, he asked if he could join me, didn’t you, Lofty?’
Daisy ignored her suggestive smile. ‘You said Lily wasn’t well. Is she all right?’ She was sure she knew what was wrong and wondered if anyone at work had guessed her friend’s condition. She didn’t think so – June was sure to have said something.
‘Not sure. She’s very up and down. And she looks unhappy - probably pining for that Roland.’ She finished her drink. ‘Anyone for another?’
‘No thanks.’ Daisy wondered whether to say she’d seen Roland that day. He’d been very offhand – probably because he was busy. But he had looked confused for a moment, almost as if he’d forgotten who Lily was. And he hadn’t asked after Sylvia either. Might be best to say nothing until she had a chance to talk to Lily.
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, June keeping them amused with anecdotes of goings on in the NAAFI and accurate imitations of their customers. She did a good take-off of Mrs Green too, which had them in fits of laughter.
Daisy realised she was enjoying herself, their friendly presence serving to take her mind off the horrors of the day. She even managed to put the problem of the NAAFI manager out of her mind – for a while.
Near closing time, Chris offered to see them both home. June was billeted in one of the big houses on Marine Parade and they left her at her front door. It was full dark now and Daisy stumbled as they crossed the road. Chris took her arm and did not let go. Daisy’s resolve to keep their relationship on a ‘just friends’ basis, wavered as she felt the warmth of his hand on her arm. They walked along in silence until they reached the alley leading to her back garden.
She hesitated with her hand on the back gate. Would he try to kiss her goodnight – and would she let him?
He smiled down at her and said, ‘Thanks for a pleasant evening. I hope we were able to take your mind off things for a while.’
Daisy nodded.
‘I’m glad you’re back in town – even if it was for such a horrible reason.’ Chris hesitated and Daisy tensed herself for the expected kiss. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said and, without another word he hurried away.
‘Goodnight, Chris,’ she called. But he did not look back. Disappointed, in spite of her vow, Daisy walked slowly up the garden path and opened the back door. There were no lights on, so she crept upstairs, anxious not to disturb her brother and her parents.
‘That you, Dais?’ a sleepy voice called.
‘Yes, Dad. Night.’ she whispered, a warm feeling engulfing her. How lucky she was to have someone staying awake until she was safely home.
As she got into bed, she said a prayer of thanks for her loving family and friends as well as praying, as she usually did for the safety of Bob and all those fighting in this dreadful war.
***
Chris walked home mentally kicking himself. When Daisy looked up at him to say goodnight, he had been sorely tempted to take her in his arms and tell her how he felt. He longed to kiss those lovely lips, to run his fingers through her silken curls. But he pulled back in time. ‘Just friends,’ he muttered. How could he be just friends when he wanted so much more?
When he met June tonight and agreed to join her for a drink, his heart leapt when she said she was going to call on Daisy first to see how she was. Everyone was talking about the terrible raid on Eastchurch and his stomach knotted with anxiety until he heard that Daisy was safe.
He kicked a stone in the road and walked on, shoulders hunched. She was safe, that was all that mattered. And if Bob came safely home, he would be happy for her. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Bob sat at the kitchen table in a lonely farmhouse somewhere in France devouring fresh made bread and soup. His two companions - RAF pilots shot down during the air battle last month – said little, concentrating on their food as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks. He had no idea where he was and where he would be next day. They never stayed in one place for long, moving steadily south and west as their rescuers dictated. Bob marvelled that they had not been caught and blessed these wonderful people, who had not given in to their invaders but continued to fight covertly against the enemy.
He had lost weight and his face was thin and haggard, partly from lack of food and proper sleep, partly the ever-present fear of discovery. It was hard to stay constantly alert, nerves jumping at the slightest noise, having to be ready at a moment’s notice to move on, usually at night.
This evening, however, he was feeling optimistic. The elderly farmer informed them that a boat was waiting to take them downriver towards the open sea. He hadn’t dared to ask what would happen then, but hope flared at the thought he could be home in just a few days. Home to his Daisy. A memory of Francoise crept into his mind, hastily thrust away. He managed to convince himself that he would never see her again so what was the point in thinking of her? Their love affair had been a wonderful interlude in the madness of war and the memories would sustain him through whatever was to come. But sweet Daisy was his first love and he had promised to love her forever – made her promise too. She was probably sitting at home now, wondering why he hadn’t written, maybe thinking he was dead. He must get home so she could see for herself that he was all right.
Taffy, the Welsh pilot, nudged his arm. ‘Wake up, Bob. Time we were moving.’
He wiped the last of his bread round the bowl and stood up, cramming the morsel into his mouth.
The three men crowded in the farmhouse doorway waiting until the farmer beckoned them forward. They crept along a path between rows of grape vines until they reached the river. A man stood on the bank holding the painter of a small boat. ‘Come.’ A hoarse whisper carried on the still night air. ‘Quietly now.’
Bob and his companions shook hands with the farmer and climbed into the craft. The boatman cast off and started rowing, taking them out into the centre of the fast-flowing river. ‘We reach the sea soon,’ he whispered. ‘Quicker if we all row.’
The airmen fumbled with the oars, unsure how to handle them, but Bob had often rowed round the Island with his mates, fishing. He took the oars confidently and soon, helped by the ebbing tide, they reached the mouth of the river.
Just beyond, a large fishing boat rode at anchor. The fugitives climbed aboard and the rowing boat turned back. They set sail immediately, the captain hustling them down an open hatchway. Before descending into the hold, which smelt strongly of a combination of engine oil and fish, Bob took a long last look as the coastline of France disappeared behind them. ‘Goodbye Francoise,’ he whispered.
***
When Daisy came downstairs next morning dressed in her NAAFI uniform, her mother turned from the stove in surprise. ‘You’re not going into work today surely?’ she said.
Daisy nodded. ‘I must. June said Lily’s not well so they’ll be short-handed.’
‘They’ll manage,’ Dora said, plonking a plate of toast on the table. ‘They can’t expect you to work after what you’ve been through.’
‘Mum. I’ll admit I was upset yesterday but I was nowhere near the airfield when the raid started. I’m all right now. Anyway, being busy will take my mind of what happened up there.’
‘Well, make sure you have some breakfast first. I’ll just go and call Jimmy.’
Daisy sat at the table and picked up a slice of toast, just a scraping of butter and no marmalade. She nibbled at it, helping the dry bread down with a swig of tea. No bacon today either. She’d do better to wait till her break at work and have something to eat then. To please her mother, she forced the rest of the toast down, finished her tea and picked up her handbag.
‘I’m off, Mum. See you at tea-time,’ she called up the stairs.
When she got to work, she was surprised to see Lily in the cloakroom. ‘I thought you were off sick,’ she said, looking closely at her friend. Lily’s face was pale and her eyelids pink from crying. ‘Are you sure you’re well enough to be here?’
‘I couldn’t stay home. Mum’s been getting on at me saying I’m not really ill.’ Lily sniffed and rubbed her hand across her face.
‘So what’s the matter then?’
Lily shook her head and started to cry. Daisy had a sinking feeling; she thought she had guessed what was troubling her friend. ‘Come on, Lily. You can tell me.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted.
‘Oh, Lily. I don’t know what to say.’ Daisy felt no pleasure in knowing she was right.
‘Why don’t you say what everyone else will when they know? I’m a tart, a trollop, no better than I should be...’
‘No, Lily. I don’t think that.’ She hardly dare ask. ‘Who...?’
‘There’s only been one man in my life as you very well know,’ Lily retorted.
Daisy sighed. ‘Roland.’ She might have known. Hadn’t she mistrusted him all along?
‘I love him, Daisy - and I haven’t heard from him and with all these raids on the airfield I don’t even know if he’s all right.’
‘I’m sure he’s fine, Lily.’ Daisy wasn’t sure if she should confess she’d spoken to him yesterday and he was very much all right. The only problem was, he’d seemed almost indifferent when she mentioned Lily. She hadn’t been surprised – hadn’t she seen him with two other girls lately? And then there was Sylvia. How many others had he seduced with sweet talk and promises? She patted Lily’s shoulder. ‘Dry your eyes and wash your face. Time we were at work. Try not to worry. No one need know yet and I promise I won’t say anything.’
‘But what am I going to do?’ Lily burst into fresh sobs.
‘I’ll think of something. Come on, be brave.’
Lily dried her tears, splashed water on her face and dried it on the roller towel behind the door. She straightened her blouse and put her overall on. ‘You’re a good friend, Daisy. I missed you while you were away.’ She pulled open the door. ‘Come on then. Don’t want Mrs G breathing down our necks.’
June looked up from serving a customer. ‘What kept you?’ she snapped, then spotting Daisy behind Lily she squealed, ‘You’re back. Thank goodness.’
Daisy smiled. ‘Glad to be back.’ She took her place behind the counter while Lily started clearing and wiping down the tables. With two of them serving the queue quickly tailed off and Daisy had a chance to speak to June. ‘Lily’s still not feeling too well.’
‘What’s wrong with her? If she’s ill she should get a sick note.’
‘She’s tired. You know she has to look after her little sisters and brother when she’s not at work.’
‘We’re all tired, with the raids and all. We just have to get on with it, don’t we?’ June snapped.
Before Daisy could reply, Mrs Green came through from the office holding a list in her hand. ‘I need one of you girls to go over to the stores. Lily, you don’t look very busy. Come along, don’t dawdle.’
Lily put down the tray she was wiping and took the list from her. ‘There’s a lot of stuff. I’ll have to make two trips,’ she said.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Daisy offered. ‘If that’s all right with you, Mrs Green.’
The supervisor’s eyes swept the room noting how few customers there were. ‘Very well, but don’t take too long.’
In the store Lily looked round in amazement at the stacks of boxes and tins. ‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she said. ‘How do we know where everything is?’
‘The shelves are labelled.’ Daisy took the list. ‘Beans are up that end,’ she said, pointing. ‘Bring a couple of cartons and stack them near the door. I’ll get the tins of jam and marmalade.’ She took down the catering size tins which each held five pounds of preserves. As she put them down, she took the opportunity to look at the clipboard hanging on the nail by the door. There it was. ‘Five boxes - beans, peas, tinned peaches, pineapple, condensed milk – and two cartons of cigarettes. For Eastchurch.’ She let out a breath. ‘All signed for by S Browning,’ she murmured. ‘So where are those cartons now?’ She walked up and down the aisles searching, but there was no sign of the boxes she had seen in Sid Browning’s van. The beans Lily carried to the door were a different brand.
Daisy's War Page 17