Bob turned round to stare in the direction of the building where Daisy worked. What had happened to her? ‘I’m going to look for her,’ he said.
As he walked away a van came round the side of the building and drove out of the gates. ‘That’s the NAAFI manager,’ Chris said. ‘We should have stopped him, asked if Daisy had left.’
‘She’s probably gone already. I’ll go to her house, see if she’s there.’ He was beginning to feel anxious. Surely she would have waited. Hadn’t she said they had a lot to talk about before he reported for duty the next day?
‘I’ll give you a lift. Hop on.’ Chris replaced his helmet and kick started the engine.
When they reached the house there was no sign of Daisy.
‘Perhaps she’s working late,’ Dora said.
Bob didn’t want to worry Mrs Bishop and said he must have mistaken where they were to meet.
‘I’ll go and meet her,’ he said.
To his surprise Chris was still waiting outside. ‘Not there?’ he asked.
‘Perhaps she’s walked home a different way. I’ll catch up with her, don’t worry.’
‘Hope you find her. I’m sorry, I have to report back but I’ll look in on the NAAFI in case she’s working late. It’ll be closed now but she might have stayed behind to clear up or something.’
‘It’s not your problem,’ Bob said. ‘But thanks anyway.’
Chris hesitated and then said, ‘Daisy’s very well-liked. I hope she’s all right.’ He mounted the motorbike and roared off down the road.
***
As he rode slowly through the dark streets, Chris’s stomach churned. He prayed that any moment he would see her walking towards him, her handbag swinging from her shoulder, the glimmer of a torch clasped in her hand. But there was no sign of her and no one else about he could ask. ‘Be safe, Daisy, my love,’ he murmured. He would rather see her happy with Bob than for something unimaginable to befall her.
There had been no air raid siren this evening so that was one less thing to worry about. He recalled seeing the NAAFI van leaving the garrison and wondered if the manager had given her a lift home. But if so, she would have been there when Bob called. Besides, he remembered her saying how much she detested the man. She would never willingly have got in the vehicle with him.
When he reached the guard house he stopped to show his pass and asked the soldier on duty if anyone else had been in or out since the NAAFI had closed.
‘Only Browning’s van,’ he said.
‘What about Miss Bishop? Have you seen her?’
‘Daisy? No. I did hear her boyfriend was back.’ He grinned. ‘Bit of a blow for you, eh mate?’
Chris ignored him and rode away. On impulse he stopped the bike outside the NAAFI and tried the door. It was locked. He walked all around the outside of the building, but it was in complete darkness as it should be with the blackout. He stopped by the kitchen window and pressed his ear up against the glass. If anyone was still there, he’d be able to hear them working. Silence. He went back to his bike and rode off towards his billet.
Worry nagged at him as he got ready for bed and he knew he wouldn’t sleep although he had to be up at six for parade. He’d be on duty all day and no chance to find out what had become of the girl he had fallen in love with.
Chapter Twenty Five
Every time the van went over a bump Daisy was thrown against its side. Her stomach churned and her head pounded. Where was he taking her? Her hands were tied and she struggled to free herself, but the knots only tightened around her sore wrists. She screamed for help but her voice was muffled by the dirty rag he had tied round her mouth. She gagged against the musty smell.
‘No use screaming, girl. There’s no one to hear,’ Sid Browning gave a nasty chuckle. ‘Told you to mind your own business, didn’t I?’
The van stopped and she heard his footsteps coming round to the back. The doors opened and she tensed herself, ready to run if she got the chance. Thank goodness he hadn’t tied her feet. She could hear music and laughter and guessed they had stopped at one of the many pubs on the Island. Surely someone would help her.
He leaned into the van and, as if he had guessed her intention, he took off his tie and fastened it around her ankles. ‘Just in case,’ he said with a leer.
She shrank away from him and he laughed, picking up one of the boxes. ‘Just got a little business to see to and then I’ll decide what to do with you.’
He disappeared and she heard voices and doors opening and closing. While he was gone she made another attempt to free herself, but it was no good. Before she could make any impression on the knots, he was back. Hefting another box onto his shoulder, he grinned. ‘Just you lie quiet there, missy, there’s a good girl.’
Anger threatened to choke her and she struck out with her feet against the side of the van. No, I won’t lie quiet, she thought. She kicked again, grunting with satisfaction at the metallic clang her shoes made. Surely someone would come. But the noise from the pub drowned out her efforts.
She didn’t hear him come back as the van door slammed open. ‘Told you to be quiet,’ Browning said roughly. He closed the door and she heard the lock click. They drove for a few more miles, stopping again to unload more boxes. Each time he left her alone she tried to make enough noise to attract attention, at the same time twisting her hands in an attempt to loosen the rope.
They stopped several times, offloading boxes of goods at each place. Finally, the van was empty and Daisy wondered where he would go now. And what would he do with her? Did he intend to kill her?
She should have been feeling terrified but her fear had subsided, overwhelmed by fierce anger – not just at the way he was treating her but at what he was doing. She thought of the families struggling to feed their children, the merchant seamen braving the u-boats to bring food to them, the soldiers and sailors who relied on the NAAFI for their little extras. How dare he? She kicked the side of the van again and one of her shoes fell off. The tie he had fastened around her ankles was loose. She pushed with her other foot and her feet were free.
She replaced her shoe and wriggled around until her feet were against the rear door. When they stopped, she would kick out, surprise him and hope she could get away. She hadn’t a clue where they were, but she knew the Island so well she was sure she would recognise some landmark.
The van drove over a bumpy track and jerked to a stop. Daisy tensed herself, ready to run. The door opened and she kicked out, aiming for Browning’s flabby stomach. He grunted and doubled over and she seized her chance.
She started to run, stumbling in the pitch darkness, hampered by her hands still tied behind her back.
‘You won’t get far, missy.’ His voice sent tremors through her. He was closer than she’d thought.
She stopped and looked around her. Where was she? There was no moon and no lights to guide her. With the blackout there were no streetlights, no friendly lamps gleaming in cottage windows. And out at sea the ships that plied the estuary were under orders to show no lights. She heard Browning’s heavy footsteps crunching on gravel. Were they near the beach? But she couldn’t smell the sea.
She shuffled her feet – only soft earth under them. If she managed to keep off the gravel path, she could move quietly and hopefully get away. Find somewhere to hide until he gave up or until it got light and she could go for help.
As she hesitated, trying to decide which way to go, straining her ears for Browning’s footsteps, a hand touched her shoulder.
***
Dora put down her knitting and looked at the clock on the mantel. ‘Daisy’s late,’ she said.
‘Do you blame her? She and Bob have a lot of catching up to do.’ Stan stood up and stretched. ‘She’s probably round next door. Stop fretting.’
‘It’s not like her though,’ Dora said. ‘It’s usually you who worries when she’s late.’
‘She’ll be all right if she’s with Bob. I know he went to meet her from work.’
> ‘He didn’t see her though. He called earlier while you were still out, asking if she was home.’
‘I’m sure they’ve met up. Still, I’ll just pop next door – see if she’s there.’ He patted Dora’s shoulder. ‘You go on up, love.’
‘No, I’m staying here till she gets home.’
Stan went out the back door and Dora put the kettle on. ‘I’ll make some cocoa,’ she muttered. ‘Keep busy till she gets home.’ She didn’t usually worry about her daughter; it was young Jimmy who usually caused concern. But the lad seemed to have grown up a bit since joining the Scouts and doing his bit for the war effort.
As she set out mugs and put milk on to heat, she thought about her children. How the time had flown. Sometimes it was hard to believe she had three grown up children – well, almost grown up. She was so proud of them all. She missed Sylvia, of course, up there in Norfolk but Daisy... She didn’t have favourites – no mother should – but she and Daisy had become extra close just lately. Dora choked back a sob. Surely Daisy would know she was worrying, would have popped her head round the door to say she would be late. She could almost hear her daughter’s cheerful voice – ‘just popping round to Bob’s, won’t be long.’
The milk boiled over, hissing and spitting on the hob. Dora grabbed the saucepan and dumped it in the sink. She looked at the clock again. Stan had been gone a long time.
Just then the door opened. ‘Not back yet?’ Stan asked.
Dora shook her head. ‘She’s not next door then?’
Stan hesitated. ‘Bob’s just come in. He’s been out looking for her. Walked back to the garrison and asked the guard. No one’s seen her.’
Dora covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, God. What’s happened to her?’
Stan eased her over to the couch and made her sit down. He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Me and Bob are going out to have another look round. Perhaps she’s had a fall, hurt herself.’ He gave her a hug and stood up.
As he hesitated by the door, Dora looked up at him. ‘Find her, please,’ she whispered.
***
Daisy tried to scream as the hand tightened on her shoulder and swung her round. Browning thrust his face close to hers. ‘Where did you think you were going then?’
He grabbed her arm and started to walk, pulling her behind him. A door opened and he shoved her inside, throwing her down in a corner. ‘Right, you can stay there till I’ve decided what to do with you.’
The door slammed and she heard a key turn, then his footsteps crunching away over gravel. It was pitch dark and she stood up cautiously, feeling her way around, trying to make out where she was. She stumbled over something which fell to the floor with a metallic clanging sound. She knelt on the floor, reaching out until her fingers touched cold iron. A spade? Was he going to kill her and bury her here? Her breathing quickened and her heart raced. No, she told herself. If he was going to kill her, he’d have done it already. Well, she wasn’t going to sit here awaiting her fate.
Her hand caressed the spade, feeling the sharp edge. She turned it on its edge, holding it between her knees. She rubbed the rope tying her hands against the spade, back and forth, back and forth. She gasped as it gave a little, and she tried to pull her hands apart. But there was still some way to go. Patiently, she began the sawing motion again until at last the threads broke.
She was free. She pulled the rag from around her mouth and breathed deeply, rubbing her chafed wrists. She smiled grimly. The stupid man had forgotten to re-tie her feet.
She stood up, flexing her cramped limbs, and began to explore her prison more thoroughly. When she came to the door, she pushed against it but there was no movement. Frustrated, she kicked it, kicked and kicked until, exhausted, she fell to the ground.
She must have slept for a while and awoke stiff and cold. It must be morning. Faint light filtered through gaps in the wooden walls and she realised she was in a shed, one very like the shed on her father’s allotment. Was that where she was? Not her father’s, of course, but there were several areas in the town given over to allotments. Did Browning have one?
As the light strengthened, Daisy grew hopeful. These days everyone was growing food, following the government’s injunction to ‘dig for victory’. Men often spent an hour or two gardening before going off to their regular work. Someone would come.
Chapter Twenty Six
Chris had scarcely slept and he was first out of his bunk when reveille sounded. He hastily washed and shaved and was out on the parade ground impatiently looking around at his mates. Why didn’t they get a move on?
Daisy was never out of his mind. Had she got home safely after all? Was he worrying for nothing? He had no right to feel this way. He had seen Bob’s distress and felt for him. But the most important thing was that she was safe.
Instead of going to the mess for breakfast he went straight to the adjutant’s office for his orders – delivering some important papers to the RAF station.
‘Quick as you can, Corporal.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Chris saluted and marched smartly away.
Yes, he would be quick – but first he would call in at the NAAFI and see if Daisy had turned up for work. Just to see her bustling around, a smile for everyone would set his mind at rest.
He opened the canteen door and looked around. It was too early for customers. He spotted June and the supervisor through the hatch.
He heard Mrs Green shouting. ‘Just because her boyfriend’s home on leave doesn’t mean she can skive off instead of coming to work.’
‘But, Mrs Green. Daisy’s not a shirker. Besides, she told me Bob had to report for duty this morning. So she can’t be with him. She must have a good reason for not turning up.’
‘I don’t care. We’re already short-staffed now Lily’s gone. She’ll get a piece of my mind when she does deign to get here.’ She turned round and noticed Chris. Pointing through the hatch at him she said, ‘Well, girl, better get on. Can’t you see you have a customer?’
June came through the swing doors. Her face was red and Chris could see she was fighting back tears. ‘Mean old cow,’ she muttered.
Chris swallowed and asked, ‘She’s not here then?’
June shook her head. ‘It’s not like her. She’s always on time.’
‘Look, I can’t stay. I’m on duty.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t want to worry you, but Daisy didn’t go home last night. Bob was supposed to meet her here, but she didn’t turn up.’
‘Perhaps they met up later. If she was with Bob perhaps she needed a lie in this morning.’ She laughed. ‘Good luck to her. She’s waited for him long enough.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Much as he hated the idea of Daisy and Bob spending the night together, it was preferable to the other thoughts that tormented him. ‘Well, I must go. I’ll pop in later,’ he said.
As he rode through the town and up towards the east end of the Island, he ground his teeth in frustration. Daisy wasn’t the sort of girl to spend the night with a man, even if they were all but engaged to be married. But what other explanation was there? He refused to contemplate the thought of her lying somewhere hurt – or worse.
He delivered the papers to the officer in charge and got back on the bike. He should go straight back to the garrison. Instead he turned off at the bottom of Minster Hill and rode towards the coastal defences and the Home Guard post at the base of the cliffs. If Daisy’s father was on duty there, he might have some news.
Stan came out and was getting on his bicycle as Chris pulled up. One look at the older man’s face told him that Daisy hadn’t come home. ‘I’m worried about her, Mr Bishop. I called in at the NAAFI hoping she’d turned up, but no one’s heard from her.’
‘You’re not the only who’s one worried, lad,’ Stan said, running his hand through his sparse hair. ‘I’m just off to the police station to report her missing.’
Chris hesitated. ‘I’ve no right to ask, I know, but could you let me - us – all her friends - know what you f
ind out?’
‘Of course, lad.’ He mounted his bicycle and rose away.
Chris watched him for a few moments and then started his motorcycle, giving Stan a wave as he passed him pedalling against the wind.
Back at the garrison there were more messages to deliver and he had no chance to make his own enquiries until he went off duty later that day. He made his way to the NAAFI, praying that Daisy would be there.
As he opened the door, Bob barged past him on the way out. ‘She’s not there,’ he said.
‘She’ll turn up, mate,’ Chris said, but there was no real conviction in his voice and Bob rounded on him.
‘Keep your daft ideas to yourself,’ he said and stumbled away.
Chris agreed that it was a daft idea, but he had to keep telling himself that she was all right. In fact, he was increasingly concerned that something bad had happened. He remembered Daisy telling him she was nervous of Mr Browning and tried to avoid him whenever she was sent to the stores. But when he’d asked her about it, she had brushed his concern aside, saying she was just being silly. It occurred to him that the manager might have something to do with her disappearance.
And if he had...! Chris bunched his fists and gritted his teeth. He pushed open the door and
marched up to the counter. ‘I want to see the manager,’ he demanded.
June looked up from serving a customer and stammered, ‘I don’t think he’s here, you’ll have to speak to Mrs Green.’
‘June, that won’t do. I must see the manager.’
‘Why? Mrs Green deals with complaints.’
‘I haven’t got a complaint.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s about Daisy.’
‘What...?’
‘Never mind. If he’s not here, I’ll come back later.’
He stormed out, wondering what to do next. He was off duty till the evening and he was determined to look for Daisy. But where could she be?
He decided to call at her home, hoping for news.
Daisy's War Page 22