by Annie Murray
‘Oh, poor Daisy!’ Aunt Hatt cried passionately. Then she added, ‘But how could she – with him?’
‘Oh, he spun her a yarn about how he loved her and her artistic soul . . .’ Margaret could hear her own bitter sarcasm. ‘I think she thought he might even marry her.’ Even though Aunt Hatt seemed sympathetic, she was uneasily aware of Clara sitting bolt upright, a tight, disapproving look on her face.
‘Well, I’d say she’s only got herself to blame,’ Clara said. ‘Silly little girl – she should have had more sense – and more dignity.’
‘But Clara—’ Uncle Eb protested from his chair.
‘No—’ Clara held up a hand. ‘There’s no defending that sort of loose behaviour. I’ll say this quickly before my children come back in because I don’t want anyone breathing a word about it in front of them. I don’t hold with this sort of thing. She may be one of those artistic types – we all know Daisy’s very clever, since we’ve heard so much about it . . .’
Margaret was deeply shocked. She knew Clara was a bit of a bossy boots, but she had not seen her as spiteful or envious before.
‘All I can say is, I don’t want any of this sort of thing going on around my children.’
‘Clara!’ Aunt Hatt was clearly shocked, but there was doubt in her voice as well. Margaret could see she desperately did not want to fall out with her only son’s wife. Margaret felt anguished that she had come and caused all this, though she was repelled by Clara’s hard-faced attitude. But now it looked as if she was turning Aunt Hatt against them all as well.
‘You can do what you like,’ Clara said with a prim tilt to her head. ‘Obviously this is your house. But I just don’t want this sort of thing coming near to my family.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Uncle Eb said, looking bewildered by the whole situation. ‘That doesn’t seem very Christian to me.’
‘Christian!’ Clara snorted. ‘What’s Christian about bringing a bastard baby into the world? That’s what I’d like to know. I’m surprised you haven’t turned her from your door, Margaret, that I am.’
‘Now you look here,’ Aunt Hatt said, standing upright again, hands on her hips. And this was the moment Margaret knew she should never have doubted her. ‘If the same ever happened to your Ella or Gina—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Clara snapped. ‘My daughters will never behave in such a way.’
‘Well, if they ever was to get into trouble – any trouble,’ Aunt Hatt said. ‘You turn them out on the street if that’s your way of being Christian, Clara – though I’ve not noticed you darkening the doors of a church any more often than the rest of us. You do as you feel right – but you tell them they can always come to their grandma. I’ll never turn our girls away no matter what they’ve done. They’re our little jewels.’
Margaret put her hands over her face, unable to hold back her tears as Aunt Hatt went on.
‘That silly little wench is going to have enough judgement and tittle-tattle going on about her for a lifetime. We’re family and we’ll stick together. I don’t want us to fall out, Clara, but Margaret’s my niece and like a daughter to me. She’s come to us with her troubles more than once and we won’t be turning her away any more than we did the first time. So, Clara – if you don’t like it, you can make your own judgements, but so far as I’m concerned, I’m afraid that’s just going to be how it is.’
‘Well said, wench.’ Uncle Eb stood up and placed himself beside his wife. ‘I’m sorry, Clara.’ He eyed his daughter-in-law, who sat tight-lipped, but was beginning to look a bit uncertain in the face of this family unity. ‘But Daisy’s one of the family now. We don’t want to see our family broken up so you’ll have to decide about that for yourself.’ He turned to Margaret.
‘It’s all right, wench. This is a terrible thing that’s happened, but you tell our Daisy we’re with her, thick or thin – and bring her over to see us next week, eh? The sooner we all get together on this the better.’
‘Thank you, Uncle. Thank you both.’ She did not look at Clara.
There was a burst of noise as the children came running in from the garden.
‘Is it tea time yet, Nanna?’ Jimmy the ever-hungry asked.
Georgie followed them in, closing the garden doors. He turned and smiled round the room, before noticing the state of everyone.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, in bewilderment.
‘Do I have to go?’ Daisy raged next Sunday.
Margaret had returned from the morning service at Carrs Lane church and Daisy came resentfully down for dinner. Her whole being was in rebellion. All she wanted was to turn the clock back – but since she couldn’t do that, she’d rather pretend none of it was happening. It was impossible to forget, though, because she felt so rotten and she could scarcely stand the sight of her own sickly face in the mirror. Not to mention the way Pa was ignoring her.
Her life was not her own and never would be again and she might as well be dead!
However kind the Watts family might be, the worst of it was her horrifying embarrassment and shame that everyone knew exactly what had happened – that she had done that with Mr Carson.
‘I wish you’d stop ordering me around!’ she shrieked. ‘I don’t want to see anybody. They’ll all be staring at me and telling what to do and I just want to stay here and never see anyone!’
And then Pa lost his temper. He looked up from carving the Sunday joint, wielding the carving fork in her direction.
‘Don’t you talk to Margaret like that!’ he boomed across the table. ‘You, girl, are in no position to complain about anything, bringing all this down on us – and wasting all your chances! You’re damn lucky we’re not putting you out on the pavement to fend for yourself!’
‘Well, if that’s what you want to do,’ Daisy yelled back across a rib of roasted beef, ‘why don’t you just get it over with and do it? I’ll go, if you want – and take my disgrace with me, so it doesn’t mess up your perfect little household and your perfect little family. It’s not as if you need me, is it?’
John and Lily were sitting, eyes popping, listening to this. Margaret stood up.
‘Not a word more,’ she said, with such forbidding force in the direction of her husband and Daisy that the two subsided. ‘Don’t either of you dare say another word.’
‘Mom?’ Lily said, close to tears. ‘Why’s Pa shouting? What’s Daisy done?’
‘I will tell you,’ Margaret said. ‘But not just now, Lily. For the moment, what we are going to do is eat our Sunday dinner, which the good Lord has provided for us, and then we are going to see Uncle Eb and Aunt Hatt.’
‘And Jimmy!’ John said happily.
‘And Ellie and Gina!’ Lily also recovered instantly, as her father carved the meat with his head down and Daisy remained silent, trying to stem her own tears at having made her Pa so hurt and angry. But oh, Lord, she really didn’t want to go and face the Watts household.
‘Here you are, young lady,’ Uncle Eb greeted her sorrowfully but sweetly, when she arrived. He seemed almost bashful and it dawned on her that suddenly, in their eyes, she had become someone different. Though she had been humiliated, was in this grossly shameful state, she had also, in a strange, sweet way, truly become a grown woman. It was a strange feeling.
Eb was such a portly, rotund figure now with his giant, grizzled moustache and whiskers that he always made her think of a rather sage walrus – like the pictures that went with the ‘Walrus and the Carpenter’ poem. He had always been warm and welcoming and that afternoon he was bashfully tender towards her, treating her with such great delicacy – ‘Come and sit here, my dear, it’s the softest chair’ – and repeatedly offering her cake – ‘Come on, wench, you need to eat’ – when she was in fact feeling sick, that she was quite overwhelmed.
And Aunt Hatt embraced her and was concerned and motherly. Georgie, though not referring to anything, just said, ‘Hello, Dais – you all right?’ and gave his shy smile. All she could see in his brown ey
es was kindness. He mentioned that Clara had stayed at home and was not feeling quite well.
‘You poor, poor girl,’ Aunt Hatt said passionately, pulling Daisy into her arms. ‘What a terrible man . . . Wicked, that’s what I call it. He should be hanged!’
Georgie made a mild protest about how this might be taking things a bit far.
‘Well, it’s all very well!’ Aunt Hatt rounded on him. ‘You say that. You men – I ask you!’
‘We’re not all the same, if you don’t mind,’ Georgie said.
‘He’ll just go blithely on,’ Aunt Hatt continued heatedly, releasing Daisy. ‘None of it makes the slightest difference to him. His life won’t be affected! Now Daisy, if there’s ever anything you need or you want to know, you can always come to me – and I won’t breathe a word to anyone . . .’ Her dark-eyed, kindly face looked closely into Daisy’s. ‘You just remember, that child is every bit as much yours as it’s his. I know it’s going to be hard, Daisy dear – but don’t bring a loveless child into this world.’
Daisy was so overcome by all this that she burst into tears. She had no idea at this point what she might want to know – all she knew was that she felt horrible and wished she could wake up one morning and find out that this whole mortifying experience had just been a nightmare.
Even then she could see she was lucky beyond words to have loving support when she had brought such trouble to their door. But it didn’t stop her loathing herself and everything about the way her life was turning out.
For the first week, once everyone knew, all had been in turmoil. Daisy did not go back to Vittoria Street. She could not face running into James Carson and in any case, she felt too ill. She lay down a lot of the time, being sick and weeping in frustration and grief for her own lost life.
Above all, her father’s words kept ringing in her head. Out of all that had been said this had cut the most deeply into her. What would your mother have said?
Daisy did not know for sure what the mother who she could just about remember, that stately, loving, auburn-haired woman, would have said. But she knew she had let her down. She wanted so much to be like her mother – to be more than her: successful, a brilliant silversmith and artist. And now she was never going to be anything. She had thrown her life away.
Soon after all the upset, Margaret told her that James Carson had called at the house once, begging to see her, and that she had sent him packing.
But within two days he was back.
Sixteen
‘There’s a man asking for you, Daisy.’
It was Miss Allen who had gone to answer and she sounded disapproving. But then Miss Allen, thin faced, in her stiff, dark clothing, usually did. Daisy could hardly refuse to go to the door.
She kept her head down, trying to hide the dreadful blushes coursing through her. She had known she would have to talk to him some time. They lived so close together – and there was her work at the school. She felt she might as well face it now, at least on her own territory. She was not obliged to invite him in.
But it was hard even to look at him. He was standing outside, holding his hat with both hands. At first sight she thought he looked diminished, not quite the man she remembered. Was it just that she had fallen out of love with him? But no, it was more than that. His hair was hanging lank, his beard straggly and unkempt. He looked as if he had not slept for a long time.
‘Daisy,’ he said quietly, but with a desperate lilt to his voice. ‘Oh, Daisy, my dear, please let me talk to you.’
She hadn’t meant this to happen, to have anything to do with him, but she felt a pang of longing, of the need to talk to him as well. She glanced back into the house. ‘We can’t go in there. Let me get my coat.’
They walked stiffly side by side. She could tell that James Carson was working himself up to speak, but it was difficult out in the street. They remained more or less silent until they reached St Paul’s churchyard. She waited as they passed back and forth along the paths round the front of the church. She did not feel obliged to begin the conversation but her emotions swelled, tears rising to the surface. She wanted to hold back her tender feelings and curse him: at the same time, she longed to let go and weep, to have him hold her in his arms and tell her he would look after her, that everything would be all right.
‘Daisy,’ he said at last. ‘I’m so sorry – my dear girl, are you . . . I mean, are you going along well?’
‘No!’ she burst out, then tried to lower her voice. ‘Of course not! How can I be? I spend every morning being sick and I can’t go to the school because you are there. What do you think? You’ve ruined my life.’ Her voice broke and the tears flooded out. ‘I’m so unhappy . . .’
Mr Carson made helpless gestures with his hands, as if wanting to reach and hold her, but sensing that she would fight him off.
‘I am in anguish,’ he said.
Hope lit in her. It was not nothing to him – he was upset, he was involved in what had happened to her!
’You’ve no idea – I’ve hardly slept. It’s all so unbearable.’ He gestured wildly with his right hand, working himself up. ‘I – I was so carried away with you. With your beauty – with you, Daisy. I do love you – I wasn’t lying, my dear, I promise you. But I was deluding myself, I can see. Your, er, Mrs Tallis put me right about that. I have a wife – loveless a situation as that might be. I never dreamt – never intended all this to happen.’ He made a gesture seemingly to sum up their whole situation.
‘Well, it has,’ she said brutally.
Mr Carson looked at her like a dog caught in the middle of a whipping.
‘I have been in agony,’ he said. ‘And I wanted you to know that I have come to a decision.’ He pulled his shoulders back with a heroic air.
Daisy waited, her heart starting to hammer. He was going to stand by her. He could separate legally from his wife – was that not possible? And then he could marry her and save her from this agonizing shame and loneliness. It was not too late . . .
He took a deep breath, as if to address a room full of avid listeners.
‘I am in your way here – at the school, in this place. And it is a torment to me to be near you, and yet – forbidden. I am going to leave. I have decided to join His Majesty’s army and do my bit for the country. Others are going and as a man, I must do my part – I must sacrifice myself, d’you see?’ He was in deadly earnest. ‘So – I shall no longer be in your way at the school, my dear. I shall be gone.’
Daisy stopped dead and stared at him in a turmoil of feeling. It had never crossed her mind that he might just disappear, not like this. He could just walk away, as if none of this had happened, just as Margaret had said! It was enraging – and yet, there would be such relief in having him gone. Even, just a little, she was moved by his declaration. ‘You’re really going to do that?
He gave a little bow, pressing his hat to his chest. ‘I am.’
‘But –’ she swallowed – ‘what about me? What about the baby?’
His face twitched, then he gave her a sweet, pitying look.
‘Oh, Daisy,’ he said. ‘I do wonder if you are being strictly truthful with me. Is there really a baby? Or even if there is, can I be sure it’s mine? Or is it just a way of entrapping me, trying to force my hand?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘In any case, even if there really was, you know perfectly well you don’t need to be saddled with it, my dear. There’s plenty of people who desperately want a child. You shouldn’t waste that talent of yours in all that . . .’ He made a gesture with his wrist, a gesture so dismissive of all to do with womanliness, with children. To her amazement, she had to stop herself leaping towards him and scratching his face. All of it – all the experience of women, the pain, the mothering – it was a trifle to him. It was as nothing.
But the shock of this was like a blow. She was so full of hurt and rage that for a few seconds she could not move. There she had been, thinking him capable of being considerate, perhaps even close to heroic. And here she was, unable to
do any of the things she most loved, with her pa hardly able to look at her, here in her shame and with this child to bring forth. And he – once again he was caught up in a drama of his own making, of which he was always the central hero. No one else counted.
Standing facing St Paul’s church, her heart freezing over, she backed away from him.
‘You are not a man,’ she said. ‘You’re a . . . a disgusting, selfish fool. You’re a clown!’
And as he stood with an ingratiating look on his face, she turned and walked away. As she strode along, Aunt Hatt’s words came back to her, giving her a glimmer of determination: You just remember, that child is every bit as much yours as it’s his . . . Don’t bring a loveless child into this world.
The street suddenly came into her view – the carts and horses and crowds of passers-by – and for the first time a startling instinct caused her to lay her hand over her still flat belly as she made her way home, to shield whatever was inside from all harm.
She did not think he would keep his word about leaving – about anything. But within two days he was gone.
Seventeen
December 1915
Margaret stood on the platform at Snow Hill station, glad to be in the shelter of the waiting crowds, several lines deep all along. It was a bitter day, the sky hanging low over the chimney tops outside and a wind that cut right to the skin.
On one side of her were an excited John and Lily in their best hats and coats, Lily holding her favourite doll clasped to her as if worried she might get swept away in the rush. On the other side was Daisy, bundled up in layers of clothes. Her pale, swollen face was half hidden in the shadow of a wide-brimmed brown hat which matched her chocolate-brown coat, cut wide and flowing to hide her condition. Over it were draped a shawl and scarfs. The platform was so crowded that there was no room to get much of a look at anyone anyway.
