Daisy's Wars

by Meg Henderson

  But back then Kathleen had something to live for – Kay’s future career – and now that it had vanished, Daisy sensed a change in her, a deeper low than she had known before. She couldn’t discuss it with Michael as once she would have, because these days she avoided her father as much as she did her brother-in-law. She felt bad about it, not guilty, more deeply, sad, but her years as Daddy’s Little Girl had disappeared when he had mentioned her ‘woman’s bits’. She didn’t know how all fathers should be, having only had one, but deep down deep down she felt no father should have spoken to a daughter in those terms, and, on the occasions when they passed each other in the house in Guildford Place, she pulled her clothes around her and crossed her arms to hide her body.

  Being used to seeing life as a series of difficulties and problems, Daisy didn’t know she was going through a more hurtful form of what all daughters do with their fathers, that often bitter parting of the ways when they change from adoring little girls to women. Michael wasn’t the first or the last to be thrown by his daughter’s developing sexual allure, all fathers are acutely conscious of it and confused by it. He had already been faced that night with the sexual development of one daughter when he inflicted hurt on Daisy with his remark. She knew how other men regarded her, but that she disgusted her father was too much for her to bear and from then on she withdrew from him.

  As Daisy had suspected, Kay was further on than she knew, two months further on, and the child was born healthy and loud only four months after her marriage. It was delivered by Mrs Young, the woman down the road whom Daisy had mentioned to Kay, and who also specialised in abortions.

  When Daisy went into the bedroom to view the new arrival, Kay was sitting up holding her daughter, and Daisy took one look and burst into tears. Everyone was crying, of course, all the disapproval of the shotgun wedding had disappeared with the arrival of the little girl. There was joy all around, but Daisy’s tears were different. She was crying because she knew everything was finally over for Kay; poor, dim Kay who had the voice of an angel but would now be a brood mare instead. There was no doubt about it, her music, her fantastic and mesmerising talent, would wither and die. It had indeed all been for nothing, and she felt such pity for her sister as she held the little black-haired child that it was a physical pain.

  She took the new baby downstairs and put her in Kathleen’s arms, just as she herself had been taken to Granny Niamh.

  ‘Look, Mum,’ she whispered, ‘another Kathleen.’

  As Kathleen looked down at her granddaughter she smiled and the child cried briefly.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Daisy asked. ‘She even cries in tune! I think you’ve got another singer there!’

  It was a desperate attempt to give her mother something more to live for, because the first one had faded to nothing and they both knew it. Kathleen nodded and wept quietly as she stared, bright-eyed, at the baby, but there was an air of doom, a bitter foreboding that Daisy could almost taste.

  Everything in her family had changed so quickly, she thought, and it wasn’t helped by the talk of war that was occupying the minds of everyone in the country, making for feelings of doubt and fear. It was the end of May 1939, and it seemed nothing could stop the strange little Austrian with the funny moustache as his Forces tramped over Europe. Certainly not another strange little man with a funny moustache waving a piece of paper in London, no matter how loudly the cheers of the listening crowd resounded. The people of Newcastle, as in other cities, were preparing for a war no one wanted or had really believed would happen.

  ‘We’ve got an Anderson shelter going up in the back garden,’ Joan Johnstone announced one day. She exchanged a disapproving look with Daisy. ‘They say it will withstand everything but a direct hit, so that’s comforting, isn’t it?’

  Daisy smiled. ‘I suppose it depends on whether the Germans will be understanding and bomb from the sides,’ she said.

  ‘And that we don’t drown from the flooding. Why does no one mention that? They’re under ground-level, all the rain will get in.’ Joan shook her head. ‘And all my flowers have gone,’ she continued. ‘George has planted vegetables instead. They say all the public parks will be ploughed up and used for vegetables soon, too.’

  ‘But do you really think it will happen?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘If it does we’ll all be sitting in three feet of water – eating carrots, by the look of things!’ Joan replied.

  At the end of August, three months after the birth of baby Kathleen, a tearful Kay confessed to her sister that she was pregnant again. Mrs Young thought she was about two months gone. That was what Daisy was for, sorting things out, making them all better.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Kay whimpered, ‘I don’t even want the one I had. It hurt, Daisy, it hurt really bad. I was all torn, you know, down there.’

  ‘But Kay,’ Daisy said, ‘you knew it was too early, why didn’t you stop him?’

  ‘I don’t know how to stop Dessie,’ Kay wept. ‘He says I’m his wife, he can do what he wants. You don’t know what he’s like,’ she added fearfully.

  ‘Don’t I?’ Daisy fumed. ‘Seems to me I’m the only one who knew what Dessie was like from the first time I set eyes on him, but nobody would listen.’

  That Thursday night Daisy waited till Dessie came home from a night of drinking. He spent more time out of the house than in these days, not that she minded, but she never slept till he was safely upstairs. She would lie on the couch in the darkness, her eyes closed, deliberately keeping her breathing slow and deep so that he would think she was asleep, but underneath the blankets she was fully dressed, ready to run if he touched her. Sometimes he stood beside her for ages, and though she controlled her breathing she felt her heart thumping loudly and was afraid he might hear it, too, and know she was still awake. The relief when he finally moved off and made his unsteady way upstairs was always so acute that she felt like crying, but this night she wanted to see him, this night the lights were on and she was fully awake and angry.

  He was singing under his breath as he came in, then she heard him curse as he bumped into the abandoned sewing machine in the hall before he made his way through the sitting room.

  ‘So you’ve made it back, have you?’ she asked.

  He looked at her as she stood by the couch, her arms folded. ‘And what’s it to you?’ he challenged her. ‘Have you a rolling pin handy to hit me with there?’ He laughed at his joke.

  She didn’t answer him. ‘Kay says she’s expecting again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ he said, sitting down and taking off his shoes. ‘Not with my bloody luck anyway.’

  ‘Your luck? What about Kay’s luck being stuck with a bastard like you? Sure, you know you shouldn’t have touched her for six weeks after the baby, no decent man would have done what you’ve done.’

  ‘She’s my wife, I can do with her and to her what I want,’ he replied calmly.

  ‘Yes; she told me you’d said that. She’ll have two babies only nine months apart, do you understand that?’ Daisy said angrily.

  ‘So have many women,’ he grinned.

  ‘Only the ones married to bastards like you!’ she whispered fiercely.

  ‘Ah, shut up!’ Dessie said wearily, getting up and moving towards the stairs. ‘Your trouble is that you need someone to slap you around to make you think less of yourself, Daisy Sheridan. You need to be taught less cheek and more respect.’

  ‘Respect for the likes of you? Don’t kid yourself, you’re the one who needs slapping around a bit, and if I were a man I’d do it, believe me!’

  That was when she made her mistake. Thinking the conversation was over because there was no point talking to him when he’d had a few, thinking that because he’d headed for the stairs he had actually climbed them, she turned her back to him and began making up her bed. Suddenly he grabbed her from behind again, but he didn’t make the same mistake as last time by leaving his stomach exposed to her elbow. He caught her and threw her, face down,
on the couch, then fell on top of her, knocking all the breath out of her lungs so that she suddenly realised that even if she had wanted to, even if there was someone in the house who could help her, she couldn’t shout.

  ‘You know your trouble, Daisy?’ he whispered. ‘Your trouble, Daisy, is that you’re jealous of your stupid sister. You want what she has and plenty of it! Well, all you had to do was ask.’

  He felt under her, grabbed her wrists tightly and almost whipped her round onto her back. Then he caught both wrists in one hand above her head and started ripping at her clothes with the other. She tried kicking him, but he knelt on her legs, then eased them apart with his knee. She would never have believed it was possible. How many times had she heard girls talking about men who forced themselves on females? How many times had she said to herself that the girl must’ve cooperated, or else he couldn’t have done it, could he? They could’ve lashed out, couldn’t they? Kicked him, scratched him, fought back by instinct? No man, she had always told herself, would dare think he could do such a thing to her.

  Only she hadn’t reckoned for the shock, the paralysing thought going through her mind that he wouldn’t do this, not really, he couldn’t. If she just kept quiet and didn’t provoke him any further, he would stop.

  Then there were other thoughts as she felt him between her legs, pulling at the red silk pants with the lace edges that she had saved up to buy. Her father was working, her mother was in her bedroom and upstairs her pregnant sister lay with the baby. Her mind was full of panic; she must get away from him without making any kind of noise that would attract attention, and as it was she was afraid someone could already have overheard. If they came in and found her and Dessie entwined on the couch, they wouldn’t believe she hadn’t wanted this. That’s what he would say, what he would have to say, so she had to keep as quiet as possible. If she did manage to shout out there would be chaos, the family reaction would be one of hysteria.

  So go along with it, she told herself, and he’ll think of that, too, and he’ll stop. If he didn’t she could always roll him off her before he got any further.

  Only she couldn’t. It was a position she had never been in before and she didn’t know the physical rules, whereas he did, and his weight was too heavy, too overpowering, and he knew how to pin her down. She was gasping, taking in his stinking breath every time she inhaled, and she was trying to talk to him, trying to put together soothing words about his wife, his child. It was all a mistake; she wouldn’t tell anybody, honest, Dessie. Right up to the last moment she thought he’d stop, till the sharp pain that made her call out, but Dessie was aware enough of what he was doing to silence her by roughly putting his mouth over hers.

  That’s when she gave up; when she realised that he knew what he was doing. This was no man in his cups making some vulgar, feeble attempt at a pass that he wouldn’t remember in the morning. This was Dessie doing what he had always planned to do.

  She stopped struggling. He was inside her, and there was no way to dislodge him anyway, so she lay under him, eyes tightly closed to disassociate herself from what was happening to her body, telling herself it wasn’t happening, at least not to her, not to the real Daisy Sheridan. He had let go of her wrists and her arms hung limply by her sides as she thought herself out of her body till he had finished, not uttering a word, not looking at him.

  Finally he pulled away from her.

  ‘You’ve been wanting that for years,’ he said, ‘and don’t bother denying it.’ As he climbed the stairs he turned and said with quiet satisfaction, ‘Two sisters on the same couch, not bad going for Dessie boy, eh? I’ll say this for you, Daisy, you’re a damned sight tighter than your sister. Since she had the brat she’s too slack to be any use.’ Then he was gone.

  Daisy lay where he had left her for a long time, hiding in the darkness, wishing she could stay there forever. When her mind slowly began to function she started to feel panic overtaking her and lay down on the floor and covered herself with a blanket, leaving one ear uncovered for sounds of him returning. She had no sense of time, but slowly she began thinking more logically. The wetness between her legs, she’d have to attend to that. And there would be blood on the blanket, that would have to be got rid of, along with her lovely, ripped, stained underwear.

  Move quietly, though, she thought, don’t give Mam or Kay any reason to think something might be wrong, nor him any excuse to come back down. Ssh. A glass of water, cold water, she thought, running the kitchen tap at a low, quieter capacity for a long time, before holding the glass in her hands, then rolling the wet mist on the outside over her forehead. Every sound was magnified, making her fear that he might return, though common sense told her he would be asleep by now, thanks to the effects of the booze alone.

  And what of the morning? How was she supposed to behave? Was there anyone she could tell? And if she did, what would that do to a family already in turmoil?

  Her sister; she had to think of her sister and the baby, two babies soon. How could she tell Kay what her husband had done, and, come to that, how could she not tell her? She couldn’t run to her mother – Kathleen couldn’t help her in any way – but, worse, she couldn’t run to her father either, because he would say it was all her fault, wouldn’t he? He already had.

  There was no real plan in her mind, just the mental crossing-off of a series of things she couldn’t do that left only one that she could: she had to leave.

  She crept carefully up to the bathroom and locked the door, closing her eyes as she slid the bolt home, silently praying that it wouldn’t make a noise then lodging the back of a chair under the handle just in case. Slowly and quietly she washed herself. Once safely downstairs again, she changed her clothes for some drying on the pulley above the range, gathered a few more things together and put them in a small cardboard suitcase, stopping every few moments to listen, like an animal, for approaching danger. The blood-stained blanket and her red underwear were wrapped in newspaper and tied with string, then she sat waiting for time to pass and the first light of the new day to appear. She placed the pillows and the remaining blankets on the couch, so that if Kay came down very early in the dark she would think Daisy was still asleep there. It would buy her a little extra time, and when the mistake was discovered they’d all think she’d just left early for work.

  She let herself out, the case in one hand, the newspaper parcel in the other, and walked down the street till she came to a bin where she placed the parcel. She was an hour early at the store, so she walked down the street to pass the time, her mind whirling, wondering what to do next, wondering if it had really happened. It was a pleasant Friday morning, the first day of September, and the world looked just as it always had. Surely everything would have seemed different if it had really happened?

  The WAAF Recruiting Office was just opening up and she had to step onto the road to let the RAF people pass. Then she walked on a few steps, turned back, and walked in.

  ‘I want to join up,’ she said calmly.

  The WAAF Recruitment Officer looked up at her. ‘You do?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Now this is how I like to start the day. Do come in and sit down, Miss … ?’

  ‘Sheridan. Daisy Sheridan.’

  ‘And you really want to join us?’

  Daisy nodded. ‘I walk past every day on my way to work,’ she said. ‘I work at Fenwicks, down the road there. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.’ She was amazed at how calm and in control she seemed, how normal her voice sounded.

  ‘And what do you do there?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Well, a bit of everything really. I know how to type, file things, chase-up orders, answer the phone, and I do a bit of modelling as well. For customers, like. I model the dresses they’re interested in.’

  ‘And you want to swap that for our uniform?’ the woman asked her kindly.

  ‘Well, I know in the last war women were sent to work in factories, and if this one lasts that’s probably what will happen to me.’

 
; ‘And you don’t want that?’

  Daisy shook her head.

  ‘I don’t blame you, I’m sure you’d be far better off with us.’

  ‘I want to go today,’ Daisy said firmly.

  The woman looked up. ‘Not sure that will be possible, Miss Sheridan,’ she said. ‘You see, the trains will be packed, the evacuation of all the children in Newcastle begins today.’

  ‘I thought they’d gone on Tuesday?’ Daisy replied.

  ‘No, that was just a rehearsal just in case, but I don’t think anyone’s in any doubt that we’ll be at war within days, so the children are being evacuated now.’

  ‘Well, if I have to I’ll stand all the way on the train. I’ll sit beside the driver in the cab, I’ll help him shovel coal,’ she laughed, surprising herself even more by how relaxed and confident she sounded. Mrs Johnstone was right, everything came down to how well you could act a part. ‘I’ve made my mind up, there’s no reason to hang about. I’d rather be busy than hang about. See? I’ve even brought my case.’

  ‘Well, can you come back here at noon?’ the officer asked her. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  8

  When Joan Johnstone saw Daisy that morning she knew something was wrong and took the girl straight to her office. She took in the paleness of Daisy’s face and the look in her eyes, like a rabbit not only caught in the headlights, she thought, but one that had had a real fright. Then she looked at the battered case in her hand and knew it was something bad.

  ‘So what’s happened?’ she asked.