‘I’ve joined the WAAFs,’ Daisy said, sitting down. ‘Honestly,’ she smiled, ‘my case is packed, I just came in to tell you.’
Joan looked at her seriously. ‘Daisy, I know you. Wasn’t I the one who taught you all you know? Well, don’t try to fool me. What’s happened?’
Before her, Daisy crumpled onto the desk, her head on her folded arms, sobbing.
‘He … he forced himself on me,’ she said, keeping her face hidden.
Joan tried to put her arms round the girl, but couldn’t because of the way she was sitting on the chair and leaning forward onto the desk. ‘Who did, Daisy?’ she said distractedly. ‘Look at me. Who forced himself on you? Daisy?’
Daisy looked up. ‘My brother-in-law,’ she said softly.
‘Little Kay’s husband?’ Joan said in a shocked voice.
‘Well, she’s not going to be little for another while,’ Daisy said, trying for humour but dissolving in tears once again.
‘Daisy,’ Joan said severely, ‘you have to stop crying and tell me. Blow your nose and settle yourself.’
Daisy did as she was told and sat back in her chair. ‘I’ve always liked this office, you know,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve always thought of it as my refuge from what’s out there.’ She looked up at Joan and sighed an uncertain shudder. ‘Kay told me yesterday that she was pregnant again so I waited for him when he came home from the pub and told him he shouldn’t have touched her so early.’
‘Oh, Daisy, that wasn’t very clever. You should know better than to talk to a man when he’s drunk.’
‘I know, I know, I was just so angry. She’s not bright, our Kay, she can’t stand up for herself, and the birth wasn’t easy, she was all torn down below, and he still—’
‘And he raped you?’ Joan said, aghast.
‘Threw me onto the couch, trapped me there, I couldn’t do a thing.’ She pulled up her skirt to reveal the bruises on her shins where he had knelt on her legs before forcing them apart with his knees.
Joan Johnstone drew in her breath and stared, horrified.
‘My thighs are the same,’ Daisy said miserably, ‘and my wrists.’ She held out both arms, pulling back her sleeves to show vivid reddish-purple marks around each wrist. ‘He held my wrists above my head,’ she explained, then pulled the sleeves down before placing her hands below desk-level, as if ashamed of them. ‘I never believed women who said they couldn’t stop men,’ she said quietly. ‘I always thought they must’ve been able to do something, you know? But I couldn’t, I really couldn’t, and I kept thinking he’d stop, and wondering what would happen if I did manage to scream. The only one who could have come would have been my sister, and I couldn’t do that to her, could I? And my mother would hear too if I made a noise, and she’s so ill, I didn’t want her to be upset.’
Joan nodded. ‘And were you … I mean, had you … was it your first time?’
Daisy nodded and started crying again, her head down.
Joan Johnstone walked up and down the floor of the office. ‘There must be something we can do, Daisy, we can’t let him get away with it,’ she said in a troubled voice. ‘Does no one else know? Your father?’
Daisy laughed coldly. ‘My father?’ she said. ‘He told me I went out of my way to provoke men. As far as he’s concerned I’m no better than a street-walker. Anyway, he was on night shift at the pit. They don’t know yet that I’ve gone, and, if my luck’s in, when I go back to the WAAF office at noon they’ll get me away from here before they find out.’
The two women sat silently for a moment. ‘Can you do something for me, Mrs Johnstone?’ Daisy asked. ‘If I write a note to my mother, can you make sure she gets it? I thought maybe your sister could take it round.’
‘Of course, Daisy, of course,’ Joan said absently. ‘I’ll go along to the cashier and get your wages while you do that.’
But Joan had been making plans, too, and, before seeing the cashier, she decided to go to her bank. She left Daisy writing to Kathleen, telling her that she’d decided to join up on the spur of the moment, that she hoped they’d all forgive her but she’d only have been sent to work in a factory anyway.
Not that she would be forgiven, of course, Daisy knew that. To her father she would be Aunt Clare all over again, another woman who had abandoned her family, her ill mother and her sister who’d just had a child and would soon have another. How any female could abandon her own family was beyond Michael, and now he had two who had done it. Just up and left, not caring what misery they left behind, the shame of it, there was definitely a flaw in the female line. Daisy could almost hear him. She’d be no daughter of his, Michael would say, just as he’d pronounced Clare no sister of his, despite the fact that she’d brought up him and his brothers and seen him safely married. Daisy knew this even as she wrote her note, but she hoped her mother might understand, even if just a little bit.
When Joan came back, Daisy handed her the note, and in exchange Joan handed her an envelope containing her wages. Daisy looked inside and then back at Joan.
‘I can’t be due this much!’ she said.
‘I’ve put a little something in there for you, to help you on your way.’
Daisy counted out fifty pounds, a fortune. ‘I can’t take this!’ she said.
‘Daisy, George and I have more than enough, we don’t have children and we have a nice house. You’ve been like a daughter to me, you must take this little bit of money as a kindness to me. Please don’t embarrass me by throwing it back in my face.’
‘No, I wouldn’t … it’s not that I’m not grateful, but you’ve already done so much for me.’
‘Nonsense! You’re a clever girl and you’ve applied yourself well here. You’ve done it all yourself, so let’s hear no more of that.’ Then she looked at Daisy and the two of them hugged. ‘I’ll miss you,’ Joan said tearfully. ‘You must keep in touch, write to me here at the store but mark your letters “Personal”, now promise me?’
‘Of course,’ Daisy said.
When Daisy went back to the Recruiting Office there was good news. A new intake of WAAFs from various parts of the north were headed for Innsworth in Gloucester via Newcastle for initial training. Daisy was to meet up with them at the station and travel south. So it was goodbye to Newcastle and to her family, who wouldn’t even know she had gone till she didn’t arrive home that night. And then, hopefully, her note to her mother would be delivered. She thought suddenly of Kathleen’s reaction and a wave of panic almost knocked her off balance. There was nothing she could do, though, no other way out, she realised. But she would make it up to her Mam some day, somehow, she decided.
At the station, all around were weeping mothers as their children were sent off on the mass evacuation of city children to the countryside, to keep them safe from the expected German bombs. As the mothers sobbed the children looked worried and confused, each carrying a little bag of possessions, their gas masks in boxes round their necks and labels with their names and addresses on pinned to their coats.
Joan Johnstone saw Daisy off, the platforms milling with children, the smoke from the engines filling the high glass ceiling and noise everywhere.
‘I keep thinking there has to be another way,’ Joan said, clutching Daisy’s hand.
‘There isn’t,’ Daisy said shortly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll manage.’
‘But it’s been so quick,’ Joan said helplessly, and Daisy nodded.
‘And what if you’re … ?’
‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, if I come to it,’ Daisy said.
‘But you’ll keep in touch? You’ll let me know? I feel I should be able to do more for you. I feel so useless!’ Joan said angrily.
‘You’ve done everything for me,’ Daisy replied. ‘Who else would I have turned to if you hadn’t been there?’
They both started crying, but it went unnoticed because everywhere around them there were crying people.
‘You could come and live with me and George,’ Joan sai
d desperately. ‘How about that?’ What was the worst that could happen, she thought, that the girl would think there was something odd about her and George? There was something odd, and anyway, in these circumstances, what did it matter?
Daisy shook her head. ‘How could that help?’ she asked kindly. ‘I have to go, there’s nothing else to do. Besides,’ she smiled, ‘I’ve signed the papers.’
Joan looked at her, recognising a show when she saw it being put on, feeling proud of her girl and devastated at the same time. No one said life had to be fair, but this went beyond unfair. ‘I’ve become so fond of you, Daisy,’ she sniffed into her handkerchief.
‘I know,’ Daisy smiled back. ‘You’re so funny,’ she said, ‘you even blow your nose like a lady.’
Then they collapsed into each other’s arms before Daisy forced herself apart and moved towards a carriage. Joan handed her little cardboard suitcase up to her, trying to think of something memorable to say before they parted, aware that time was running out before either of them was ready for it. They had come so far, further than many women related by blood. They meant much more to each other than fellow-workers and the pain they were both feeling at losing each other was hard for either of them to put into words. The parting was too sudden, too tragic for them to articulate feelings that ran even deeper than they had realised.
‘I’ll take your letter to your mother, and don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s all right,’ Joan shouted as the train moved off. ‘And remember what I told you – life’s an act, just a series of parts. Don’t take it seriously, just learn your lines and say them as though you mean them. As long as you know inside what’s what, you’ll be fine!’
That was the memory Daisy would always carry of Joan Johnstone, a small figure dressed in black, hopping up and down and cheerfully throwing kisses with wild abandon as the train gathered speed. All the while getting smaller until Daisy couldn’t see her any more and so couldn’t see Joan crying from pity and frustration. But she knew, because she was crying the same tears herself.
On the train Daisy found herself sitting between Violet from Darlington and Celia from Middlesbrough, two of the other northerners bound for life as WAAFs, but it was so packed and noisy that she was hardly able to exchange a word with them. It suited her, though. She was withdrawn, needing her own company, still in shock, she supposed. She hadn’t understood shock before, she’d thought it was a bit like getting a fright, you just calmed down and got on with things fairly swiftly. But this was different, this was almost like being ill. The other two girls were already chatting on as though they had known each other all their lives, the kind of conversation that didn’t need to be listened to. Daisy was glad to notice that all that was required was a nod of the head or a smile occasionally. She was trying not to go over it all in her mind; rape wasn’t unheard of, after all, and girls did get over it, so why dwell on it?
‘God, I’m hot!’ Celia said beside her. ‘I didn’t know there were this many brats in the world.’ She was a tiny, talkative blonde, Daisy noticed, her mind flitting back and forth, while Violet was a tall, hippy brunette.
But Daisy couldn’t stop thinking about the implications of what had happened. Suppose she was pregnant: could she get pregnant first time round? She’d heard that you couldn’t, and was slightly relieved by that, but there again, suppose that was wrong?
And had she wanted it, as Dessie had suggested, even subconsciously? She knew that wasn’t so, the very thought of him had always revolted her, long before he took any notice of her. But what about those times when he had pushed against her, touched her or just stood there, staring at her in that way, that sickeningly raw, animal way. She had never told anyone, never drawn attention to what he was doing, how he was making her feel, because he could have, and would have, said she was imagining it. No one would’ve believed her anyway, they would have asked why she hadn’t spoken up earlier if he’d been behaving like that, as indeed she was now asking herself. After all, any decent girl would. Besides, Dessie had always been there, a member of the family, an asset they were all grateful to have around, or nearly all. And that was another thing, she had made it clear that she didn’t like him, so they’d have accepted his denials and would have said she was making it up.
Her father had always thought her dislike of Dessie was based on jealousy, though it wasn’t, and now that she was grown up he’d shown that he believed she went out of her way to entice all the poor, innocent men around. He would’ve taken Dessie’s side and she’d have been thrown out of the family whether she was needed or not.
So she had lost nothing. Nothing but her virginity that was.
Daisy shuddered. Then she thought about her mother and wondered who would look after her now; who would wash her, make sure she had clean bedclothes and was comfortable, remember to take her tea without her asking. She lowered her head and tried to stop the tears. Her poor Mam, who didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her in her entire life and now she would think Daisy had deserted her.
Well, there was nothing for it. There was no going back so the family would have to manage. Kay was stuck in the house anyway, and she’d be stuck even more with two children to look after, so she’d just have to get to grips with the situation Daisy had lived with all her life. It wasn’t ideal, she knew that, but there was nothing to be done.
That evening Joan Johnstone didn’t go straight home to Holly Avenue. She went first to see her sister in Guildford Place, then she walked to the other end of the road, to the Sheridan house, and knocked on the door.
Dessie answered her knock. He wasn’t hard to identify: Daisy had described him often and she knew there were no other young men in the house.
‘Mr Doyle?’ she asked politely.
‘Who wants to know?’ he asked back.
He stared at her in an arrogant way and she knew she would’ve marked him down as trouble even if she hadn’t already known he was.
‘My name’s Mrs Johnstone, Mr Doyle,’ she said. ‘My family and the Clancys were good friends and when I said I’d be in the neighbourhood I was asked to pass on their good wishes to Mrs Sheridan. I have a message here for her,’ Joan continued, a sweet smile on her face.
Dessie looked her up and down, and she saw him deciding from the way she dressed and spoke that she wasn’t from these parts; in fact she represented the kind of people he both feared and felt inferior to: she was a toff. He looked at the letter in her hand.
‘Who’s it from?’ he asked suspiciously, putting his hand out.
‘Well, as I said, it’s good wishes from old friends, but I think Mrs Sheridan should read them first, don’t you?’ she said, head to one side, still smiling. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll give it to her myself.’
She made to walk past him a split second before he tried to stop her. ‘It’s all right, Mr Doyle, I know she doesn’t keep well, I won’t upset her,’ she said brightly, and headed inside the house. In the hallway she saw the Singer sewing machine she had given Daisy. She’d told the girl she couldn’t master the thing, it was just gathering dust in her house so better to give it to someone who would make use of it, but that hadn’t been true. Knowing Daisy was a skilled needlewoman and liked to copy the clothes in Fenwicks she had wanted to give her a machine, but she knew Daisy would’ve refused a brand-new one, so she had bought a second-hand one and spun her a yarn so that she would accept it.
She paused for a second, imagining Daisy sitting there, happily sewing her creations, remembering the skirt on the bias that had been such a disaster and how annoyed Daisy had been, and she closed her eyes for a moment. The girl had so enjoyed making things on her machine, even the disasters. Such a little pleasure, and now the machine looked as forlorn as a headstone. She gathered herself and looked up at Dessie.
‘This way?’ she asked perkily, heading for the likeliest room without pausing for a reply. Not that she had to use too much imagination, she could hear Kathleen’s laboured breathing as she put her hand on the door
handle.
Even though Daisy had told her of Kathleen’s ill-health, Joan was shocked by her first glimpse and had to work hard to cover her reaction. She couldn’t tell if Kathleen was awake or not at first, her eyes were hooded and her cheeks were a shiny bright red against discoloured, unhealthy-looking skin. Her whole body wheezed, and her arms were unnaturally swollen. Joan supposed her legs, hidden under the blankets, would be, too.
‘Mrs Sheridan?’ she asked quietly. ‘I’m Mrs Johnstone.’
Kathleen didn’t move, apart from an almost imperceptible nod of her head indicating that she knew the name. Then her eyes looked behind Joan, to where Dessie was still standing in the doorway, smoking despite Kathleen’s breathing.
‘It’s all right, Mr Doyle,’ Joan said, smiling her false smile. ‘You won’t mind if I shut the door, will you, Mrs Sheridan?’
Kathleen shook her head slightly, but said nothing. Talking took too much effort.
Joan shut the door and returned to the bed.
‘Mrs Sheridan,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m Daisy’s boss at Fenwicks, I assume you know that?’
Another slight nod.
‘Please don’t upset yourself, but I have a note from her and some news. Would you like me to read it?’ She didn’t wait for the nod this time, but carefully opened the envelope and read the contents of the letter, and found herself suddenly overcome, hearing Daisy’s voice in her head. Not that Daisy had revealed anything of her real reason for going, just that the house was too crowded now and would be even more so when Kay’s next child arrived, so she had decided to join the WAAFs before she was sent to a factory and she hoped her mother would forgive her. She made no mention of her father or of anyone else, which Joan found more significant than Daisy had intended.
Joan looked at Kathleen, prepared for some sort of reaction, but there was none.
‘I can assure you that she’s all right, Mrs Sheridan, I saw her off myself. She wanted to do this in a way that would cause you least upset and thought it would be better for you if you didn’t know she was going. All those long goodbyes, you know the sort of thing.’
Daisy's Wars Page 10
