She decided to keep her eyes down so that she could only see those on either side of her, not that it was difficult to limit her gaze with the amazing food and amounts of it on offer. There was pork, beef, chicken, duck, and that was all she recognised, with various vegetables and a confusing array of knives, forks, spoons and glasses on the table. She remembered Joan Johnstone telling her that dinner-table etiquette was simple, you just started at the outside and worked your way in. So that’s what she did. ‘Act the part,’ she heard Joan’s voice in her head. ‘That’s all it is, Daisy, acting.’ And Daisy found herself thinking ‘Wait till I tell Joan about this!’
Suddenly she stopped, spoon halfway to her mouth, remembering that Joan was no longer there, but gone. Completely and forever. She hadn’t reached the personal grief stage yet; she was grappling with the nothingness where her family and Joan should be, trying not to dwell on the thought of them all just being dead, because if she did so she had to force down an accompanying wave of panic that she would never – never – see them again.
‘Is the soup too hot, Daisy, dear?’ Mar said at her side.
‘Just a little,’ she smiled, putting her spoon down again, bemused and confused by the tumble of emotions all happening inside her at once. There was the horror of losing everyone who mattered to her, and yet whoever this new chap was, he had brought a kind of electricity to the air that she had never experienced before.
After the lavish dinner there was lots of good-natured chat and teasing, with Daisy making sure she kept a safe distance from the young man. She found she could keep track of him just by feeling that he was nearby, and then she would move away. She had the curious illusion that everyone else was standing still and the entire room was in black and white, with only him and her moving and in colour. He eventually caught up with her, as somehow she had always known he would.
‘I have the feeling that you’re avoiding me,’ he said shyly.
‘Now why would I do that?’ she asked evenly, registering his deep tan, blue eyes and fairish, hair.
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ he said, laughing gently.
Australian accent? she thought.
‘Maybe you just don’t like me,’ he suggested, looking at her.
‘Well, why would you think that? I don’t even know you, Mr … ?’
‘Frank Moran,’ he replied. ‘Royal Australian Air Force.’
Moran? she thought. Isn’t that Irish? You’d think I’d have registered that first time round.
‘Oh,’ she said, in a disinterested voice.
He laughed. ‘You’re thinking. “Another Fly Boy on the make”, aren’t you?’
‘I wasn’t, strangely enough,’ she said quietly, casually looking around the room as though for someone, anyone else, a technique she had perfected to deflect unwanted male attention. ‘And I really wouldn’t advise it if you are. The big, brave flying-ace thing has no effect on me.’
‘Ouch!’ he said. Then, ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m an RTO at RAF Langar,’ she said, trying not to sound as pleased with herself as she felt.
‘So you’ll be in the tower, talking to pilots?’ he asked.
‘That’s the general idea.’
‘Maybe we’ll have a proper conversation one day,’ he said. ‘I fly a Spitfire.’
‘I doubt it, then,’ Daisy smiled tightly back at him. ‘We’re a Bomber Command Station.’
‘You could still find yourself talking to a Spit pilot,’ he grinned.
‘I’ll make a point of looking forward to that,’ she replied in a deliberately weary voice.
He looked at her seriously. ‘Would you rather I just left you alone?’ he asked.
‘To be perfectly honest, I would,’ Daisy said calmly. ‘No offence, but I spend my working life surrounded by Fly Boys, I really am immune to every line you can think of.’
‘Maybe I wasn’t trying to spin you line; maybe I just thought you’d be pleasant to talk to.’
Daisy looked him straight in the eye. ‘Yes,’ she said coldly, ‘that sounds very likely. But don’t worry, everyone makes mistakes.’
Then she turned her head away as though still looking for that anyone else in the room rather than him, so she didn’t see him move off; but she felt it and was relieved that he had gone. Despite her outer coolness she felt confused, disturbed even, which scared her in a way, the days were long gone when she could be thrown off-balance. There was a feeling deep inside her that she had to keep this man away from her, a conviction that this thing had to be nipped in the bud.
And what was this thing, exactly? Attraction? Yes, she conceded, pretending to sip the fizzy cider, it was attraction, like metal to a magnet, there was no way of denying it, but it made her want to flee, not hang around for more of him. Even so, she couldn’t help smiling to herself at the impression she had given him of the work she did, when the only time she had been in the tower at Langar the Squadron Leader hadn’t known who or what she was and had told her to go away for a few days and he’d try to find out.
After the dinner party had ended Dotty followed Daisy into her room, and Daisy’s heart fell. She wanted to go to sleep in that beautiful, soft, warm bed in that silent, comfortable room, but she knew that Dotty was the kind of person who had to wind down before she could sleep, and as she was responsible for providing Daisy with all this luxury, she couldn’t bring herself to throw Dotty out. The night’s events were discussed, each young man’s character, action and conversation dissected, with Daisy supplying the occasional response when required, a skill she was perfecting.
‘You and that Spitfire chap didn’t seem to hit it off very well,’ Dotty said.
‘Who?’
‘Frank Moran.’
‘Which one was he?’ Daisy asked.
‘The one you were talking to last. I’ve been just dying to meet him. Freddy’s been talking about him forever, he’s terribly well-known you know.’
‘Is he?’
‘Cripes, yes! Didn’t he tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’ That was another skill she was picking up: not completely answering the question asked.
‘About the Battle of Britain, of course.’
‘No,’ Daisy said honestly, ‘he never mentioned that, as far as I can recall. I wasn’t really listening to him, to be honest.’
‘Well, he flew a Spit in the Battle of Britain, and Freddy says that out of one thousand men over four hundred were killed, but Frank was in it all the way through. He had a tremendous kill-rate, so Freddy says.’
Daisy felt crushed and ashamed of the way she had spoken to him, and she was glad she was hearing this in darkness – darkness had long been her friend – so that Dotty wouldn’t see her blushing. ‘Mm,’ she said sleepily.
‘Oh, Daisy, you’re almost asleep, I’m being so selfish! See you in the morning.’ Dotty jumped off Daisy’s bed. ‘Night!’ she called.
‘Mm,’ Daisy repeated, then she lay in the lovely darkness and thought, Dear God, to have spoken to a Battle of Britain ace like that! Fair enough that she’d wanted rid of him, but the man deserved some respect, a little dignity at least.
Then there was Mar. The only outright lie she’d told her was about her family being in New York, but what was she to say? That they had been wiped out by a bomb a week ago and the bits that had been recovered were buried days ago, and there she was, attending a posh dinner-party in a mansion and chatting as though she hadn’t a care in the world?
At least she had worn black, she thought wryly. Should she have told the truth? What good would that have done anyone, her dead family included? But still, now that she’d told the lie, there was no way out. She would have to maintain it forever-more, though it wouldn’t cause any problems that she could see. She was coping with it in her own way, she told herself, as was her right, but somewhere in her heart there was a doubt that she couldn’t locate because she didn’t want to.
Next morning both girls had a lie-in before a breakfast consisting of
eggs – boiled, fried, poached and scrambled – bacon, tomatoes, fried bread, kidneys, mushrooms, sausages, porridge with cream, kippers, and something called kedgeree that Daisy had never come across before. Once again the amount and array of food shocked her, and Dotty watched her with a look of misery on her face. They were alone, Par and Mar were out with Freddy and his friends.
‘Daisy, I feel really rotten about this,’ Dotty said.
‘About what?’
‘All this food. You see, the farm produces most of it, not the fish, of course, a friend of Par’s sends that down from Scotland. Par says what good would it do if we did without it, there isn’t so much that it would make the slightest dent if we gave it all away. And we do keep the estate workers fed with it, it’s not as if we hoard it all to ourselves.’
‘Dotty, relax,’ Daisy smiled, tucking into her eggs. ‘I’m not complaining, I’d fight a duel with my own grandmother for this egg.’
‘But you won’t tell the others, will you, at Langar, I mean? Please? I’d hate them to find out and treat me like a toff. That’s why I asked for the car to come to the station rather than the base, it’ll drop us there on the way back, too. People can be strange when they see the Rolls, and I don’t want them to hate me because of all this.’ She looked around at her luxurious home and grimaced, and Daisy laughed at her.
‘Your secret is safe with me,’ she replied. ‘Who knows, I might need you to cover up for me one of these days.’ She looked at Dotty’s serious expression and laughed. ‘Anyway, I’m your partner in crime now, I’ve eaten the forbidden food.’
The next two days were spent walking, cycling and talking in the clear, quiet air. It was a million miles away from the life Daisy now led, and much more than a million away from Newcastle. You could hear birds singing and, in the distance, the sound of cows and ewes calling to their young. If Daisy could get away from Dotty she could stand alone, watching the lambs leaping around together as though they had springs on their feet, and for some reason the grass seemed greener and lusher than she had ever noticed before. Along a country lane she found a pond with ducks and returned later with bread to feed them, feeling guilty, knowing that food was in short supply everywhere, then thinking that Rose Cottage existed in another world, a world of plenty, even for ducks. Sometimes she wandered alone, but mostly she went with the other young people who were there.
Daisy tried to think of ways to make amends with the Australian but decided she couldn’t actually apologise, that would leave her in a vulnerable position, open to his advances. He didn’t make any, though, merely exchanging the fewest words possible when their paths crossed, much to her relief.
He watched her, though; she could feel that, and wondered why the sensation should be different. She had been watched by males before, after all. It was different, that was all she could say, it just was, and she couldn’t work out why. But the rest of it, the calm, quiet countryside, she could get used to that, she decided. If she survived the war, and many wouldn’t …
She lowered her head – many hadn’t – then she looked up again, over the green fields. If she survived, she wanted to live in the country. This was where the new Daisy belonged.
As they were leaving after three days of peace, quiet and comfort, Mar drew her aside.
‘Daisy, I want you to know that you can come here any time you want, whenever you have leave you don’t want to spend in London, though I know you’ll be in great demand there for parties and fun. Doesn’t matter if Dotty is here or not, if you need to be quiet, just let me know and I’ll send the car for you.’
Daisy was overwhelmed and hugged Mar.
‘And may I ask you a favour?’
‘Of course,’ Daisy said, ‘anything.’
‘It’s about Dotty,’ Mar said quietly. ‘She’s a bubbly little thing, always has been, much more than the rest of us, and that’s saying something. I have no idea why they should think she could handle being a medical orderly, and I’m afraid she might not be able to, that’s the thing. I have this fear that she won’t admit it. She’s always been overshadowed a bit by Freddy, he’s the kind of chap who excels at everything he tries, while Dotty has to work at it, so if she’s struggling she won’t say because she’ll think she’s a failure, do you see?’
Daisy nodded; she did see. She stood there half-listening, thinking back on the days when everything her family had to give went to Kay. All that time she’d thought she was the only one it had ever happened to; it had never occurred to her that there were other people in the same boat.
‘The thing is, Daisy, you’re a level-headed girl, mature for your years, and I’d like to think you’d keep an eye on her, and if you think it’s all going wrong, that you might let me know.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Daisy said brightly. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mar, I’ll watch out for her. But she’s tougher than you think. I’ve never seen a female throw a right hook like Dotty!’
‘Oh, she’ll have learned that from Freddy,’ Mar laughed, then looked at Daisy, ‘but what … ?’
‘She floored an officer at West Drayton,’ Daisy chuckled, ‘an old school friend of Freddy’s. Apparently he’d suggested that she should provide him with the home comforts WAAFs are expected to provide officers with.’
‘And Dotty let the blighter have it?’
‘Well,’ Daisy laughed, ‘depends what you mean by “it”, but she certainly let him have a right hook to the jaw!’
Mar was overcome with mirth and slapped Daisy’s shoulder so hard that she was put off-balance for a moment. ‘Had much the same effect on him as that slap had on me, in fact!’ Daisy giggled.
Mar threw her arms around Daisy and hugged her. ‘Oh, I wish there was some means of letting her know I’ve heard that,’ she laughed, ‘but I don’t suppose there is, is there?’
‘No!’ Daisy chided her. ‘There isn’t, Mar!’
The two girls left in the Rolls, the usual hamper from home on the front seat beside the chauffeur, as the band of young men took off in the opposite direction for London in sports cars – the upper-class RAF pilot’s only possible land-borne transport. Dotty was chattering away good-naturedly, as Dotty always did, while Daisy thought about her conversation with Mar. She didn’t understand why people thought of her as mature and sensible. It was all an act, inside she had no idea what she was doing or thinking most of the time, yet she was always put in the position of carer, as though that was her natural role. It wasn’t, though, that was the thing, it really wasn’t, so why did they think it was? Was it something she was doing that gave them that impression?
Just then there was a rapid tooting of a car horn and one of the sports cars that had headed for London drew alongside the stately Rolls with a great screeching of brakes, forcing the car to stop. Dotty rolled the window down and Frank Moran’s head appeared.
‘I was just wondering,’ he said, looking from one to the other, ‘if you girls would write to me?’
Daisy and Dotty exchanged glances.
‘You see, my next posting is to Orkney and Shetland, wherever that is. I gather it’s pretty remote.’
‘I’ll say!’ Dotty giggled.
‘And I thought if you felt like it you might take pity on a lonely Fly Boy far away from home and drop him the odd letter. He’d be very grateful.’
‘Of course, that would be wizzo!’
Daisy closed her eyes. Wizzo indeed, she thought, and when she opened them again Dotty was holding on to Frank’s hand for dear life, but he was looking at Daisy. She hadn’t said a word in response and that was how she wanted to leave it. Let him correspond with Dotty, who was already totally besotted with him before she had even met him. Let Dotty reply, and she knew Dotty would, and that would be an end to it.
‘It was good meeting you,’ he said, still looking at Daisy, ‘even if I did bore you to death.’
‘You didn’t bore me, Frank!’ Dotty squealed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
Then Frank went back to his
little car and the Rolls moved off. Dotty turned round and waved out of the back window. ‘He’s still there, waving,’ she said in a hushed, excited voice. ‘I think I have a chance with him, who’d have thought it? Look, Daisy!’ and she continued to wave, but Daisy stared straight ahead.
12
The Rolls dropped them off at the station again and they found a lorry going back to Langar, stowed their gear in the back and climbed in beside the driver. On the way to the base they chatted as much as the engine noise allowed, but Daisy’s mind wasn’t really on it, and she had to fight to keep the conversation going. She was thinking of him – the Aussie – not thinking of him exactly, but he was there in her mind and she couldn’t get rid of the image. When they were within sight of the camp they saw an aircraft lying at a strange angle in a field. The driver followed their gaze.
‘Happened last night,’ he said. ‘A Wimpy.’ Wellington bombers were nicknamed Wimpys because of their rotund shape, which had reminded some wit of Popeye the Sailorman’s well-fed, hamburger-eating friend, J. Wellington Wimpy. ‘It was shot up pretty badly and couldn’t make it back.’
‘Are the crew safe?’ Dotty asked, looking at the charred remains of the aircraft as they passed.
The driver shook his head. ‘They were alive when she crashed, but then she exploded. Nobody could get near her for the flames, the boys all died. The firemen and medics were pretty upset, they could hear them screaming but couldn’t do anything.’ He shrugged and glanced at them. ‘That’s how it is sometimes,’ he said. ‘You know how it is.’
The two young women, fresh from a leave spent in luxury, eating good food and sleeping in comfortable beds, didn’t know how it was, as it happened, and sat in subdued silence for the rest of the journey, painfully aware that they soon would. They made their way to the WAAFery to sign in and were immediately set upon by the WAAF CO. The front entrance, she told them coldly, was reserved for officers and senior NCOs; common or garden WAAFs must use the back door. She was prepared, she informed them grandly, to overlook their transgression this time, as they were new to the base, but she could have put them on a charge, and would if she caught them using the front door again. They headed for the dining room, suddenly aware they had wandered back into the real world.
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