Daisy's Wars

by Meg Henderson

  The reception at Rose Cottage was as simple as the Bentleys were able to comprehend, with everyone within shouting distance in attendance and as much of the farm’s produce as the various tables could hold. It was far too noisy, there were too many people crammed in and it was hot, but it was a lovely wedding. Peter was friendly and attentive to everyone and even in the rush of people he was never less than polite to each guest who wanted to congratulate him, whether he knew them or not, but every now and again he would look up to locate her in the crowd and he would smile such a sweet smile at her that she blushed with happiness. Edith rushed towards Daisy and hugged her, the two friends spinning round with delight.

  ‘He seems wonderful!’ Edith shouted above the noise.

  ‘He is,’ Daisy smiled.

  ‘But I’m amazed, I never thought you’d ever get married.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Daisy giggled, ‘but there’s just something about him.’

  ‘I’ve got a secret, too,’ Edith laughed, taking Daisy’s hand and placing it on her stomach.

  Daisy’s eyes opened wide and her mouth formed a silent ‘Ooh!’

  Edith held up her hand to show off a gold band. ‘Married Doug in May. He’s back home now, I’m joining him next week! The baby’s due in February.’

  ‘You didn’t say a word!’ Daisy accused her.

  ‘You should talk!’ Edith replied.

  ‘How’s your cousin?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. Her lot were about the first to be demobbed, doesn’t know what to do now. Not much call for Balloon Operators in peace-time.’

  ‘Look, it’s too noisy here, can you stay here tonight and we can catch up tomorrow?’

  ‘But aren’t you going off on your honeymoon?’

  ‘No,’ Daisy said, ‘I want to settle in first. We might have a holiday later.’

  A little shadow had crossed her heart for a moment, though she didn’t let it show. Edith had married her Aussie and was going to live there. In that split second it was if Frank stood before her. ‘Did you know Dotty had got married as well? She’s not here, she’s still overseas.’

  ‘Did she marry that Aussie Spitfire pilot she used to write to?’ Edith asked innocently.

  ‘No,’ Daisy said, trying to keep her voice even, ‘he was shot down and killed.’

  ‘Oh God, poor Dotty!’ Edith exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, poor Dotty,’ Daisy murmured.

  ‘So who did she marry, then?’

  ‘Some doctor she met at her unit. Did Mar out of a wedding, too, as she’s never stopped hinting.’

  ‘Well, she’s had one now,’ Edith smiled.

  23

  In the following years, Peter and Daisy were happy. He clearly adored her and she was so grateful that she adored him back, even if their definitions of adoring were different.

  Dotty and her husband returned in 1947, then went straight off again to America, and Frank Moran’s name wasn’t mentioned, much to Daisy’s relief. Although it did prove to her that he had been more significant to her than he ever had been to Dotty, which disturbed her a little. This was a different Dotty: she had lost her dottiness almost completely and was every inch the physician’s wife, and the physician, Bertie by name, was a nice chap, which pleased Mar, especially now that she’d finally met ‘the blighter’. There was a dinner at Rose Cottage as boisterous as any of the others, and Daisy told Bertie of her mother’s illness and asked what he thought it could have been.

  ‘Simple,’ he grinned, lighting his pipe. ‘Rheumatic heart disease.’

  ‘Really?’ Daisy said. ‘My father could never understand why the doctors said it was her heart when it seemed like something to do with her lungs.’

  ‘Well, it was to do with her lungs, the two are linked. She’d had rheumatic fever as a child, it’s a condition prevalent in cold, wet climates and where nourishment and living conditions are poor. Sometimes the symptoms are so minor people don’t know they’ve had it, but usually there’s high fever, painful joints, then it’s gone, but only underground. With women the trouble comes during the advanced stages of pregnancy. At first your mother would’ve bloomed, but at around seven months the child would start putting on serious weight in preparation for birth, and that would’ve put a huge strain on a heart already under pressure. The valves wouldn’t have been working properly, you see, not controlling the blood-flow to the lungs and back again, so her blood wouldn’t have had enough oxygen either, and she’d have had trouble breathing.’

  ‘Could anyone have done anything?’ Daisy asked, remembering the sound of her mother’s breathing.

  ‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Bertie said philosophically. ‘Wasn’t the medical expertise around, I’m afraid, nor the medical care for that matter.’

  Before Dotty left for America the two women had a short conversation without Mar, and Dotty thanked Daisy for allowing her mother to dominate her wedding.

  ‘I did her out of one, I’m so glad you gave her yours, Daisy, though it must have been hell!’

  ‘Well, if I hadn’t given it to her she’d only have taken it,’ Daisy replied. ‘But I didn’t mind at all, it was lovely to be part of the family.’

  ‘I must say, though, I was pretty shocked when I heard you’d married Peter, but seeing you together I know it’s right,’ Dotty giggled.

  ‘You were shocked?’ Daisy said. ‘Think how I felt!’

  Daisy enjoyed her new life, even if she found it difficult to cope with staff. It seemed almost sinful to have a housekeeper, people to clean and open the door, but she adjusted.

  The only moment of real pain was the arrival of an unwelcome visitor a year after they had married. The maid had said there was a man at the door asking to see Mrs Bradley. He said he was a relative.

  Instantly Daisy knew who it was.

  ‘Show him in, Alice, thanks,’ she said, ‘then get Peter.’

  As he walked into her drawing room all she could think was, Dessie Doyle in my house!

  She was amazed to see that same smug smirk on his face. ‘Well, now, Daisy,’ he grinned, ‘haven’t you done well for yourself?’

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘The neighbours at Guildford Place told me you’d been traced to the WAAFs after the bombing, so I went to the police when I was demobbed and told them we were related.’

  ‘We aren’t,’ she said, ‘we never were. You only married my sister.’

  He laughed. ‘You never did accept that, did you, Daisy?’

  ‘So what do you want here?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I think I must be due some compensation,’ he said.

  She didn’t understand what he was talking about. ‘Compensation? What do you mean?’

  ‘From the bombing,’ he said. ‘There must have been something.’

  Her head was spinning but she managed to project a calm manner. ‘As far as I know there was some government grant to help people replace their furniture.’

  ‘That’ll be it, then,’ he grinned.

  ‘And, as far as I know again, it came in the form of vouchers.’

  ‘Better than nothing,’ he said, though he was obviously disappointed. ‘It should’ve been shared between the two of us.’

  Daisy was aghast. It took all of her self-control not to fly across the floor at him, nails flailing. ‘I think you’ll find that the house was in the name of Sheridan, and every piece of furniture, too.’

  ‘My wife and children lived there, I must have some rights,’ he said angrily.

  ‘I have no idea what rights you have. I’ve never been back to claim anything, if you want to try that’s up to you. Now, is there anything else before you go?’

  ‘Oh, very hoity-toity,’ he smiled. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Just then Peter arrived, smiling and friendly as usual, looking from Dessie to Daisy for an introduction.

  ‘This is my sister Kay’s husband,’ Daisy said, without taking her eyes off Dessie.

 
‘Her brother-in-law,’ Dessie grinned at her.

  Peter stepped forward, his arm outstretched to shake Dessie’s hand. Without taking her eyes from Dessie’s face, Daisy gently caught Peter’s arm and put it down.

  He looked at her, confused.

  ‘Peter, do you remember I told you I’d been raped?’ she said quietly. ‘Well, this is who did it, my brother-in-law, as he likes to call himself.’ She moved her hand down Peter’s arm and grasped his hand. ‘My father was working night shift at the pit, my mother was ill and bed-ridden, and my sister, his wife, was upstairs with a four-month-old baby and already three months pregnant with another. That’s when he raped me. I sat up all night then signed on the next day. I never saw my family again.’

  ‘It wasn’t rape,’ Dessie said smugly. ‘If she hadn’t wanted it she could’ve found a way to stop it.’

  ‘I was bruised for weeks,’ Daisy said quietly.

  ‘Some women like it rough.’ He made to light a cigarette.

  Peter freed himself from Daisy’s grip and said very quietly. ‘Mr … ?’

  ‘Doyle, Dessie Doyle,’ Dessie said.

  ‘Well, I’m sure I can gave you something to help you on your way, Mr Doyle.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Daisy cried.

  ‘Daisy, be quiet!’ Peter said sharply, then he turned Dessie towards the front door. Daisy could hear the sound of their footsteps growing more distant on the gravel outside, and she was bereft. Peter didn’t understand men like Dessie. If he gave him ten shillings Dessie would just keep coming back for more. Peter should’ve let her handle this.

  Then Peter came back.

  ‘Daisy, do we have such a thing in the house as some TCP? Something like that, and perhaps a dressing or two?’

  ‘What has he done to you?’ she asked, running towards him.

  ‘I rather think it was the other way round,’ Peter said cheerfully, ‘at least I damned well hope so!’ He held up his hands to show her his grazed and bleeding knuckles. ‘Felt rather good, actually,’ he beamed. ‘Didn’t think I still had it in me, to be honest.’

  ‘So you were a bare-knuckle fighter in your youth, were you?’ she asked, binding his hands with a hankie and calling Alice to bring in the first-aid box.

  ‘Well, I was actually, but I didn’t tell you because I thought my debonair side had attracted you. Didn’t you notice my nose?’ he asked, pulling it to one side. ‘I’ve been turning away from you all this time so that you wouldn’t see it.’ Then he pulled her to him and held her tightly. ‘He’s gone,’ he said, ‘and he won’t be back. I told him I’d kill him if he ever comes near us again, and I meant it.’

  It was only then that Daisy realised Dessie had been there in the back of her mind, or rather the fear that he would find her again. Now he was gone and she had this lovely man to thank for making her feel secure, for looking after her, when the pattern of her life had been that she cared for other people. She chuckled into his chest.

  ‘You’re laughing!’ he accused her. ‘I’m standing here in agony, bleeding all over the back of your blouse, may I say, and you’re laughing!’

  ‘I was just thinking,’ she said, ‘of you as Saint George!’

  ‘He had armour and, more to the point, metal gauntlets, and a big pointy thing as well, may I remind you!’

  ‘I love you,’ she said, without thinking.

  ‘You’ve never said that before,’ he said quietly. ‘It was worth it. Even if I die this moment from blood loss, it was worth it.’

  24

  Five years on Laura and Libby were both married with children, making Peter a grandfather, then Daisy was shocked to discover that she was pregnant. They had never tried or not tried to have children, but for some reason she thought it was one of those things that happened to other people.

  Peter was so ecstatic that he told everyone he knew the moment he did, and instead of calling Mar and par he jumped into his beloved MG and drove all the way to Rose Cottage with the news. He called Daisy to tell her Mar and Par were happy too, though she could hear that quite plainly from the screeching in the background, and that he’d be driving straight back again as soon as they’d all had some champagne.

  What surprised Daisy even more was that she gave birth to a son. Once again she had it in her mind that Sheridan women only had girls, probably because she never actually saw her sister’s son, she thought sadly. When she’d been informed that she had been safely delivered of a healthy boy she had almost asked, ‘Are you sure?’

  Peter was mesmerised by the child and by the change in his life. He had been married to Elizabeth for twenty years and they had considered their family complete with the arrival of Libby. If anything they were thinking of the years in the not-too-far distant future when their daughters would be off their hands and they could please themselves once again. When Elizabeth was killed he’d thought his life was over. He had only just managed to keep going because of the girls, and then he had spotted ‘this comely young wench’, and here he was, living a new and happy life – and with a son!

  He blustered a bit when it was suggested by his now married daughters that he had always secretly wanted a son. Certainly not, and how could they say such a thing, he had adored his daughters and there hadn’t been the slightest thought in his mind that a son would have been nice. He was lying of course, and everyone knew it; all men wanted sons, even when they lied and denied it.

  The child was called David, after Peter’s father, and he was the handsomest child ever seen. And not just because Peter said so, for everyone he asked told him so, and his daughters and his wife laughed.

  David was golden-haired and blue-eyed, as both his father and grandfather had been, and he laughed a lot, mainly because his father made it his business to make him laugh a lot. Peter took David with him as often as he was allowed, and on any excuse: to give his mother a rest, to show him some unforgettable sight that he would remember for the rest of his life, to show him off, really. Being an older father he had made his fortune, he wasn’t striving to establish himself as he had been when Laura and Libby were children, and so he had more time to spend with his second family. Daisy would watch them together, endlessly talking about some treasure the little boy had discovered, a nicely patterned stone, a branch, a bird flying overhead, and feel incredibly happy that she had been able to give this man, who was so full of love and good humour, the one thing he lacked: a son.

  Three years after that, when Peter was sixty years old, Daisy had a daughter. All Peter’s male friends teased him and he loved it, telling them that it really was nothing to do with him this time, he had been cuckolded as they had all once told him he would be, because the little girl had red hair and no one in his family had ever had red hair. Daisy was shocked when she saw the baby for the first time. There was red hair in her family, but again, for some inexplicable reason it hadn’t occurred to her that any child of hers could inherit the gene.

  When Peter came to see his daughter he found Daisy holding her, looking into her tiny face and crying.

  ‘She looks like my mother,’ she said, ‘and my sister, Kay.’

  ‘And that’s what she shall be called,’ he said, putting his arm around Daisy and kissing her hair. ‘Hello, little Kathleen,’ he said to his daughter.

  ‘And Elizabeth?’ Daisy suggested.

  ‘Kathleen Elizabeth,’ Peter agreed.

  In a very short time Katie proved to be a musical child. Peter didn’t notice it, but Daisy did; Daisy had been here before. Any instrument Katie picked up she could quickly learn to play, fast outgrowing musical toys and throwing them at the walls in frustration. At school she was given a recorder, and after exhausting its abilities in a few minutes was deeply insulted at being offered something so silly. She had a beautiful voice, but was plagued by having perfect pitch, which meant she was never satisfied with any sound she made, though she was worse with any sound anyone else made. If her father whistled or her mother sang she would hold her ears and beg them to stop
, because they were out of tune, which just made her father whistle even louder and considerably less in tune. As a teacher at her school struggled to get the choir to reach a note, Kathleen could bear it no more and ran to the music room, hit the right note on the piano repeatedly and shouted at the children, ‘Listen! Listen!’

  So it became clear that though she had inherited the ability of her grandmother and her aunt, she had a very different personality from either. Katie Bradley was strong-willed; she knew her own mind and would argue with her own shadow, and she had a temper as red as her hair. David, on the other hand, was a good-natured, easy-going boy, and he was the only one who could handle his sister when she was in one of her prima-donna strops, and he did it by making her laugh, just as his father did.

  Unlike his father, though, David was very clever academically, and scored so highly on his IQ tests at school that they did them twice more to make sure, then they brought in student teachers to witness the third series of tests. The only thing that impressed David about the exercise was that he was loaded with sweets for his troubles.

  Peter was delighted, but bemused. Compared to him David was a genius.

  ‘But I mean,’ he said to Daisy, ‘where does he get it from?’

  ‘Well, sometimes a musical gift goes with maths, sometimes it’s art,’ Daisy explained, teasing him. ‘So even though he’s missed my family’s musical gift, he’s got the maths that can go with it.’

  ‘So what you’re saying,’ he said archly, ‘is that they get nothing at all from me?’

  She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down level with hers. ‘Wanna try again?’ she asked seductively.

  ‘Why, Daisy Bradley!’ he said in mock shocked tones. ‘You hussy! But seriously, Daisy, what are we going to do with them?’

  ‘What do you mean – “do with them”?’

  ‘Well, they’re both bright in different ways. What do we do about schools?’

  ‘I think schools are pretty well set up to cope with academically bright children,’ Daisy said. ‘It’s the ones who aren’t bright they have trouble with. David will be fine, it’s Katie who’s the problem.’