Maggie's Girl (6 page)

William had given a lifetime to his garden, growing mostly flowers. Over the last few months Peter, digging for Victory, had been busy turning it into a large vegetable patch. Plenty needed doing; Daisy knew he'd be really glad of the help – and even more pleased to see Billy taking an interest.

‘You're a good lad.' She smiled up at him.

He'd finished his shift mid-afternoon and got home to have a bath and change before coming up the hill.

He looked as if he meant business, and Daisy was pleased to see him home and doing something useful – away from his books, for once.

‘Where's our Mary, then?' he asked, turning another spadeful.

It was a beautiful day. Mary's day off, and Daisy knew she planned to spend it in Castle Maine with her RAF boy. The base was only five miles down the road, and it appeared Mary was intent on making the most of it. She was hardly ever without a date nowadays.

Daisy told Billy all about it – it did her good to let it all out.

Thinking about Mary kept her mind off other things, though, and Billy knew that.

‘Mags'll be back safe and sound, you'll see.' Billy knew exactly what was on his mother's mind.

‘What if she doesn't come back?' Daisy could hardly bear to think what was happening in France. If only Maggie had listened to her!

‘What if—' She stopped. She couldn't even put it into words. Daisy hated not being able to affect the outcome of things. It made her feel thwarted, defeated almost.

‘Happen you just ought to concentrate on being proud of what she's doing,' Billy suggested.

‘I am proud of her!' Daisy retorted a little defensively. It was true, she was prouder of Maggie than she'd ever admitted to anyone.

‘She shouldn't have gone.' Daisy couldn't keep accusation out of her voice. ‘I have enough on with Dad and the job, and this wretched war, without having to worry about Maggie, too!'

She stopped.

‘What, Mam?' Billy prompted, so she said it anyway.

‘I'm too old for looking after children, Billy! I know Holly's nearly grown, but Harry's such a handful. He runs rings round us; I never know the half of what he's up to!'

‘He's a lad. Can't you remember some of the things I used to get up to?'

‘You were never like that, our Billy!'

Billy had been a doddle compared to Harry. Daisy sighed. She ought not to feel this way, not with her own grandchildren, not when she loved them so much.

‘I'm tired, I expect, that's all. Not been getting a lot of sleep.'

‘You mustn't worry about things so. It's the war. It happens,' he consoled her.

‘Oh, the war! Folk of my age have been through it once already – and lost people, too!'

Ned was never far from her thoughts nowadays, yet she couldn't even speak of him, not to this good sweet boy, nor to Mary, and especially not to Peter.

What would Peter say if he knew she was spending so much time thinking of someone else? She loved Peter, of course, but could she be blamed if there was still a place in her heart for Ned Bradshaw? He was still the father of her child, and she'd loved him dearly once – still did, if the truth were known.

‘Are you sure you're all right, Mam?' Billy was leaning on his spade, watching her curiously.

‘Of course I am.' She made a determined effort to pull herself together. ‘Have you sent those papers back yet?'

Billy's call-up papers had arrived the week before, and for some reason he seemed to be prevaricating in sending them off.

Daisy couldn't for the life of her understand why. His was a reserved occupation; there was no pressure on him to join up. He was needed here. 

‘I haven't sent 'em in yet.' He stopped digging. ‘Why? What's the rush?'

‘These things are best resolved.'

He looked at her for a few seconds, then returned intently to turning the soil over, chopping it with the sharp blade, his back bent with the strain.

‘Were you going to say something?' Daisy demanded.

‘What is there to say?'

He'd clammed up, as he usually did when anything difficult was in the offing. The silence grew until it became
uncomfortable
. He thrust the spade savagely into the ground and turned over a clump of soil.

‘Is something the matter?' Daisy asked quietly. ‘It looks like it!' Her voice was sharp with worry. ‘You wouldn't do anything silly? I mean you would tell me, before—?'

‘Do you think I'm going to run away and join up? What gives you the idea I'd do any such thing?'

‘You never tell me anything, Billy, nowadays,' she answered slowly. ‘I hardly know a thing about you, where you're going, what you're doing.'

Daisy and her son had always been so close. She couldn't believe how much he'd changed.

‘I'm a man, not a child,' Billy said patiently. ‘Why should I come running to you?'

A man – nineteen years old! Daisy gazed at him.

‘If you had any idea – if you really knew me at all!' A fierce light sprang into his eyes, and then just as quickly disappeared. He sounded so truculent, not like their Billy. Daisy's eyes widened in surprise, and to her horror, he flung down his spade and stalked off into the house.

What had she said to make him storm off like this? Her
dear sweet kind Billy, who'd never hurt a soul if he could help it?

‘Gran?'

Holly stood on the garden path, her school satchel on her shoulder. Daisy frowned.

‘What is it now?' Her mind was all on Billy, inside the house. Had he begun to calm down? She'd have to go in.

‘Can we talk?' Holly put her satchel down. ‘I wanted to catch you on your own. There's something I need to ask you.'

The child was looking pale and upset, Daisy saw. Something else wrong here, by the looks of it!

‘What is it? I haven't time for playing games.'

‘I know you haven't.' Holly took a deep breath.

‘It was something Gramps said this morning.' She'd begun hesitantly, but her voice gathered strength. ‘I can't put it out of my mind, so don't tell me he was only wandering.'

‘How can I tell you anything when I have no idea what he's supposed to have said?' But Daisy's stomach was turning over. Oh, Dad, what have you done?

Holly gazed at her defiantly.

‘He said Granddad isn't me real granddad, nor me mam's real dad either. He said you didn't marry Granddad until Mam was a toddler. Is it true, Gran?'

Daisy's breath caught in her throat. Shock coursed through her like a whip-lash, as if she'd been nearly bowled off her feet.

‘Child! You don't know what you're saying.'

‘I'm telling you what Gramps told me this morning,' Holly continued remorselessly, ‘and he meant every word of it! Please tell me what it's all about?'

‘He was rambling,' Daisy began. How could she answer Holly? She hadn't the fight for this, not now.

‘You might as well tell me.' Holly fixed her with a hard stare, as if she were afraid Daisy was about to turn and run. She would have done if she could, but there was nowhere to run.

‘He meant nothing by it!' Fear made Daisy angry, but she might never have spoken; the child patently didn't believe her.

The spirit that had seen Daisy through the years, all the tough times, suddenly deserted her.

‘Tell me the truth!' Holly insisted, and Daisy heard her clearly enough, but her words were no more than an echo, a demand asked of someone else, not Daisy Bridges.

Inside, Daisy Bridges had just shattered into a thousand million little pieces. She couldn't have answered if she'd tried.

‘Does me mam know?' Holly persisted.

There was a metal post at each end of the path, between which Daisy strung her washing line. She grabbed the one at the top end of the garden, and hung on for dear life as tears burst from her eyes.

At last, Holly saw the effect her words were having. She rushed over, flinging her arm around her grandmother.

‘Gran! Oh, what have I said? Whatever's the matter?'

Daisy leaned thankfully into her granddaughter's shoulder. How had Holly grown a good head taller than herself? She could lean into her now, borrow strength from her.

‘I'll be fine, Holly.'

With a supreme effort of will, she stepped back, relieved that her legs could still hold her up, even if they were trembling. She took a deep, shuddering breath, pulled her hankie from her apron pocket and rubbed her eyes.

Gradually the world stopped spinning and the full horror of her dilemma was staring her in the face. She'd have to tell Holly something – but how could she, when Holly's mother knew nothing?

‘Please tell me,' Holly pleaded, and Daisy could scarcely look at her.

‘There's some things better you shouldn't know.' It didn't even sound like her own voice.

‘I have a right to know me own granddad,' Holly said.

‘Peter is your granddad. Be told, love. I can't tell you more. And it's none of your business!'

Hadn't she always realised this day would come, no matter how she tried to hold it off? Daisy gathered herself together and began to walk back up the path, concentrating on every step.

Holly stood watching. Gran looked suddenly like an old woman.

There was something in it, then. As soon as she'd seen how shocked Gran was, Holly had known it must be true.

She ought to have tackled Granddad, who might have told her everything at once. She bent to pick up her satchel, and trailed reluctantly inside.

The freezing water was up to her waist already, but Maggie never felt it, so firmly was her gaze fixed on the fishing boat in the water ahead, waiting to take them to a bigger boat offshore.

Beyond, a tanker blazed, a thick pall of acrid black smoke belching high into the air. In the distance, a Stuka screamed.

Night was already falling; the shape of the boat was indistinct, the edges blurring into a grey choppiness of sea.

‘Nearly there, Ted,' Maggie encouraged.

Her patient smiled grimly through the pain occasioned by the shrapnel still in his shoulder. They'd cleaned the wound and strapped him up, all they could do in the circumstances.

The water slowed their progress, the sand shifting
treacherously
beneath their feet. The man she held up stumbled, and her arm tightened round his waist.

Behind them, Diana followed, helping a young Guardsman with a bad leg – they'd discovered him taking cover under the shelter of a farm tractor just outside Dunkirk.

Maggie would never forget that particular journey, nor the uncertainty that accompanied it, fuelled by the sight of
abandoned
British tanks and guns.

At least the troops had refused to return without the girls who'd nursed them and been with them every step of the way. They'd rather have stayed behind en bloc than leave the nurses alone to face the consequences.

The reason why the Germans had so far halted their advance at Boulogne and Calais remained a mystery, but it at least allowed a few days' grace.

Everybody was helping everybody else, though the
evacuation
was piecemeal, to say the least. Maggie glanced back over her shoulder, towards the beach and the lines of men patiently waiting.

‘Someone needs to do a bit of organising here.' That was Diana's voice behind her, and Maggie grinned.

A wave broke and sloshed up, splashing into their faces.

‘If our mothers could see us now,' she said to Ted, and all at once she could smell the kitchen range, rain on the vegetable garden, and hear a lark soaring up.

If her mother could see her! She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter building up inside. What a good job she couldn't.

Her nurse's training told Maggie she was in shock, but she wasn't the only one.

‘Lovely night for a swim.' Ted grimaced.

‘Oh, and there's me forgotten my costume!' She forced the words out between chattering teeth. Thank heaven for black humour, which had kept them going the two long days and nights waiting on the beach. They'd all seen sights they'd never forget.

Of all ridiculous things, Maggie found herself longing for a cup of tea. The cold was finally numbing her mind, numbing fear, even.

By the time they reached the boat, the water was at chest level. She reached out thankfully, grabbed the side of the boat, and turned to help Ted.

‘Wait!' Diana gasped. ‘Go first, Maggie. Help the rest aboard.'

As usual, Diana was taking charge. Some would call her bossy, but everyone loved her for it.

With Diana pushing, and with great indignity, Maggie managed to lever herself into the boat, upended dripping on to the deck.

The boat was brimming with folk. She scrambled to her knees and reached forward to help Ted, his face white with pain and shock.

Maggie heard him gasp out loud as he fell forwards, and the engine roared to life.

Someone shouted, but she couldn't make out a word. Overhead, another blasted plane shrieked into a dive, peppering the surface of the water with gunfire.

Someone screamed, and she realised it was her own voice. She forced her lips shut. There was simply no time to panic.

They were nearly there. It only required one final effort.

Below her, Diana, still chest deep in water, pushed and shoved her young patient towards the side of the boat. Maggie grabbed hold of his uniform and heaved backwards.

His rifle dropped into the sea, but she took the full force of his weight as he finally came on board.

And the boat shot forward and away….  

‘W
here is she, Daisy? We should have heard by now!' Tony Blount, tall, broad-shouldered and burly, seemed to fill Daisy's little living-room.

Daisy was ironing; anything to keep her mind from Maggie.

So many of the BEF were home already. What could have happened?

With great care, she set the iron on the ironing board and reached for another shirt.

‘I don't know where she is, lad. If only I did!'

‘It's all over the papers that they've brought as many back as possible. There must be some left behind, that's all.'

They looked at each other.

‘Not Maggie!' Daisy said. She sagged against the ironing board.

Daisy, of all people, showing signs of distress steadied Tony as nothing else could.

‘Don't take on.' He smiled, trying to fill his voice with a
confidence
he was far from feeling. ‘She'll be fine – you know Maggie! She may be back, but can't get through to tell us. I expect it's total chaos.'

They were clutching at straws, though. Maggie was most likely stranded in France, or taken prisoner.

‘It's the waiting that's so hard.' Daisy found herself apologising, and that made up Tony's mind for him.

‘I've had enough of twiddling my thumbs. I'm driving down to Dover,' he said. ‘I can lay my hands on extra petrol.'

Daisy looked up at him, hardly daring to hope, and he patted her shoulder.

‘Don't worry any more, Daisy, I'm not coming back without her.'

‘Was that Tony hurrying off down town?' Peter Bridges asked, arriving moments later.

‘He's going to get his car and drive down to Dover, to try to find out what's happened to Maggie.' Daisy was already
beginning
to doubt the success of the venture.

‘Good lad!' Peter cried, relief flooding his face. ‘That's more like it! Would he like some company, do you think? I'll run and catch him up …'

He was already re-buttoning his jacket, but she called him back instantly.

‘He'll happen be best on his own, love. It'll be quicker.'

He could hardly hide his disappointment. Peter wanted to do something, too.

‘She'll be fine,' he said fiercely, seeing the wretched look on Daisy's face.

His conviction Maggie must be all right was the only thing keeping Peter going. And now there was this other unfortunate development, which had brought him hurrying up here in the first place.

Doubtful how to broach the subject, he stood by Daisy's neatly folded pile of ironing, fingering it uncertainly.

Daisy looked so pale, concentrating every effort on the shirt she was ironing – one of William's oldest.

‘How's his nibs?' he asked, and she glanced up. A few days since, William had tumbled trying to get up from his chair. Dr Hardaker had diagnosed only bruising, but her father had been in bed the last two days, and Daisy had been rushed off her feet.

She spat on the iron, which sizzled, and reached for another shirt.

‘He was asleep the last time I went up.'

‘Good. Well, what do you think?' He had some good news at least. ‘Billy's filled that blasted form in and sent it off this morning.'

‘Has he ticked the right box?' she demanded instantly.

‘Reserved occupation!' Peter smiled broadly. Their son would be kept home and safe, out of harm's way.

‘I don't know why he took so long about it.' The iron moved fast and furiously, but then Daisy paused. ‘There's something wrong. He's not himself nowadays.'

‘Well, it's done, that's all I know.'

It seemed he'd have to tell her the rest. He took a halting step forward.

‘Holly's been home,' he began, and her whole body tensed.

‘I can guess.' She took a deep breath. ‘You've told her the truth, then? I expect you thought you'd have to tell her?'

She said it so matter of factly, and only Peter knew the effort it must have cost. But the thing had to be discussed.

Holly had spilled out the whole of what William had blurted out to her. The old man had really put the cat amongst the pigeons this time round.

‘Of course I haven't told her! But I couldn't deny it. I can't lie to her, can I?'

He was still hurting over it. His sweet little Holly, looking as
if he'd betrayed her. And no wonder; Peter himself couldn't understand why she hadn't been told the truth years since.

His young granddaughter's righteous indignation would have tickled him any other time. Peter couldn't blame her for demanding answers – and how grown-up she'd looked! He could hear her voice now.

‘Does me poor mam know? Stuck in France, and she knows none of this?'

‘Don't worry about your mam, love. She'll be back soon enough. You'll be able to ask her yourself then.'

‘But does she know?' Holly cried.

‘Yes, and no. She can't remember her real father!' he went on hastily. ‘She was such a little girl when I married your gran. I've been her dad in all but name. It was all so long ago, love. Can't you just drop it?'

He'd suddenly wanted to wrap his arms around her, as he used to when she was little and had taken a tumble. He stepped towards her, but to his great dismay she moved out of reach.

‘Tell me who?'

Peter almost opened his mouth and said ‘Ned Bradshaw'. What had held him back?

Now, looking at his wife, he knew. Daisy and her stubborn pride.

‘Of course you're her granddad – what else should you be?' Daisy glanced at him, and then just as quickly away again – as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

‘But I'm not her real granddad, am I, nor Maggie's true father. I'm not her flesh and blood. She should have been told, love.'

‘She couldn't have a better granddad!' Daisy thumped the iron down, her voice full of suppressed emotion. ‘Nor Harry, neither.'

‘That's hardly what I'm saying, Daisy! It's all this other stuff.
Things they have a right to know, all of them … Maggie, Holly, Harry … They should have been told, that's all. We should have told them together.'

‘Maggie doesn't care who her real father is! Why else has she never bothered to ask?' Daisy said fiercely.

‘She hasn't asked because she knew how you'd react,' he muttered, hating himself, but unable to stop. The whole wretched subject was a festering sore that should have been lanced long since.

‘That's unfair!'

Daisy lodged the iron on its stand and tucked her arms round herself, holding herself in, as she always did, Peter thought. Why couldn't she let go?

‘The lass is upset, love,' he continued doggedly. ‘You can't leave Holly knowing half a story. There are too many questions.'

Daisy was silent.

‘She's worried about you,' Peter battled on, ‘and so am I. Do you think I haven't noticed you're going through a rough time? And not just over Maggie!'

He saw the struggle in her face, and his heart went out to her.

‘This needs to come from you,' he coaxed.

‘Peter, I can't!' She began to rock backwards and forwards, still holding her arms tightly round her waist. Tears welled into her eyes.

‘Daisy, love!'

Quickly, he put his arms around her, holding her fast, feeling the throbbing of her heart against his own – a small, caged thing in pain.

‘Let it out, love,' he coaxed.

Would she? He doubted it! But things were coming to a head. This time, something was bound to come of it all.

‘Thanks.' Mary collected her tea from the counter and chose a table with a good view of the door. She was trying to keep calm, for her nerves were still vibrating from the shock of yesterday – hearing John's voice!

Mr Dawkins, the pharmacist, didn't like people ringing the girls at work, but John had persuaded him to let her speak. How unbelievable it had been to pick up the receiver and hear his voice. She'd had to sit down on the chair by the phone before her legs gave way. Some good news at last!

John was in Castle Maine to see his grandparents, the Bradshaws, but Mary hoped they were a convenient excuse. He'd sounded desperate to see her, and she was shocked at how much she was looking forward to seeing him, too.

The other boys she'd been seeing while he was away, boys home on leave or from the RAF station, only too keen for
something
or someone to take their minds from the war – it didn't mean anything.

It had been so hard not being able to tell the family why she was suddenly so happy. Everyone was so worried over Maggie.

She couldn't tell her mam, who loathed the Bradshaws. Billy was in an odd mood nowadays.

Finally, she'd plucked up the courage and told Dad
everything
.

She'd been seeing John Bertram a long time, and he was very keen on her.

She couldn't think now why she'd not told Dad ages ago. He'd never tell Mam – they both knew what kind of a storm that would pull down on their heads.

‘We'll have to keep it quiet for a bit yet, lass,' the calm, familiar voice said. ‘She's enough on, worrying over our Maggie.'

Mary's stomach lurched.

‘She will come back safe, Dad, won't she?' Mary couldn't think anything else. Her big sister had always been there, all her life.

‘Of course she'll be back.' Dad gave her a quick hug.

Mary drank her tea, trying not to think the unthinkable, because if you started that, you were lost.

She looked up. A young man stood in the doorway looking round the tearooms, his blue cap to the back of his head. He caught her eye, and there was a look on his face she couldn't possibly misinterpret. Her heart rose.

‘John,' she mouthed, and jumped up hastily, spilling her tea.

He moved between chairs and tables to take her into his arms. Then he bent his head and kissed her for the first time.

She leaned into him and put her arms around his waist, breathing in the presence she'd missed so long. This was amazing. None of those other boys had made her feel like this. Did he really mean so much to her?

Abruptly, she was conscious of the customers, watching with obvious interest. People were all too used to seeing these sudden reunions and equally precipitous partings nowadays. It was the blasted war.

‘You've lost weight!' She disentangled herself and sat down again, forcing a bright smile to her face.

As he sat down, she reached for his hand.

‘I've missed you.' She sounded surprised even to her own ears.

‘I've missed you, too.' His eyes never left her face. ‘You'll never know how much I've missed you, Mary.'

He so clearly meant it. She'd missed the thrill of being with someone who cared so much. If she could find it in her heart to love anyone, it would be someone like John….

If only she didn't long to have fun, to have all the good things in life! She'd never hurt anyone in seeking that, and John
understood
. Yet he still found it in him to love her.

With John, she'd never had to be anything other than what she was.

‘I was worried about you,' she said as he watched her hungrily.

‘You look worried,' he said. ‘Are you going to tell me?'

‘It's Maggie!' she blurted out. ‘You've no idea where she is, I suppose? You've no news?'

‘It's chaos over there, Mary! No one knows where anyone is. The men are simply getting back as best they can.

‘I don't know what's happened to the medical units. They'll be the same as everyone else. I expect, having to shift for
themselves
.'

‘We should have heard something by now.' Her breath caught in her throat.

‘Don't take on so; I can't bear it when you take on.'

His fingers caressed her hand, gently moving from the base of her thumb to the inside of her wrist in a soft circular motion that sent shivers up her spine.

‘I thought about you all the time I was away.' The pressure of his fingers increased, and his eyes gazed into hers with a strange intensity. ‘I came to some conclusions. I knew them all, really. Like life is for living, now, while we have the chance.'

He let go of her hand and delved hastily into the inside pocket of his uniform, finally pulling out a tiny box. He fumbled it open to reveal a ring lying on blue silk.

It looked like solid gold, its centrepiece a ruby surrounded by diamonds. He tipped the box this way and that, catching the sunlight, and it almost blinded her.

‘I want us to get married,' he whispered. ‘Say you'll marry me, Mary, now, before I go back. We can easily get a special licence; couples are doing it all the time!'

Marriage! The very last thing she'd expected. Shock coursed through Mary. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

Marry John? She'd never thought of marrying anyone. She was captivated by the ring, lying in its box, but at last she shook her head.

‘I can't marry you,' she wailed, and the people at other tables sighed in unison.

John blushed, and took one single deep breath, fighting to stay calm.

‘What's to stop us?' he asked quietly.

‘I don't love you,' she said quietly and, for Mary, truthfully. It would have been so easy to lie, and delicious, too, to be married to him … but she had to be honest with herself. Mary loved Mary – only herself.

‘Liking isn't enough, John. It would end in disaster.'

He deserved someone who could love him back and she had the sense to realise it.

‘I have love enough for both of us.' His voice was low.

She could hardly stand the pain she'd caused. Her gaze fell again on the ring, sparkling so invitingly, demanding someone to wear it….

She was longing to pick it up and slip it on her finger.