Secrets of the Singer Girls (14 page)

Afterwards, they lay on their backs holding hands, full and content, watching the barrage balloons hovering over the park. Despite the spectre of Robert’s departure hanging over them,
Daisy realized there was nowhere else on earth she would rather be and she may as well enjoy the moment. She longed to kiss Robert, but decided that might be a stretch too far for the Air Raid
Precaution wardens patrolling the park. Robert smiled lazily as he traced their initials into a dry patch of dirt on the ground with his finger. An R and a D, and a heart with an arrow through
it.

‘I know you love the pictures, Daisy,’ he said, propping himself up on one elbow, ‘so I got us tickets to see
Reap the Wild Wind.
John Wayne’s in it. We better .
. . What is it? Oh yeah . . . “shake a leg” if we’re to make the performance.’

By the time they walked arm in arm down the sweeping staircase at the Troxy on Commercial Road, the desire to kiss Robert was gripping her like a fever.

Daisy caught a flash of their reflections in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and marvelled at how glamorous they looked together. In fact, after the day she had just had, she felt like she was
living in a Hollywood film, not about to watch one.

When the lights dimmed, Robert rustled around in his pocket and produced a Hershey’s chocolate bar.

‘You’ll make me fat,’ she scolded.

‘You’d still be beautiful,’ he whispered.

As they settled back to watch the film, Daisy could scarcely concentrate. Was it the heady escapism of sitting next to a man who sounded like a film star or the sweet chocolate melting on her
tongue? She didn’t know, but when the final credits rolled, she was certain of one thing: Robert had absolutely bewitched her. Even the sight of John Wayne on the big screen hadn’t been
enough to stop her sneaking sly sideways glances at her dashing sweetheart. To Daisy, it was as if the cinema had just burst into life.

‘I suppose I’d better get back home now,’ she sighed reluctantly. ‘I don’t want to be—’

Suddenly, Robert pulled her into his strong arms and silenced her with a deep, lingering kiss. By the time his lips left hers, Daisy’s head was spinning.

‘. . . late.’

‘No,’ he grinned ruefully. ‘As much as I never want to let you go, I had better get you home.’

They had just exited the picture house when Daisy spotted a troop of white GIs sitting on a bench further up the road. They seemed in high spirits and were laughing and arm-wrestling one
another.

‘Looks like someone’s lost a bout with British beer,’ she remarked to Robert. He didn’t reply, but she felt his body tense beside her. As they drew level with the group,
one of the GIs stepped in front of them, blocking their path.

‘Hey, beautiful, lemme buy you a drink,’ he leered.

‘If it’s all the same to you, no, thanks,’ she replied, neatly stepping round him.

But the GI was persistent, jogging after her.

Aah, c’mon, sugar, don’t be like that.’

Daisy had dealt with worse sorts than him.

‘Maybe that big old head of yours is so heavy you can’t turn it round, but if you look to my left, you’ll see I’ve already got a date. Now hop it.’

His beady eyes narrowed as he glared at Robert.

‘Lady, you have got to be kidding me,’ he snapped. ‘You’re dating this uppity Negro? Why in the hell would you walk out with him?’

Daisy felt her patience wearing thin. ‘Look here, you little twerp. Last I heard, his blood was the same colour as ours,’ she snapped. And I happen to like gentlemen who know how to
treat a lady. Now, if you will please excuse us, we have places to go.’

Robert stepped in front of Daisy. ‘You heard the lady,’ he said quietly.

‘Shut up.’ The GI scowled. ‘Either get back in the gutter where you belong or me and my buddies will put you there.’

By the way he was grinding his teeth Daisy could tell he was spoiling for a fight. Oh, why was this happening now to ruin their magical day?

Robert was so strong he could have halved an apple with his bare hands, but he simply shrugged. ‘I don’t fight in front of ladies.’

The GI took a step closer to Robert and pushed him hard. Robert didn’t flinch. Just then a patrolling military policeman, ever on the alert for trouble, slowed his jeep to a halt by the
kerb.

‘Everything all right, fellas?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ the GI barked back. ‘No problem here.’

‘Good,’ he snapped. ‘Keep it that way.’

But as he drove away, the GI spat on the pavement in front of them. ‘Stay out of my way, darkie,’ he warned, before disappearing up the street with his pals.

‘I’m so sorry you had to see that,’ Robert said quietly.

‘Does that happen a lot?’ she gasped.

‘Most days.’ He shrugged. ‘You British folks are awful good; it’s my own countrymen who give me the most trouble. Back home, we’re not allowed in the same stores,
but here in London, it’s different and I can go where I like. Them white fellas can’t get used to it, I suppose.’

‘But that’s awful!’ she replied, disturbed at the humiliating treatment meted out to Robert because of his skin colour. ‘You’re over here fighting the same war,
aren’t you?’

Robert shrugged. ‘Who knows? I just hope things will be different after the war.’

The incident was never mentioned again, but it cemented what Daisy already knew in her head and her heart. Not only was Robert fighting a war on all fronts, he was also as decent, strong and
honourable a man as she was likely to find anywhere.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled when they reached Bethnal Green Tube. ‘I had a really terrific day.’

‘Me too, Daisy.’

‘Even after what happened earlier?’ she asked worriedly.

‘Nothing could take the shine off being with you,’ he grinned back. Then the smile left his handsome face. ‘I suppose next Saturday night will be our last proper date before I
leave.’

‘Please don’t,’ she replied. ‘I can’t bear to think about it.’

‘What would you like to do?’ he asked. ‘I got a twelve-hour furlough before we’re moved on.’

‘Well, I don’t think my nerves are up to another wobbly rowing boat,’ she admitted, ‘but I’d love to go dancing.’

‘Your wish is my command.’ He took her in his arms and waltzed her up and down the pavement right outside the Tube.

‘Not now, you daft beggar,’ she shrieked. As he whirled her round, Daisy pushed all thought of the horrible encounter from her mind and lost herself in the romance of the moment,
relishing the feel of his strong arms wrapped tightly round her waist.

Poppy watched them dancing right there in the street and felt a pang of jealousy. She had taken herself out for a little walk and had spotted Daisy and Robert outside the Tube
and instinctively hidden behind a bus shelter.

Sundays were the day she dreaded above all. For the rest of the week Trout’s provided the perfect distraction, but left alone all Sunday in that poky room by herself she found the
loneliness crippling. The fresh air would do her good, she had thought, as she had walked up in the direction of the Tube.

She watched spellbound from the shelter as Robert pulled Daisy into his arms. They looked so glamorous together, he in his dashing uniform and her in her beautiful dress, those shapely
nylon-clad legs brushing up against his gaberdine trousers. They gazed deep into one another’s eyes as if they had a secret that they alone knew. Daisy’s gleaming hair was flecked with
grass at the back, and they were giggling like a couple of kids.

Suddenly, a red bus flashed past, obscuring her vision, and when it passed, they were kissing. Poppy’s heart lurched.

‘They’re in love,’ she whispered out loud. Myriad emotions flashed through her mind. She thought the world of Daisy and was so happy to see such joy etched on her
friend’s face, but the kiss just compounded her own aching loneliness. Would she ever know a love like that, wrapped up in such a grand passion that a man felt compelled to waltz her down the
pavement and kiss her in broad daylight?

Crossing the road, Poppy went on her way, eyes cast down to the pavement. If she hadn’t been feeling furtive before, she certainly was now. She couldn’t turn back, though. She had
been planning it all week after all. It had been easy enough to get the keys to the factory. She had told Vera she wanted to go in on her only day off as she sorely needed to practise her sewing.
Impressed with her dedication, Vera had willingly handed her the keys. Poppy felt guilty deceiving the woman who had shown her nothing but kindness, but she simply couldn’t think of any other
way to carry out her plan.

The factory floor was deserted and as Poppy settled herself behind her workbench, the silence was deafening. Being here all on her own was a little unsettling and she shivered as the sounds of
the night descended. The forlorn drip, drip of a leaky tap in the kitchen. The rattle and groan of the ancient Victorian pipework, like a wheezy old man sinking into a chair. Up above, a rat
scuttled noisily over the slate roof tiles.

Poppy carefully took the note out of her bag and read over her own immaculate handwriting.

Poppy frowned. It wasn’t the stuff of high romance like the flowery prose she used to read in Cook’s sentimental novels, but it would have to do.

Carefully, she tucked the note between the snowy folds of cotton and started to stitch it up. As her foot gently pressed down on the treadle, a whisper of a smile played over her pretty
features.

It was Betty who had first given her the idea, when she had written to a soldier passing herself off as a twenty-one-year-old. Poppy replayed her words over in her mind.
That’s the
beauty of letters . . . You can be whoever you want to be.

The seed of an idea Betty had inadvertently planted had taken hold and grown. Feeling more reckless than she ever had in her life, Poppy finished stitching in the note and then examined her
handiwork. Perfect. There was no way Vera could guess at what the bandage contained.

Pretty soon it would be winging its way to an unknown soldier on the battlefield. And then what? Who knew? She didn’t dare to presume she might find the grand kind of love consuming Daisy
and Robert, but a soldier to write to, well, it was a start.

Hiding the letter had given her an addictive frisson of excitement, but also filled her with inestimable sadness. Why could she not summon the nerve to go to a dance and meet a man like any
normal girl? In her heart she knew why. Because the memory that haunted her like no other had stolen away her right to a normal, happy courtship. Sighing heavily, little Poppy flicked off the
factory lights and scurried out under cover of darkness as fast as her legs would take her.

One week on from Daisy’s whirlwind date and Vera was still reeling from her sister’s apparent change in attitude. Gone was the churlish, petulant and self-centred
young girl and in her place was a thoughtful, hard-working lady. Vera was particularly impressed with her volunteering efforts at the children’s hospital. It seemed to agree with Daisy too,
as she always returned brimming over with smiles.

She shared her news with Mr Gladstone on a Saturday-morning tea break.

‘I’ve got to admit,’ she confided in the privacy of the foreman’s office, ‘our Daisy’s a changed woman. She talks to me with a civil tongue in her head, and
do you know? Last Sunday, I found her running sheets through the mangle without my even asking.’ Vera broke off and shook her head in amazement at the memory. ‘Volunteering at the
hospital’s doing her the world of good.’

Mr Gladstone’s round little face was filled with joy. ‘What did I tell you, Vera?’ he beamed, rising from behind his desk and joining her at the glass door. ‘I dare say
she’s finally growing up. This war’s ageing us all and no mistake. I mean, look at me.’

Vera turned to look and saw his crinkly blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

‘I had hair when this war started.’

A rare smile washed over her face.

‘Get away with you,’ she chuckled.

‘Seriously, though, she’s a proper songbird, your Daisy,’ Mr Gladstone went on. ‘Voice of an angel. I reckon singing up the hospital has been the making of her. Perhaps
she’s found her vocation in performing.’

Vera frowned. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I’d want her on stage, Mr Gladstone.’

‘Well, maybe she could join the ENSA lot. She’s certainly good enough,’ he reasoned. ‘They’re doing some sterling work entertaining the troops.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Vera, her usual look of stern foreboding returning.

‘Well, think about it, Vera,’ he urged. ‘I bumped into Matron the other day and she thanked me most heartily for the first-rate efforts of the Singer Girls, in particular
Daisy. Told me she was a hit with everyone on the ward. Your sister has a talent. Doesn’t she have a duty to share it?’

‘Right now her duties lie here, making sure we have sufficient surgical bandages and uniforms for our troops,’ she replied firmly. She paused and in a warier tone added, ‘Did
Matron say anything else?’

‘Nothing really,’ he said. ‘Just that they look forward to her visits enormously.’

‘That’s as may be,’ Vera retorted, ‘but I like her where I can keep an eye on her.’ As much as Vera wished to believe her sister’s apparent turn of mood could
be attributed to a growing maturity, the cynical side of her simply refused to believe it.