Secrets of the Singer Girls (16 page)

After tea, Mr Gladstone filled up five glasses with port as the girls stretched themselves out on the hearthrug in front of the fire.

‘Vera, that tasted beyond heavenly,’ Poppy said, smiling sweetly.

Maybe it was the crackling flames and the warmth of the port snaking through her veins but Vera felt herself relax. At least this proved her father couldn’t ruin everything.

‘Come on, girls,’ said Daisy impatiently, draining her drink. ‘If we get a wriggle on, we can get to the dance before the queues build up. You coming, Poppy?’

Poppy smiled and shook her head, as did Vera. They never tired of trying to get the poor girl out with them. When would they see she wasn’t like them? Poppy didn’t like the high
life. She preferred the simple pleasures, like Vera did.

‘No, thanks, girls.’ Poppy yawned sleepily. ‘If it’s all the same with you, I’ll stop here with Vera and finish off the rug I’ve been weaving. It’s
coming on a treat, isn’t it, Vera?’

Vera smiled tenderly at the girl. ‘That it is, Poppy. You’ve got a natural talent in those hands. I’ve not seen many handle a dolly peg like you can.’

Suddenly, the door to the kitchen opened, letting in a blast of cold air.

‘Someone forget to invite me to the party?’ grinned Frank, his dark outline blocking the light from the fire.

Vera felt her bubble of happiness burst. ‘I thought you were doing nightwatching at the docks?’ she blustered, sitting up stiffly in her chair.

‘They laid me off,’ he snapped. ‘Not enough work.’ His gruff voice was grating in the gloom.

‘Oh, rough luck, Dad.’ Daisy smiled up at her father.

‘But I thought you said work was plentiful at the moment,’ Vera replied, her voice guarded.

‘What did I say about showing respect, Vera?’ he warned in a low voice, helping himself to a generous glass of Mr Gladstone’s port. ‘And what’s he doing here?
Trying to get his feet under the table?’ Frank gestured rudely to the foreman.

‘I think it was time I was off, Vera,’ Mr Gladstone said warily, rising to his feet. ‘The food and company have been delicious. I really can’t thank you
enough.’

Vera felt like crying as she showed him to the door.

‘You’re welcome,’ she replied.

On the doorstep, he hesitated, before picking up Vera’s hand and planting a small kiss on it. ‘I hope we can do it again sometime,’ he said quietly, then quickly strode
off.

Vera watched until the darkness of the blackout consumed him before returning to the smoky kitchen. She had not been gone two minutes, but in her absence, Poppy had got her coat and her hat on
and Daisy and Sal were ushering her out.

‘But I thought you were stopping in with me, love?’ she spluttered, unable to contain the panic in her voice.

‘I really am awfully sorry,’ Poppy said apologetically, shooting a nervous glance back at the kitchen, ‘but I’ve changed my mind and I will go to the dance after all.
Besides, perhaps it’s better I leave –’ she lowered her voice to a whisper ‘– under the circumstances.’

Vera gulped and feverishly began to wring the hem of her apron between her fingers. ‘Of course, Poppy. I understand, and you’re right – perhaps it’s for the
best.’

Poppy hesitated and swallowed hard. ‘Unless of course you prefer me to stay, that is, and keep you company, Mrs Shadwell.’

Vera smiled sadly. Dear, sweet Poppy, putting aside her own fear to think of Vera and her well-being. She glanced over at her father and remembered his veiled threats of earlier.

‘I’ll be absolutely fine,’ she said, a touch too brightly. ‘Now off you go.’ She shooed them all out onto the doorstep.

‘Daisy and Sal, look after Poppy, won’t you?’ she ordered.

‘We will, Vera, don’t worry,’ promised Sal, linking her arm through Poppy’s.

Poppy shot Vera one last concerned look before she was led off down the cobbled street.

Vera stood on the doorstep and watched them go, the giant barrage balloons floating over their heads casting them in an ominous shadow. She closed her eyes and felt a strong wave of nostalgia
wash over her. A plump, rosy-cheeked baby swaddled in a coach pram, old ladies shelling peas in their pinafore laps and sipping stout. The next-door neighbour whitening her step while shrieking
children chanted as they turned a giant skipping rope over the cobbles. She could picture the East End she loved so clearly in her mind’s eye.

Except, years on, it had all changed. The children had gone, as had half the houses, what doorsteps were left were covered with sandbags, and the chalky outline of hopscotch games on the cobbles
were now blackened from the Blitz fires. So many houses had been reduced to rubble that the street looked like a smile with missing teeth. The close-knit community was now battling for survival,
yet for Vera, conflict raged outside
and
inside her home. Sighing heavily, she gripped the door frame for support and forced herself back across the threshold.

Back in the kitchen, her father had discarded his hobnailed boots, leaving a fresh trail of mud over her kitchen floor, and was sitting in her easy chair with the bottle of port resting on his
tummy while he gobbled back the last of the stew. She watched him shove the food in his mouth, barely chewing before he swallowed.

The beautiful violets Mr Gladstone had thoughtfully brought had been upended when Frank had tossed his coat over them, and the water from the vase dripped into a pool on the floor. Even the room
smelt sour. At that moment, Vera loathed him. He was as ugly as war itself. How could this animal be her father? Frank tainted everything he touched. That evening, she had searched for Stardust and
he had reduced it all to nothing but smouldering ashes. Like he always did.

Grunting and shifting in the chair, Frank looked up at her and, with a mawkish grin, raised his glass in a mock toast.

‘Lovely stew, Vera,’ he grinned. ‘Hope you don’t mind me interrupting your cosy night, but I thought it best I come home and make sure you haven’t been filling
Daisy’s head with rubbish.’ He paused and the smile stretched further.

‘Blimey, but that Poppy’s a treasure. Almost worth coming home for, to catch sight of her pretty young face. How’s your neck, by the way?’

Vera’s hand leaped to her throat, where already she could feel a tender bruise spreading down her neck. Without saying a word, she fled up the stairs, bolting the bedroom door behind
her.

The dance was in full swing by the time the girls got there, and Poppy’s eyes went out on stalks when she saw the dance floor heaving with Americans all doing the
jitterbug.

‘What do you think, Poppy?’ Daisy grinned excitedly, tapping her feet as she scanned the floor for Robert. She had never checked her bag and coat so quickly, and as for that meal . .
. She had thought it would never end. It had been a blessed relief when Frank walked in, as at least it had given her an excuse to get away. She didn’t mean to come across as ungrateful
– Vera had gone to a lot of effort to cook a delicious meal – but this was Robert’s last night, after all. She had a lifetime of nights with Vera stretching ahead of her, but her
time with Robert was uncertain at best. Her heart thumped painfully at the very thought of him leaving, but she forced her attention back to Poppy.

‘It’s awfully busy.’ Poppy gulped, sitting down quickly at a table. ‘In the country, we just did the waltz, and you were lucky to get a cup of tea.’ She looked
about her nervously. ‘The cook used to chaperone us to the village hall and have a whist drive with her friends while they waited. I think I’m a little out of my depth here.’

‘You haven’t a thing to worry about, Poppy,’ Sal said, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “Cause we’re your chaperones now, and this one will be a whole
lot more fun than a dusty old village hall.’

With that, she lit a cigarette and clamped it between her teeth as she rummaged around in her bag for her purse. ‘Gin and tonic, is it, Daisy?’ she asked.

‘Ooh, I should say, but hold the gin for Poppy, Sal,’ she replied. ‘Remember, she’s only sixteen.’

‘Crikey, yes,’ she said. ‘Vera would have my guts if we got her drunk again.’

Daisy stared curiously at Poppy as Sal went off to fetch their drinks. Little by little she felt the mysterious newcomer from the country was starting to trust her, but still there was something
about Poppy she could not fathom. An aching sadness hidden under the surface. Daisy had the queerest feeling that ever since Vera’s fuss in the pub that night, Poppy was scared of her father.
Not that there was any need – Frank came across as a bit gruff, but Daisy knew there was a heart of gold deep down. She wanted to explain all this to Poppy, but she was such a timid little
thing, and when it came to men, she seemed simply thunderstruck.

‘Look here, you do trust me, don’t you, Poppy?’ Daisy said softly.

Poppy gazed back up at her with those huge, vulnerable blue eyes and blinked.

‘It’s just that I can’t help but notice that you seem a little nervous, particularly around men,’ Daisy said, pressing her. ‘You know, my father really meant you no
harm at the pub that night. He was just being friendly. Not all men have their brains below their belts.’

Daisy had been joking, but she was taken aback by Poppy’s reaction.

‘Don’t they?’ she whispered, turning her head away quickly.

‘No, Poppy,’ Daisy replied, surprised. ‘Why ever would you say such a thing?’

‘Never mind,’ Poppy said hastily. ‘Now, I wonder where Sal is with our drinks.’

Suddenly, the tall figure of a man loomed over the table and Poppy jumped.

‘Here’s my little songbird. I thought you’d gone AWOL on me,’ said a deep voice.

‘Robert!’ screamed Daisy, leaping to her feet. ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry I’m late.’ She flung herself into his arms and the couple embraced for a long time
before Daisy turned back round.

‘Doesn’t he look handsome tonight, Poppy? . . . Poppy?’

Poppy was busy gathering her bag and making to leave.

‘Oh, please don’t go, Poppy,’ Daisy urged. ‘You’ve only just got here.’

‘Sorry, Daisy. I . . . I suddenly don’t feel very well. It’s best I take myself home.’

‘But you can’t go on your own, Poppy,’ Robert piped up, concerned. ‘Please, let me escort you home safely. I insist.’

‘Thank you, sir, that’s kind of you, but no,’ Poppy replied, looking flustered. ‘Please, I really don’t wish to be any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble at all, Poppy,’ Daisy urged.

‘Honestly,’ said Poppy with a brave smile. ‘I’m getting used to London now, and I feel quite confident getting the bus home by myself. Besides, it’s your last night
together and you don’t want to waste half of it getting me back to Bethnal Green. I promise you I shall be perfectly fine. You just enjoy yourselves.’

‘Very well.’ Daisy smiled back. ‘We shall in that case.’ She reached down and wrapped Poppy in a hug. ‘Farewell and take care, sweetheart,’ she whispered.

When Poppy had left, a frown creased Daisy’s pretty face.

‘What’s wrong, Daisy?’ asked Robert.

‘Oh, I don’t know, nothing really,’ she replied. ‘I was just thinking I’ll make a bit more of an effort with Poppy at work. I think she’s missing
home.’

‘Poor thing,’ nodded Robert. ‘She seems a swell girl, but a little on the shy side.’

‘Talking of missing . . .’sighed Daisy, wrapping her arms around her sweetheart’s broad shoulders. ‘Is it really your last night? Please tell me it was all just a
dreadful dream and you can stay in London forever.’

Robert grinned ruefully and shook his head. ‘Afraid not, Daisy. Uncle Sam has plans for us.’

‘Oh, please let’s not talk about the war, Robert,’ Daisy urged, pressing her finger lightly over his lips. ‘I simply can’t bear to think about it. This is your last
night in London and nothing is more important than that.’

The past two weeks had been the most magical she had ever known. They had managed to see each other as often as time and circumstances had permitted, thanks to the morale-boosting trips to the
hospital. Not to mention that wonderful date in Hyde Park. Even Robert’s brutal treatment at the hands of his fellow countrymen outside the pictures hadn’t dented what had been the best
days of her life. In fact, it had merely solidified what she already felt towards the dashing soldier, for she adored Robert with all her heart. He had utterly bewitched her. And best of all, he
seemed just as spellbound by her.

Initially, Daisy had to admit her head had been turned by Robert’s striking good looks, but now that attraction had mellowed to something that she instinctively knew could last a lifetime.
All his life Robert had fought prejudice over the colour of his skin. Even now, while fighting for his country, he faced a barrage of hatred and abuse. And yet Robert remained as dignified and
fearless as any man she had ever met. He certainly treated her with more gentlemanly reverence than she was used to.

A strong sense of protectiveness stirred inside her heart, and if she was honest, something about his predicament resonated deep within her. All her life Daisy had felt like an outcast in
Bethnal Green. She longed for so much more than the four walls of the factory and her stifling terrace that at times she swore she could almost hear the frustration drumming in every cell in her
body.

Perhaps this urge to escape came from growing up without a mother to anchor her. Her big sister could never hope to understand . . . but Robert did. He hadn’t laughed at her dreams; he had
encouraged them. Before, she had only dared to imagine a life in the growing suburbs of Essex, but now, thanks to Robert, the whole world had suddenly opened up to her, and oh, how she longed for a
future with him in it.

Something else about her family had always puzzled Daisy too: her sister’s ferocious protectiveness towards her and disgust towards their father . . . It didn’t make much sense. But
now, none of that mattered anymore. Her feelings for Robert were honest and pure. They at least made perfect sense. He may have arrived in a jeep, not astride a white horse, but in Daisy’s
heart, Robert was the man to whisk her away from the East End.