Secrets of the Singer Girls (26 page)

Matron listened calmly without interrupting. ‘Do not judge your sister,’ she cautioned, when Vera had finished her tirade, and then, with a little more sternness in her voice,
‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’

The meaning of her words was not lost on Vera.

‘You’re right,’ Vera sighed, bowing her head. ‘I’m sorry . . . but what am I to do with her, Matron?’

Without saying a word, Matron started to write something down on a sheet of paper before sliding it across the desk to Vera.

‘This is the address of a home for unmarried mothers and babies near the coast in Suffolk that is run in conjunction with the local adoption agency,’ she said. ‘It’s a
quiet, respectable place, and they have experienced little in the way of bombing raids. I know the lady who runs it well. Tell her you are a friend of mine. Some of these homes are rather hard and
the girls are treated as nothing short of slaves, without a shred of compassion.’

Vera could not hide her reaction.

‘But don’t worry, Vera,’ assured Matron. ‘This home will not be like that. Make no mistake – Daisy will be expected to work for the duration of her confinement, and
her handling of the baby after the birth will be kept to a minimum to avoid unnecessary bonding, but the matron of the home is not entirely without feeling for stricken girls. We have all made
mistakes in the past, have we not?’ she added, casting a pointed look in Vera’s direction.

‘The home admits mothers three months prior to the birth, and then she will be expected to stay with and care for her child for six weeks after, longer if a suitable couple to adopt
hasn’t been found. I think you will find this place an agreeable home for Daisy.’

‘Thank you, Matron,’ Vera said gratefully. ‘Sage advice as always. Where would I be without you?’

Vera left the hospital feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Now all she had to do was persuade Daisy that this home really was the safest place for her to go, because if
word got out about her condition, she would be driven out of the East End anyway.

Since her collapse two and a half months earlier, Daisy’s world had turned on its axis. Thanks to her sister’s shocking confession, she not only saw Vera in a new
light, but she also saw what a truly terrible man her father really was, underlined by the fact that he was currently in a prison cell awaiting trial for handling stolen goods. How had she been so
blind to his wickedness?

All the while she had imagined poor Vera to be the enemy, when it was as plain as the nose on her face that it was her father who was rotten to the core. He was nothing but an illusionist,
pitting sister against sister, clouding his identity with smoke and mirrors.

Daisy was still struggling to reassemble her thoughts about her life as she had always known it. She could scarcely believe that her big sister had once been in love and carried a child. Daisy
couldn’t imagine the torment she must have suffered in losing her baby in such a brutal fashion at their father’s hands. Little wonder she harboured such bitterness towards him, and it
also explained why she had always been so protective towards her. Daisy resolved to ask Vera more about her childhood and their mother in a quieter moment. Vera had revealed more tantalizing
details about her mother that night than she had in eighteen years, but instinctively Daisy sensed it wouldn’t do to push. Losing her only chance of motherhood had been a terrible blow to her
sister and Daisy was sure she would tell her more about it in her own good time. It was enough. For now.

Her father being off the scene temporarily solved at least one of her problems, but her slightly swollen belly testified to another, significantly greater problem. Daisy looked down and gently
splayed her fingers over the soft peachy skin. She had returned to work as soon as the bleeding had stopped and had since been disguising her pregnancy with bandages she had sneaked out of
Trout’s. But in the privacy of her bedroom, it was a blessed relief to unwrap her bindings and finally relax without fear of discovery.

Daisy had written to Robert shortly after she had returned to work and was sure the baby was going to be all right. She didn’t tell him of her actions that dark and dreadful day. There was
no sense in him knowing that now, and Daisy’s shame and disgust meant that she couldn’t bring herself even to write the words. Instead, she had penned a long letter, finally confessing
that she was pregnant. Daisy had opened her heart and spilt the contents onto the page, telling Robert how much she adored him and how, even though she knew it would be hard, there surely had to be
a way in which they could keep their child. If that was what he wanted . . .

Daisy had pictured Robert’s handsome face as he sat in the mess hall, or on his bunk, reading her explosive letter. He would be stunned, that much she knew, but his long-term reaction? She
just prayed he was as decent and honourable a man as she thought he was. But the proof of that would come from his actions. Seven weeks on and she still hadn’t heard back, but she knew how
long the post took to get through. He would respond. He had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

Daisy looked down at her body.
Five months pregnant.
Paying a perfect stranger to take away her baby was unthinkable now, but back then she felt she had nowhere else to turn. She had
been a desperate woman, but that still did not excuse her behaviour. And even though she now knew she had her sister’s support – and hopefully in time Robert’s too – the
cold, hard truth of the matter was that she was still a desperate woman. Bandages would only work at concealing her pregnancy for so long.

The most ridiculous thing, Daisy thought, was that, on the face of it, she had never looked so well. In fact, the bloom of pregnancy only served to make her looks more exquisite. Her complexion
was dewy, and her eyes sparkled. For five months now her body had nurtured the little life growing inside her, swelling gently to accommodate it, and her arms already ached to hold her child. She
couldn’t wait to meet her baby, and yet she dreaded the first contraction, because this birth didn’t mean a new beginning. It meant, unless Robert could somehow find a way to save her,
saying goodbye. Everything was happening as nature intended but society forbade.

The hollow pain of her predicament left her breathless. She would rather tear a limb from her body than sign a piece of paper giving ownership of her child to a stranger. Again and again Vera
had gently tried broaching the subject of visiting an unmarried mothers’ home, of discussing that most unthinkable of options – adoption – but Daisy had cut her off mid-sentence,
begging for more time. At the sight of such a torrent of tears, Vera had backed off, for now, but Daisy knew that eventually her hand would be forced. She knew it would be impossible to keep her
baby, and yet,
and yet
her heart longed to raise the little life inside her as her own. This baby was conceived in love, and could be raised with love.

Daisy also clung to the more powerful hope that Robert would return, that one day she would open the door to find his handsome face smiling back at her from the doorstep, clutching her letter in
his hand. She heard his words from that last night in the West End hotel echo through her mind.
On my honour,
if
I
can find a way back to you, I will.
Now her honour
depended on him finding such a way.

Daisy got up to dress. As she carefully wound the bandages round her tummy, never had her desire to leave the East End been so strong.

There was a gentle knock at her bedroom door and Vera’s concerned face appeared.

Allow me,’ she said, coming up behind her and gently winding the bandage round her sister’s back before securing it with a safety pin. When she finished, Vera sighed, and even though
Daisy could not see her face, she knew what was coming next.

‘These bandages will only work in concealing your pregnancy for so long, Daisy,’ she warned softly in her ear. ‘We need to talk and make a plan. We must pay a visit to this
home and see the place for ourselves. I know every fibre of your being is against giving the baby away, but I really cannot see any other option. Frank’s trial is next week and unless they
lock him up and throw away the key, he will return, and then what?’

Daisy drew back and jutted out her neat chin. ‘I’ve written to Robert, telling him about the baby.’

‘And . . . ?’ Vera replied.

‘It’s all right, Vera. He’ll write back in time, I’m sure of it.’

Vera gently spun her sister round to face her. ‘I wish that were true, love, honestly I do, but you have to start preparing yourself for some uncomfortable truths. Even
if Robert
does return and you somehow find a way to get married, it will be clear to all that your baby was conceived out of wedlock, and that’s before you even begin to consider the issue of the
baby’s colour. A half-caste baby in Bethnal Green?’ Vera shuddered. ‘Can you even imagine what the likes of Pat Doggan would have to say about that? Your life and the baby’s
life will be made intolerable.

‘Besides, these Americans, well, they’re here to fight a war, not start families. Have you considered that may be the reason why he hasn’t responded to your letter? I dare say
flings like that are frowned upon by his superiors.’

‘It wasn’t a fling,’ Daisy protested, her green eyes at once filling with tears.

Vera sighed and quickly changed tack. ‘I’m sorry, love. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but we’re running out of time. I am simply trying to be the voice of reason.’
She reached down and lightly touched her sister’s tummy. ‘This baby is relying on you to do what’s right. It’s not fair on him or her to ignore this situation for a moment
longer. You had a wonderful and exciting romance with your American, but you’re not living in a Hollywood film. There is no fairy-tale ending to this story.’

By the time Vera had finished her little speech, Daisy knew it was futile to argue any more. Her head told her that Vera was right, but her heart wasn’t ready to listen.

‘Just give me more time, please?’ she pleaded.

The sisters had reached a stalemate.

‘Time is the one thing we don’t have,’ Vera replied abruptly. ‘We’ll discuss this again later. Now, let’s get going. Those bandages and uniforms won’t
sew themselves.’

Half a mile away, Poppy was also steeling herself to leave her lodgings and face the journey to work. She was glad to leave her stuffy room, and as it was already promising to
be a warm day, she had sensibly left enough time to walk to the factory. For the next twelve-hour shift she would be cooped up inside.

Outside on the streets, she was grateful for the fresh air in her lungs – well, as fresh as London air could ever be compared to the sweet air of Norfolk. Not that she missed it, mind you.
Poppy had been in the East End for nearly six months now with still no word from her mother, so had no idea if the village was talking about the scandal or if it had all been swept under the
carpet.

Her mother’s rejection of her cut just as harshly as it always did. All she had ever done in her life was work hard and try to please everyone, and yet the one woman who was supposed to
love Poppy unconditionally had turned her back on her.

If only someone would respond to her secret letters, then life would certainly look a lot rosier. True to her word, Poppy had stitched no more letters since the last one, sewn on the night of
the party. That had been ages ago, and to her disappointment, there had not been a single response. She had poured her heart and soul into that letter and couldn’t stand to think of a soldier
finding it and perhaps even laughing over it with his comrades. ‘You’re a silly fool,’ she scolded herself as she walked.

Suddenly, her thoughts turned to the private battle that Daisy was fighting. Her own troubles paled into comparison against hers. Pregnant! Poppy still could hardly believe it. True to their
word, she, Archie and Sal hadn’t breathed so much as one word of Daisy’s predicament, but as every day passed, Poppy feared for her friend’s future.

As the factory came into sight, Poppy spotted Daisy trailing glumly up the road after her sister, her shoulders hunched, her beautiful face a mask of misery. She was a far cry from the
glamorous, self-assured girl Poppy had first met all those months ago. Quickening her pace, Poppy hurried to catch her.

‘How are you feeling, Daisy?’ she whispered, catching hold of her sleeve and gently tugging her back. ‘Have you worked out what you’re going to do yet? We’ll all
support you.’

Daisy’s expression was thunderous. ‘Oh, please, Poppy. Not you as well. I’ve had Vera bending my ear all morning.’

With that she swept up the narrow staircase, leaving Vera to send Poppy a despairing look. She glanced around to check no one was coming before confiding, ‘I’m at my wits’ end,
Poppy. She simply won’t listen to reason.’

‘Would it help if I spoke to her?’ Poppy asked.

‘I doubt it, my dear,’ said Vera. ‘Short of putting a bomb under her, I can’t seem to shake her out of this terrible inertia. The problem is, she can’t seem to rid
herself of the silly notion that this Robert chap is going to return, wave a magic wand and make everything all right again.’

There were no more words to be said and they followed Daisy up the stairs to where the day’s work was waiting.

Vera had no sooner stepped foot onto the factory floor than Archie was marching towards her.

‘A quick word in my office, Vera, and you too, Daisy, if you please.’

The two women walked through the door and sat down. A gale of laughter and song echoed in from the factory floor, but there was no disguising the feeling of dread in the room.

Archie’s face softened with concern as he looked at Daisy. ‘How you feeling, Daisy love?’

All right, Mr Gladstone. You know . . . bearing up,’ she replied guardedly.

‘Is there something the matter, Archie?’ asked Vera.

Archie shifted uncomfortably in his seat and steepled his fingers as he regarded them both.