Secrets of the Singer Girls (6 page)

His dark eyes were full of menace as they bored into hers.

‘I-I, er, yes,’ she stammered, hardly able to meet Vera’s gaze.

‘It’s all right, Poppy,’ snapped Vera. ‘You’re not the first young woman he’s tried to corrupt, and I dare say you shan’t be the last. The problem is,
Daisy can’t see him for what he really is. Rotten to the core.’

In a flash Daisy was on her feet. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Vera, not this again,’ she yelled. ‘He’s our old man. He’s the only parent I’ve got and
I’m sick of you slagging him off.’

Along with the rest of the pub Poppy held her breath waiting for Vera’s reaction. Frank sat back down and crossed his arms, a malevolent smile curling over his cruel face. He’s
enjoying this, thought Poppy in dismay.

‘Parent?’ Vera spluttered, her fear giving way to outrage. ‘Don’t make me laugh. I’ve seen rats with more nurturing instincts. Don’t you remember?’ she
shouted. ‘He knew I was terrified of mice so he’d sit outside our bedroom at night scratching at the bare boards. He was the real vermin. Or the time you were crying so he took you down
Wheeler Street Arch and threatened to leave you there for the ghost of Jack the Ripper. Or all the times he gave me a hiding for leaving a plate out or for not having his dinner ready on
time.’

‘You’re making this up, you sad old spinster,’ Daisy scoffed.

‘So help me, God, I’m not.’ Vera trembled. ‘You were just too young to remember. You were a nipper; I was sixteen, don’t forget. Ask Dor, or Ivy, or anyone round
here for that matter – they’ll tell you. They all know he’s a bad apple. But worse than the beatings were his mind games. They made my life a misery, and Mum’s too. She
worked twelve-hour shifts to put food on our table ‘cause he was too drunk most of the time to get work. She felt the wrath of his temper every bit as much as me. You think he loves you, but
trust me, he doesn’t. That man doesn’t know what real love is.’

‘It’s not true,’ Daisy wept, hot tears spilling down her face. ‘I was his miracle baby girl – he told me that constantly.’

‘The only miracle is how he’s scraped through life at all. He wasn’t even around when you were growing up,’ Vera insisted. ‘He was only interested in finding a
stray bit of skirt or gambling. Any money he ever did earn he chucked down his neck.’

‘Maybe because he knew you’d bend his ear whenever he stepped foot across the doorstep,’ blazed Daisy. ‘No one ever felt comfortable in our house. You saw to that all
right. We breathed and you bleached the air. If my childhood were a smell, you know what it’d be, Vera? Carbolic soap and disinfectant! Where was the love? The cuddles? I didn’t care
that we had the cleanest doorstep on the street. Dad’s been the only person to show me any love, so don’t you dare make up such poisonous lies about him.’

‘You tell her,’ piped up Frank, who had been watching in satisfied silence up until now. He was clearly enjoying the sour twist in the evening, that he had brought about. He turned
to Vera with a gloating grin. ‘You heard your sister, it’s only me who showed her any affection growing up. You never had any cuddles for her.’

‘Be that as it may, it was me who raised you, Daisy,’ Vera countered.

‘Suffocated me more like,’ Daisy snapped back. ‘Oh, you were always there all right, Vera, watching over me. Afraid I might make the wrong choice in life, pick the wrong
friends, afraid to let me have the smallest measure of freedom.’ Her words were falling over themselves. ‘You tried to be mother to me until I could bear it no longer. Don’t you
get it? I’m eighteen now. I’m going to go my own way in life.’

Vera’s face was wrung with despair, haunted by her sister’s cruel outburst. ‘I was only trying to raise you the way I know Mother would have wanted,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah? Well, I wish it was you and not our mother who burned that night in the fire,’ Daisy spat. ‘Then me and Dad would be happy.’

Quick as a flash, Vera struck Daisy full force with a stinging slap round her cheek. A crimson flush immediately coloured the place where Vera’s palm had made its impact. Poppy winced, and
Sal shook her head sadly.

Deathly white, Vera stepped backwards as if it were her who had been struck. Try as she might, Poppy couldn’t reconcile this defeated wretch of a woman with the strong lady she had met in
the factory earlier that day.

Frank’s eyes darted from his older child to his younger, wicked amusement flickering over his face.

‘Now, now, Vera. Play nicely with your sister,’ he taunted.

‘That’s enough,’ she whispered. ‘It’s late and we’ve all got work tomorrow. Come on, Daisy, we’re going home.’

But Daisy shook her head and stepped back. ‘Forget it. I’m not coming home with you. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.’

With that, she turned and, in a flash of crimson, strode out of the pub. Sal grabbed her bag and, with a last despairing look at the group, ran after her friend.

‘I’m off, then,’ muttered Frank, glaring at Vera. ‘Don’t wait up. I’ve picked up a night shift. We’ll talk about your little display later.’

Poppy stared at the wreckage of the night, from the defeated figure of Vera gazing heartbroken after her sister to the stunned faces of the Singer Girls. Cold fingers gripped Poppy’s heart
as she surveyed the scene. She realized that her new friend Daisy, though beautiful, was capable of cruelty, and her elder sister, Vera, was frailer than her tough outer shell indicated. She may
have been the boss of the Singer Girls, but in matters of the heart, her younger sister held all the cards.

By the time they made it back to the Shadwells’ terrace in nearby Tavern Street, Poppy and Vera were spent. Poppy sat in silence and watched as Vera bustled around the tiny kitchen and
prepared tea on the old range, heaping tea leaves into a vast brown pot. Despite its humble appearance, the kitchen was spotlessly clean and the range freshly black-leaded. Vera’s nickname
suddenly made sense to Poppy. It was no leafy country estate, but to Vera her home was her castle.

‘Toilet’s in the outhouse out back, and there’s some torn-up newspaper hanging on a nail,’ said Vera, motioning to the scullery wall as she brought a steaming pot of tea
to the table. ‘I’d offer you something to eat, but we don’t have much in. I can give you a biscuit, though.’

She reached up to the shelf and pulled down a King George V Silver Jubilee commemorative tin.

Poppy hesitated. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Shadwell. I’m not hungry. I’m . . . I’m just so dreadfully sorry,’ she blurted. ‘I should have defended you earlier, but
I simply didn’t know what to say when he was staring at me like that, and now I’ve caused you and your sister to fall out.’ Exhausted tears streamed down her face as she cradled
her teacup in both hands for comfort. ‘I wanted to say what really happened, Mrs Shadwell, but I just couldn’t seem to find the words. Your father, he’s . . . Well,
he’s—’

‘An animal is what he is, Poppy,’ Vera said firmly, cutting her off. ‘None of this is your fault, child. That man causes trouble wherever he goes.’

For all the fear and angst of the evening, another more terrifying thought flashed through Poppy’s mind.

‘You’re not going to send me home, are you?’ she pleaded. ‘My mother will go spare. I can’t go home – I would never survive the scandal.’

Vera looked at her, baffled. ‘Why on earth would I do that, Poppy?’ she asked, perplexed. ‘I told you, none of this is your fault, my dear. This is Frank’s style. He
likes to cause misery at every turn. Trust me.’

Poppy slumped back in her chair, relaxing just a little.

‘Thank you, Mrs Shadwell. I . . . I don’t mean to sound nosy . . . but did he, well, did he really do all those things you said?’

Vera’s green eyes glowed in the firelight. ‘Yes, and more, Poppy,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s a bad man. Not that Daisy seems to see, or maybe she chooses not to
remember. He can do no wrong in her eyes.’

‘She’ll see his true colours at some point,’ Poppy said softly, reaching her hand across the kitchen table instinctively and gently closing her palm over Vera’s fist.
Vera’s hand shot away as if she had been electrocuted.

‘I’m sorry,’ she snapped, folding her arms across her chest defensively. ‘It’s complicated, that’s all.’

‘Life often is,’ agreed Poppy, thinking of her old home, which in such a short space of time already seemed so far away. ‘Daisy will come to her senses. She doesn’t
strike me as a daft girl.’

‘Maybe not, but she is a handful,’ admitted Vera. ‘I do love her, dearly, though, and that’s why I won’t leave this house. Daisy may not realize it yet, but she
needs my protection.’

Poppy was taken aback at the tone of her voice. It was loaded with a fierce passion. As she had said the words, Vera’s hand had leaped to her necklace. The chain was as much an emotional
crutch as a piece of jewellery, Poppy thought.

‘That’s beautiful, Mrs Shadwell,’ she said, nodding to her necklace.

‘Thank you,’ Vera replied. ‘It’s my pride and joy. Shortly after Mum had Daisy, she bought one for us both. Us girls were her life. “You’re the two halves of
my heart,” she told me when she gave it to me. It was the last thing she ever gave us. I owe it to Mum to stay put here and deal with this.’

Sighing, Vera collected their teacups and rose to take them to the small sink.

‘Frank definitely won’t return tonight, will he?’ Poppy’s voice shook.

Vera’s expression soured again. ‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment. My father’s a creature of the night, you might say. He’s rarely ever home before dawn. Says
he’s out working the docks, but I suspect he’s out thieving.’

Poppy breathed a sigh of relief and allowed her head to rest on the paper tablecloth. Her tiredness was suddenly overwhelming and no matter how hard she battled, her eyelids were as heavy as
sheets of metal. Her first day in Bethnal Green had been a baptism of fire. And now suddenly weariness engulfed her.

Vera guided her young houseguest through to the front parlour. Laying her down on the chaise longue, she took out a candlewick bedspread and carefully placed it over Poppy and
tucked it in around her. As she slept and dreamed, Poppy’s freckled nose twitched. Vera gazed down at her and shook her head.

How different this innocent little creature was from her own wayward sister. There were no sharp edges to her; even her voice was as soft and warm as porridge.

A steady rage built inside her as she cast her mind back over the dreadful events of the night. How dare her father try to corrupt this vulnerable young girl in her care? When she had found
Poppy trapped with him in the backyard of the pub, the poor mite had been rigid with terror. With a jolt she realized Poppy was only a year older than she had been when she lost her mother. How
different things could have been had she had a maternal hand to guide her along life’s bewildering path.

As she turned to tiptoe out of the room, her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace caught her attention. Vera was not a vain woman and scarcely gave her reflection the time of day, but now
she forced herself to really look at her face, to try and see how Daisy saw her, how others at Trout’s viewed her.

Her fingers trailed down her chest, tracing the contours of her scars, her sister’s words echoing through her mind.
Sad old spinster.
And the most heart-wrenching of all, which
had been like a sledgehammer to her solar plexus,
I
wish it was you and not our mother who burned that night in the fire.

There and then a desire for revenge settled over Vera’s heart. A tight ball of hatred formed in her chest and burned like fire. Despite everything that her father had done to her, she
would stay put. She would not allow him to harm one hair on her little sister’s head, or on Poppy’s for that matter. No. Vera’s place was under her father’s roof, until he
got what was coming to him, however hard that might be to suffer. She would endure it all, for Daisy’s sake.

The next day on the factory floor of Trout’s, all was quiet but for the humming of thirty sewing machines. The mood was decidedly subdued. Poppy wasn’t sure what
time Daisy had returned the night before, but conversation over the breakfast table that morning had been stilted.

Poppy still couldn’t shake the memory of Vera’s revelations about her father’s detestable behaviour, and thankfully, Frank hadn’t made an appearance at Tavern Street.
Poppy felt so desperately for Vera. How unimaginably awful to have a man so cruel for a father, and worse still to have a sister who either didn’t see it or refused to acknowledge his
actions. No wonder poor Vera had a brittle outer shell, being forced to live in such a hard environment.

Daisy, meanwhile, seemed utterly unfazed by the turmoil of the previous evening, and as soon as mid-morning tea break was announced, she shot out of her seat.

‘Girls!’ she whistled excitedly from the window. ‘Come and have a butcher’s at this.’

‘Ooh, what is it, Dais?’ piped up a young girl by the name of Betty from her seat next to Poppy.

‘GIs at one o’clock,’ announced Daisy.

Soon the room was filled with the sound of chairs being scraped back eagerly as the younger members of Trout’s flocked to the windowsill to take in the spectacle of the American soldiers
walking on the streets outside.

‘Come on, Poppy,’ Betty giggled, her quick eyes shining with glee. ‘You don’t want to miss this.’

‘I ought not to,’ she replied timidly. ‘Mrs Shadwell might see.’

After the kindness Vera had shown her last night, Poppy didn’t want to do anything to make her regret her hospitality, but Betty wouldn’t take no for an answer and soon she found
herself being dragged over to join the sea of clamouring women by the window ledge.

From the tips of their highly polished leather boots to their dazzling toothpaste-bright smiles, the soldiers were handsome, suave and oozed testosterone from every pore. The four GIs sauntered
down the road like Hollywood film stars, oblivious to the hungry eyes drinking in the sight of them.

‘Goodness.’ Poppy got her first glimpse of the American soldiers she had heard were flooding British shores. ‘They’re ever so smart, aren’t they? Look at their
uniforms.’