Secrets of the Singer Girls (7 page)

‘It’s not the uniforms I’m looking at,’ Daisy quipped. Frantically wiping the condensation from the glass, she let out a low whistle under her breath. ‘Having all
these Yanks about is better than Christmas. Over a million of them are going to be arriving, I heard on the wireless the other day. They’re billeted all over, from stately homes to tents in
parks. Food might be rationed, but at least men aren’t anymore.’

‘That’s for sure,’ Betty added, nudging Poppy to one side so she could get a better view. ‘It’s just nice to see some young fellas about the place at last. My mum
says the whole of East Hanglia is filled with ‘em.’

‘You mean East Anglia, you nit,’ interjected Sal, with an amused smile.

‘That’s what I said.’

‘And what fellas indeed,’ Daisy went on, scarcely able to tear her gaze from the window. ‘Look at that blond one. He’s got muscles on his muscles.’

‘Too right,’ Betty bantered back. ‘You could bounce a penny off that bum.’

A chorus of laughter erupted, causing a flush of colour to rise up Poppy’s chest. She wasn’t accustomed to such frank talk, and though part of her admired the women for their
boldness, she would never dare to speak with such a brazen tongue.

‘Come on, girls,’ chided Sal. ‘Watch the language in front of Poppy. We don’t want to scare the poor girl back to Norfolk.’ Sal winked at Poppy to show her
support.

Daisy seemed not to have heard this, as a second later, she flung open the window, plunged her fingers between her lips and wolf-whistled so loudly Poppy jumped two inches off the floor.

‘Cooee, up here!’ Daisy hollered.

‘Daisy, don’t,’ Poppy blurted, wide-eyed. ‘He might hear you.’

Too late. The object of Daisy’s affections whirled round and stared up at the open window of Trout’s. A wide smile creased his cheeks as he took in his attentive audience.

Poppy had to stop herself from ducking down under the ledge. ‘Now you’ve done it,’ she hissed fearfully.

‘Well, hello there, miss,’ called up the GI, exuding charm and confidence. ‘Why don’t you all come on down here and say hello in person?’ A cigarette dangled
languidly from the corner of his mouth.

Poppy stared in disbelief as Daisy smoothed down her shiny black tresses.

‘You’re on,’ Daisy said, grinning and banging shut the window. ‘Come on, girls. What we waiting for?’

‘I better not,’ Poppy replied, her voice quavering. ‘What if Vera sees us? She’ll dock our pay if we’re late back from break.’

Daisy rounded on her. ‘So what if she does see us?’ she blazed. ‘It’s our break – we can do what we like. Besides, we’ve heaps of time.’

‘All the same,’ said Poppy earnestly, eyeing her workbench, ‘I best not. It is my first proper day here after all and I want to make a good impression.’

‘Suit yerself,’ shrugged Daisy. Striding over to her workbench, she reached into her bag, pulled out a bottle of Evening in Paris and dabbed some along her collarbone. ‘Now
I’m dressed,’ she said with a wink. ‘Come along, Sal – I’m not going down there without you.’

‘You are barmy, Daisy Shadwell,’ replied Sal, shaking her head and laughing. Poppy was surprised to see Sal follow after Daisy, nervously smoothing down her red hair.

By the time the two friends had clattered down five flights of stairs in a whirl of giggly excitement, the four soldiers were leaning up against the side of a green truck filled with yet more
GIs, hanging over the edge.

Poppy watched and listened intently from the window ledge. She knew she should return to her workbench as she had said she would, but curiosity was rooting her to the spot.

Five floors down on the cobbled street, Daisy grabbed her opportunity with both hands.

‘Well, hello, beautiful,’ the GI grinned as he allowed his grey eyes to roam appreciatively over Daisy’s shapely body. ‘You smell like the jasmine flowers on my porch
back home,’ he smiled silkily.

Sal was laughing at the pair’s brazen performance when suddenly she too found herself broadsided by a cocky Yank.

‘And what about you, miss?’ drawled a GI as he leaped athletically from the jeep and planted himself in front of Sal, hands on hips. ‘You’re staying awful quiet. Cat got
your tongue, as you Brits say?’

Sal knew it was a line: she wasn’t as naive as some of the young girls these soldiers had no doubt been practising their lines on. She was a married woman, for goodness’ sake, and
old enough to know better, and yet, when faced with the GI’s dazzling charisma, a little piece of her reacted to his attentions. It had been a long while since a young man had spoken to her
with such charm.

‘I speak when there’s something worth responding to,’ she replied with a shrug.

His eyebrow shot up and he started to laugh, revealing the widest white smile Sal had ever seen.

‘I like you, Red. You’re a real firecracker,’ he laughed. ‘Should have known with hair like that. And there was me thinking you were all shy English roses. Anyway,
how’s about you both meet us at Dirty Dick’s later? It’s opposite Liverpool Street Station.’

‘Do you mind?’ said Daisy in mock horror. ‘We’re not those kind of girls.’

‘All right, then,’ he said, changing tack. ‘There’s a big dance on tonight in Leicester Square. Meet us there instead?’

‘Maybe,’ grinned Daisy, as if butter wouldn’t melt. ‘Come on, Sal – we best get back upstairs.’

‘See you later, then, doll,’ winked the first GI.

Daisy didn’t need to look back to know the soldiers were watching as she sashayed over the cobbles.

As they ran giggling up the stairs, Sal’s laughter disguised her deepest fears. She could talk the talk all right, but finding the strength to step out from her husband’s shadow?
That was another thing entirely.

From her vantage point five floors up, Vera watched the whole performance and shook her head. She didn’t mean to be an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy, but it wasn’t
right, not in her eyes. Their mother had been so ladylike, despite the poverty in which she had raised them, and she always knew the right way to behave. Dignity, respect, hard work and cleanliness
were the bywords that had governed Anne Shadwell’s life, and she had passed those virtues down to her elder daughter.

A horrible sense of foreboding swept over Vera. With every silly row, she felt her little sister pull ever further away from her, and yet she felt powerless to do anything to prevent it. Daisy
seemed to be growing more reckless and restless with each passing day.

What was it she had said last night?
You can’t tell me what to do anymore.
Maybe not, but Vera would never stop trying to protect her, if only from herself. She had a feeling
these Yanks were going to be trouble.

The factory door burst open and Daisy and Sal fell through it, flushed with giggles and euphoria. As they drew level with Vera, they saw her thin lips were pursed in a rigid line.

‘Mother would be turning in her grave,’ she hissed as Daisy sauntered past her to her workbench.

Daisy flicked her hair nonchalantly as she sat down. ‘Don’t be bitter, Vera,’ she snapped. ‘It’ll show on your face.’

‘I mean it, Daisy. She would never have conducted herself like that,’ Vera went on, determined that her words would hit some small fragment of Daisy’s conscience.

Daisy merely shrugged and fished her compact mirror from her pocket. Pinching her cheeks and fluffing her hair, she smiled sweetly. ‘Life’s for the living, and trust me, I intend to
live it.’

Before Vera had a chance to respond, a chorus of whistles flooded the factory floor as Sal sat down behind her machine.

‘Been out soldiering again, girls, have we?’ piped up Pat, her face wreathed in a wicked smile. ‘Any more of that and you’ll end up with a reputation as a soldier’s
groundsheet. Just watch your step, girls.’

Mr Gladstone strode onto the factory floor and silenced Pat with a glare.

All right, ladies. Tea break’s over,’ he boomed. ‘Back to work. And how about a bit of “Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty” while you’re at it? I haven’t
heard that in a while. And make it nice and loud so everyone can hear. Come on, let’s show ‘em what we’re made of.’

‘Right you are, Mr Gladstone,’ chirruped Daisy, who never needed an excuse to show off her beautiful singing voice.

Vera nodded, satisfied at the sight of the women resuming work, and was just about to return to her duties when Mr Gladstone pulled her back gently.

‘I heard about your row with Daisy last night,’ he said.

Her face clouded. ‘Nothing I can’t handle, Mr Gladstone,’ she snapped defensively.

‘I know. But she’s only young still. She didn’t mean it. She loves the bones of you. Everyone does.’ His gruff voice softened. ‘You’re not the only one with a
nickname,’ he smiled. ‘I know they all call me Mr Patch.’ He grinned and tapped his bald patch. ‘On the subject of which, I do wish you’d call me Archie and not Mr
Gladstone. Makes me feel even more ancient than I am. I’m only forty-five, you know.’

Vera’s proud face stiffened. ‘I don’t wish to suspend formalities, thank you.’ She bristled. ‘We may be fighting a war, but that’s no reason not to uphold
standards.’ Vera straightened herself up. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve at least a dozen bundles waiting to be signed off.’

‘Of course,’ Mr Gladstone mumbled, flushing red. ‘But I’m still here if you need me. To talk . . .’ His voice trailed off as he nervously smoothed down his hair.
‘So, how many bundles did we get through this morning?’ he said briskly.

Much to Vera’s relief, they got back to the business of the day.

Back at her workbench, Poppy’s slight fingers trembled as she tried and failed to thread a needle. Factory life went on around her as usual, but inside, her mind was in
ceaseless turmoil. She had watched in wonder Daisy and Sal’s confidence around the American soldiers. They handled themselves with such aplomb and poise, as if all the world were their stage.
If it had been her, she would have been a gibbering wreck.

Every situation Poppy found herself in seemed to scare her senseless. What hope had she of meeting a man when she could barely string a sentence together without stuttering or flushing? Would
she ever meet a man who didn’t frighten her, or for that matter find the confidence to deal with men like Frank? Why did she not possess even one ounce of Daisy’s beauty or assurance?
Perhaps her mother was right: maybe she really didn’t know how to do anything but skivvy.

At the thought of her mother, Poppy’s heart broke all over again. In the short time she had been here, she had already realized her cool behaviour towards her only daughter hadn’t
been right. She had cast her out into this strange new world with not so much as a by-your-leave. Vera had shown more maternal instinct towards her in the past twenty-four hours than her own mother
had in sixteen years, and now what? How on earth was she to cope living alone in complicated, bomb-shattered London? Life below stairs in a scullery hadn’t prepared her for this. The thought
of a future alone here in the East End scared her rigid.

Suddenly, the thread in her hand snapped as she tugged it too hard.

‘Oh, dash it all,’ she mumbled, tears filling her eyes. ‘I’m such a silly goat. I can’t do anything right.’

So absorbed in her own turmoil was she, she barely noticed Vera looming over her.

‘I said, are you all right, Poppy?’ she repeated.

‘What?’ She jumped, startled. ‘Oh, sorry. I was away with the fairies.’

‘You were very quiet over breakfast this morning.’ Vera’s direct manner took Poppy by surprise.

‘Oh, gracious, no, Vera, I mean Mrs Shadwell. No, I was just a little tired. I hope I didn’t come across as ungrateful, because I owe you so much for all the kindness you’ve
shown me, really I do,’ she stammered. ‘I’m just feeling a little out of my depth.’

Vera’s face softened. ‘I promised I would look after you, Poppy, and that’s exactly what I intend to do, so chin up, please.’ Without waiting for Poppy to reply, she went
on, ‘I’ll help you move in after work tonight, and I’ll also make sure Mr Gladstone gives you an advance on your wages, just enough to buy a bit of food. I understand your
mother’s paid your first month’s rent upfront?’

Poppy nodded and bit her lip hard to stop the grateful tears that were fast filling her eyes again.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Poppy?’ asked Vera again. ‘Is there something else you’d like to tell me?’

‘No, I’m fine, really I am,’ she reassured her. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, all of you, and I really am so grateful.’

When Vera moved on, Poppy lost herself in the strange comfort of repetitious work: sewing, folding and stacking, over and over. Poppy had been nervous at the prospect of her new duties, but she
was rather pleased to find she had taken to sewing like a duck to water. The whirring of the machine and the women’s song wrapped her in a comforting rhythm.

The rest of the day passed mercifully without incident, and by the time the skies darkened to dusk, Poppy’s soul was calm again.

At precisely eight that night, the shrill bell that signalled the end of the shift rang and Daisy jumped from her seat like a scalded cat.

‘Gracious, Daisy,’ Poppy chuckled. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury moving that fast.’

Daisy smiled and grabbed her purse before whistling over to Sal. ‘Sorry, Poppy. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you joining me and Sal tonight? I’m sure they’ll have a
friend for you. We’ve just got time to stick a bit of warpaint on, and if we hurry, we can get the number 22 to Leicester Square.’

‘Leicester Square? Oh no, I really can’t,’ Poppy replied, growing flustered. ‘Besides,’ she blushed, silently cursing the ease with which she turned red,
‘I’ve got to move into my new lodgings.’

Sal, however, needed no encouragement and was already pulling on her coat. Poppy would never dare admit out loud that next to them she felt like a frumpy little country mouse. Drinks in an East
End pub were one thing, but big showy nights out in the centre of London were quite another.

Besides which, Daisy was radiant; her beauty was so luminous that Poppy would pale into invisibility next to her.