Secrets of the Singer Girls (9 page)

Just then a gleaming black chauffeur-driven Jaguar purred to a halt outside and two immaculately dressed RAF officers got out.

Daisy dug Sal in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Out of my league, do you reckon?’ she giggled.

‘You’re punching above your weight again, Dais. They’re more your type,’ Sal grinned, gesturing to two servicemen footslogging it up the road.

‘Ambition – that’s what you lack, Mrs Fowler,’ teased Daisy.

‘I’m just here to support you, remember?’ Sal gestured to her wedding ring. ‘I’ll leave the romance to you, thank you very much.’

At that moment a ripple of excitement ran through the queue. A jeep packed full of demob-happy GIs was racing up the road, all muscles and wolf whistles. They flashed past in a blur of
green.

‘Things are looking up.’ Daisy grinned.

For the benefit of the crowd, the soldiers turned and drove back down the road. As the jeep drew level with the girls, Daisy gazed coyly out from under her long, dark lashes, her green eyes
sparkling invitingly. A chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls sang through the air. Suddenly, she was seized by a mad urge.

‘Evening, chaps,’ she called, her figure perfectly outlined in the light spilling from the doorway.

‘Holy moly,’ mouthed the driver of the jeep, his eyes on stalks. The screeching of his brakes wailed through the air as he narrowly avoided collision with a huddle of dustbins.
Collapsing into shrieks of laughter, Sal linked arms with Daisy and made her way inside.

‘Whatever was you thinking, Daisy?’ laughed Sal, inside the foyer, as they tossed thruppence into a saucer by the cloakroom and handed the assistant their bags. Daisy turned the
question over in her mind.

‘I honestly don’t know, Sal,’ she gasped, her cheeks dewy with excitement. ‘I just feel like I’ve got the devil in me. Tonight’s the night I’m going to
find the One.’

As she spoke, Daisy caught sight of her reflection in a small mirror behind the coat check. She knew she was pretty as a picture. She didn’t consider it vain to admit that; in her mind,
denying it was like saying the world was square. But even she had to admit that tonight she was giving off a certain radiance.

‘Tonight I feel like I might just find my way out of the East End.’

With that, she turned on her heel and swept towards the main dance hall, leaving Sal speechless in her wake.

Inside the dimly lit, oak-panelled room, the club oozed sophistication. A soft light glowed from the red lampshades dotted around the small tables, and the glint of metal buttons flashed from
the soldiers’ uniforms. Handsome, smiling couples glided past Sal and Daisy as they waltzed their way round the highly polished parquet dance floor.

Daisy sighed happily. Nothing bad could reach her here; not even her big sister’s oppressive presence could touch her. The very thought of Vera’s face popping up uninvited in her
brain made her wince. She felt a momentary pang of guilt at her outburst in the pub last night. Then she remembered Vera’s stinging retaliation and a steady rage built inside her. How dare
she? Striking her like that and spouting all those wicked lies about their father. No, Vera was nothing but a bitter old shrew. Daisy shivered slightly.

‘You cold?’ asked Sal, wrenching her back to reality. ‘You left your coat at work, you dozy mare. Why ever don’t you wear it?’

‘What, and ruin my silhouette in that lumpy old thing?’ she replied scornfully. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Let’s not talk about the East End. Isn’t this
place wonderful, Sal? I just love it. All the men so dashing in their uniforms.’

Sal smiled but said nothing, and together, they surveyed the scene. Groups of uniformed men and women huddled together on the darkened edges of the dance floor, plucking up the courage to ask
each other to dance. The working-class factory girls, like her and Sal, clustered in groups. Better dressed and flash, they cut a dash in bright red and green figure-hugging dresses. The Wrens were
a different kettle of fish. Upper middle class and quietly sophisticated, with a love of beige and navy blue, they were cut from a very different cloth.

‘Look at them,’ sighed Daisy enviously. ‘Ain’t they classy? I wish I could talk like them. Maybe when I’ve moved to Dagenham, I’ll have elocution
lessons.’

‘Why?’ blazed Sal. ‘Be proud of your roots. Just because we don’t talk with plums in our mouths doesn’t mean we haven’t got something worthwhile to
say.’

‘I know that, Sal,’ Daisy blustered. ‘It’s just that . . . Oh, I don’t know. They’re a class act, that’s all. I bet they don’t have to use an
outdoor lav.’

‘No, you’re right – they probably have a butler in white gloves to do it for them,’ laughed Sal.

‘Be serious,’ Daisy giggled, taking a playful swipe at her friend.

‘I am being serious,’ Sal protested. ‘You look at them and see gilt edging. I see plain and over-privileged. Social class!’ She almost spat the word ‘class’
onto the parquet flooring. ‘It’s only perception. This whole war’s based around class if you ask me.’ Sal sniffed in disgust. ‘That’s the one good thing to come
from having all these Americans about the place, I suppose – it’s breaking down the divide between the classes. These GIs wouldn’t know a tart from a title.’

‘Boy, are you two ever a sight for sore eyes.’ A smooth male voice cut across the music.

Daisy whirled round and found herself staring into a pair of inviting grey eyes. It was the GI they’d met outside Trout’s earlier that day.

‘Glad you could make it,’ he grinned.

For a second Daisy was struck dumb. Inside the club, he looked even more handsome than on the streets of the East End. Compared to the tongue-tied English soldiers in their ill-fitting, scratchy
uniforms, this one was from a different planet. All loose-limbed and smelling of soap and lemons, even his uniform looked more expensive. He was the picture of glamour.

‘That was some performance earlier.’ He winked at Daisy, but she was scarcely listening. Her gaze was fixed six inches behind him, at his friend and comrade. Following her gaze, the
GI’s face lit up with an understanding smile.

‘This is my buddy Robert. Robert, meet Daisy and Sal. We met them in the East End earlier. And I’m Sam.’

Sam extended his hand, but Daisy ignored it. She was rendered speechless at the sight of Robert. Robert was black, his skin the colour of gleaming mahogany. He was quite delicious, and for the
first time ever she found herself lost for words.

‘Say something, then,’ hissed Sal.

‘W-where’s your other pal?’ Daisy stuttered self-consciously.

‘Chuck, you mean?’ replied Sam. ‘Oh, he got waylaid by a couple of, er, ladies of the night, shall we say? They shone their flashlights at their ankles and that was the last we
saw of him. Think he planned on taking them to the Windmill dance club in Soho. What is it you Brits say – never knowingly clothed in the Blitz?’

Daisy smiled awkwardly – she hadn’t really understood half of what just came out of Sam’s mouth – but Sal threw her head back and roared with laughter. Daisy searched for
something half decent to say, gave up and instead smiled spellbound at Robert.

‘Care to dance, Red?’ Sam smiled.

‘I don’t think so,’ Sal replied. Harmless chat was one thing, but dancing was another.

‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘I’m a terrific dancer.’

‘And so modest too,’ Sal grinned, shaking her head. ‘Very well, but it’s a dance only – no funny business.’

‘Like I’d dare with you, Red,’ he grinned back, leading her to the dance floor.

Alone at last, Daisy continued to gaze longingly at Robert. His powerful face looked like it had been chiselled from stone and she couldn’t wrench her eyes away from staring at every
glorious inch of it. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t speak in case the words were somehow disappointing. He leaned casually against a darkened alcove, yet his shoulders were so wide they
seemed to fill the room.

‘Do you mind being seen with a black man, miss?’ He grinned curiously.

Daisy shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on his.

Are you walking out with anyone?’ he asked politely.

Daisy shook her head again.

‘Boy, I sure can’t get a word in edgeways with you,’ he joked, with a wide grin.

This time it was Daisy’s turn to laugh.

‘Sorry.’ She smiled, feeling shy for the first time in her life. ‘It’s just that, well, I haven’t seen a black soldier before. There aren’t too many where I
come from.’

Robert smiled back and nodded. ‘I understand. I get that reaction a lot.’

‘Don’t you mind?’ asked Daisy.

‘It’s fine. Most British people, with the exception of a few, are awful polite. Where are my manners?’ he said, suddenly standing upright. ‘Can I get you a
drink?’

As he stood to attention, Daisy noticed his uniform tighten round his strong chest and felt her throat constrict again.

‘A lemonade would be lovely,’ she gulped, dry-mouthed.

By the time he returned with her drink and carefully handed it to her, Daisy had recovered herself.

‘So, you one of these gangster types from Chicago?’

Robert laughed and shook his head.

All right, then, you’re a gun-toting Texan?’

Actually, I’m neither,’ he replied. ‘I’m from Missouri. Me and my daddy, we work together on an apple orchard. Picking the fruit, then moving bushels of apples onto
pickup trucks. You like apples, miss?’

Something about Robert’s deep voice was having a stupefying effect on her, so she just nodded.

‘It’s a simple life,’ he went on, ‘but I miss it so much, truth be told. We only just arrived here and I’m a little lonely. The people are nice and all, but it
rains a lot and your beer’s warm.’ He grinned, holding up his glass.

Daisy smiled and cocked her head to one side. ‘So why did you join the army, Robert?’

‘I don’t know really. I guess, and this may sound a little strange to you, I wanted to get out and see the world. See what life there is beyond Missouri. Back in America, you know,
black and white don’t mix much. It’s just the way it is. Same here, for that matter – black and white troops are segregated.’

‘But you’re here with a white fella?’ Daisy said, puzzled.

‘Sam’s different.’ He shrugged. ‘We know each other from back home, and he’s my buddy, but he’s taking a risk being seen out with me. As are you,
miss.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Daisy defiantly. ‘We’re all fighting the same war, aren’t we?’

Robert looked surprised. ‘You’re more enlightened than the folks back home. You Brits are an awful lot more tolerant. You don’t even have a colour bar in place. Here, I can go
where I like, even get on the same bus as whites.’

He looked at her and took a tentative sip of his beer. ‘Well, I just wanted to broaden my horizons and here I am. The Depression hit us hard. Back home, we cook over a wood stove, the only
running water comes from a well, and when the tornadoes come, you better hunker down in the cellar. It’s a good life and all, but I want a better one for myself. Talking to you, such a
beautiful, clever woman, well, that’s just swell.’

Daisy glowed. ‘I know just what you mean. I’ve spent the last year hiding in shelters. Not from tornadoes, mind you, but bombs. If ever there was a girl who wanted to broaden her
horizons, it’s me. I want a better life too. I hear America’s magical.’

Robert returned her smile and just like that she was overcome with an emotion so powerful she couldn’t put a name to it. Escapism, freedom, kinship? Daisy didn’t know, but she knew
this: she had come searching for her destiny, and tonight, in this small, dark alcove in a West End nightclub, she had found it. The world was suddenly bigger than Bethnal Green, Dagenham even.
Perhaps her future lay across the ocean with this dashing soldier?

They talked and talked. The hours slipped by like minutes. Huddled together, the outside world melted away. She didn’t hear the music whipping the dance floor into an energetic jitterbug,
or Sal and Sam calling them to join in. Likewise, the disapproving stares of strangers went completely unobserved. After a while, Daisy didn’t even register Robert’s army uniform, and
for a brief time she was no longer living in a war zone. She was simply Daisy, and he was Robert. An East End girl and a Midwest boy. The soldier with the melting brown eyes and voice as rich as
treacle who wore his heart on his sleeve. His stories of hunger, hardship and happiness wove such a familiar tapestry Daisy half wondered if he wasn’t recounting her own childhood. But above
all, she was won over by his strength. To her, Robert was a man of the soil, rugged and proud, yet humble enough to admit to his fears and loneliness. She was intoxicated by the whole package and
her heart was aflutter.

‘I’d love to kiss you, Daisy.’ His strong voice pulled her from her reverie and she gazed at him in awe. He wanted to kiss her. Right here in public?

She knew she should retort with something witty and she frantically searched her mind to think what Sal might say, but no words came. Instead, she allowed her heart to guide her.

Closing her eyes, she tilted up her neat chin and held her breath. Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled into his powerful arms. His body was a force of nature and she felt as if she had been
sucked into a cyclone, but his kiss, when it came, was as gentle as the rustling of autumn leaves.

Robert’s embrace was so warm, his lips as soft as velvet, and yet his muscular body had total control over hers.

A vision of Vera’s face flashed through her mind.
Mother would be turning in her grave.
Daisy knew that the sight of her kissing a black man in public would be enough to give her
big sister a coronary on the spot. Somehow that just made it all the more attractive. Besides, she reasoned, war justified spontaneity in a world where tomorrow was never certain.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tuned out Vera. Two years of rationing, queuing, slaving and sheltering had taken their toll. She needed so desperately to live.

‘Time to go,’ screeched a voice.

‘Sal,’ groaned Daisy, letting her forehead rest against Robert’s chest.

‘I hate to break up the party, but we gotta go, otherwise we’ll miss the last bus home.’