Maggie's Girl Read online

  Just say it was true – did Mam know? Why should it be such a secret, something never talked about?

  If Granddad wasn’t her grandfather, then who was?

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’

  Holly felt as if cold water had been poured over her.

  Dr Hardaker!

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ She got to her feet.

  ‘If there’s anything you’d like to talk about, Holly, I’m always here to listen,’ Andrew prompted. Making sure Holly was all right seemed the least he could do for Maggie.

  ‘Why should there be?’ She gave a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes – eyes remarkably like her mother’s, he realised.

  ‘Nothing’s the matter,’ she repeated, beginning to walk alongside him, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her blazer.

  ‘You looked worried, that’s all. Is it your mother? She’ll be OK, you know, Holly. By all accounts everyone in France is managing to get home, one way or another. She’ll be back before you know it.’

  Holly shot him another glance, part annoyance, part gratitude. In actual fact, she was wondering just how far she could trust him.

  Mam was always saying how easy Andrew Hardaker was to work with. She said he was the sort of man you could lean on in a crisis.

  And Holly did need someone to talk to…

  ‘Something’s happened at home. I don’t know what to do about it, and that’s the truth.’

  They’d come to a halt by the river. Holly tried to explain about Granddad not really being her granddad, and none of it making any sense, and the doctor listened. Looking only slightly surprised.

  Holly supposed in his line of work he was used to people coming out with all kinds of odd things, even something as odd as this.

  ‘Holly, you know what your gramps is like. Sometimes wild talk is just a condition of being elderly—’

  ‘But it’s true!’ All at once she recognised that. ‘He meant it, Doctor. It just – feels true, somehow.’

  ‘Talk to your mother about it when she gets back,’ he suggested, ‘or ask Daisy if you can’t wait that long….

  ‘Does it really matter? Peter’s still your granddad, and you love him, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I love him!’ she protested.

  ‘That’s all that really matters.’ He turned towards her, smiling. ‘It’s the only important thing, in fact, as you’ll realise when you’re older….’

  Holly hated it when grown-ups said that kind of thing. To her horror, he began to tell her off for bunking off school, and her lips settled into a line of stubborn determination. She looked more like Maggie than ever.

  ‘Your mother would be furious if she knew you’d behaved so irresponsibly. She trusts you to behave.’

  He had to rush off to afternoon surgery, and Holly watched him go.

  He was right about one thing, at least. She would have to talk to someone, and she hadn’t got it in her to wait until her mam got home. So it would have to be Gran.

  Holly had a healthy respect for her gran, and the mere thought of confronting her with what Gramps had come out with this morning made her feel trembly inside.

  ‘Would you like me to run through things again?’

  Alice Pardew finished her tea, and put her cup and saucer on the little inlaid table at her side that looked as if a puff of wind might blow it away. She smiled encouragingly.

  ‘Once was quite enough,’ Silas Bradshaw growled.

  The smile slid from her face. She blanched under the expression in his eyes.

  ‘Silas,’ Adèle cautioned, seeing it. ‘It’s very kind of Mrs Pardew to spare the time to explain this all so well.’

  Her husband snorted.

  Alice Pardew, from Castle Maine WVS, had been dreading having to tell the richest man in town he was obliged by law to take in evacuees – and schoolchildren, at that.

  ‘There’s so much room here! And how wonderful that the children will be able to keep together …’ Alice knew she was gushing, but was unable to stop it.

  ‘Wonderful?’ Silas rocked back on his heels.

  Alice Pardew had heard plenty concerning Silas Bradshaw, and at this precise moment she was quite prepared to believe every word of it. She wished she had the nerve to ask for another cup of tea.

  ‘Silas, please give the poor woman a chance to explain,’ Adèle said quietly.

  Outside in the meadows, a voice was giving orders as the Home Guard – she liked the LDV’s new nickname – practised drill.

  ‘Of course you’ll be provided with extra rations.’ Alice Pardew was still going on.

  How exactly did this nice Mrs Bradshaw cope, and her so fine a lady? She shot her a look, mustering every ounce of sympathy she could find, and Adèle smiled back.

  ‘The WVS will organise beds and extra bedding, of course. You won’t be inconvenienced during the day. The children will be attending local school. It’ll be a tight fit there, admittedly.’

  Alice was a firm believer in the maxim that where there was a will, there was a way.

  ‘The school is bringing its own staff along, so you see there’s simply no need to worry. Think of helping all the sweet little children!’ She beamed, and Silas snorted.

  ‘I won’t allow this house to be overrun by a rabble of schoolchildren!’ Silas’s brows shot up into his thick brush of hair.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, Silas. The country’s at war, in case you hadn’t noticed, and it’s the law,’ his wife remarked.

  ‘Of course I’ve noticed the country’s at war! Don’t you lecture me …’

  At some point during his diatribe, Mrs Pardew departed. Adèle listened with as much patience as she could muster until Silas began to run out of steam.

  ‘Silas, I’m as surprised as you are,’ she began.

  ‘Surprise doesn’t describe it!’ He stood by the French windows looking out over the gardens. ‘It’ll ruin the house.’

  ‘Not necessarily! We’ll be here to see there isn’t too much damage done. It’ll give us something useful to do, something to think about—’

  ‘I don’t need anything to think about!’ Silas blustered.

  Adèle stood up stiffly and went over to him. Her hand sought his, and he grasped it tenderly. Age had done nothing to dim their feelings for each other.

  ‘I think I should enjoy children being here again.’ She looked up at him. ‘Think about it, Silas! Mrs Pardew is right – there really is nothing for us to worry over. The house will be alive again.’

  ‘I promised my dad I’d come up and give him a hand, Mam.’ Billy thrust his spade into the ground and turned over the sort of rich dark loam only arrived at by years of tender loving cultivation.

  William had given a lifetime to his garden, growing mostly flowers. Over the last few months Peter, digging for Victory, had been busy turning it into a large vegetable patch. Plenty needed doing; Daisy knew he’d be really glad of the help – and even more pleased to see Billy taking an interest.

  ‘You’re a good lad.’ She smiled up at him.

  He’d finished his shift mid-afternoon and got home to have a bath and change before coming up the hill.

  He looked as if he meant business, and Daisy was pleased to see him home and doing something useful – away from his books, for once.

  ‘Where’s our Mary, then?’ he asked, turning another spadeful.

  It was a beautiful day. Mary’s day off, and Daisy knew she planned to spend it in Castle Maine with her RAF boy. The base was only five miles down the road, and it appeared Mary was intent on making the most of it. She was hardly ever without a date nowadays.

  Daisy told Billy all about it – it did her good to let it all out.

  Thinking about Mary kept her mind off other things, though, and Billy knew that.

  ‘Mags’ll be back safe and sound, you’ll see.’ Billy knew exactly what was on his mother’s mind.

  ‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ Daisy could hardly bear to think what was
happening in France. If only Maggie had listened to her!

  ‘What if—’ She stopped. She couldn’t even put it into words. Daisy hated not being able to affect the outcome of things. It made her feel thwarted, defeated almost.

  ‘Happen you just ought to concentrate on being proud of what she’s doing,’ Billy suggested.

  ‘I am proud of her!’ Daisy retorted a little defensively. It was true, she was prouder of Maggie than she’d ever admitted to anyone.

  ‘She shouldn’t have gone.’ Daisy couldn’t keep accusation out of her voice. ‘I have enough on with Dad and the job, and this wretched war, without having to worry about Maggie, too!’

  She stopped.

  ‘What, Mam?’ Billy prompted, so she said it anyway.

  ‘I’m too old for looking after children, Billy! I know Holly’s nearly grown, but Harry’s such a handful. He runs rings round us; I never know the half of what he’s up to!’

  ‘He’s a lad. Can’t you remember some of the things I used to get up to?’

  ‘You were never like that, our Billy!’

  Billy had been a doddle compared to Harry. Daisy sighed. She ought not to feel this way, not with her own grandchildren, not when she loved them so much.

  ‘I’m tired, I expect, that’s all. Not been getting a lot of sleep.’

  ‘You mustn’t worry about things so. It’s the war. It happens,’ he consoled her.

  ‘Oh, the war! Folk of my age have been through it once already – and lost people, too!’

  Ned was never far from her thoughts nowadays, yet she couldn’t even speak of him, not to this good sweet boy, nor to Mary, and especially not to Peter.

  What would Peter say if he knew she was spending so much time thinking of someone else? She loved Peter, of course, but could she be blamed if there was still a place in her heart for Ned Bradshaw? He was still the father of her child, and she’d loved him dearly once – still did, if the truth were known.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mam?’ Billy was leaning on his spade, watching her curiously.

  ‘Of course I am.’ She made a determined effort to pull herself together. ‘Have you sent those papers back yet?’

  Billy’s call-up papers had arrived the week before, and for some reason he seemed to be prevaricating in sending them off.

  Daisy couldn’t for the life of her understand why. His was a reserved occupation; there was no pressure on him to join up. He was needed here.

  ‘I haven’t sent ’em in yet.’ He stopped digging. ‘Why? What’s the rush?’

  ‘These things are best resolved.’

  He looked at her for a few seconds, then returned intently to turning the soil over, chopping it with the sharp blade, his back bent with the strain.

  ‘Were you going to say something?’ Daisy demanded.

  ‘What is there to say?’

  He’d clammed up, as he usually did when anything difficult was in the offing. The silence grew until it became uncomfortable. He thrust the spade savagely into the ground and turned over a clump of soil.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ Daisy asked quietly. ‘It looks like it!’ Her voice was sharp with worry. ‘You wouldn’t do anything silly? I mean you would tell me, before—?’

  ‘Do you think I’m going to run away and join up? What gives you the idea I’d do any such thing?’

  ‘You never tell me anything, Billy, nowadays,’ she answered slowly. ‘I hardly know a thing about you, where you’re going, what you’re doing.’

  Daisy and her son had always been so close. She couldn’t believe how much he’d changed.

  ‘I’m a man, not a child,’ Billy said patiently. ‘Why should I come running to you?’

  A man – nineteen years old! Daisy gazed at him.

  ‘If you had any idea – if you really knew me at all!’ A fierce light sprang into his eyes, and then just as quickly disappeared. He sounded so truculent, not like their Billy. Daisy’s eyes widened in surprise, and to her horror, he flung down his spade and stalked off into the house.

  What had she said to make him storm off like this? Her dear sweet kind Billy, who’d never hurt a soul if he could help it?

  ‘Gran?’

  Holly stood on the garden path, her school satchel on her shoulder. Daisy frowned.

  ‘What is it now?’ Her mind was all on Billy, inside the house. Had he begun to calm down? She’d have to go in.

  ‘Can we talk?’ Holly put her satchel down. ‘I wanted to catch you on your own. There’s something I need to ask you.’

  The child was looking pale and upset, Daisy saw. Something else wrong here, by the looks of it!

  ‘What is it? I haven’t time for playing games.’

  ‘I know you haven’t.’ Holly took a deep breath.

  ‘It was something Gramps said this morning.’ She’d begun hesitantly, but her voice gathered strength. ‘I can’t put it out of my mind, so don’t tell me he was only wandering.’

  ‘How can I tell you anything when I have no idea what he’s supposed to have said?’ But Daisy’s stomach was turning over. Oh, Dad, what have you done?

  Holly gazed at her defiantly.

  ‘He said Granddad isn’t me real granddad, nor me mam’s real dad either. He said you didn’t marry Granddad until Mam was a toddler. Is it true, Gran?’

  Daisy’s breath caught in her throat. Shock coursed through her like a whip-lash, as if she’d been nearly bowled off her feet.

  ‘Child! You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘I’m telling you what Gramps told me this morning,’ Holly continued remorselessly, ‘and he meant every word of it! Please tell me what it’s all about?’

  ‘He was rambling,’ Daisy began. How could she answer Holly? She hadn’t the fight for this, not now.

  ‘You might as well tell me.’ Holly fixed her with a hard stare, as if she were afraid Daisy was about to turn and run. She would have done if she could, but there was nowhere to run.

  ‘He meant nothing by it!’ Fear made Daisy angry, but she might never have spoken; the child patently didn’t believe her.

  The spirit that had seen Daisy through the years, all the tough times, suddenly deserted her.

  ‘Tell me the truth!’ Holly insisted, and Daisy heard her clearly enough, but her words were no more than an echo, a demand asked of someone else, not Daisy Bridges.

  Inside, Daisy Bridges had just shattered into a thousand million little pieces. She couldn’t have answered if she’d tried.

  ‘Does me mam know?’ Holly persisted.

  There was a metal post at each end of the path, between which Daisy strung her washing line. She grabbed the one at the top end of the garden, and hung on for dear life as tears burst from her eyes.

  At last, Holly saw the effect her words were having. She rushed over, flinging her arm around her grandmother.

  ‘Gran! Oh, what have I said? Whatever’s the matter?’

  Daisy leaned thankfully into her granddaughter’s shoulder. How had Holly grown a good head taller than herself? She could lean into her now, borrow strength from her.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Holly.’

  With a supreme effort of will, she stepped back, relieved that her legs could still hold her up, even if they were trembling. She took a deep, shuddering breath, pulled her hankie from her apron pocket and rubbed her eyes.

  Gradually the world stopped spinning and the full horror of her dilemma was staring her in the face. She’d have to tell Holly something – but how could she, when Holly’s mother knew nothing?

  ‘Please tell me,’ Holly pleaded, and Daisy could scarcely look at her.

  ‘There’s some things better you shouldn’t know.’ It didn’t even sound like her own voice.

  ‘I have a right to know me own granddad,’ Holly said.

  ‘Peter is your granddad. Be told, love. I can’t tell you more. And it’s none of your business!’

  Hadn’t she always realised this day would come, no matter how she tried to
hold it off? Daisy gathered herself together and began to walk back up the path, concentrating on every step.

  Holly stood watching. Gran looked suddenly like an old woman.

  There was something in it, then. As soon as she’d seen how shocked Gran was, Holly had known it must be true.

  She ought to have tackled Granddad, who might have told her everything at once. She bent to pick up her satchel, and trailed reluctantly inside.

  The freezing water was up to her waist already, but Maggie never felt it, so firmly was her gaze fixed on the fishing boat in the water ahead, waiting to take them to a bigger boat offshore.

  Beyond, a tanker blazed, a thick pall of acrid black smoke belching high into the air. In the distance, a Stuka screamed.

  Night was already falling; the shape of the boat was indistinct, the edges blurring into a grey choppiness of sea.

  ‘Nearly there, Ted,’ Maggie encouraged.

  Her patient smiled grimly through the pain occasioned by the shrapnel still in his shoulder. They’d cleaned the wound and strapped him up, all they could do in the circumstances.

  The water slowed their progress, the sand shifting treacherously beneath their feet. The man she held up stumbled, and her arm tightened round his waist.

  Behind them, Diana followed, helping a young Guardsman with a bad leg – they’d discovered him taking cover under the shelter of a farm tractor just outside Dunkirk.

  Maggie would never forget that particular journey, nor the uncertainty that accompanied it, fuelled by the sight of abandoned British tanks and guns.

  At least the troops had refused to return without the girls who’d nursed them and been with them every step of the way. They’d rather have stayed behind en bloc than leave the nurses alone to face the consequences.

  The reason why the Germans had so far halted their advance at Boulogne and Calais remained a mystery, but it at least allowed a few days’ grace.

  Everybody was helping everybody else, though the evacuation was piecemeal, to say the least. Maggie glanced back over her shoulder, towards the beach and the lines of men patiently waiting.

  ‘Someone needs to do a bit of organising here.’ That was Diana’s voice behind her, and Maggie grinned.