Daisy's Long Road Home. Merryn Allingham
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she said, arranging cups and saucers on a tray. She was prevaricating, but if she showed her true feelings, she’d have to acknowledge the mistake she had made in coming to Brighton.
‘So?’
‘It can be a little insular, that’s all. Trifles can become too important. And the work itself is hardly challenging.’ She was willing to confess that much, but she wished she didn’t sound quite so weary or quite so frustrated.
‘I imagine the lack of challenge is inevitable. After the war, most nursing will seem humdrum.’
She poured the tea, trying to lose herself in the routine action, conscious she should fight a desire to confide in him. They were almost strangers now. Since she’d made the move to Brighton, they’d met only once. She’d gone up to London to spend the day with him just before Christmas. It had been a forlorn attempt to rekindle a love that had once burnt brightly. In determined fashion, they’d made their way around old haunts, exchanged opinions on the city’s new landmarks, chattered a little too much, told a few too many silly jokes, but there had been a hollowness to the day that neither could ignore. They hadn’t repeated the experiment. And now he was here, and she didn’t know how she should feel.
‘You could be right about the war,’ she said, carrying the tray to the table, her finger jabbing at a small spill of tea on the plastic tablecloth. ‘It was an extraordinary experience.’
She sat down opposite him and felt his eyes fixed on her. His gaze made her shift uneasily in her seat. He knew she wasn’t happy, she thought. As always, he knew, and she could feel herself getting ready to confess the truth.
‘Brighton might have been a mistake,’ she blurted out.
There, she’d said it, but his eyebrows barely rose at the admission. ‘I got the promotion I wanted, but the nursing is fairly basic, and though the patients are wonderful and most of my staff are well enough …’ The words were tumbling forth now. ‘It’s the pettiness that gets me down. It’s a small town and the hospital is a very small community.’
‘And who is being particularly petty?’ He was as perceptive as ever.
She allowed herself a small sigh. ‘Miss Thornberry—the matron.’
‘Ah!’
She read his exclamation rightly. A hospital’s matron was always key. They could be fiercesome women, but most were dedicated to their work and fair in their dealings. This one, though, had beaten her. The woman was constantly niggling; sly remarks that suggested that Daisy, as a newly promoted sister, wasn’t quite up to the job. For months she’d taken the criticisms in silence but today she’d had enough and let fly.
‘I expect the latest trouble will blow over.’ Her voice had a false brightness to it.
Grayson stirred his tea and waited for her to go on. He knew there was more to say and so did she. The job had certainly proved a disappointment, but the real heaviness in her heart came from elsewhere. For years, she’d lived a solitary life and felt proud of her independence. But a moment had come, and quite recently, when she’d had to accept the truth. She wasn’t just alone, she was lonely. A thirty-year-old woman who still hadn’t got life right. She missed the camaraderie of wartime, though it had taken her a while to realise it. And she missed the comfort of a good friend. If Connie were here, she could have confessed her loneliness. But Connie was now Mrs Lawson and living a new life in Canada with her doctor husband. Together they’d decided the old Empire offered better prospects than a ravaged and debt-ridden England. And then there was Grayson. How long had that taken before she recognised how large a void he’d left in her life? But that was something else she wouldn’t admit.
He’d been silent all this time and she felt impelled to speak, to fill the empty air with words, any words. ‘I’m sorry. None of this is important and you haven’t travelled miles to hear me moan. It’s only that today has been particularly difficult.’
‘Don’t give it a thought.’ His gaze finally relaxed. ‘Why have friends if you can’t complain to them?’ There was a studied emphasis on the word ‘friends’, and she was trying to think how best to respond, when a loud burst of music clattered through the adjoining wall.
‘Your neighbour?’
‘She has a gramophone and she likes to play it.’
‘Noisy as well as nosy then. She watched me as I walked along the road — every step of the way.
Next door, Peggy Lee was delivering her final flourish, making it impossible for them to speak. But when the last strains of ‘Mañana’ had died away, Grayson nodded his head towards the drab cream wall that separated the two cottages. ‘I take it you’ve tried to negotiate?’
‘I have, but it made little difference and unless I’m to have a stand-up row with her—look, Grayson, forget my neighbour, instead tell me why you’re here. You said nothing about coming.’
He rocked back on the hard chair, his hands in his pockets. ‘If I’d given you advance warning, you might have made an excuse for not seeing me.’
‘I wouldn’t have done that.’
He looked fixedly at her once more, and she found herself lowering her eyes. ‘Things haven’t been good between us, you must admit,’ he said. ‘And I wasn’t sure I’d see you. It was important that I did.’
‘You’re seeing me now.’
She knew she sounded impatient. She hadn’t liked the reminder of how bad things had become. And now she was over the first shock of his appearance, the first rush of pleasure at seeing again the face she’d loved so well, annoyance was uppermost. She was tired and hungry and, she thought confusedly, a little scared. Something bad was about to happen, else Grayson would never have made this trip.
He stood up and stretched his long frame. ‘Can we talk somewhere more comfortable?’
She thought it unlikely. The cottage was rented and the landlord a skinflint. What furniture he’d provided had almost certainly been bought at auction at rock-bottom prices.
‘Will this do?’ She gestured towards the narrow sofa crouching beneath the windowsill, its red moquette worn so thin as to be almost colourless. Grayson followed and perched precariously on the seat’s hard edge. He half turned so he was looking directly at her. ‘I’m going back to India. Not permanently, but I’ve no idea how long I’ll be. I thought it only courteous to a lover, or should I say a former lover, to bid her farewell.’
Daisy’s mouth dropped open. She was stunned, too surprised to speak, too surprised to dwell on being demoted to a former lover. In any case, he spoke truly. Their love seemed to have gone missing somewhere along the way, and right now she hadn’t the energy or the will to try to recapture it.
‘But why?’ she stumbled. ‘Why go back? Why go now?’
She felt stupidly upset. Twice this week India had swum into her world, seemingly out of nowhere, and left her bewildered. Ever since the package from Jocelyn had dropped through her letter box, she’d felt it burdening her mind. And now Grayson had arrived with India on his lips and the burden had just grown heavier.
He leaned back against the unyielding sofa cushion and took his time to answer. ‘Why now? Because there’s trouble. And I’m needed.’
That did nothing to calm her nerves. ‘Trouble? What trouble?’
‘You must have read about the situation—what’s been happening in India since Independence.’
‘You mean the killings? Yes, I’ve read about them. It’s been awful. But what have they to do with you?’ An unspecified fear tightened her face, until she felt her skin drawn hard against her cheekbones. Her voice must have sounded panicked because he tried to soothe her.
‘Most of them have nothing to do with me and, at the moment, the country is generally peaceful. It was the speed of Partition that caused so many problems—huge swathes