When Giles told her that he and Susan had fixed their wedding day for a mere five months ahead, Daisy knew this was indeed the right time to visit Violet in Australia and, of course, to catch up with Hazel – she was missing her daughter more than she would have believed possible. Any doubts she may have entertained were dismissed when she saw the look of relief that swept across Giles’s face when she announced her intention.
Daisy toyed with the idea of going by air but decided against it. The main object of the trip, after all, was not to be where she was; getting to her destination was secondary. She booked her passage on a ship leaving ten days after the wedding, judging this would give her ample time to clear out her belongings while Giles and Susan were on their honeymoon in, predictably, Venice. They planned to be away for two weeks, so she would be on the high seas by the time they returned.
As Susan’s parents, together with their daughter, were organizing the wedding in every detail, there was little more for Daisy to do than get herself an outfit. She felt the twenty-first party had been a sort of dress rehearsal for the wedding as she searched the better shops and boutiques for something that Giles would approve of and she might actually like herself. She wished Hazel were here to help her. While she was about it, she indulged in new clothes for the voyage and her visit to Australia. With only herself to please, this was enjoyable.
It was after one of these shopping sprees that she returned home to find a blue aerogram with an Australian postmark waiting for her. Knowing it was from Hazel, she tore it open eagerly and skim read it while the kettle boiled for a reviving cup of tea.
Hope the wedding goes off well and wish I was going to be with you. It was nice of you to suggest I come home for it and then we travel out here together, but not really practical, Mum. For one thing, I have a job, and don’t forget I agreed to stay here for at least 2 years when I scored a £10 passage (I bet yours will cost a lot more) and I wouldn’t really want to be away so long. I have friends here and I feel I belong. Aunt Violet has been very good and says that I can stay here as long as I like. That’s great because I get on really well with Maureen. Did you know Edwin Sanders had a son? He is actually quite young and very nice indeed; we get on really well.
Just what did that mean? Daisy asked herself as the flimsy sheet of paper blurred in front of her. Edwin Sanders, the man her mother had told her about in that last letter, was her father. Then this son of his that Hazel got on ‘really well’ with must be her own half-brother – Hazel’s uncle. If that was so, he must be old. Well, a lot older than Hazel; he was probably her age.
She forced herself to read on through the remainder of the letter which was mostly inconsequential chitchat except for the ‘PS’ squashed in at the very bottom after her daughter’s signature: ‘By the way, his name is Tim – Timothy Sanders – and I really do like him very much’.
In a desperate but futile hope that she was not remembering her mother’s confession correctly, Daisy retrieved her letter from the secret drawer where she had kept it all these years. Her fingers shook as she unfolded it. No, there was no denying her mother’s words. Edwin Sanders was her father, Hazel’s grandfather and also, it would appear, father to this middle-aged man, Timothy Sanders who her daughter was so fulsome in her praise for. By this time, Daisy’s imagination had Hazel madly in love with him and facing a broken heart when the truth of their relationship was revealed. Why, oh why had she not shown Hazel the letter when she first read it? But of course, she had not guessed then that it would be of any importance to anyone but herself.
After an almost sleepless night in which she tried to remember what degree of relationship barred two people from marrying and whether the same rules applied in Australia, she also fought the voice in her head reminding her that no one but she knew about the relationship anyway, so … if she kept quiet….
A strong cup of tea and a couple of aspirins gave Daisy the strength to sit down and write to Hazel, simply begging her not to do anything drastic before she got there, but she didn’t add that that included marrying her uncle. When Daisy wrote how much she was looking forward to seeing her again, she wondered just how true that was, given her knowledge.
At Giles’s wedding, Daisy felt as if she was taking part in some great drama. She floated through the day in a dreamlike state, playing her role of mother of the groom. The champagne, like everything else, was excellent. Afraid she may already have imbibed too freely to help her through the task of listening to what seemed far too many and too ponderous speeches, Daisy thought she had better switch to orange juice. She didn’t want her tongue to slip and make some foolish remark, letting Giles down, or worse, be indiscreet about Hazel when she was repeatedly asked by well-meaning friends if she would soon be the mother of the bride. She heaved a sigh of relief when at last it was time to wave the happy couple off on their honeymoon.
Daisy was surprised to see that their car appeared pristine clean. No confetti sticking to treacle smears, no old boots dragging behind. Giles must have not only hidden it well but had a trusted accomplice. Not quite trusted enough though, for they drove away to a splendid cacophony. The hub caps had been filled with pebbles or coins. She smiled and wondered how far they would get before Giles dealt with them – if it was coins, salvaging them would assuage his annoyance.
As the noisy car disappeared and they were all left behind feeling flat, the saying: ‘Your son is your son until he gets him a wife, but your daughter is your daughter all her life’ floated through her mind. Giles’s marriage was, she knew, as much a defining moment in her own life as it was in his.
With this thought and the realization of all there was for her to do in the next ten days, all speculation about Timothy Sanders and his relationship with Hazel was relegated to the backburner of her mind.
Daisy arranged for her larger personal possessions to go into storage, including the bureau with the secret drawer, but without its letter. This she secreted at the bottom of her jewel case. She decided to sell her car and repurchase when she returned to England; at this point, she had no idea how long she would be away.
She said farewell to her friends and arranged for Mrs Johnson, who came in three mornings a week to help with the housework, to open up the house for the newlyweds. Finally, she was on the train to London where she would catch the boat train for Southampton, glad, as she settled in a corner seat, to have nothing to do and no one to do it with.
‘Are you coming or going?’
Daisy, leaning on the deck rail watching the last minute preparation for departure and hoping her luggage was safely on board, did not turn her head at the voice somewhere near her right shoulder. She didn’t want any interference as she savoured her aloneness in this moment which, to her surprise, she was finding emotionally charged.
‘I’m not sure,’ she mumbled, hoping her lack of friendliness would encourage him to move away. But when she stole a glance around, she realized that was a forlorn hope; there were too many people packed too close up here on the deck for anyone to move far.
‘What I meant was, are you going back home, or is England your home and you are leaving it?’
In this longer sentence, Daisy thought she detected something familiar in the timbre of his voice, but this was absurd. However, she turned her head to answer him this time.
‘England has been my home for slightly more than half my life. Before that—’
Her voice died away and she stared at the man at her side, seeing his face in profile, for his attention was now below on the dockside. He waved rather vaguely as if he couldn’t actually see the person he was waving to then turned back towards her. For a moment, they stared at one another then, overcome by a swirling sensation, Daisy gripped the rail so hard that her knuckles went white. For a dreadful moment, she thought she was going to faint, or worse, fall overboard. ‘James!’ she croaked.
‘Daisy! Is it really you?!’
She nodded, ‘I – I think so.’ She shook her head as if to clear it, ‘but I feel I must be dreaming or something.’
He smiled. ‘Well, at least you didn’t say, “this is a nightmare!”.’ He stared at her as if he too was not sure whether this was real. ‘You haven’t answered my original question. Are you taking a trip, or maybe emigrating?’
‘I am going to stay with my sister,’ she explained, ‘and visiting Hazel. She is in Australia at the moment.’
‘Hazel – ah. Yes, little Nutmeg.’
‘Not so little, and no longer Nutmeg. She calls herself Hazel these days.’
‘And – what was his name – your son?’
‘Giles. He is married. That is one of the reasons I am coming out to Australia. At twenty-one, he inherited the business and the house. It seemed a good point in all our lives for me to …’ She had been about to say ‘come back home’ but wasn’t sure if that was what she really meant. She turned back to him. ‘And you – what are you doing? If I remember, neither of us quite knew whether we belonged in England or the Antipodes.’
‘I definitely belong in New Zealand now. I took out citizenship years ago. My wife—’
‘You are married, then?’ Daisy cut in. Turning back to the scene below so that she missed the tightening of his lips and the slight shake of his head, she only heard:
‘Not now,’ in the sort of voice that did not encourage questions.
She wanted to ask about his wife, what exactly he meant by that terse remark, but embarrassment kept her silent.
Remembering he had lost a leg in the war, she found herself glancing down involuntarily. He must have a good prosthesis, she thought; he looked perfectly normal as he stood by her. She did not even remember which leg it was, let alone notice anything wrong.
‘It was the right leg, and it hasn’t grown back. I just have a very good artificial one.’ His tone was dry as he interpreted her glance.
Daisy felt her cheeks glowing. ‘I – I …’ she stammered, and quickly asked about his career. ‘You are still doctoring, I suppose?’
‘Yes, I am still doctoring, as you put it. I specialized in amputees. Fellow feeling, I suppose you could call it. I do a lot of work with the victims of road accidents, particularly children.’
‘I see,’ Daisy murmured. She would have liked to say something more congratulatory, but everything that sprang to mind seemed too trite. She tried to change the subject. ‘Whereabouts do you live?’ she asked.
‘Christchurch. I am a consultant at the main hospital there.’ Abruptly, he turned from the rail. ‘Well, Daisy, it is a real surprise to meet you again. No doubt we shall bump into one another as we are confined to this ship for the next few weeks.’ With a brief nod, he moved away.
Daisy, watching, thought that apart from a slightly stiff gait, you would never imagine that he was so handicapped. He left her feeling that in some way, she had done or said the wrong thing. She felt both guilty and snubbed and told herself that she really hoped their paths did not cross too often on the long journey to the other side of the world. She wondered if he was travelling alone – and what exactly he had meant when he said he was not married now.