That Monday morning, Daphne lay in bed until she heard the door of the flat close, then she got up and peeped out of the window to watch Felix striding off down the street. She was filled with relief that he’d gone. It was his first day back to the Air Ministry after their week’s honeymoon in Paris; the first time she’d been alone since they were married.
When they’d left the Savoy they’d taken a taxi back to the flat in Oakley Street where Felix insisted on carrying Daphne over the threshold, and without putting her down, he carried her through to the bedroom. The moment that they’d both anticipated, Felix with desire, Daphne with dread, had arrived.
Felix set her down gently and as she stood still and silent looking at him, reached to remove the combs from her hair, allowing it to tumble free about her shoulders. Murmuring endearments, he began, slowly, to undress her, stroking her neck and shoulders as he unzipped her dress, letting it slip to the floor. She stood unresisting as he removed her bra, allowing her breasts to fall free.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he breathed as he bent to kiss first one then the other. Gently he removed the rest of her underwear until she stood, naked, her pale skin golden in a shaft of afternoon sunshine. Then he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Quickly he stripped off his own clothes, tossing them aside, and slipped onto the bed beside her. He’d waited so long for this moment, dreaming of how her skin would feel against his own, how her lips would open to him, how her body would respond, how their passion would build, but now that he was holding her, kissing her, Daphne’s body was stiff and tense.
Felix felt her tension and thought he understood. She’s frightened, he thought. It’s her first time and I’m rushing her.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘It’s all right, just try and relax.’ And with a great effort, he tried to restrain himself.
Daphne was frightened, frightened that Felix would be able to tell that she wasn’t a virgin. She tried to respond to his lovemaking, returning his kisses and allowing his hands to rove all over her body, but all she wanted was to get it over with. She remembered little of her previous encounter with the subaltern, except that it had hurt and it seemed to be an altogether messy business. She’d pretended to enjoy it, but he was rough in his excitement and when he’d finished her whole body had felt bruised and she was extremely sore between her legs. He was an officer, she’d thought him a gentleman but when he returned to his unit the next day, her letters went unanswered and she never heard from him again. He’d left her aching, miserable and pregnant.
Now it was all happening again. Even though Felix was a little more gentle, there was an urgency about his lovemaking that made her recoil. She kissed him as she had all through their courtship and tried to return his caresses, but when, thoroughly aroused, he tried to enter her, it was all she could do not to push him away.
‘It’s all right, my darling,’ Felix whispered as he drew away from her. Raising himself on one elbow, he looked down into her face, gently rubbing himself against her, smoothing her silky skin with his own. ‘Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.’ He bent his head and kissed her neck, flicked his tongue into her ear and then made a trail of butterfly kisses down to her breasts, teasing her nipples with the tip of his tongue.
Daphne felt a faint, answering arousal, but all she could think was, For God’s sake, Felix, get on with it. Get it over.
This time, when he tried to enter her, Felix found no resistance at all. She lay almost quiescent in his arms as his need for her built and when he finally exploded, he collapsed against her, for the moment satisfied. After a minute she pushed at him.
‘Get off, Felix. You’re too heavy, I can’t breathe!’
Felix slid off her but kept his arm around her, nestling against the warm curves of her body.
‘You’re beautiful, Daphne,’ he whispered. ‘My beautiful wife. Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’ll be even better next time. We’ll take it more slowly. We’ve got all night! Every night!’ At this thought Felix felt himself start to harden and he began caressing her breasts again.
Next time? thought Daphne. All night? ‘Felix,’ she said with a sigh, ‘dearest, it was wonderful, but I must sleep, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’ She took his hand to remove it from her breast, but as she did so he grasped it in his and carried it downward to press against his throbbing erection.
‘No,’ she wanted to scream. ‘No, not again, not yet!’ But he was inside her again, gripping her behind with both hands as he raised her up against him, pushing deeper. His mouth found hers, his kisses deep, his tongue probing and she almost gagged.
When he finally came, she couldn’t wait to push herself free of him, to curl up so there could be no further invasion of her body.
They had lain side by side, bodies not touching but each aware of the other. Daphne afraid he might reach for her again and Felix afraid to do so. It was not an auspicious start to their married life.
Next morning, they took a taxi to Victoria and caught the Golden Arrow to Paris. Neither of them mentioned the night before and there was an awkwardness between them that had not been there previously. As they crossed the Channel on the ferry, Felix went up on deck, keen to be out in the fresh air. Daphne stayed in the passengers’ lounge, happy to be alone with her thoughts. She had been surprised at her own reluctance in the bedroom. She found Felix attractive enough, but when it came to the act of consummation, she had shied away from the intimacy. The only good thing about their wedding night had been that Felix hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t the virgin she’d pretended. She knew she was going to have to get used to the sex, to make more effort to respond to his lovemaking, but the thought of him on top of her again, hot and sweating, made her shudder. On the other hand, she told herself, it was the price she was going to have to pay for the security of his name, the comfort of his home and freedom from financial worries. She had set out to catch him, and having done so, she couldn’t risk losing him by being cold and unresponsive.
Out on deck, Felix stood looking over the ship’s rail. The crossing was calm and as he watched the French coast emerge from a bank of low cloud, he, too, was thinking about his wedding night. He couldn’t believe that Daphne had had no knowledge of what happened in the marital bed. True, she’d never been with a man before, but surely she must have realised what it entailed. Was she frigid, or was she just shy, needing to be wooed and gentled into enjoying sex as much as he did?
I must be patient, he told himself. I must teach her to find pleasure in what I’m doing... what we’re doing... together.
When they landed at Calais each had made a new resolution, and as the train steamed towards Paris, though still aware of the gap that had opened up between them, they began to talk to each other, the talk of acquaintances as they watched the French countryside rush by, but at least some conversation, and by the time they arrived at the Gare du Nord, communication between them had been somewhat restored.
The days in Paris passed well enough, but after days of exploring the city, walking hand in hand along the Seine, climbing the Eiffel Tower, visiting the Louvre and taking a taxi out to Versailles, when they returned to their hotel Felix expected to take Daphne to bed and explore the magic of her body with as much delight as they’d explored the magic of the city.
Daphne submitted, she could do little else, but though on occasion she felt an answering arousal, most of the time she simply waited for him to finish and then rolled over and went to sleep.
Felix never expressed his disappointment, simply kept trying all the ways he knew to teach her to respond. She’s not used to this, he kept telling himself. I must give her time. Her occasional response encouraged him to keep trying.
On the last morning in Paris Felix said, ‘Let’s go out for breakfast, Daphne. We’ll be on the train all afternoon and it’ll be a great way to end our time here.’
They’d found a small café and had been served croissants, warm and buttery, with a basket of fruit and bowls of hot coffee.
This is more like it, Daphne thought as they sat at a table in the window and watched the people going about their Sunday-morning business. This is how it’ll be, married to Felix. And she put her distaste for the physical side of her marriage out of her mind as she spread jam onto her croissant.
‘It’s been a lovely week, hasn’t it, Felix?’ she said, smiling across the table at him. ‘It’ll be hard to go back to dreary old London, won’t it?’
As always, Felix responded to the warmth of her smile, still loving her, still wanting her, still prepared to wait. It had been a lovely week and reaching for her hand, he said so. She returned his grasp and they smiled into each other’s eyes.
Being married will take some getting used to, Felix thought, but it’s surely worth the effort.
Back in London they had fallen into bed, exhausted from their journey home, but in the morning Daphne was awakened by Felix’s lips on her neck and his hands caressing her as he began, gently, to make love to her. It wasn’t too bad this time, Daphne thought as she felt a short spasm of pleasure between her legs, perhaps she would get used to it and even begin to enjoy it in time.
Now that she was sure he’d left, she went into the bathroom and removed her diaphragm, douching with soap and water just to make sure. Daphne had no intention of falling pregnant again. She and Felix had not discussed starting a family, but she had already decided that she didn’t want children and didn’t mean to have any.
Today, she intended to go to Hackney to see her family; to tell them, at last, that she was married. She hadn’t mentioned the visit to Felix; he might have suggested that he should come too, but it was something she wanted to do on her own. She wanted to impress them with her new status: well-to-do married woman. She looked through her new wardrobe, clothes bought with the generous allowance Felix was giving her, and chose a pale lilac suit. The jacket’s wide shoulders and fitted waist emphasised her slender figure, three-quarter sleeves displaying the elegance of her arms. The skirt fell to below her knees, and as she stood before the bedroom mirror and considered her reflection, she twirled on her heel, enjoying the graceful movement of the skirt about her legs. She applied a little make-up and then smiled at herself in the mirror as she perched a small pillbox hat on the smooth sweep of her hair. She looked well dressed, sophisticated, and the knowledge that she would turn heads when she stepped out into the street gave her the confidence she needed for a visit to her family. One final glance in the mirror and she picked up her gloves and went out to hail a taxi.
It was the first time she had actually flagged down a cab on her own, but when she stepped into it she said in a casual voice that hid her nervousness, ‘Barrack Street, Hackney, please, cabby.’
If the taxi driver was surprised at her destination he made no comment, simply let in the clutch and set off. Daphne looked out of the window, and as she was driven through the once familiar streets of the East End, it was if she were seeing it all for the first time. She stared at the dirty, grey and still-battered buildings, the narrow streets with their shops and terrace houses. Open bomb sites cleared of rubble, but sprouting weeds, willowherb and self-seeded buddleia, had become playgrounds for the London children; once-handsome blocks of flats now dark with grime loomed above the crowded streets, and defiant spires of blitzed churches stood tall amid the slowly recovering city. Suddenly Daphne realised with new understanding just how far she had come from the girl she had been before the war. Now she had left all this behind her; she didn’t belong to these streets any more. She would never again know the poverty that had surrounded and regulated her childhood. She very nearly leaned forward to tap on the glass and tell the driver that she’d changed her mind, but something held her back and she allowed him to drive her to the end of the street where she’d been brought up.
‘This will do, cabby,’ she called and he pulled in to the side of the road. She got out and paid the fare, and as he drove away, she stood and watched him go, wondering if she should have asked him to wait for her.
Too late now, she thought, and resolutely turned her steps towards the garage at the end of the street.
She paused as she reached the end of the alley and looked up at the familiar sign, ‘Higgins Garage. Motor Repairs’, that still swung above the entrance to the yard.
That needs repainting, Daphne thought. The whole place looks pretty run-down.
She glanced into the yard and saw a car jacked up and the overalled legs of someone lying on his back underneath it. She considered going in, hoping to see her father before going indoors to face her mother, but, afraid that her beautiful lilac outfit might get dirty, she turned away and walked up the alley to the house. The back door stood open and without knocking, Daphne pushed it wider and stepped inside. Her mother, Ethel, stood at the kitchen stove, looking to Daphne as she always had done, her brown skirt, cream blouse and yellow cardigan covered with her old flowered overall, her greying hair scraped back off her face and tied in a scarf, turban style. When she heard someone at the door she swung round and when she saw who it was, her jaw dropped.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘look what the cat’s brought in.’
‘Hallo, Mum,’ Daphne said. She hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome, but the ice-cold expression in her mother’s faded blue eyes chilled her. ‘Thought I’d come and see how you was all doing.’
‘How kind of you!’ replied Ethel, and turning back to the pot on the stove she said nothing more, leaving Daphne standing awkwardly in the doorway.
At that moment she heard footsteps running along the alley and turned to see her daughter, Janet, now almost eleven, coming home from school for her dinner. She stopped abruptly when she saw Daphne on the doorstep. She hadn’t seen her for nearly four years, and the last time she had, Daphne had been in uniform. Seeing her now in an elegant lilac suit, it took a moment for her to recognise who it was.
‘Hallo, Janet,’ Daphne said, also surprised. She knew her daughter must have been growing steadily since she had last seen her, but somehow she’d expected her to be the same, shy child she’d been four years ago, not the confident eleven-year-old she saw now.
Janet looked at her for a moment and then turning on her heel, dashed back the way she’d come, shouting as she did so, ‘Dad! Dad! Come quick. That Daphne’s come home.’
‘That Daphne!’ Daphne could hear her mother’s voice in those words. It must have been how she’d been referring to her and the child had picked it up. She stood, irresolute, in the doorway. Perhaps she should leave, now, before things got worse. Her mother was still ignoring her, stirring the pot on the stove, humming to herself as if Daphne weren’t there.
Daphne heard the tuneless hum. Mum was humming! Mum didn’t hum or sing. Grumbling was what Mum did, all the time... about everything.
‘Mum...’ Daphne tried again; no answer and the humming continued.
Janet reappeared again at the run, closely followed by her father.
‘See, Dad,’ Janet was shouting. ‘Told you, didn’t I?’ The girl pushed past Daphne into the kitchen and flopping down on a stool by the table said, ‘What’s for dinner, Mum?’
The humming stopped and Ethel turned round to answer Janet’s question. ‘Hotpot,’ she said. ‘Go and wash your hands.’
Janet did as she was told, going to the sink and running her hands under the tap.
‘With soap.’
Janet used the soap and then dried her hands on a roller towel on the back of the door, before returning to her place at the table.
Daphne watched her as she did so, thinking, It’s just the same as it was when I was a kid. Mum at the stove when I got in from school for my dinner. Being told to wash my hands.
At that moment her father, Norman, reached her and awkwardly took her hand in his. His hand was large and oily from his work under the car in the yard, and instinctively Daphne drew back, saying, ‘Careful, Dad!’ The last thing she wanted was oil on her suit.
‘Sorry, love,’ he said, letting her hand fall. ‘Don’t want to get oil on your lovely frock.’
He edged past her and made his way to the sink where he scrubbed at his hands with a nail brush. Looking across at her he said, ‘So, how’ve you been keeping, Daph?’
‘Dinner’s on the table,’ her mother interrupted, as she doled out three steaming plates of hotpot. The smell assailed Daphne’s nostrils and took her straight back to her childhood. It was the smell of home, of the kitchen where they all sat to keep warm in the winter. Mum’s hotpot had always been a family favourite.
Her father sat down at the table and waved to the chair opposite. ‘Come on, Daphne, sit up to the table and tell us what you’ve been up to.’ He nodded at her suit and added, ‘Doing well for yourself, whatever it is, by the looks of you.’
Ethel sighed. She knew she couldn’t simply ignore Daphne any more and reluctantly she ladled another portion of hotpot onto a plate and setting it down on the table, motioned to her to take her place.
For a few moments they ate in silence, the three because they were hungry and this was the main meal of the day and Daphne because she didn’t quite know how to broach the subject of her marriage.
After a while her father wiped his plate with a piece of bread and said, ‘Well, come on, Daph. To what do we owe the pleasure?’
Daphne extended her hand to show her engagement and wedding rings. ‘I came to tell you that I got married,’ she blurted out.
‘Married? Did you now?’ Her mother sounded sceptical. ‘Did you have to?’
‘No!’ Daphne snapped. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Who’s the lucky man, then?’ asked her father.
‘His name’s Felix Bellinger. He’s an officer at the Air Ministry.’
‘Did he buy you that dress?’ asked Janet, reaching out to touch her sleeve, taking it between her fingers and rubbing the soft material. Daphne resisted the urge to pull away. She simply nodded and said, ‘He did. He’s very generous, he gives me an allowance to buy my clothes.’
‘You still in the WAAFs, are you?’ asked Norman.
‘No, I left when we decided to get married. Felix doesn’t want me to work any more.’
‘He must be very rich,’ Janet marvelled, staring at the rings Daphne wore.
‘I think his family is well off,’ Daphne said, ‘but he has a good salary at the Air Ministry. He’s a wing commander,’ she added with a touch of pride.
‘And what do they think of him marrying a girl like you?’ asked Ethel.
‘Who? The Air Ministry?’
‘His family.’
‘He took me down to Somerset to meet his parents. They live in a village called Wynsdown,’ Daphne said, adding defiantly, ‘and they made me very welcome.’
‘That’s nice,’ said her father, pushing his plate aside. ‘So when are we going to meet your husband? What did you say his name was? Felix?’
‘I don’t know.’ Daphne shrugged. ‘Before long, I expect. He’s very busy.’
‘Didn’t ask us to your wedding, I notice,’ remarked Ethel. ‘Ashamed of us, was you?’
‘No, course not, but it was just us and witnesses at the registry office. Anyway, he knows all about you. You’ve already met him, Dad.’
Her father looked startled. ‘I have?’
‘Yes, and you too, Mum. He knows where we live, he’s been here. It was Felix what brought me home that time when I sprained my ankle, remember? That night in the air raid.’
‘You mean the officer what brought you home in a taxi?’
‘Yeah, he’s the one.’
‘An’ you been seeing him ever since?’ Her mother sounded incredulous.
‘No, course not. I met him again at the end of the war.’
‘And he remembered you?’
‘No. But I remembered him.’
Ethel glanced up at the clock on the kitchen mantelpiece and gave a cry.
‘Janet, look at the time! Off you go, you’ll be late for school.’
‘But I want to talk to Daph, Mum. I want to hear about Felix.’
‘School!’ repeated Ethel. ‘An’ get a move on.’
When Janet had gone, Norman said that he needed to get back to work as well. ‘Got to get that Morris back on the road tonight,’ he said. ‘Bloke’s coming back for it later.’ He smiled across at his daughter. ‘Pity you’re in your posh frock,’ he said, ‘or you could’ve come an’ give me an ’and.’ Never a demonstrative man, he gave Daphne an awkward pat on her shoulder, saying, ‘Come and see us again soon, Daph, and bring this Felix with you next time.’
‘Yeah, Dad, I will,’ promised Daphne, knowing it was a promise she had no intention of keeping.
When they were alone in the kitchen Ethel poured them each a cup of tea and then sat down opposite Daphne and fixed her with an unwavering stare.
‘Sounds as if you’ve landed in clover, then,’ she said at last.
‘Yes.’ Daphne took a sip of her tea.
‘You’re a lucky girl,’ went on her mother. ‘Him knowing the sort of family you come from. Not many officers would marry beneath them like that. You quite sure you ain’t in the family way again?’
‘Quite sure,’ snapped Daphne.
‘Good,’ said Ethel. ‘Now then, what are you going to do about your daughter?’
Daphne stared at her. ‘What do you mean, what am I going to do about her?’
‘Well, I’d have thought, now as you’re married, you’d want to take her into your own home and look after her yourself.’
‘Take her into my home?’ Daphne echoed faintly.
‘Why not? It’s where she ought to be, ain’t it? With her mother? An’ now you can provide for her properly like, well it stands to reason she should come and live with you.’
‘But... Mum, I can’t! I mean, what would Felix say?’
‘I can’t see why he’d mind,’ said Ethel mildly as she saw Daphne’s panic-stricken face. ‘I mean, he already knows about her, don’t he?’
‘And Janet wouldn’t want to come,’ Daphne said, ignoring the comment about what Felix did and didn’t know. ‘She’d want to stay here with you and Dad. You’re her parents... at least she thinks you are. I’m just her big sister. How would we explain to her why she was having to leave you?’
‘He doesn’t know about her,’ Ethel said flatly. ‘You haven’t told him about Janet, have you?’
‘Course I have,’ Daphne retorted. ‘We was only talking about her the other day.’
‘But he don’t know she’s yours, do he?’
‘At the moment he thinks she’s my sister, yes, but he wants kids, so he won’t mind when I tell him. Just got to pick my moment, haven’t I?’
‘He may want kids,’ replied Ethel, ‘but he’ll want them to be his own, not some sailor’s by-blow.’
‘Mum!’ cried Daphne. ‘You shouldn’t call her that!’
‘Why not? It’s what she is.’
‘She’s your granddaughter!’
‘She is my granddaughter and I’ve seen to it that she’s never gone without, but she’s your daughter. She’s your responsibility. I took it on when you was in no position to look after her yourself, but now you are. Never a penny your dad and I had off you towards her upkeep, even when you was earning good money in the air force. You could have helped out then, couldn’t you? But did you? No, not you. You left it all up to us. Well, my high and mighty lady, now it’s going to stop. Now it’s your turn.’
‘Mum, stop! Let’s think this through,’ begged Daphne. ‘Let’s work it out the best way for Janet.’
‘Oh yes, the best way for Janet,’ agreed her mother in a voice thick with sarcasm. ‘How do you propose to do that then?’
‘The thing is, Mum, that if Janet came and lived with Felix and me, well she’d be uprooted, wouldn’t she? She’d have to go to a different school, and leave all her friends behind. She’d miss you and Dad dreadfully. I know, I know, you keep telling me I’m her mother, but she doesn’t know that...’
‘We could tell her,’ pointed out Ethel.
‘She thinks you and Dad are her parents, she loves you and Dad far more than she’ll ever love me, or Felix.’ She saw her mother was about to interrupt again and held up a hand to stop her. ‘I think it would be far better if she stayed here with you, where she knows, where she’s at home and comfortable, so I got a suggestion. I’ll take my responsibility seriously but in a different way. I’ll give you the money you need for her to have the best. It’ll help with your housekeeping, you can buy her nice clothes, and give her little treats. I can come and see her sometimes, as her big sister, bring her presents and the like.’
Unsurprised at this suggestion, Ethel looked at Daphne hard and long. ‘We could do it that way,’ she said at last. ‘It might work better. Course, she’d come and visit you from time to time. Big sisters like to have their little sisters to stay, don’t they?’
‘Yes.’ Daphne gratefully grabbed hold of her mother’s agreement. Anything not to have to tell Felix that she’d lied to him all this time, that he wasn’t the first man to make love to her, that she had an illegitimate daughter.
‘I mean,’ went on her mother, ‘I’m sure he’d understand that you wanted to make your sister a small allowance so that she could have a few of the things that your dad and I can’t afford. How much does Felix give you a month?’
‘Ten pounds,’ replied Daphne and immediately regretted that she hadn’t halved the amount.
Ethel’s eyes widened. ‘Does he indeed? Obviously a very generous man. That’s £120 a year. Well, suppose we say that you give me five pounds a month for Janet. That’ll be enough to give her a few extras.’
‘Oh, Mum, I can’t,’ Daphne cried. ‘It’s too much!’
‘Too much, is it? I can see it might be. Well then, I think the best thing would be for me to come and meet your Felix and explain the whole situation.’
‘Mum, you wouldn’t!’
‘I’m sure, as an honourable man,’ Ethel went on as if Daphne hadn’t spoken, ‘he’ll want to do what’s right, and when he learns that Janet is your daughter, he’ll help all he can.’
‘That’s blackmail,’ muttered Daphne mutinously.
‘No, it’s taking responsibility,’ said her mother. ‘Shall we agree five pounds a month, to be going on with?’ She gave her daughter a hard look. ‘Now,’ she went on, ‘you write down your address. I want to know where I can find you. And don’t think you can disappear into the blue, my girl, cos I swear to you if this address is wrong, I’ll go and see your husband at his office. Air Ministry you said, didn’t you?’
When Daphne left to take a bus back to the West End, Ethel Higgins sat in her kitchen and thought about the arrangement they had come to. She looked at the address Daphne had scrawled on a piece of paper. Oakley Street. She didn’t know where it was exactly, but she could find it if necessary. She’d had no intention of letting Janet be uprooted to move in with Daphne, nor had she any intention of telling Janet about her true parentage, ever. She’d banked on the fact that to avoid that happening, Daphne, secure in her new-found prosperity, would pay a good deal towards Janet’s upkeep from now on. It was clear as day that she hadn’t told Felix the full story about her family. They had not been invited to the wedding because Daphne was ashamed of them. Well, Ethel could live with that, but she was devoted to her granddaughter and prepared to go a long way to make her life better than her own had been, and Daphne? Daphne was the key.
Daphne, sitting on a bus heading back to Chelsea, fumed at how she’d been outmanoeuvred by her mother. Five pounds a month! Half her monthly allowance from Felix. Could she ask him for a bit more? she wondered. He gave her housekeeping money as well, perhaps she could syphon off some of that to pay for Janet’s keep. That was certainly a possibility. She’d have to be careful but with a little clever budgeting she ought to be able to manage that.
She had no intention of going back to Barrack Street for a very long time and she’d agreed to send her mother a postal order for five pounds on the first day of every month. The matter was settled and Daphne could put it out of her mind. She might tell Felix she’d made the visit, she might even admit to giving her parents a little cash from time to time, to make their lives easier, but she would pick her moment; perhaps after one of their more successful lovemaking sessions. But when, after changing buses three times, she finally reached Oakley Street and pushed open her front door, all thoughts of telling him anything about her visit to her family went out of her head as she was greeted by a fuming Felix, with the words, ‘There you are, Daphne! Where the hell have you been?’
Daphne stared at him. ‘I been out,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
‘My father’s had a stroke, that’s what’s up. There’s a train in three-quarters of an hour.’
‘A train, where?’
‘My father’s had a stroke, Daphne. We’re going down to Wynsdown.’