‘Thanks.’
‘We’ll have to hide her whenever we’re both away or she’ll get nicked.’
‘What do Ralph W Folk and friends do?’
‘They advertise things.’
‘So she’s advertising advertising by advertising?’
‘I suppose so. Do you want to give her a name?’
I said, ‘Grace,’ and regretted it immediately.
‘I like that: if we get bored with that we can change that to her lesbian friend Mary.’
‘Come again?’
‘Hail Mary full of Grace – just like Tuesday’s child.’ I suppose my face showed that he’d touched a bone, because he immediately asked, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Bollocks. What’s the matter?’
‘I knew a Tuesday’s Child once – a Lancaster bomber I flew. She crashed and burned first time out with her next crew. I suppose she still worries me.’ He didn’t respond, which was a reasonable thing to do. Then I observed, ‘It’s odd, but the further I get from the war the more it seems to matter. It didn’t matter much at the time; we just got on with it. What do you think?’
‘I think you’ve shared a tent with me for too long: it’s making you sensitive. Why don’t you get up and wash, and then go down and tear a strip off our governor . . . it’s all you were talking about on the trip in. He’ll probably CB you for fourteen days, and we can all get back to a normal life complaining about the wogs.’
I had slept so well that I had forgotten. Bollocks.
Daisy had a tiny office alongside Watson’s big office in the cricket pavilion. I suspected that most of our work was done in her small office, whilst Watson sat with his feet under the desk in the big one, sloshing whisky and chatting to his cronies on the telephone. It’s the way you have a good war. Watson’s office was currently empty of Watson, but Daisy came through to find out who was making the noise.
‘Where is he?’ I asked her without preamble.
‘Gone over to Cairo for a meeting and a conference. He said that you were going to be awkward when you got back, and that if you were too awkward I was to call the police. Are you going to be too awkward, Charlie?’
‘Yes: I want to brain the bastard.’
She immediately reached past me for the telephone on his desk. I put my hand on it first to prevent her, and she slapped me. I think it shocked both of us. Daisy’s mouth dropped open, and she rushed back into her den and slammed the door.
I had to follow her, didn’t I? I’m not sure whether that was because I was concerned for her, or to make sure she wasn’t phoning the cops from in there. She wasn’t. She was crying, and I, of course, lost all my resolve. Men are so stupid. I went over and put my arm around an aircraftwoman who had technically assaulted a senior officer. That meant that I technically assaulted her. Again: stupid. Daisy was having none of that. She pulled violently away, but accepted my handkerchief – one of those horrible light khaki issue jobs with the broad dark stripe down one side. There was a packet of Passing Cloud, and a box of B&Ms matches on her desk, alongside a glass ashtray. I lit two fags for us, and passed her one. I enjoyed the swift hit of the Turkish tobacco, but this was hardly the time to start discussing that. Daisy stopped shaking, and began to drag heavily on the fag. I think it calmed her as well as me. I went and sat on the edge of her desk, leaving yards of sea room between us.
Eventually she asked, ‘Will you have to report me?’ I hated the way that she wouldn’t meet my eye.
‘Don’t be daft; I’ve known you for years. I just want to know what I’ve done wrong.’
She laughed a bitter little laugh. It was as if the Daisy I’d known had completely disappeared, and an entirely different unpleasant person was looking out from her body at me. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all, Charlie. You’ve done nothing.’ She’d just said the same thing three times. Did that mean anything, or was she simply losing her marbles?
‘I still don’t understand. You really were going to phone the cops and make some sort of report about me. Why?’
This time she did make eye contact, and there was nothing good in there. It was enough to make you believe in those silly old Catholic tales of demonic possession.
‘Because I could, Charlie.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I loathe you, and I would enjoy seeing you taken down a peg or two.’
‘Again . . . but why?’
‘Because you’re a man.’
I felt like saying Is that all? And then Situation normal, but it was too serious for that. I headed back out to Watson’s office. Don’t ask me what I was thinking about, because my mind was spinning. His cupboard was unlocked. The Dimple Haig had been finished, but there was a half-decent Black Label Johnnie Walker. I didn’t think he would begrudge it me. Daisy came and stood alongside me, reached over and poured us a glass each. A hefty glass of whisky at this time of day was definitely a trespass into Watson’s territory. This time it was she who sat on the edge of the desk. She had a nice pair of pins but, again, it wasn’t the right time to notice them.
‘He’s not really a drunk you know: it’s all an act. He rarely touches the stuff unless there’s someone here to see him do it.’
‘Half the people I know spend most of their time pretending to be someone other than they are . . .’ and I wasn’t prepared to let her off the hook . . . ‘Look at you: you’ve spent years pretending to be someone I liked
