Daisy was mortified. ‘I didn’t listen deliberately.’
‘It’s none of your business what Aunt Betty does,’ Bobby said coldly, hobbling to the door in his boots. ‘You must stop spying. If you don’t, your ears will fall off and then your nose.’
After her brother had left the room, Daisy felt miserable and sick. How had she managed to eat so many sweets all at once? Would Bobby’s remark about her ears and nose come true? She vowed there and then, never to listen to other people’s conversations again. Even if she had to block up her ears.
Her tummy rumbled.
She didn’t feel like Christmas dinner at all.
CHAPTER 12
DAISY GLANCED down at her dinner plate. Under normal circumstances, she would have helped herself to at least four roast potatoes. Now she could barely manage one. At three o’clock in the afternoon, she was feeling very poorly.
‘Perhaps our little sister is love-sick?’ teased Matt as he helped himself to a generous portion of cabbage.
Daisy felt too weak to argue. She lifted her fork and toyed with the slices of roast chicken that Pops had served.
‘It must be all the excitement,’ decided Mother as she spooned out the greasy baked trimmings.
‘What a sumptuous meal!’ Pops exclaimed. ‘We’re so fortunate to be spoiled by Grandma and Aunt Pat. If it weren’t for their supplies, our dinner wouldn’t be half so impressive.’
‘All down to Mr White from the Wattcombe parish council,’ replied Aunt Pat. ‘He insisted we bring some of his allotment vegetables.’
‘Then many thanks go to Mr White,’ Pops agreed. ‘Top man.’
Daisy wished Mr White hadn’t been quite so generous. She was struggling to eat more than a mouthful.
‘Christmases were very different in nineteen sixteen,’ said Grandma on a reflective sigh. ‘Our boys were fighting in the trenches. They had nothing to eat but bully beef. There was not much variety to speak of in England either, though we did better in the country than the towns and cities.’
Matt and Bobby were served generous seconds but Daisy couldn’t raise even a smile, let alone more food to her lips.
‘Daisy are you unwell?’ Mother asked.
‘Not like you at all, treasure,’ said Pops.
‘Save a space for Christmas pudding,’ advised Grandma cheerfully. ‘I baked it with ale from the Cat and Fiddle. Flo, if you’ve custard, I think the pudding will go down a treat.’
At the mention of this concoction, Daisy could bear it no longer. She jumped to her feet and rushed from the room. When she reached the lavatory, the volcano inside her erupted.
Slowly, Mother’s face came into view. ‘Oh dear, it’s a day in bed for you, I’m afraid.’
Daisy couldn’t have climbed out of bed if she’d tried. Well, she had tried. In the early hours. But she’d felt so ill, she’d fallen back down and immediately gone to sleep.
‘I feel a bit sick,’ she groaned. ‘I’ll never eat another sweet again.’
Mother smiled. ’I’m afraid you’ve a temperature.’
Daisy groaned. ‘My throat’s sore too.’
‘I’ll fetch some water and then you must rest. Not what you want to hear at Christmas, I know.’
But Daisy hadn’t the least desire to move from under the covers. She hoped the fever would go away if she lay still for long enough.
She dreamed of school and wearing Bobby’s new boots. So heavy and clumsy was the footwear, that she could not escape from Peter Brady who rode on Grandpa’s cart, cruelly whipping the backs of the four black horses. This dream was followed by the lonely figure of Uncle Ed standing in Pops’s laboratory. The litmus paper in his hand was white. Mr Calder appeared in a puff of smoke and set fire to the Bunsen Burners while Uncle Ed wasn’t looking.
Daisy woke up. She had been calling out Uncle Ed’s name. She was trying to warn him about Mr Calder. Through the window the bright light of day had faded to a dusky evening hue. She reached for the glass of water that Mother had left on the bedside table and gulped down its entire contents.
As she sank back again, she could hear voices. Bobby was outside in the garden with Pops. They must be playing football. But Bobby’s new boots were at school, she fretted. That’s where she had left them in her escape from Peter Brady and the horses.
‘Bobby,’ she croaked in delirium. Staring up at the ceiling, she lay, on fire just like the Bunsen Burners. How would she put out the blaze? The litmus paper was white.
It should have turned red.
CHAPTER 13
THERE WAS the smell of bread baking when Daisy woke. ‘Welcome back,’ said Pops, from his chair beside her bed. ‘Awake at last!’
Daisy smiled the best smile she could. There was a little twitch to her lips that had never been there before.
‘Here, drink this.’ Pops held the glass to her lips. ‘Better?’
She lay back, refreshed.
‘You know, we’ve been worried about you.’
‘Have you? What day is it?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘How many days is that after Christmas?’
‘Three. And you’ve slept them all away.’
Daisy guiltily recalled eating the sweets from Aunt Pat’s stocking. ’I ate too much toffee.’
Pops chuckled. ’No, you’ve had the flu.’
‘Did you play football in the garden with Bobby?’
‘Not yet. We’d rather you get better first to cheer us on.’
‘But I heard - ‘ Daisy stopped. Was it all in a dream?
‘Are you hungry?’ Pops asked.
‘A bit, I s’pose.’
‘Mother is making bread and chicken soup with Grandma.’
Daisy didn’t know if she could eat anything, but it was nice having Pops beside her. ‘Did Aunt Betty and Uncle Ed call round?’
Pops gave a little cough and shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘They always visit at Christmas.’
‘Rest a little more, then come down for tea.’ He tucked her hands inside the cover, refilled her glass and went softly out of the room.
Daisy listened to his footsteps on the
