Girl with Secrets: a coming of age war story and family saga full of romance, mystery and danger in by Carol Rivers (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📕

‘The bus is full up. We’ll have to wait until a seat is free.’

Daisy peered at the names of the streets as the bus travelled onwards. Westferry Road, Millwall Dock Road and East India Road. The endless rows of terraced houses and smoke-stained roofs gave way to larger properties of three and four floors. At Blackwall the bus stopped again for yet another intake. ‘How many more can this bus squeeze in?’

Bobby shrugged as he stood with his case between his ankles, holding on to the back of the nearest seat. Daisy did the same, though it was difficult to keep her balance as the bus jerked unsteadily along. It seemed hours before the bus eventually pulled up at a garage.

The driver shouted, ‘First stop. Anyone for Fernley village?’

Bobby grabbed his case and threw himself at the first vacant seat. Daisy landed beside him, though not without injury. She had fought off competition and scraped her heel in the process.

Another girl had snatched her hair ribbons as she passed. But this time Daisy didn’t complain. She was seated beside Bobby with her case at her feet and that was all that mattered!

CHAPTER 23

‘GOOD JOURNEY?’ asked Aunt Pat as they left the bus after what seemed an eternity to Daisy.

‘Yes thank you, Aunt Pat.’ Bobby pushed Daisy forward, whispering, ‘Don’t moan, whatever you do.’

Daisy frowned at her brother. She was exhausted and her heel was sore.

‘Whatever’s happened to your hair, Daisy?’ Aunt Pat enquired. ‘And you’re limping.’

Daisy looked down at her scuffed and wrinkled ankle sock. Bobby pushed his arm against her. She knew he would be angry if she complained.

‘Never mind, we’ve not far to go,’ said Aunt Pat brightly. ‘We’ll walk up an appetite. Grandma has baked an apple pie for tea.’

Daisy brightened. Grandma’s apple pie was always a favourite at Christmas. She even preferred it to Christmas pudding, though last Christmas of course she’d had neither, being under the weather with that dreadful flu.

They made their way into Wattcombe village, past the quaint old shops. “Jane’s Wool Patterns” and “John Carson, Butcher” and “Peggy Altwhistle’s Tea Rooms.” She remembered that if they turned down the lane by the village hall, they would come to the school.

A large hand-painted sign with wobbly writing announced the lane was blocked off. A few men, rather old and doddery walked in and out of the village hall.

‘The council are very busy,’ said Aunt Pat proudly, ‘making plans to defend our village should it be attacked. The Germans will have a surprise when they try to invade Wattcombe.’

Daisy didn’t think the Germans would ever find Wattcombe in the depths of the countryside, not if they took the long and winding bus route.

She looked up and down the street and wondered what these secret plans could be. Elderly ladies led spaniels on leads, or rather, the spaniels led them. Aged old men rode bicycles that wobbled from side to side.

‘Are we nearly there?’ Daisy asked as Aunt Pat marched ahead. Although Daisy knew Aunt Pat suffered from bad nerves, they obviously didn’t affect her long stride.

‘Not far. Don’t you remember?’

Daisy shook her head. Her memories of Wattcombe were vague.

She glanced at Bobby. He was very quiet, changing his case over from his left hand to his right. Daisy was convinced they had taken the wrong turning. One country lane after another unwound in front of them. Trees arched thickly overhead and the hedgerows grew thickly each side.

A tractor approached and chugged to a stop in the middle of the lane. The driver pushed back his cap and hailed Aunt Pat. They began to gossip and Daisy pulled down her sock to examine her injury. The blister was bright red and extremely sore.

Bobby sat on his case, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘It seems we’ve been walking for miles. Though I expect we shall do a lot more.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Aunt Pat and Grandma haven’t got a car. As far as I could see in the village, there weren’t any. So where ever we go it will be on foot.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘There’s just one bus stop too.’

‘I’m hungry,’ Daisy complained. ‘More hungry than I’ve ever been before. And I’m tired. And I don’t know if the blister on my heel will burst.’

Bobby rose to his feet and lifted his case. ‘Well, you’re about to find out.’

‘Come along you two,’ beckoned Aunt Pat, stepping aside to let the tractor pass. The driver looked down and smiled at them.

‘Mr Webber said you can go to his farm to muck out the yard in the mornings. Just like you used to do,’ said Aunt Pat with a cheery smile.

‘What’s muck out?’ Daisy whispered to Bobby as they tried to keep up with Aunt Pat’s lightening pace.

‘It’s shovelling away the animals’ poo.’

Daisy tried to recollect the poo clearing, but the agony of her heel was distracting her. There seemed no chance of pausing as Aunt Pat’s bad nerves drove her healthily on at a record pace as she hurdled a style that led into a green field stretching as far as Daisy could see.

‘G ive me a hug,’ said Grandma as Daisy hobbled into the house. Whilst in the smothering arms of her grandmother, she was relieved to spot a huge crusty brown pie in its baking tin perched on the top of the black-leaded stove.

‘Come here, my boy,’ said Grandma, pulling Bobby close. ‘You are growing into a fine young man.’

‘Now, off you go, up to your room,’ shooed Aunt Pat. ‘While I make your supper.’

Daisy followed Bobby from the kitchen, making her way through the dark, musty-smelling hall to the stairs remembering that no matter where you stepped, each stair creaked. Daisy thought of the three floors above which were never used, not since Grandpa had died. Grandma had refused to move into a smaller property and nothing would change her mind.

When they were younger, Daisy