Girl With Secrets by Carol Rivers EXTRACT

 Girl With Secrets

by Carol Rivers

Synopsis:

A coming of age war story and family saga full of romance, mystery and danger in London’s East End. From the Sunday Times and ebook bestselling author of the Lizzie Flowers series and A Wartime Christmas comes a gripping NEW coming-of-age saga about love, loyalties and secrets.


IN THE TURMOIL OF WAR, CAN SHE KEEP HER FAMILY TOGETHER?

'Surely one of the best saga writers of her time' – Rosie Clarke

1938, East London. Nine year old Daisy Purbright is a country girl at heart and together with beloved brother Bobby, they’ve enjoyed the endless freedoms of rural England.

But when her father gambles the family’s fortunes on a speculative investment in London’s docklands, Daisy and her family are swept up into the intrigue, danger and excitement. Desperately the Purbrights attempt to settle to a new life in the East End, but the whisperings of war grow louder.

Then, one late afternoon in September 1940, Adolf Hitler conducts a paralysing bombardment on London and war tightens its grip. Life changes dramatically and closely guarded secrets threaten the Purbrights’ happiness.

Can Daisy and her family survive one of the most fateful events of the 20th century?

Perfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Pam Howes, Rosie Clarke and Dilly Court.

Purchase Links:

UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B08P52GZKR/
US - https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08P52GZKR/
CAN - https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B08P52GZKR/

Extract

Daisy blinked, putting aside these distracting thoughts as the peaceful moment resumed. If she was to be asked, which wasn’t often, since it was usually Daisy who was doing the questioning, what she thought of her new home she would have said that gradually, she and her new home had become friends. At first they had both been unwilling to grasp a new future. An elderly headmistress, Miss Ayling, its previous occupant, had left an air of order and obedience about the place. Quite the opposite, Daisy reflected, to the dusty, creaky rooms of the old Wattcombe house, where everyone came and went without bothering to wipe their boots. But here - well, this was another kettle of fish altogether!

‘Living in London is the chance of a lifetime,’her father had encouraged on the day they’d moved in. ‘We have a new home to enjoy. The city to explore and the river, the greatest in the world, bringing trade from all nations, right to our doorstep!’

‘But all our savings have gone, Nicky. We have nothing behind us.’ This from Mother who was not at all enthusiastic about the expense of leaving Wattcombe.

‘I’m an engineer, Flo. I put things together. Make them work. The factory is where I should be.’

‘You did very well as Wattcombe’s estate manager. We enjoyed a comfortable living.’

’Is that how you saw us existing for the rest of our lives?’ her father had argued. ‘Tenants of the landed gentry, under the thumb until we grew old?’

‘What is so wrong with that?’

‘Come on Flo,’ he’d urged, ‘you know I was hopeless in the country. This damn gammy leg had me stuck behind a desk all day -’

’I know,’ her mother had interrupted, ‘that you are supremely talented and just aching to make the world’s next unrivalled discovery with your electrical valves. But we have a growing family. Expenses to be met. Bills to be paid.’

Daisy had overheard this almost-quarrel as she’d played in the garden, attempting - and failing - to find as many nooks and crannies to hide in as there had been in the country. The convenient wind had blown the almost-quarrel her way. Once she’d got into the gist of things, she knew that life for her parents was not all they pretended it to be. Now the matter had come up in an almost-quarrel on the very first day of their new existence.

‘Ed’s my best pal as well as my brother,’ Pops reasoned. ’I trust him. He wouldn’t invite me into the business if it wasn’t financially feasible.’

‘He wouldn’t ask you unless he needed our savings.’

Daisy had cramped inside at the bitter tone of her mother’s voice.

‘That’s not fair, Flo.’

‘Not fair, perhaps, but true.’

After a short pause, ‘I’m sorry you still miss Wattcombe, my darling. I know your family is there, well, at least, Pat and your mother. But we go back to visit, don’t we? Just as I promised before we moved to London.’

‘I’m not complaining, Nicky.’

‘Just consider the benefits our current situation has to offer,’ Pops suggested. ‘Poplar Park Row is quiet and untroubled. We are not isolated as we were in Wattcombe. And we even have a plumbed in bathroom upstairs!’ He laughed, but when Mother remained silent he added coaxingly, ‘Bobby and Daisy are happy at their new school. London’s West End is only twenty minutes drive away and the factory a few minutes walk. Once Ed and I have patented our new valves we’ll be in profit. All our money problems will be solved.’

‘I hope so, Nicky,’ Mother had conceded. ‘I really do hope so.’

Her parents had gazed at each other, like eager swimmers diving into a pool. Often their affection was so intimate, that Daisy could not bear to look.

Instead, she had hurried back to her bedroom and gazed out of the window across the river to the needle tops of the goose-necked cranes. Here, she was restored by the sight of her new world and the silhouette of Uncle Ed’s factory puffing grey smoke from its chimneys like a slumbering dragon.

Her dream was that one day she would board a fine ship sailing down the river. Sail off to a country like Neverland. Oh, she knew quite well that Neverland was made-up. Wendy and Peter were not real. But what counted was how you felt when you set your imagination free. Without a doubt, there must be somewhere in the world where there was no talk of war or threat. A world of discovery and excitement where she would never get bored again.

Daisy found herself in the kitchen, where a black-leaded stove stood opposite the sink positioned directly below the window. An oblong table covered by a cream cloth stood in front of an oak sideboard. On its wooden shelves stood a variety of the headmistress’s fine china. On the far wall was the pantry where the faint perfumes of cinnamon and spices still clung to the walls. Beyond this, a laundry room complete with stout wash-boiler and a creaky old door that led outside to the garden privy. The room Daisy disliked most was the cellar, accessed only by a flight of stone steps. This gloomy underground space harboured not only a giant species of spider but all Miss Ayling’s unwanted clutter that Pops had not had the heart to throw out.

The living room, in contrast, was bright and cheerful with wide bay windows. Daisy stood there now, imagining the parties that Mother and Pops might host. Just like the exciting parties Aunt Minnie and Uncle Leo held in his Soho studio.

She twirled energetically, holding up the hem of her dressing gown and pirouetted around the couch. Taking a flying leap to the open fireplace, she righted a wobbly landing and missed the brass fender. Impressed by her ballet, she vaulted the wooden rack in which Pops kept his newspapers. Misjudging the distance, she landed heavily on all fours, momentarily winded. Fortunately, no part of her was injured.

As she jumped to her feet, she heard a noise.

Daisy cocked her head, listening carefully. Was there movement in the house? A footfall? Or perhaps someone breathing? Closer now. But where exactly?

‘Who’s there?’ she whispered. Had she imagined the breathing? But the household was sleeping. Could it have come from the garden? It was said that Hitler would arrive in the dead of night. He’d steal into people’s houses and take them prisoner. A girl at school claimed her father kept a vicious dog and hadn’t fed it for at least three months. Another boy insisted his mother had baked poisoned cakes to be offered to an invading army.

‘Wh… who’s there?’she mumbled, dreading an answer.

A soft breathing sound came; an evil-sounding gurgle.

Daisy froze.

Was someone lurking at the front door? Could this be the invasion all of England feared?

Before she could take a breath, a hand planted itself between her shoulder blades. ‘Help!’ she cried, falling heavily on the couch.

Her brother giggled as he pinned her down. ‘Don’t yell or we’re for it!’

Daisy gasped for breath. She was so relieved that the war hadn’t arrived and Hitler hadn’t sailed down the estuary overnight that she forgot to be really angry. ‘Bobby, you daft ha’p’orth!’ she scolded. ‘You frightened me!’

‘Got you back for yesterday.’

Daisy pushed him away. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she declared, knowing very well she had.

‘You split on me.’

‘Didn’t.’

‘You told Mother I socked Peter Brady in the eye.’

Daisy defiantly stuffed her hands in her pockets. ‘I told Mother the truth.’

‘You don’t understand what it was all about.’

She felt as though somehow she’d let Bobby down. ‘What do you mean?’

Bobby took his time answering. ’If you must know,’ he said eventually, ‘Peter Brady calls Sammy Berger, “Fritz”.’

‘Is “Fritz” bad?’

Bobby rolled his blue eyes. ‘Course it is.’

‘Why?’

‘Sammy’s parents are German. They came to England to escape the Nazis. But Sammy’s mother died and now, because of the war, the government is suspicious of any German who lives here.’

Daisy considered her brother carefully. ‘Poor Sammy.’

‘He’s frightened they’ll take his father away.’

‘What will happen to Sammy?’

Bobby shrugged. ‘Those men we saw trying to kick down Mr Berger’s door the other day? Some of them were Blackshirts. Peter Brady said he’d join the Blackshirts if he was old enough. That’s what started the fight.’

Daisy shivered, recalling the afternoon when she and Bobby had passed Sammy’s house on the way home from school. The crowd outside Sammy’s house had been very angry. It had been very upsetting to watch and Bobby had hurried her on.

‘It was brave of you to stand up for Sammy,’ she said.

Once again Bobby shrugged. ‘He doesn’t have many friends.’ Bobby stood up and stretched. Daisy realized how much he’d grown since leaving Wattcombe. He stood a head and shoulders taller than her now; arms and legs too long for his old blue and white striped pyjamas. Mother had called Bobby a “slow grower”. Yet now he was close to Matt’s height after a sudden spurt this year.

’So tell me little sister, why were you snooping around so early?’

She pulled a face. ’I wasn’t snooping. I was thirsty.’

This time he gave a whistle. ‘What a whopper, Daisy Purbright! You were on the prowl, sniffing out other people’s business. Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves, you know.’

Daisy gave him a hearty shove. ‘Oh, buzz off you silly bee!’ she exclaimed to hide her embarrassment.

But Bobby only laughed all the more.

Author Bio

Mum and Dad were both East Enders who were born on the famous or should I say the then infamous Isle of Dogs. Their family were immigrants who travelled to the UK from Ireland and France, while others emigrated to America.

As a child I would listen to the adults spinning their colourful stories, as my cousins and I drank pop under the table.

I know the seeds of all my stories come from those far off times that feel like only yesterday. So I would like to say a big heartfelt thank you to all my family and ancestors wherever you are now ... UK, Ireland, France or America, as you've handed down to me the magic and love of story telling.

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