Churchill’s Angels. Ruby Jackson

had it that Mr Preston was in prison. All that the Petries knew for sure was the boys were badly cared for, and that the bigger fourteen-year-old George grew, the more impossible he was to control.

      ‘Jake will be as wild as George if something isn’t done, Daisy. He follows George like a puppy and does everything his brother tells him.’

      ‘No, Miss Partridge. He wouldn’t hit me when George told him to.’

      To Daisy’s surprise, Miss Partridge laughed. ‘You’re more than a match for Jake.’

      ‘Not with the crowbar he was holding.’

      Miss Partridge almost fell back into the chair. ‘That settles it. You must report them to the police; breaking and entering, fire raising, causing serious injury – or worse.’

      Daisy moved her head as if to shake it and winced as pain shot through her skull. ‘No, please, Miss Partridge, those boys have nothing, and I could have handled George easily if he hadn’t taken me by surprise. What would the police do with him?’

      ‘Send him to a correctional institution, which will do him a power of good, my dear. You are much too soft-hearted.’

      ‘And if his father is in prison? What might the police say: like father like son? Please, Miss Partridge.’

      ‘It’s you they’re going to question, dear. I will say nothing to anyone. If you are absolutely sure …’

      ‘Yes.’ The kindness she was receiving strengthened Daisy in her purpose even more. The boy must be given a chance.

      When the policeman spoke to her much later that afternoon, perfectly aware of what she was doing, Daisy Petrie did not lie but she seemed confused.

      ‘Medication,’ said the Irish nurse, ‘plus quite a knock on the head. Give her a few days.’

      The might of the law withdrew.

      The next day, when Daisy was allowed to return home, she found that her father did not agree with her. ‘Daisy, that lad almost set fire to the lockup. There is petrol in the van – it would have gone up like a firework, and what about the houses either side?’

      ‘He only wanted to burn the door down to get inside.’

      ‘“Only wanted”? Are you out of your mind?’

      ‘Dad, maybe he wanted to steal the van, maybe he thought you kept food in the lockup. They’re always looking for marked-down scraps, and they’re skinny as …’ she could think of nothing thin enough, ‘… too thin,’ she finished.

      ‘Daisy, love, you’re always ready for the halt, the lame and the lazy. What that lad did was criminal. He coulda killed you.’

      ‘Never. He took me by surprise is all. I should have handled it better, Dad, chased them away. That policeman wants to put him in an approved school. There was a lad in Sam’s class came out worse.’

      Realising that they would never agree, Daisy was glad to go to her room for an afternoon’s rest.

      She was surprised to be disturbed by her mother.

      ‘Daisy, a policeman was here. Did you tell him you couldn’t remember what happened?’

      ‘I told him that it was pitch-black out there and that I saw two shapes, possibly boy size.’

      ‘They’ll be watching them close.’

      ‘That’s good, Mum. I’ll warn George and he’ll stay out of trouble.’

      Flora shook her head and returned to the shop.

      When she could no longer hear footsteps on the stairs, Daisy carefully sat up. No explosion of pain, not even a dull ache. She manoeuvred herself out of bed.

      I am, she decided, perfectly well and able to return to work. She dressed and followed her mother down to the shop. Flora was anxious but Daisy’s mind was made up. Every day after that, she added another hour to her workload until she was full time again. George and Jake were nowhere to be seen. A neighbour did their mother’s shopping.

      ‘A bit busy,’ she excused Mrs Preston.

      ‘I think I’d like some fresh air, Mum. Can you manage for half an hour?’

      ‘I managed for eight when you was in the hospital, Daisy, but don’t you go tiring yourself.’

      Assuring her mother that she would not strain herself, Daisy hurried out of the shop to a poorer part of the town where the Prestons lived.

      George was leaning against the wall of the building, a pack of Capstan cigarettes ostentatiously visible in his hands. Slowly, so as to show her that he was not afraid – although Daisy saw the pack tremble a little – George eased his thin body off the rough brick wall and stared at her.

      ‘Your mum home?’

      He said nothing but gestured with his lit cigarette to the door.

      ‘Gives you horrible breath for kissing,’ said Daisy, and walked past him.

      Mrs Preston started with fear when she saw who was standing on her doorstep, but she moved aside to admit Daisy. ‘Are you going to tell the polis?’

      ‘I’m hoping George didn’t intend to put me in the hospital, Mrs Preston.’

      George’s mother burst into loud sobs and between sobs she told Daisy a long, heart-breaking story of how she was trying to bring up the boys on very little money and little or no support from her husband, who was, she said, in and out of prison like a yoyo. ‘And when he’s ’ere he’s too ’ard on Georgie, brutal really. Lad’s never ’ad a chance.’

      ‘Mrs Preston, if that door had burned, the whole lockup, van and all, would have been destroyed. The van would probably have exploded and the houses on either side could have been damaged or destroyed. Have you explained that to him?’

      More heart-broken sobbing. ‘He never listens to me.’

      ‘Then he’d better listen to me or I’m going straight from here to the police station.’

      ‘I’m sorry I hit you. What d’you want to say?’ George, the cigarette gone, had entered so quietly that neither had heard him.

      Trying to remember that he was only fourteen years old, Daisy repeated everything that she had said to his mother. ‘My sister told the police she saw a boy run off but she was too concerned about me to be sure who it was. You have a really bad reputation, George, and the policeman I talked to wants to have you sent to Borstal. What do you think of that?’

      ‘Get three meals regular,’ he said with bravado.

      His mother began to wail again. They shouted at each other for some time with neither actually paying any attention to what the other was saying.

      ‘Be quiet, both of you,’ said Daisy. ‘Maybe you would be better off in gaol, George, because the way you’re going, looks like you’ll get there anyway. If you don’t want that you have to get a Saturday job till you leave school.’

      ‘I tried. No one wants me.’

      His reputation was known all over Dartford. Was there no chance for him or his younger brother?

      ‘Have you asked my dad?’

      ‘You’re crazy. I near set fire to his van.’

      ‘Keep out of trouble till I sort something out or I’ll be down the police station with a list of complaints. All right?’

      He looked at her and she could not read his expression.

      ‘Are you willing to try?’

      She decided to be content with his nod and hurried out of the dirty, damp little house. It was worse than Grace’s old home. At least Grace had tried to keep it reasonably clean and tidy.

      Now to tackle her father.

      Fred