man more than twice her age. A pretty young thing like Daisy should have a handsome
lad on her arm. Still, if Bob made her happy, that was all that mattered. You could tell that he adored her. Perhaps young men weren’t for Daisy; it took all sorts to make a world, and
perhaps she felt safe with Bob. She’d try and get Daisy to stay on as her cook, just for a little while after she was wed, in the hope that she would soon find out what a lonely life it would
be up at Blea Moor signal box, just running a house for an ageing husband.
‘Well, that’s settled then: three weeks on Saturday.’ Bob held Daisy tight. ‘Are you happy with that, my love?’
‘Yes, of course I am. It means our wedding can be a quiet affair. That’s what I wanted. I’ve no family, and I’m not one for fuss.’ Daisy smiled and gazed into her
beloved’s eyes. All she wanted was her man.
‘I’ll be good to you, my love, and you’ll want for nothing. I know I’m no millionaire, but we’ll be happy, I swear.’
‘I know, my darling.’ Daisy held Bob’s hand tight as they walked along the path that led to their new home at Blea Moor. The signal box and the railway cottages stood proud of
the railway line. Around them lay the wide-open spaces of fell-land, with the wild red- and orange-coloured moorland grasses blowing in the summer breeze. It was a bleak place; even now, towards
the end of summer, the wind had a sharp nip to it, just to remind people of the harshness of the fells. The huge, dark chasm of Blea Moor tunnel loomed further down the track, the brickwork around
it coloured red from the iron ore that dripped and seeped in the fell-waters and drained down into the stone-covered track.
‘So, this is it – this is our home, Daisy my dear.’ Bob paused outside the garden gate that formed the entrance to the small garden, stocked lovingly with pansies and
marigolds, plants hardy enough to survive the harsh climate that surrounded the squarely built house. ‘I think you know our neighbours, the Ivesons and the Sunters. Both families are good
folk.’ Bob waved to a woman with ragged children around her feet as she stood outside the doorway of the plate-layers’ cottages. ‘And this is the signal box. Do you want to look
inside? Bert won’t mind.’
Daisy looked across at the white-painted signal box and up at the clear windows, through which she could see the gleaming brass-topped levers of the signals and the round face of the signal
box’s clock. It was an integral part of the smooth running of the railway. The figure of Bert waved his hand at her, as she gazed up at the smoke rising from the signal box’s small
stove. She waved back and smiled.
‘I’d rather look around the house, if you don’t mind?’ Daisy peered through the windows of her new home, trying to look into the rooms inside.
‘I haven’t got the key yet. Next week, the gaffer said, but you can see from outside how big the house is. It’s big enough to hold us two, and perhaps some family, Daisy. What
do you say? A little girl and a boy would make us complete. I’d love a lad, just to show him how to do things and to know he’s mine.’ Bob blushed. He’d never broached the
subject before.
‘We’ll see. I think we should be on our own for a while – not rush into family, not yet.’ Daisy’s voice went cold. She couldn’t possibly think about children
yet, and the one thing she had been dreading was the thought of sex. So far Bob had been nothing but honourable, but she knew that, once married, he would expect things of her. The memory of
Clifford’s rape came rushing back to her, and she shuddered as she recalled his hands wandering over her body. She didn’t know how she would manage it, but there was no way she could
ever have Bob touching her as Clifford had. He would have to be content with friendship – that had been part of his attraction from the start. She’d watched Lizzie, John’s
stepdaughter from
lad on her arm. Still, if Bob made her happy, that was all that mattered. You could tell that he adored her. Perhaps young men weren’t for Daisy; it took all sorts to make a world, and
perhaps she felt safe with Bob. She’d try and get Daisy to stay on as her cook, just for a little while after she was wed, in the hope that she would soon find out what a lonely life it would
be up at Blea Moor signal box, just running a house for an ageing husband.
‘Well, that’s settled then: three weeks on Saturday.’ Bob held Daisy tight. ‘Are you happy with that, my love?’
‘Yes, of course I am. It means our wedding can be a quiet affair. That’s what I wanted. I’ve no family, and I’m not one for fuss.’ Daisy smiled and gazed into her
beloved’s eyes. All she wanted was her man.
‘I’ll be good to you, my love, and you’ll want for nothing. I know I’m no millionaire, but we’ll be happy, I swear.’
‘I know, my darling.’ Daisy held Bob’s hand tight as they walked along the path that led to their new home at Blea Moor. The signal box and the railway cottages stood proud of
the railway line. Around them lay the wide-open spaces of fell-land, with the wild red- and orange-coloured moorland grasses blowing in the summer breeze. It was a bleak place; even now, towards
the end of summer, the wind had a sharp nip to it, just to remind people of the harshness of the fells. The huge, dark chasm of Blea Moor tunnel loomed further down the track, the brickwork around
it coloured red from the iron ore that dripped and seeped in the fell-waters and drained down into the stone-covered track.
‘So, this is it – this is our home, Daisy my dear.’ Bob paused outside the garden gate that formed the entrance to the small garden, stocked lovingly with pansies and
marigolds, plants hardy enough to survive the harsh climate that surrounded the squarely built house. ‘I think you know our neighbours, the Ivesons and the Sunters. Both families are good
folk.’ Bob waved to a woman with ragged children around her feet as she stood outside the doorway of the plate-layers’ cottages. ‘And this is the signal box. Do you want to look
inside? Bert won’t mind.’
Daisy looked across at the white-painted signal box and up at the clear windows, through which she could see the gleaming brass-topped levers of the signals and the round face of the signal
box’s clock. It was an integral part of the smooth running of the railway. The figure of Bert waved his hand at her, as she gazed up at the smoke rising from the signal box’s small
stove. She waved back and smiled.
‘I’d rather look around the house, if you don’t mind?’ Daisy peered through the windows of her new home, trying to look into the rooms inside.
‘I haven’t got the key yet. Next week, the gaffer said, but you can see from outside how big the house is. It’s big enough to hold us two, and perhaps some family, Daisy. What
do you say? A little girl and a boy would make us complete. I’d love a lad, just to show him how to do things and to know he’s mine.’ Bob blushed. He’d never broached the
subject before.
‘We’ll see. I think we should be on our own for a while – not rush into family, not yet.’ Daisy’s voice went cold. She couldn’t possibly think about children
yet, and the one thing she had been dreading was the thought of sex. So far Bob had been nothing but honourable, but she knew that, once married, he would expect things of her. The memory of
Clifford’s rape came rushing back to her, and she shuddered as she recalled his hands wandering over her body. She didn’t know how she would manage it, but there was no way she could
ever have Bob touching her as Clifford had. He would have to be content with friendship – that had been part of his attraction from the start. She’d watched Lizzie, John’s
stepdaughter from
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