Her Turn to Cry Read online

  She stepped back so he had to let go and he turned to Marcus. ‘And new friends too, of course. How do, Marcus. Don’t mind if I call you that, do you? We feel like we know you already. Been following our kid’s career. You’ve done well by her.’

  Marcus squeezed her waist. ‘Good to meet you, sir.’

  Cora gave a nicotine-coated chuckle. ‘Ooer, Joyce, he is posh, isn’t he? And handsome with it.’ She flapped the back of her hand against Marcus’s chest. ‘Don’t mind me, dear, I’m common as muck, but harmless.’

  Marcus took the hand and brought it to his lips – ‘Charmed I’m sure’ – as Cora gave a scream of laughter.

  ‘Ooh, I say. You should hold on to this one, Joyce.’

  Sid handed Marcus a card. ‘I’ll give this to you, son, because she’ll only throw it away. Try to persuade her to keep in touch. We miss her, don’t we, Cora?’

  ‘You can say that again. Like our own daughter she was for a while.’ Cora hadn’t looked at Joycie since Marcus had spoken.

  Joycie made herself move. ‘We’d better be off.’

  ‘Not going to the grave? I don’t blame you.’ Sid gestured towards the church. ‘Can’t stand all that mumbo jumbo either, but I thought we should see old Irene into the ground, at least.’

  As Joycie climbed into the Morgan Sid stepped in front of her door, keeping it open.

  ‘Don’t be a stranger, eh, darling.’ His hand was on her shoulder, squeezing hard, leaning close, smoky tweed filling her nostrils. ‘Your dad would have been so proud of you,’ he said, his voice a husky whisper. ‘What happened to him, what they did to him, was terrible, but that’s all in the past.’

  She closed the door, and Marcus waved through the open window as he pulled the Morgan away. Cora returned the wave while Sid, hands in pockets, his paunch sticking out in front, watched them go.

  Chapter Two

  The envelope sat heavy on Joycie’s lap. The sun made the car too warm, and she untied her scarf and slipped off her coat, letting the envelope slide down beside the door. Marcus glanced over.

  ‘Not going to open that then?’

  ‘It won’t be anything much.’ It felt like jewellery, nothing to worry about, but she wished Deirdre had forgotten it. Wished she hadn’t gone to the funeral at all.

  ‘So that was Sid Sergeant, eh? He’s looking a lot older than his pictures. And the wife, Cora, you never mentioned her,’ Marcus said.

  They stopped at traffic lights near a park, and she watched some ducks flapping about on a big pond. Three green drakes chasing a brown female. The female was trying to fly away, feet kicking the top of the water, but the males were all around her and she couldn’t get into the air. She skimmed to an island in the middle and scrambled up the bank.

  Marcus touched her shoulder. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I should never have gone. Irene wouldn’t have minded.’

  ‘You didn’t look too pleased to see Sid.’

  It’s all in the past. It’s all in the past. She pulled the envelope onto her lap and tore it open. A jet bracelet and two necklaces, one a double string of pearls and the other glittering with red stones. They were things Irene wore all the time. Joycie held them to her cheek, hearing Irene’s fruity chuckle so clearly she had to swallow down a sob. Marcus took his hand from the wheel and rubbed her knee.

  ‘Ah, that’s nice. Let’s take some pictures of you wearing them. You can send them to Deirdre.’

  But Joycie was looking at the smaller envelope that had fallen out last of all, her breath catching in her throat. In place of an address was a line of writing: Dear Joycie, Irene asked me to get this to you. All my love Deirdre.

  Marcus glanced over. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A note from Irene, I suppose.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to read it?’

  She pushed it back with the jewellery into the large envelope. ‘When we get home.’

  ***

  Back at the house she ran up to her room. ‘I’m going to get changed.’ Closed the door and emptied the big envelope onto her dressing table. Then she took the smaller envelope over to the window and ripped it open. But instead of reading it she stood with the note pressed against her chest.

  She loved this house. It was tall and thin with three floors. Her bedroom overlooked a long green garden, a bit unkempt but that was the way she and Marcus loved it. Today it was full of daffodils, clumps of late snowdrops lighting up the darker corners. The trees were covered with a haze of palest green buds.

  A deep breath as she unfolded the note.

  My darling Joycie,

  We haven’t seen much of each other lately and I don’t blame you for wanting to put the past and everyone connected with it behind you. Of course I have been following your progress in the papers and your photographer friend seems to be a nice young man. So I really hope you have found happiness with him.

  In that case you might decide to ignore this letter. However I can’t go to my grave without saying this. The last time we met I told you someone had dropped off an address at the theatre for me with a note asking me to get it to Mary Todd’s daughter. It was obviously someone who knew Mary and could maybe help you find out what really happened to your mum. You said you weren’t interested because she deserted you, but you know how fond I was of Mary and I never believed she meant to leave you forever. I feel so bad that I didn’t try to find her myself or make more effort to persuade you to look for her.

  Anyway here’s the name and address. Susan Lomax, 44 Trenton St. Manchester. It’s up to you, but I really hope you decide to look into it.

  I’m sorry I can’t leave you anything more than a few old paste jewels, but I remember how you liked dressing up in them when you were little. So I thought you might be glad to have them.

  With fondest love,

  Irene

  The writing was wobbly, clearly written when Irene was ill, and her signature tailed off as if she was unable to keep hold of the pen. Joycie held the scrap of paper to her lips as hot tears welled from deep inside.

  I never believed she meant to leave you forever. That was what Irene had always said and for the first few years Joycie had believed it too. But her mother didn’t come back, didn’t try to get in contact, and Joycie told herself she’d stopped wanting her to. Irene hadn’t seen the person who left the address so it could have been anyone and even if it was her mum or someone close to her, Joycie had decided it was too late. She didn’t want to listen to a load of excuses. But Irene had been so good to her and this was the only thing she’d ever asked from Joycie.

  Your photographer friend seems to be a nice young man. I really hope you have found happiness with him. Irene was right about Marcus. He was more than nice and life without him was unthinkable. But as for finding happiness, well that was something else.

  Marcus had declared his love for her not long after they met, but she said it was too soon. Still he asked her to move in. Said he couldn’t bear rattling around here on his own. It made sense too with them working together all the time and she needn’t worry, she could have her own room.

  The house belonged to his parents, but they’d decamped to the country when his dad retired from the civil service. It always amazed her that people could own two houses. Her early life had been lived in theatrical lodgings in the towns and seaside resorts where Sid and her dad performed. A bedroom for her mum and dad, one for her, and another room for sitting and eating, with a tiny kitchenette if they were lucky. The bathroom was usually down the hall, shared with the rest of the tenants, and sometimes the toilet was outside. It was wonderful to have a whole house just for her and Marcus.

  She knew he hoped for more, but decided not to think about that. Finally she told him she had a problem with closeness and it wasn’t fair to ask him to wait for her. What she didn’t say was how much she dreaded him finding another girl he felt serious about and who could love him properly. ‘I do love you, Marcus, but not in that way,’ she had told him. He must have guessed
by then that the idea of loving anyone in that way made her skin crawl.

  She had never admitted, because it wasn’t fair to lead him on, that sometimes when he touched her the shivers that went through her felt wonderful.

  Manchester – April 1965

  Marcus wanted to come to Manchester with her, but she wouldn’t let him. This way she could still change her mind. It was cold on the train and she felt very alone. At the station she went into the buffet to get warm, and to try and steady her nerves. She pulled up the collar of her black coat, although the woman behind the counter didn’t give her a second glance. People hardly ever recognized her. Without the make-up and glamorous clothes she was just a skinny pale-faced girl.

  ‘So you knew Irene had the address all along,’ Marcus had said.

  ‘Yeah, that was why she contacted me the last time I saw her. Must have been two or three years ago. Said someone left a note at the stage door asking if she was still in touch with Mary Todd’s daughter and could she give me that name and address.’

  ‘But you never went?’

  ‘Irene begged me to. Even offered to go with me, but I wouldn’t even take the details. Didn’t want to see or hear about my mum. She dumped us, Marcus. Me and Dad. Went off with one of her fancy men, so everyone said. I reckon she heard about me getting known as a model and thought I must have money.’

  That had been when the nightmares started up again. They stopped after a few months, but with Irene’s death they’d come back and with them flashes of memory. Joycie knew she had to do more than pretend there was nothing wrong.

  When her dad died she didn’t let herself cry. It was nearly three years after her mum went and they were fine, just the two of them. But he killed himself, leaving her all alone and without a word from him. So she told herself she didn’t care. There was no way to make that better, but perhaps Irene was right. If she could see her mum, or find out for sure what had happened to her, maybe she could get a bit of peace.

  She asked the taxi driver to drop her at the end of Trenton Road and come back in an hour. It seemed like an area where a taxi might cause a stir and anyway she could take a look at the place before deciding what to do.

  The street lights were already on in a damp dusk and the pavement gleamed under her feet. Terraced houses, front steps shining with red polish, a couple of clean milk bottles on the pavement beside each one.

  She stopped opposite number 44. There was a glow from somewhere at the back, but the front room was dim and the net curtains meant she couldn’t see in.

  A deep breath, collar pulled tighter at her throat, asking herself what was the point of this, what was she hoping to find? But she was outside the door now and tapping on it.

  A child crying, the door opening, the woman looking back into the hallway saying, ‘Watch him, Carol. Don’t let him climb on the table.’

  It was her mum, unchanged in all these years, just like her memories and the dog-eared photo in her bag. Joycie’s breath stopped. But when the woman turned, brushing reddish hair away from her face, she was different. Not Mum then, but definitely related.

  She breathed again, trying to remember the words she’d planned. ‘I’m Joyce Todd, Mary Todd’s daughter. Someone left this address with Irene Slade wanting me to get in contact.’

  Somehow she was inside the house, the narrow hall smelling of cabbage and bacon, and then in the front room sitting on a hard sofa. The room was cold and clean; probably kept for best. A tiny boy watched her from the hall doorway, thumb stuck in his mouth, until a little girl in a dress with a torn sleeve pulled at his arm.

  ‘Come on, Mikey, leave the lady alone.’

  The woman’s voice: ‘That’s it, Carol. Put him in the high chair and feed him his tea while I’m talking.’

  Then she was back, without her apron, touching her hair. ‘I’m Mary’s sister, your auntie Susan. Mary will have told you about me.’

  Joycie tried to speak, but no words came. She bought time by undoing her coat and slipping it off. She was freezing, but it seemed rude to sit there all trussed up. Then she pushed back her own hair and met the woman’s eyes. Her aunt (how strange that sounded) smoothed her skirt and gave a little cough.

  ‘It’s ages since I left that note. Never expected anyone to turn up.’ Her voice was like Mum’s, the northern accent just a little stronger.

  ‘Irene has just died and your address was with the things she left me.’ She didn’t say she’d refused to take it in the first place.

  Susan was looking hard at her, a little smile quirking the corners of her mouth. ‘You know you look a lot like that model, Orchid. Did anyone ever tell you?’

  Joycie could feel her face flushing. ‘I am her. Orchid’s the name I use professionally.’

  ‘Well blow me down. I mean, you do look like her, like her photos, your photos, but …’ Her face was pink now too.

  For some reason this made Joycie feel better and she was able to laugh. ‘It’s all right. Most people are surprised at how ordinary I am. It’s really all about the make-up and the way they dress me.’

  ‘No, you’re a lovely looking girl. Not much like your mam, if you don’t mind me saying, but you take after your dad. He’s a handsome fella.’

  ‘Yes, he was.’ A movement from Susan. ‘He died a long while ago.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry about that. I knew he wasn’t with Sid Sergeant any more. ’Cos Sid was on the bill that time I sent the note to Irene Slade. That’s why I went. Hoped to see Charlie. But Sid didn’t have a stooge. And I thought that was odd because Charlie told Mam he owed everything to Sid and would never leave him. You know your dad was an orphan?’ Joycie nodded. ‘Apparently Sid took him on when he’d just come out of the Dr Barnardo’s home he grew up in. Charlie said Sid was the only family he’d ever known.’

  ‘So it wasn’t my mum who left the address?’

  ‘No, it was me. I was hoping Irene might put me in touch with both of you.’

  Joycie’s breath stalled for a moment before she could get the words out. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen my mum?’

  Susan’s eyes were cloudy. ‘A long time. Not since before you were born.’

  Something heavy seemed to drop from her throat to her stomach and Joycie knew if she tried to speak, or even to breathe, she might cry. Stupid, stupid idiot. She’d actually convinced herself she had no hopes or expectations. How wrong she had been.

  ‘So why didn’t you ask Irene to give your address to Mum?’

  ‘I did. I asked her to get it to Mary Todd or her daughter.’

  That wasn’t what Irene had told Joycie. Was that because she had misread the note or because she thought Joycie was more likely to go searching if she thought it might have come from Mary herself or from someone who knew her whereabouts? If so then it had worked.

  Susan was talking on and she forced herself to listen.

  ‘I didn’t like to send the note to Sid in case he and your dad had fallen out and that’s why they weren’t together, but I remembered Mary mentioning in her letters that she was friendly with Irene Slade.’

  It was anger Joycie heard in her own voice when she was able to speak. ‘My mother left us when I was eleven years old and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.’

  Susan was suddenly on her feet, one hand at her mouth, muttering something about tea. Joycie heard her talking to the children in the kitchen, her voice too low to make out the words. Then clinking crockery and a wail from the little boy. Joycie rubbed her arms. There was just one thin rug covering the brown and blue patterned lino on the floor. The fireplace was swept clean and she wondered if they ever lit it. There were no pictures on the wall and, apart from the sofa and the two armchairs, the only furniture was a spindly legged coffee table and a glass-fronted cabinet with a few china ornaments. If they had a TV it must be in another room.

  Her aunt came back carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers, and milk jug. She put the tray on the coffee table and looked at Joycie. ‘Milk and su
gar?’

  ‘Just milk, please.’

  ‘I expect you’ve got to watch your figure?’

  It wasn’t true, she could eat anything, but she just smiled. When Susan handed her the cup it rattled in its saucer and, looking at her, Joycie wondered if she’d been crying. She sipped the tea, strong and hot just the way she liked it, and cradled it in both hands, grateful for the warmth on her fingers.

  Susan pulled a hankie from her sleeve and rubbed her nose. ‘So, your mam, you’ve never had no word?’

  ‘Nothing at all. When was the last time you heard from her?’

  ‘Must have been summer ’53 because it was just before I got married and I was excited to think she’d be here for that. And she was gonna bring you with her. Mam and me couldn’t wait to meet you for the first time.’

  ‘I didn’t even know she had a family.’

  Susan put two spoonfuls of sugar in her tea and stirred. ‘When we found out she was expecting our Dad went mad. I was only a kid, but I can remember him screaming at her and her crying. He said she was no better than a common slut. And carrying on with someone like that made it even worse. He wouldn’t have no more to do with her. Said none of us would.’

  ‘Someone like what?’

  ‘You know, on the stage. He was religious, Dad, didn’t hold with that kind of thing.’ She was still stirring and stirring, the spoon clinking against her cup. ‘Mary left with your dad, but she used to write to Mam regular like. Dad was very strict and Mary knew he would destroy any letters so she sent them to our neighbour, who used to bring them round when Dad was at work.’

  ‘Did your mother write back?’

  ‘Now and then. When she could do it without Dad finding out, but it was difficult. Mary let us know when you were born and I begged Mam to take me to see you, but it was impossible.’ When Joycie shook her head, Susan did the same. ‘That’s how it was in those days. Dad made the rules.’ She smiled. ‘I can just imagine my hubby trying to lay down the law like that. I’d soon tell him where to get off. But Mam had to do as she was told. We all did. And to be fair to Dad there was no money for gallivanting around the country, especially as you kept moving.’