Her Turn to Cry

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 sugar?’

‘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.’

That probably explained why her mum never mentioned her family. If Joycie was unlikely ever to see them it would have been pointless.

The little girl had come to stand by the open door, staring in again, but the toddler staggered from behind her and crawled onto his mum’s lap. She spat on her hankie and rubbed it over his face, while he squirmed and whimpered. Then he took one look at Joycie and buried his head in Susan’s chest.

Joycie drained her cup. She couldn’t be too long, didn’t want to miss the last train and get marooned here. ‘But you didn’t see her in ’53?’

Susan was rocking the little boy back and forth, his eyes closed, thumb in his mouth. The girl made a sudden run to her side and leaned against her, huge brown eyes fixed on Joycie. ‘No, she just wrote and said she was fed up. Said things were happening that weren’t right. Hoped our dad would let her stay here till she got on her feet. But if not she’d get a place nearby. She never came though and we never saw her again.’

‘What about her bloke, the man she left us for. Did she say who he was?’

‘She didn’t mention anyone else. Just said she had to get away. And, like I said, she was going to bring you.’

‘Well she obviously changed her mind. Decided to go somewhere else and leave me with my dad.’

‘See, I can’t believe that. Like I said, our dad was a difficult man so we always thought she changed her mind about coming here. Scared he would still be angry with her. But she loved you so much, said so all the time in her letters. I just can’t see her leaving you.’

‘Did you try to locate her when she didn’t turn up?’

‘Mam wrote to the last address we had for her, but it was Charlie who wrote back.’

Joycie leaned forward. He hadn’t told her about this. ‘What did he say?’

‘Just that he was sorry, but Mary had left him and he had no idea where she was. He didn’t mention you so we thought she’d taken you with her. And soon after that Mam got ill and died. Then Dad’s mind began to go so …’ She sniffed and rubbed her nose. ‘I had to look after him for the next few years and by the time he died I was too busy with the kids to worry about anything else for a while. But my husband’s got a big family and I started to miss Mary again because she’s all I’ve got. And I wanted my kids to meet their auntie and their cousin.’

She put down her cup. ‘I’ve just thought, there’s a photo.’ When she stood and headed for the door the little boy still clung to her and a forgotten memory came to Joycie. Her mum, lifting her and spinning her round, then clutching her close and dancing to the gramophone playing some old dance tune. Joycie’s feet dangling in the air as she pressed her cheek to Mum’s soft face, the powdery scent of her, an earring tickling.

While Susan and her son were out of the room the little girl stayed, staring at Joycie with those big brown eyes: so still it was unnerving.

‘Hello,’ Joycie said. ‘Your name’s Carol, is it?’ A nod, the child’s eyes still fixed on her. ‘Mine’s Joycie.’

When her mother came back Carol clutched her skirt, but Susan pulled her hand away as she sat down and laughed. ‘Don’t pretend you’re shy now.’ She looked at Joycie. ‘Can’t shut her up normally.’ She handed a silver photo frame to the little girl. ‘Go on, give that to Joyce.’ Carol ran at her, thrust the frame into her hand and rushed back to her mum. ‘That’s me and Mary, only picture I’ve got.’

Two girls, one a slender teenager the other much younger, still a little girl, but the likeness was obvious.

‘That was taken the summer your mam met Charlie, just before the war. 1939 it was. Last holiday we had together,’ Susan said. ‘Mary would have been sixteen and I was eight.’

The photo was a holiday snap taken on the prom at Blackpool. Mary and Susan smiling in the sunshine, but holding onto their hats as their skirts swirled in the sea breeze. Joycie touched the glass that covered her mother’s face. She looked so young and pretty.

Susan was still talking. ‘Sid and Charlie were in a show there. We wanted to go, but our dad wouldn’t hear of it. Then we were on the pier, just me and Mary, and Charlie was there too. He started chatting to us and bought me a candyfloss.’ She smiled at Joycie. ‘I expect that was to keep me quiet so he could talk to Mary. We were only there for a week, but they saw each other every day. Dad would probably have taken her straight home if he’d known.’

‘But they didn’t get together properly till ’41 when Dad was in the army, did they?’

‘They’d been writing to each other all that time. I remember thinking it were so romantic. She had a picture of Charlie in his uniform. He looked like a film star to me, although he would only have been nineteen or so. He came to see her when he was on leave and Mam took a real shine to him. But they kept it quiet from Dad.’

‘And then I happened.’

‘Yeah, and, of course, she had to tell Dad she was having a baby. But Charlie wanted to marry her and was getting compassionate leave so they could do it right away. She was still only eighteen, though, and Dad refused his consent. That was when she ran away. And we never saw her again.’

They were both silent. Joycie praying that Susan might say something that would explain it all. Instead she shook her head. ‘I just can’t understand her leaving you as well as Charlie. Or why she’s never been in touch.’

All Joycie could say was, ‘Nor me, but I’m going to try to find out what I can, and if there’s anything you think of that might help …’ She looked at her watch and pulled on her coat. ‘I’m sorry, I need to go or I’ll miss my train. Can I leave you my address and phone number?’

Her aunt followed her into the hallway and scrabbled in the drawer of a little table, handing Joycie a notepad and biro. ‘There are letters from Mary to Mam in the attic. I’ll send them to you.’

Joycie scribbled her details. ‘Thank you. It’s been good to meet you.’

In the doorway Susan moved towards her then back with a tiny cough. She was smiling, a smile that was so like Joycie’s memory of her mum’s it sent a charge through her. As another memory tugged, Joycie’s eyes filled and she had to rub her hand over her face.

Susan touched her elbow. ‘Look, Joyce, whatever happened with Mary she loved you, really loved you, and I know she would never have left you unless she had no choice.’

After they said goodbye Susan stayed in her open doorway with the little boy, Joycie’s cousin, clinging to her leg and Joycie could feel their eyes on her as she walked away down the silent street.

Chapter Three

Checking her watch for the umpteenth time Joycie paced up and down by the bus stop. This was definitely where she’d asked the taxi to pick her up and she’d given him a big enough tip that he surely wouldn’t let her down. But if he didn’t get here soon she’d miss her train.

She moved closer to the kerb as she heard an engine approaching, but it was only a kid on a moped. He stopped right next to her and she stepped back to lean on the wall of the terraced house, looking at her watch again and then into the distance, pretending she hadn’t noticed him.

He climbed off the bike. ‘Hello, darlin’ you’re outta luck you know.’ His accent was so strong it was difficult to make out the words. She didn’t look at him. ‘No bus due for ages,’ he said.

‘I know.’ She brushed at her coat, still avoiding his eye.

‘I can give you a lift if you like. Plenty of room for a skinny bird like you on the back.’ He let out a wobbly laugh, as if his voice had not long broken.

‘No thank you, I’m waiting for someone.’ But now with a rush of air she seemed to be surrounded by boys on pushbikes.

‘Eh, Sammy, got a new girlfriend, have ya?’ A heavyset lad bumped his bike onto the pavement, coming so close she could feel the heat steaming from him.

‘Yeah, and she’s dead posh.’ Moped boy leaned over and pushed Joycie’s arm. ‘Go on, doll, say something for him.’

Joycie felt rather than saw a net curtain twitch in the house behind her. This was ridiculous, they were just kids. ‘Look, go away and leave me alone, will you? I’m waiting for someone.’

A shriek from moped boy. ‘Ooer, hark at it. Told you she were posh.’

The others joined in with honks of laughter and the nearest boy came even closer, looking round at his mates then back at her. ‘How’s about a kiss then, darling. Bet you’re not too la de da for that.’ She shoved him away and his face changed. ‘Don’t you push me, you tart.’

Loud clicking footsteps and the boys turned as a man of about forty, tall and thin in a camel coat and black trousers, rounded the corner. He stopped and looked at her. ‘These lads bothering you, miss?’ His accent was London, not Manchester.

The boy nearest Joycie said, ‘Nah, mister, just having a chat, weren’t we?’ He looked at his friends, but they were getting ready to ride away. He moved his bike back onto the road. The man stared at him, arms folded over his chest, his hard gaze shifting from him to moped boy, who started his engine and rode off. The other lad followed fast, shouting, ‘Bye, darling, see ya,’ as he went.

Joycie looked at the man. ‘Thank you.’

‘Waiting for a taxi are you?’ he said, his voice low and polite.

‘Yes, it should be here by now.’ Silly to feel scared, he was trying to help her.

A piercing whistle and there was her taxi. Almost as if it had been waiting for his signal. She reached for the door but he was there first, holding it open and giving a tiny bow as she climbed in. His hair was short and greased down, his face shiny and newly shaved. He had very pale grey eyes.

‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’ She tried to close the door, but he held onto it.

‘Station is it?’

‘Yes.’

He leaned towards the driver and she caught a whiff of aftershave. ‘Better hurry if she wants the London train.’ She reached for the door again, but he held on. ‘You shouldn’t be hanging around street corners in a place like this, you know. And it’s just as well those lads didn’t recognize you.’