Her Turn to Cry. Chris Curran

it was the army that did for Charlie. You know, turned him queer, if you’ll pardon my French. When he came back after the war he was different somehow, and I don’t think things were ever the same with your mum. So, like I said, who could blame her?’

      She took a sip of her sherry, dabbing her mouth with a hanky she pulled from her sleeve, then gestured with her head towards the hallway. ‘Does Marcus know about Charlie?’

      ‘I told you, we don’t have secrets.’

      ‘That’s nice.’ Cora was gazing towards the dark window, her eyes misty. ‘Me and Sid now, I can’t deny we’ve both strayed, but our marriage has always had that special something.’

      Joycie waited, gritting her teeth.

      ‘Anyway, the day your mum disappeared Sid tried to cheer Charlie up. Took him out for a drink after the show. You were staying with Irene if I remember right.’

      ‘Yes, I expect Sid had a couple of girls lined up as usual.’

      It was unkind, but if Cora was upset she didn’t show it, just gave a small chuckle and another of those annoying pats on Joycie’s knee. ‘See, you probably know more than I do. I used to tell Sid to watch out for you: little vessels, big ears, I used to say. Sure you didn’t hear anything the night your mum disappeared?’

      If she wanted Cora to tell her everything she had to be as honest as she could. ‘I woke up thinking something was wrong, or not normal anyway. There were voices and bumping sounds, and I was scared, but then the wireless came on again, and I fell asleep. Mum always had music playing.’

      Cora took her hand, the red talons scraping lightly on her palm, and seemed to think for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. ‘OK, here’s what I know. Sid brought Charlie back to ours very late. Charlie was absolutely paralytic. I’ve never seen him like that, and he was crying and raving on about your mum.’

      Joycie swallowed, feeling sick. ‘Is that all?’ Cora was staring into space, or maybe at the sherry bottle. ‘I’m going to find out anyway,’ Joycie said. ‘There’s plenty of other people I can ask if you won’t tell me.’ It wasn’t true, but she had to push for everything now.

      Cora seemed to shake herself then spread her hands on her knees. ‘Next morning, your dad was still not fit to get out of bed, and Sid asked me to go round to your lodgings. He was worried about some of the things Charlie had said. We got his keys from his jacket and I went.’

      Was it possible not to breathe for this long and still be conscious? ‘And?’

      ‘Everything seemed all right. I checked the wardrobe, and she had taken most of her clothes, like Charlie said. But Sid had told me to have a good nose.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘Well I looked under the bed.’

       Please don’t say it.

      Cora took both her hands, squeezing hard, and Joycie made herself endure the touch. ‘Darling, this might be nothing, but I found a mat with some stains that looked to me like blood.’

      She could only whisper, but somehow she got the words out. ‘What did you do?’

      ‘It wasn’t a big mat so I just rolled it up and walked out with it. Dropped it on a bit of waste ground on my way home.’

      ‘And said nothing about it?’

      ‘That’s right. I reckoned that was best. Didn’t even tell Sid.’ She dropped Joycie’s hands and leaned back. ‘Wouldn’t have told you except you seemed so sure you needed to know everything. And that is everything. So if I was you I’d leave it now. Your dad’s dead and gone, and I wouldn’t be surprised if your mum was too.’

      It felt as if a chunk of rock was lodged deep inside her. She wanted to scream at Cora to tell her more, but she knew there was no point. Not yet anyway. She managed to stand and say, ‘Thank you.’

      This time Cora brushed ash from her skirt, put away her lighter and cigarettes, clicked her bag shut, and followed her to the front door.

      Marcus bounded along the hall. ‘I’ll drop you, shall I?’

      ‘Just take me to the tube station, please love.’ Cora leaned forward and kissed the air beside Joycie’s cheek. ‘All right, darling? Hope I haven’t upset you.’

      ‘I’m OK, and you’re right; I need to put it behind me.’ Marcus glanced at her, but she avoided his eye.

      When she closed the door she leaned against it, her jaw clenched. So that bloodstained mat was a real memory. There one day and gone the next. And Cora got rid of it. It all fitted. But she was certain of one thing. What Cora had told her wasn’t the whole truth, and she couldn’t rest until she found out what that was.

      She had been bluffing when she said there were other people she could ask, but, of course, there must be. People who had no reason to hide the truth. Joycie just had to do what she’d avoided all these years: to allow herself to remember.

       Acton, London – January 1951

      Joycie is nine and a bit too old to cry so she’s trying to keep her chin from wobbling. She’s in the school playground all alone, or, at least, there are kids around her, but she can’t see them because the smog is so bad. They’re playing what they call ‘Hide and Seek in the Fog’ but is more like Blind Man’s Buff. Her friends are shouting her name and saying, ‘Cooee, come and get me.’ Now and then one of them taps her on the shoulder or screams close to her ear then disappears back into the surrounding mist.

      She feels bad, her throat hurts, and she’s hot in her thick coat. The smog smells awful, smothering her in a wet blanket. She doesn’t want to play any more, and when the whistle goes she breathes again and heads for school. But she can’t tell which way to go. She turns round and round on the spot. And big sobs are coming out, making her ashamed to be such a cowardy custard.

      ‘Joyce Todd, what on earth are you doing out here?’

      It’s Miss Hendry, and she grabs Joycie’s collar and pulls her along. And there are the lights and almost at once they’re inside school. She must be in trouble, but she doesn’t care, just wants to lie down on the cool floor of the corridor. Instead she leans against the wall and closes her eyes.

      Then she feels Miss Hendry’s cold hand on her forehead. ‘Joyce, dear, where do you live?’

      She parrots the address. At least this one in Acton is easy to remember because they stay in these digs every winter.

      ‘Ah, just down the road, that’s good. And Mummy will be home, I expect?’

      She nods and Miss takes her hand again, and they are back in the playground. At the school gate Miss stops and points at the orange haloes of light gleaming through the fog.

      ‘Just keep on the pavement and follow the lampposts. Tell Mummy to put you to bed with a warm drink. And you’re to stay home tomorrow.’

      Joycie’s legs are moving, one foot floating after the other over the shiny pavement. She can see the lamppost in front of her, its light a wavering orange moon. When she reaches it she holds the post for a moment then pushes on towards the next one.

      Mrs McDonald, the landlady, opens the door at her knock. ‘You’re early, ducks, what’s up?’

      ‘Sent me home.’

      Mrs McDonald’s hand rough on her cheek. ‘No wonder. You’re burning up. Well your mum’s in, so up you go.’ A laugh that’s more like a bark. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you so early, my love. I think she gets lonely on her own all day.’ Then she’s gone, back to the kitchen, laughing at something as she goes. She must have a funny programme on the wireless.

      The stairs rear in front like a mountain, but Joycie pulls herself