Her Turn to Cry. Chris Curran

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