Her Turn to Cry. Chris Curran

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.’

      As the taxi pulled away he gave her a small wave and a little nod and turned away, shiny black shoes gleaming under the street lights.

       Hastings – September 1953

      Joycie and her dad have got into the habit of having their tea at the Italian café on the front before walking to the theatre. He always lets her have ice cream for afters and today it’s her favourite: banana split. He smokes and sips his coffee while she eats; the ice cream cold on her lips.

      When he screws up his eyes and hands her a paper napkin she scrubs at her face and he gives a little laugh. ‘Your mum would have my guts for garters if she could see you.’

      It’s almost the first time he’s mentioned Mum since she went and Joycie swallows hard and puts down her spoon, biting her lip to stop from crying.

      Dad rubs her shoulder. ‘Sorry, darlin’, didn’t mean to upset you.’

      His voice sounds thick and Joycie feels bad because it’s her fault. She starts to eat again even though her throat feels all clogged up.

      ‘You mustn’t blame your mum for going, Joycie. She’s a great girl and I didn’t deserve her. Never was much of a husband. But she loves you to bits and I bet she’ll be in touch one day soon.’ When Joycie looks up he’s smiling at her, but his blue eyes are bright with tears. So she gives him a wobbly grin and he sniffs, rubs his eyes and says, ‘And we’re all right for now aren’t we?’

      She finishes her banana split and holds his hand as they walk along by the sea in the late sunshine. People look at her dad as they pass, probably recognizing him from the show, but she can see that some of the women look because he’s so handsome. She’s proud to be holding his hand and to know he’s her dad. And she’s not going to think about that stained mat any more.

      And anyway she looked for it when she got back from Irene’s the day after Mum left and, although the black shoes were still in their box under the bed, she couldn’t find the mat.

       Chelsea – April 1965

      Joycie woke to Radio Caroline playing The Moody Blues’ ‘Go Now’ in the kitchen. Marcus was back then. He hadn’t come home last night, no doubt staying with some girl he’d met. She was grateful that he never brought anyone back here when she was at home. She had no right to expect even that of him, but it always upset her to think of him with someone else.

      A tap on the bedroom door, and he was there, holding a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich. He sat on the bed, handing her the cup. ‘All right? How did it go?’

      She took a big gulp. ‘It was my aunt. I never even knew she existed, can you believe that? She seems really nice, but she hasn’t seen Mum since she left us