An uncomfortable silence sat between them. ‘I need to think about this, but it does feel like I have no choice.’
‘This is a big decision, Miss Taylor, but if you turn your back on him I’m sure you’ll regret it.’ Jeremiah King forced a smile. ‘I’ll give you a week or so to think about it but arrangements will need to be made one way or another, and you’ll need to sign some paperwork. If you agree to take him I’ll arrange for him to be delivered along with his meagre belongings.’
Joyce clenched her hands. ‘It’s just I’ve never had any dealings with children. I don’t even have any brothers or sisters.’
Jeremiah King stood up and stretched out his hand. ‘You’ll soon get used to each other, I’m sure.’
Joyce followed suit and shook his hand. Her eyes clouded as she stared at the solicitor. ‘I would say it’s been a pleasure but you’ve managed to turn my life upside down in less than an hour.’
*
Joyce prodded the cabbage with a fork. ‘If you two are ready so is the dinner.’
Annie glanced over at Joyce, so at home in the kitchen. ‘I love the smell of a roast dinner.’ She breathed deeply. ‘I don’t think you can beat it.’
‘Oh I don’t know, I’ve never liked the smell of cabbage boiling on the stove.’ Rose pulled at the half-apron Joyce had given her that morning. ‘But the smell of bacon frying has to be one of my favourites.’
‘Oh, yes, and mine.’ Annie laughed.
Joyce grinned. ‘Basically anything cooking usually whets your appetite, apart from cabbage.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ Annie smiled, gathering the cutlery together. ‘As there’s only us three shall we eat here at the kitchen table?’
Rose picked up a cloth, rinsed and squished it in the warm water that was sitting in a bowl in the sink. ‘That makes sense to me. I’ll start clearing the things away.’
Joyce peered over her shoulder. ‘That’s fine, saves all the toing and froing to the dining room.’ She gripped the handle of the saucepan and began pouring some of the cabbage water into the baking tray the chicken had been cooked in earlier. ‘You might want to take that bowl out of the sink so I can drain the rest of this water away.’
Rose quickly did as she requested. ‘My father liked to drink a cup of the cabbage water; he said it was full of goodness.’
‘My grandfather does the same but I couldn’t think of anything worse.’ Annie screwed up her face as the cutlery chinked together in a pile on the table and began moving some of the cooking utensils off it. She sidestepped Joyce to begin making the gravy in the baking tray.
‘I wonder if it’s true.’ Rose wiped the table with the damp cloth.
Annie shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
The girls moved like a well-organised formation dance troupe and it wasn’t long before the table was laid and the roast chicken sat proudly in the centre of it with a bowl of roast potatoes next to it.
Annie tightened the belt of her apron before looking over at Rose. ‘I wish our brothers would write to let us know they are all right. I was reading Arthur’s newspaper, about the war, but it doesn’t give hope it’s going to be over anytime soon – so much for “it’ll be over in a few months”.’
Rose’s eyes welled up with unspent tears. ‘It’s awful. I’ve been praying it will be over soon and they’ll come back safely.’ She blinked rapidly before lowering her eyelashes. ‘To be honest I don’t read the papers. I can’t think about my brothers putting their lives at risk.’ She frowned, wiping her hands across her eyes. ‘I tell myself they’re still at home working on the farm.’
Annie nodded. ‘It’s a good way of looking at it. My ma used to say all the worrying in the world won’t change anything and I suppose she’s right but it’s all easier said than done.’ She sighed. ‘I’m going to try and do the same. I’m also going to get on with knitting socks and things for the men. I haven’t done any for a while and if the weather here is anything to go by they must be frozen and soaked to the skin on the front line.’
Joyce looked over at her friends, tucking her loose shoulder-length hair behind her ears. She had no desire to talk about the war, not now. She forced a smile. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ She began to carve the chicken.
Annie licked her lips. ‘I don’t know if it’s the smell or looking at the food but I suddenly feel starving.’
Rose smiled. ‘Me too.’ Colour rose in her cheeks. ‘I have something to tell you…’
The girls turned to look expectantly at her.
Rose’s colour deepened. ‘Charlie has asked me to go out with him.’
Annie clapped her hands together and beamed at her friend. ‘I knew he would. This is the best news ever. I have to admit he’s incredibly handsome, in an obvious sort of way that is.’
For a moment Rose had a dreamy faraway look on her face. ‘He is, but don’t get carried away. It’s only a date.’
Joyce chuckled. ‘I have a feeling Charlie really likes you.’
Annie giggled. ‘And so he should. Any man would be lucky to have any of us.’
Laughter rang around the kitchen as they finally sat down and began putting food on their plates.
Rose stuck the prongs of her fork into a potato and sliced it in half with her knife. ‘Now we’re sitting down, how did you get on at the solicitor’s?’
Joyce shook her head.
Annie caught her look of dismay. ‘Did something unexpected happen?’
Joyce made a throaty sound. ‘Huh, you could say that.’
Rose gave Annie a troubled look before studying Joyce. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh nothing too devastating. If I agree to it the solicitors are delivering me a chest that my grandma wants me to have.’ She paused, tension etched on her face. ‘And a small boy.’
‘What?’ the girls yelled as one.
Joyce rested her knife and fork on the side of her plate. ‘My grandma is in a coma and some time ago the solicitor was instructed to act if she became ill and was unlikely to survive. Apparently, that is where we’re at.’
Annie slowly shook her head, putting down the fork, loaded with food, on the side of her plate. ‘I can’t believe you’ve known about this and yet you didn’t tell us. I don’t know how you’ve kept it to yourself.’
Rose raised her eyebrows and placed her knife and fork on the side of her plate. ‘Nor me, who is this boy? Where has he come from and why do you have to look after him? How are you going to do that and work? How old is he?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, my head is awash with questions.’
Joyce stared at her friend. ‘Yours is; how do you think I feel?’
Annie looked from one to the other. ‘It must have been a terrible shock for you.’
Joyce gave a humourless laugh. ‘That’s putting it mildly. I don’t know anything about this boy.’ She paused for a second. ‘But there’s more; apparently Arthur Bradshaw is not my real uncle, so I don’t know who he is.’
Rose shook her head. ‘You’ve had all of that going on and yet you said nothing.’
Joyce picked up her knife and fork. ‘That’s because I have no idea what to say or how to act. The solicitor implied if I didn’t take the boy at best he would end up in an orphanage, at worst he could end up on the streets.’
The girls sat in silence.
‘According to the solicitor my grandmother wrote to me several times but I never answered her letters, which apparently hurt her feelings.’ Sadness crept across Joyce’s face. ‘But I never received any letters. I mean why would I not answer them? I don’t know, it all feels incredibly unfair, just when things were starting to come together with Simon and getting the opportunity to cook; it makes me think that maybe it’s not meant to be.’ She paused. ‘Although, I don’t see why it’s my responsibility to bring up a boy I know nothing about.’
Tension joined them at the kitchen table; they sat there stunned at the turn of events.
‘I’m also going to have to talk to my uncle … Arthu
r … about the boy staying here. Eat your dinner before it gets cold.’ Joyce paused. ‘I might have to find somewhere else to live.’
Annie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Surely it won’t come to that, will it?’
Joyce shrugged. ‘It might. He may not want a constant reminder of what he’s lost living here, especially as he’s not long come to terms with life without William.’
Silence reigned.
There was a clatter as Rose dropped her fork on her plate. Her half-eaten dinner had lost its appeal. ‘I can’t believe your grandma would put you in this position, just when you were getting the chance to bake for the café as well.’
Joyce made a humourless sound. ‘None of that matters when you hold it against a young boy’s life.’ Her knuckles paled as she gripped the handles of her knife and fork.
Rose followed suit. ‘It’ll be hard on the boy; after all he’s being thrust on people he doesn’t know. I’d be terrified if I was him.’
The girls stared at Rose for a few seconds but said nothing. The only sound came from the cutlery hitting the plates as they carried on eating.
Annie placed a small piece of the white meat into her mouth and licked the gravy off her lips. She glanced at Joyce’s ashen features. ‘Looking at you gives me a sense there is more, so spit it out.’
Joyce stared down at the once-appetising dinner. ‘Nothing, it’s nothing. Let’s eat our dinner and talk about something else.’
Rose looked up and nodded. ‘Annie’s right, we’re friends and there’s nothing you can’t tell us.’
There was a long silence.
Joyce took a deep breath, not knowing if she could actually say the words out loud. ‘Well, it’s Simon…’ She took another breath and glanced up at her friends. ‘He’s enlisted.’
The girls sat looking at her open-mouthed.
‘I know, it’s shocking isn’t it. It never occurred to me he would do that. I always thought he’d stay because of the café and his family.’ Joyce paused. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Annie dropped her knife; it clattered on the side of her plate causing gravy to splash on to the table. Shaking her head, she stared at the mess she’d made before reaching over to clasp Joyce’s hand. ‘I suppose he feels a bit like my brother did and probably Rose’s brothers as well. David never had a great urge to fight but when everyone else is enlisting people start to comment if you’re not doing the same, and I suppose no man wants to be thought of as a coward.’
Joyce nodded. ‘I don’t think all the war posters up everywhere help either.’
Rose bit down on her bottom lip. ‘It’s probably the wrong time to ask but what will happen to the café?’
Joyce shrugged. ‘He wants me to run it, which leaves a sour taste in my mouth.’
The girls stared at Joyce, waiting for her to say more.
The tears Joyce had tried to fight off every time she thought about not seeing Simon every day rolled down her cheeks. She had refused to allow her mind to think about the possibility of never seeing him again but suddenly it was there screaming in her head. ‘I’d rather have nothing and know he’s safe at home smelling of fried breakfasts.’
The girls jumped up, their chairs scraping along the tiled floor. They wrapped their arms around Joyce. Her sobbing and gasping for breath were the only sounds to be heard. Gradually the tears slowed down and her breathing levelled out. The girls slowly pulled back.
‘I’m sorry.’ Joyce gulped. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I’ve wanted my own restaurant for as long as I can remember. I wouldn’t even sniff at a café or a tea room, but not at the expense of losing the man I love.’
The girls stepped back, all thought of eating long gone.
Joyce stared down at her hands. ‘When he told me I did question him about me running it because of his sister, Barbara. She’s started working in the café, but he was adamant about me running it.’ Her throat made a strange sound. ‘I’m not sure how his mother will feel about that.’
Rose tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. She gave Joyce another squeeze. ‘You’d like to think she’d be grateful; after all she won’t have to worry about it.’
Joyce gave a half-smile. ‘You say that but I’ve never met Simon’s mother so she won’t know whether she needs to worry or not. I only met his sister this week and she kept giving me funny looks.’
Annie stared at Joyce. ‘Oh my goodness, what are you going to say to Simon? I mean he wanted you to run the café while he was gone, and having a small boy around changes things doesn’t it?’
Joyce blinked quickly. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I clearly can’t do it now.’
Rose shook her head. ‘We need to think about this. You can’t just give up when something is almost within touching distance.’ Her hand rested over her mouth for a moment. ‘There must be a solution. There always is.’
Joyce shook her head. ‘I don’t think there is but thank you for trying to come up with one. Now, please eat your dinner. We definitely can’t afford to waste food now.’
Rose nodded as she began slicing a piece of chicken. ‘It’ll be strange having a child running around.’
‘Have you told Simon how you feel?’ Annie stroked Joyce’s arm. ‘You need to tell him before he goes.’
Joyce’s red bloodshot eyes had a look of horror in them. ‘I sort of told him.’
Rose tightened her lips. ‘Annie’s right, don’t sort of tell him; let him know he has a reason to come back other than that blooming café and supporting his family for the rest of his life.’
Annie nodded. ‘Did he say anything about loving you?’
Joyce nodded. ‘Yes, he made it clear I was the reason he kept the café open. It had nothing to do with his father; it was so he could see me every day.’ She bit down on her lip. Blood seeped through into her mouth. ‘I don’t think I said enough for him to realise what he means to me.’
Rose sighed. ‘You love him don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why can’t you tell him? What are you afraid of?’ Rose shook her head. ‘It’s obvious by the way he looks at you that he loves you.’
Annie shook her head at Rose. ‘Look, Joyce, we watched you and Simon through the café window on our way back from the theatre and you both looked so happy. Isn’t it worth a chance?’
Joyce jumped up off the chair and began pacing around the kitchen. ‘What you don’t realise is I’ve lost everybody I’ve ever loved. I can’t take the risk of losing Simon as well.’
Annie stood up and grabbed Joyce’s arm. ‘I’m not having this. You have been without doubt so unlucky to lose both your parents, especially while you were still so young, but none of that was your fault.’
Rose nodded. ‘Look, Arthur will be back tomorrow. You’ve got to think about what you’re going to say to him about the whole sorry mess, and remember none of this is of your doing.’
Joyce closed her eyes for a second and took a breath. ‘I know. I have no idea what to say to him. I feel exhausted. I’ll sleep on it. Things might not look so bad in the morning.’
*
The early morning grey sky peered through the gap of the closed heavy curtains. Joyce sighed. She should have changed them to the lighter summer drapes by now but time seemed to gallop away from her these days. She opened the curtains wide to see paper and leaves rolling down the street. The sash windows rattled while the rain lashed against the glass. People had their heads down as they almost ran down the street trying to hold on to their umbrellas. She shook her head and yawned. That would be her in about an hour. She was sick of the rain and the greyness of winter.
Tiredness held her still; she had spent the night thinking about the five-year-old boy. Who was he? How she was going to look after him? Why hadn’t she received her grandmother’s letters, unless she didn’t actually write any? Then there was Arthur, the man she had felt obliged to stay with and look after becaus
e he was her only family, or so she thought. She shook her head. Who was he? Her mind had been in turmoil all night. Talking to Annie and Rose had made it all real and now she felt she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other, never mind go to work. She gave a weary sigh; then there was Simon.
A bedroom door banged shut and heavy footsteps ran down the stairs. Joyce peered over her shoulder just as Arthur stepped into the dining room.
‘Good morning, Joyce, I’m glad I’ve managed to catch you before you go to work. I got home quite late last night.’ Arthur’s smile faded and for a split second worry took its place. ‘I want to have a chat with you.’
Anger chased away the tiredness that had swamped Joyce since she had come downstairs. ‘That’s good because I also want to talk to you.’
Arthur fidgeted from one foot to the other. ‘Really, well, that’s good. Shall I make us a cup of tea before we sit down?’
Joyce silently stood aside, revealing a tray of tea things.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, right, you’re a step ahead of me.’ He took a step nearer. ‘Shall I pour?’
Joyce walked away, passing the cabinet that contained the Victorian figurines she loved so much. Not stopping to enjoy them, she sat down by the unlit fireplace. Her thoughts were bouncing around her head. She didn’t know how to start this conversation but she did know it had to take place.
Arthur glanced nervously at Joyce. Her shoulders, neck and face were rigid with tension. ‘It was lovely going back to the village again; I came home with bags of vegetables and eggs for us all. Annie’s family send their love.’
Joyce peered over her shoulder at him. ‘That’s good of them. I’ll write to say thank you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I went to see the solicitor, Mr King.’
Arthur bit his lip, concentrating on pouring the tea.
‘I was quite nervous.’
A teaspoon clattered onto a saucer. ‘Sorry, I dropped the spoon.’ Picking up the two cups, Arthur handed Joyce one.
‘Thank you.’
‘I thought we were going together.’ Arthur stumbled on to the seat of the armchair opposite hers.
Big Dreams for the West End Girls Page 10