Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  Joyce picked up her cup and sipped the tea, scorching her top lip. ‘I received some shocking news.’ She scowled, hoping he would come clean.

  Arthur tapped his feet, studying them as if seeing them for the first time. ‘You know don’t you?’ He suddenly looked up at Joyce. ‘I wanted to tell you myself; I just didn’t know how or when. There never seemed to be a good time.’

  Joyce glared. ‘So were you never going to tell me? Were you planning on taking your secrets to the grave?’

  Shame flitted across Arthur’s face as he stared into his hot drink. ‘I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.’ He put his cup down on the small table next to his chair and clenched his hands together. ‘Dot has been on at me to tell you, but I didn’t know how or when. The last thing I wanted was you thinking you couldn’t stay here when your father died. What was I meant to do, throw you out on the streets? After all, where else would you have gone?’

  Lowering her eyelashes, Joyce felt Arthur’s eyes boring into her. She looked up and shrugged. ‘You could have just been honest with me and let me decide for myself.’

  ‘The state I was in back then you would have left and, selfishly, I didn’t want to be on my own. In fact the best thing that could have happened to me was your friends coming to stay, although I didn’t know that at the time.’ Arthur paused, looking straight at her. ‘I’m sorry and I’m glad you now know, but it should have been me who told you.’

  Joyce stared at him. ‘It was one helluva shock when the solicitor told me I didn’t have an uncle. He wanted to report you to the police.’

  Arthur gasped. ‘He hasn’t, has he?’

  ‘No, I told him I must have misunderstood the situation.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m not sure I deserve your protection; after all living with me hasn’t exactly been a joy for you.’ Arthur hesitated before taking a deep breath. ‘Dot and I knew your father for many years. In fact we were childhood friends, but I hadn’t seen him for many years when he turned up on my doorstep with you.’

  Joyce silently watched the pain of Arthur’s memories etch onto his face.

  Arthur’s knuckles were white as his hands clenched together. He looked up at Joyce. ‘The pair of you were only meant to be staying for a couple of weeks but when he didn’t come back I was in no fit state to deal with that situation. I’d had the rug pulled out from under me. My world had been complete; I wanted for nothing. Looking back there was probably an arrogance about me. I had everything: money, property and respect. Losing my son was devastating; it was the end of the perfect world I’d worked hard to achieve. It ended any thoughts or caring about life. Material things no longer mattered to me, and I had no desire to live. Then when Dot couldn’t live with me anymore, which wasn’t surprising, that was the end of my world. I died twice over, or at least I wanted to. I slowly came to realise she wasn’t interested in the money, properties and all these fancy ornaments; she had just wanted us to grieve together but instead I shut myself away with alcohol.’

  Arthur rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I haven’t been a good guardian to you; in fact you were more of one to me. All I can say is I’m truly sorry. I have a lot of making up to do and not just with you.’

  Joyce didn’t know what to say. He had laid out his heart and soul to her. The anger she felt had faded with each word he said. ‘It was just a shock.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Wait, you said “secrets”. I only had the one.’

  Joyce looked down at her tea. ‘Apparently my grandmother wrote to me on a number of occasions. I told the solicitor the letters were never received by me but I got the feeling he didn’t believe me.’ She paused; looking up she stared at Arthur. ‘During the night it occurred to me they may have arrived and you could have destroyed them.’

  Arthur gasped. ‘I would never do such a thing; you must think I’m a real monster. I can assure you it’s one thing to not tell you about me not being your uncle, but it’s something else to keep letters from you.’ He shook his head and sat hunched over in the chair.

  Joyce shrugged. ‘I don’t understand why I never received them then.’

  Arthur closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and pulling his shoulders back. He opened his eyes; they were dull as they darted from side to side. ‘The truth of the matter is, because of the drink, I could have done anything back then.’ He flopped his head down. ‘I’m ashamed of myself for what I know I’ve put you through but if I’ve also kept you away from your grandmother without even being aware of my actions then that’s … well it’s despicable. I’m not saying I did because I truly don’t remember. As you know I was in a very bad way back then. I didn’t know which way was up, so anything is possible.’

  Joyce took a sip of her lukewarm tea. ‘It’s no good going over old ground because it won’t change anything. Although I would be lying if I didn’t say it all hurts and feels like a lot of the heartbreak I’ve been through was unnecessary.’ She shook her head. ‘But I had another surprise to come, and if I’m honest I didn’t think it could get any worse than finding out you’re not my real uncle.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘I’ll never forgive myself. It should have been me who told you about who I was.’ He paused. ‘If I’m also responsible for the letters too then that’s unforgivable, and I’m so sorry, but are you saying there’s more?’

  Colour drained from Joyce’s face, the dark rings under her eyes suddenly emphasised. ‘My grandmother is in a coma and is unlikely to come out of it, which is very sad and I don’t want to sound cold but I don’t really know her.’

  ‘But…’

  Joyce stared at Arthur. ‘But … she wants me to look after a five-year-old boy, Philip, who she’s been looking after.’

  Arthur held up his hand. ‘Wait, wait, who is this boy?’

  Joyce shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I just know someone is going to deliver him here in the next week or so unless I tell them otherwise.’

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to take in and goodness knows why I have to be the one to look after him. What do I know about children?’

  Arthur bit his lip; his own news would have to wait. ‘I’ll help you.’

  Joyce could feel her eyes welling up. ‘How am I meant to earn a living, especially with Simon going off to fight in this blooming war, and look after a child? I don’t understand why this has been thrust upon me, and now of all times.’

  Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think there would have been a good time.’ He reached out and cupped his hand over hers. ‘I will help you. We just need to give it some thought, and we’ll find a way between us.’

  Joyce felt a tear roll down her cheek. ‘This will be too painful for you, I mean to have another child running around the house.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘We don’t have any choice. What are you going to do? Refuse to take him so he ends up in some godforsaken place or on the streets somewhere?’

  ‘The solicitor said something similar.’

  Arthur patted Joyce’s hand. ‘I know you don’t know this child but you can no more turn your back on him than I could you. You were a helpless child just as this boy is. The only difference is you were older.’

  7

  Joyce walked along slowly. All her usual morning thoughts of getting to work were no longer important. Her mind was still reeling from the conversations with the solicitor and Arthur. So much to digest and think about, she didn’t know where to begin. She was oblivious to the smoky grey clouds in the sky and the water running down the back of her neck. Rain had been splattering the pavements for some time. She stared down, watching the raindrops pulling together to form puddles, which were getting larger with each drop that fell. Small rivers were forming along the road. Cars chugged past, their wheels splashing through the water while their windscreen wipers chugged back and forth fighting to clear the windscreens of each drop. People shielded themselves with umbrellas, hiding behind them as the rain drove down, thudding onto them.

&n
bsp; A man knocked her sideways as he ran past. She steadied herself, rubbing her arm at the same time as looking back at him.

  The man shouted, ‘Sorry,’ as he glanced over his shoulder and waved.

  Joyce shivered. She stared down at her hand, ravaged from working in the café; she watched the globules of water dropping on to it. She should have brought her umbrella, but she had been preoccupied. Her throat tightened, as the lump there grew in size. Her lungs burnt in her chest as she tried to gasp for breath. Her tiny world was getting even smaller. Her uncle wasn’t who she thought he was and her grandmother was dying. She had no family at all. She hadn’t found the necklace with the locket holding the picture of her mother and father in it. Loneliness swamped her. Her tears mingled with the rain that was falling.

  Her childhood dreams had been snatched away; first with the death of her mother and any little remaining hope had died with her father. Her friends and Simon had encouraged and nurtured the dream until it was almost in touching distance, but now she had to choose. She had nothing and no one; she was alone with the feeling of emptiness that she didn’t think she could ever fill. How could she hope to raise a boy she didn’t know? How could she help someone else when she couldn’t help herself? Joyce tried to push a strand of hair from her face, but it was stuck fast. She was soaked to the skin.

  ‘Please, miss, can I have a penny to buy something for my sister to eat?’

  Joyce turned to the sound of the soft voice to see a small scruffy boy standing in front of her, as drenched as she was. He was clutching a little girl’s hand. The girl’s wet curly hair was matted to her head and the rain ran down her cheeks. Joyce wiped her hand across her own cheeks, unable to speak as she took in their dishevelled appearance.

  The boy frowned. ‘Are yer all right, miss?’

  Joyce nodded. Is this what it would be like for Philip if she didn’t take him in? Without a second thought she opened her handbag and pulled out a small cloth coin purse that had once belonged to her mother. Opening it, she took out two small silver coins. ‘Are you on your own?’

  The girl’s eyes widened, and she hid herself behind her brother. Her fear was there for all to see.

  The boy jutted out his chin. ‘We can manage, miss. We just need to eat. Ain’t that right, sis?’

  The little girl’s head bobbed up and down behind her brother’s back.

  Joyce felt the heavy weight of responsibility sitting on her slender shoulders. ‘Where do you live?’

  The boy gave her an impish grin. ‘We’re free, miss, and we’re togevva wiv no one beating us.’

  Joyce gasped as her eyes narrowed. ‘So you live on the streets?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Not always. We stay ’ere and there. Wherever we chose every night, and sometimes if we’re lucky, people bring us out food or take us in for the night.’ He frowned. ‘The trouble wiv that is they then wanna get us into a home so we’ll be safe, but it ain’t safe. We look out for each uffa and they’d never let us stay togevva in an ’ome. None of it matters cos we’re got each uffa, and I promised me ma that I’d always look after me sister.’

  Joyce gave them both a pensive look.

  The boy tugged at her sleeve. ‘Don’t look so worried. We’re all right.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘If you need food or anything you come to the Meet and Feast Café on Shaftesbury Avenue and I’ll sort you out. Do yer ’ear me?’

  The boy’s face lit up and the girl came out of hiding.

  Joyce stared at them both for a moment. She wanted to give them a big hug and take them home with her. She shook her head again. ‘Here’s sixpence each. Make sure you get some good food inside you.’

  The children’s faces lit up.

  Joyce smiled. ‘Don’t forget the Meet and Feast Café on Shaftesbury Avenue.’

  The boy nodded. ‘Thanks, miss.’

  The girl stepped out from behind her brother and wrapped her arms around Joyce’s legs.

  ‘Come on.’ The boy smiled at his sister as he took her hand. ‘Yer know, miss, yer shouldn’t get upset about fings cos yer a kind lady. My ma used to say always be ’onest and kind and I fink yer that.’

  Joyce wanted to ask about their mother and father but the children were suddenly running up the road. Shaking her head, she knew she shouldn’t have let them go. She stared into the throng of people; the children were already out of sight. How brave was that boy to take on the task of looking after his sister. He hadn’t turned his back when life got difficult; he was sacrificing everything so they could stay together and he could fulfil his promise to his mother. How could she be so selfish?

  Joyce gasped as she saw Simon standing outside a pawnshop; he was carrying a small cardboard box. She frowned. Was he going in? Surely things weren’t that bad at the café were they? She took a couple of steps nearer, wanting to see what he was doing, but something stopped her. Simon was a proud man and wouldn’t appreciate being caught going into one of those shops.

  ‘Excuse me.’ A young woman tried to get past her.

  Joyce stepped nearer the entrances of the properties that lined the street. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The woman nodded and sped up the road.

  Joyce eyed up the shop, with its narrow frontage and scruffy door. It wasn’t loved; the paint was peeling off the window frame. The temptation to walk over to it and pretend she hadn’t seen him was great but suddenly the door opened and Simon stepped outside. The moment was lost.

  *

  Simon absently dried his hands on the small blue towel that was hanging off the hook by the café’s kitchen sink. He watched Joyce through the serving hatch of the café. She had come in soaking wet, and hadn’t said a word. He worried she would catch her death. She moved slower and seemed preoccupied. Her smile wasn’t so ready to appear, and when it did it wasn’t as full. Was he the cause of that? His heart ached; he leant back and stared at the clock. He had sent his sister home early. Today was the last chance to see Joyce for a while and he couldn’t wait for the café to close.

  He moved away from the hatch and paced around the kitchen a couple of times before walking over to the kitchen door. He pushed it open, with more courage than he was feeling, and walked into the café, thankful it was empty of customers. ‘I think we’ll shut five minutes early this evening.’ He marched over to the main door and turned the key. He lifted the sign and turned it over to closed.

  Joyce stayed silent, and continued to wipe the counter with the damp cloth for about the tenth time.

  Simon leant his back against the door. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?’

  Joyce continued wiping the counter.

  ‘Joyce?’

  Joyce flinched. ‘What?’

  Simon stepped nearer to her. ‘Look, we need to talk—’

  ‘For goodness’ sake.’ Joyce flung her cloth on to the counter. ‘What is it with everyone suddenly wanting to talk to me?’ Tension filled her face. ‘Do you think I have nothing else to think about but this blooming café?’

  ‘Of course not, it’s just…’ Simon paused.

  ‘It’s just what?’

  ‘It’s just that this will be the last time I get to talk to you for some time.’

  ‘And whose fault is that, Simon? Not mine, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Please, Joyce, don’t do this. I don’t want us to part company on an argument. You are more important to me than you know.’ Simon reached out for her hand. ‘I want us to sit down and spend some time together. I want you to know I’ve been so torn between my conscience about doing the right thing for our country and leaving you.’

  Joyce took his hand before whispering, ‘None of it matters because the country won.’

  Simon guided her to a table away from the window. ‘It does matter, at least to me. I can’t go away without letting you know how difficult the decision has been.’ He pulled out a chair for Joyce, scraping it along the floor, before sitting down in the one next to it. ‘I’ve heard said that the govern
ment are likely to make it law soon so we will all have to go anyway.’

  Joyce took his hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Please try and stay safe. Don’t be a hero.’

  Simon forced a smile. ‘Does that sound like me?’

  Joyce’s lips tightened as she shook her head.

  Simon ran the edge of his finger down Joyce’s cheek. ‘Your skin is so soft; you’re so beautiful.’

  Colour rushed into Joyce’s face and she lowered her eyelashes.

  ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’ Simon paused. ‘I want to know what’s troubling you today. You don’t look like you had any sleep last night.’

  Joyce gazed up at him. Once again, and for the umpteenth time, she thought about the brother and sister she met, how she hoped they were all right. Every time the café door had opened she had expected to see them but they hadn’t come for anything to eat. She shook her head. ‘I had to go and see a solicitor—’

  ‘You’re not in trouble, are you?’

  Joyce squeezed his hand, staring down at his clean fingernails. ‘I wasn’t but going forward I might be.’

  Simon scowled. ‘What does that mean?’

  Joyce frowned as she wondered how much to tell him. ‘Apparently, my uncle Arthur isn’t really my uncle.’

  ‘What? Are you sure?’

  Joyce smiled. His reaction mimicked her own. ‘Well, according to my grandmother, I don’t have any uncles so I suppose that makes it pretty convincing that he isn’t one.’ She shook her head. ‘I have spoken to him about it and he admits he couldn’t find the right time or words to tell me, which I suppose I can understand.’

  Simon nodded. ‘I know life has been hard at times but at least he kept a roof over your head when he had no obligation to.’

  Joyce’s smile faded. ‘Which brings me neatly on to the other problem that has been laid at my feet. My grandma wants me to look after a five-year-old boy.’

  Simon’s mouth dropped open but no words came out.

  ‘He could be arriving soon, but I don’t know how I can look after him and be here as well.’ Joyce put her head in her hands. ‘My life has been turned upside down and I can’t figure out how to get it the right way up again.’