Big Dreams for the West End Girls

by Elaine Roberts

  Joyce ran into her grandmother’s room expecting to see the old lady lying in her bed, as still as always. She stopped short. Her hands reached out to clutch the doorjamb for support. Was her eyes deceiving her? Was she seeing things? Was she actually seeing the man she thought she’d seen over the last few weeks or was her mind playing tricks on her? Was it really him sitting there? That was impossible, wasn’t it? She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes became watery. What was happening to her? Joyce had the urge to run away but also to strike out. How could this be him. How? His head was low almost touching the bed.

  He suddenly looked up and his eyes widened with shock as he saw her.

  Joyce’s grip tightened on the doorjamb. She wasn’t sure her legs would be able to keep her upright. The room became blurry. She blinked quickly. She tried to stare at the man sitting beside the bed, the man who was so familiar to her. The man who she had thought was dead. A groan escaped as she dropped to the floor. Hands grabbed on to her arms as she was scooped up.

  ‘I’ve got you, Joyce.’ The familiar deep voice slowly penetrated the fog that had engulfed her brain.

  Joyce whimpered and her eyelashes fluttered. The hard wood of a chair supported her back and legs.

  ‘Thank you for the water.’ The man’s voice continued. ‘I’ll stay and look after her.’

  ‘And you are?’ a woman’s voice almost whispered.

  ‘I’m Mr Taylor, her father.’

  So it was true. The room fell silent. Joyce was aware of cold liquid being pressed against her lips but she had no desire to open her eyes.

  ‘Joyce,’ Ted urged her to respond. ‘Joyce, I’m so sorry, please try and drink this water.’

  ‘I’ve brought some smelling salts.’ A woman spoke matter-of-factly. ‘This will bring her round.’

  Joyce knew she couldn’t feign being unconscious for any longer. It was time to face her father. She slowly opened her eyes to see his anxious face staring down at her.

  ‘Thank goodness. I’m so sorry I frightened you like that.’ Ted turned to the nurse. ‘Thank you for your help. I think she’s going to be all right now.’

  The nurse reached out and pressed the tips of her fingers on the inside of Joyce’s wrist. She gave Joyce a concerned look as she dropped her arm on to her lap. ‘Stay sitting for a while, and no sudden movements.’ She looked over at Ted. ‘If anything changes come and get me from the nurses’ station.’ She gave Joyce one last look before turning and leaving the room.

  Ted nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He turned and stared down at Joyce. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Joyce gave him a withering look as her emotions swung like a pendulum between wanting to hit out and hurt him, and wrapping her arms around him. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing.

  Ted nervously licked his dry lips. ‘Look, I know this is a shock for you, and I’m really sorry; this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘You are unbelievable. How did you think this was going to end? I thought you were dead for goodness’ sake. I thought you went down with the Titanic.’ Her voice got higher with every word. ‘You let me think that. What sort of father are you?’

  Ted dropped his head in his hands but said nothing.

  Joyce’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t you have anything to say? Are you not even going to defend yourself?’

  Ted rubbed his hand over his face before looking up at her. ‘I was always going to come and get you. I’ve always dreamed we would live in a great house together.’

  Joyce frowned. ‘Live in a great house together – how about we just live together? I’ve been mourning the death of my mother and father, which I now find out wasn’t the big loss I thought it was, while you left me living with a drunk who was grieving for his young son. Not to mention Dot leaving him, and Arthur having no idea where she had gone. Are you so wrapped up in yourself that you have no compassion at all?’

  Ted began to pace up and down the small room, unable to meet her look of horror and disappointment. ‘Look, Joyce, I don’t expect you to understand but you need to know I can’t explain it to you. Is it not enough to know that it was just something I had to do?’

  ‘Had to do?’ Joyce shook her head. ‘Have you any idea what it’s been like for me? Are you just so wrapped up in yourself that you can’t see beyond that? I’m surprised you’re even here seeing your own mother.’ Joyce jumped up; she grabbed the edge of the chair as the room began to spin.

  ‘Sit down, Joyce.’ Ted quickly stepped nearer as he barked at her. ‘Do as you’re told.’

  Joyce’s mouth dropped open for a moment before she gathered herself again. ‘You lost the right tell me what to do a long time ago.’

  Ted looked shamefaced as he faced his daughter. ‘Look, I knew it was never going to be easy when we finally got together again, but you heard the nurse say you’ve got to sit still for a little while.’

  Joyce’s anger grew with each passing minute. ‘Oh, so you planned to see me again then, and yet every time I thought I’d seen you here you ran away. I started to believe I was imagining things. I mean, after all, who does that? Who actually pretends they are dead?’ Joyce opened her mouth to say more, but shook her head instead. ‘I just can’t believe it.’ She took a breath. ‘I remember you saying once there’s always a choice; you may not like it, but there’s always a choice. Well, you certainly made yours and it didn’t involve me.’

  Ted stood next to the bed; he couldn’t bring himself to look at his daughter. ‘I’m sorry, but I thought I was protecting you.’

  ‘Protecting me? Protecting me from what exactly?’

  ‘It’s too complicated. You wouldn’t understand.’

  Joyce clasped her hands on her lap. ‘Wouldn’t understand? You have no idea about what I’ve had to learn to understand in the last few years. You have no idea what I’ve been through. And where were you? What were you going through that was so big that you couldn’t be there to support your daughter? I can tell you where you weren’t on the Titanic.’

  Ted moved towards the window to stare out into the darkness, before noticing the black material blocking it. ‘I have no words to tell you what I’ve been going through.’ He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Isn’t it enough that I was in trouble and had to stay away for a while?’

  ‘A while? It’s been three years.’ Joyce stood up. ‘Again it’s all about you. You’re so busy thinking about you there’s no room for anybody else. You just don’t get it do you? You knew you weren’t coming back but you didn’t even have the backbone to tell the truth. You’ve never contacted me to let me know you’re alive.’ She sighed. ‘You haven’t even asked me how I am. I need to get out of here. If you weren’t dead to me before you certainly are now.’

  She forced herself to leave the room. There was nothing to be gained by staying. Tears ran down her face as she marched out of the hospital.

  17

  The house was quiet, the silence only broken by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece; there were a couple of hours still before the girls were due back from the theatre. Joyce sunk down on the carpet and sat cross-legged in front of the leather chest. She moved her long crimson skirt around her stockinged feet. Arthur was out and Philip was in bed. She had thought about doing housework or baking for the café tomorrow but had decided to do nothing instead. Joyce hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since seeing her father; even now it felt strange to know he was still alive. She lost track of how many times she had wished he hadn’t gone to work on the Titanic, crying herself to sleep most nights, hoping it was all a mistake and he would come back.

  She leant forward and unbuckled the worn leather strap that wrapped around the chest. As she pushed the locks to one side, the metal catches sprung up, and she lifted the lid before pushing it back on its hinges, letting it fall as she gazed at the contents. Everything inside was a bit haphazard from when she and Rose had pulled almost everything out to sear
ch through it. When they had returned with Philip she’d just thrown it back in. She took a deep breath; it was time to find out what else had been kept hidden away, if anything. Joyce pulled out some papers. They looked official and a little complicated to her. She turned the pages and continued to study them, and realised they seemed to be about the house they had in the village before they moved to London. Maybe Arthur would give them the once-over.

  Joyce sighed. Living in the village seemed like a lifetime ago. Her eyes welled up. Folding her arms around her, she gripped the soft material of her blouse. As the tears fell she rocked back and forth sobbing. “Dear Lord, please help me, I can’t take any more. I miss my ma so much. She would know what to do. What was my pa up to that he could just abandon me without giving it a thought? Please help me and show me how to recover from all of this.” Her cries sounded around the room, her tears leaving a salty taste on her lips. Joyce dropped the papers she was holding and took a couple of deep breaths. She wiped her hands over her face. Her throat was tight and her eyes felt raw. Exhaustion washed over her. She reached out and picked up the recipe book that she’d found earlier. The corners of the hard cover were worn with use, as was the spine. Joyce stroked it before opening the front cover where she saw her mother’s name written on the inside. Her eyes welled up again. She ran her fingertips over her name. ‘Oh, Ma, I miss you so much. I can’t begin to explain what things have been like since you left us. I hope God is looking after you because there’s not much happening down here that would make you proud. Pa is alive; yes that’s right you heard me correctly. Just saying it shocks me.’

  Joyce squeezed her eyes tight and snapped the recipe book shut. ‘I’ll have a good read of that when I’m in bed. I’m sure it will bring back some great memories of our time together in the kitchen.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and put the book down on the floor. A silver-framed photograph of her mother and father caught her eye. Picking it up, she stared at it for what seemed like an eternity before putting it on the floor. She glanced across at it again. ‘You look so in love, Ma, and I always thought we were a happy family so where did it all go wrong? Or maybe it didn’t. Perhaps Pa wasn’t as strong as I remember him being, and you were the one who kept us all together as a family.’

  A small gift box had been placed under her parents’ photograph; it was calling her to open it. Joyce gingerly lifted it out and opened the lid. A small gold band sat in the middle of it. A sob escaped. Joyce realised it was her mother’s wedding ring. She snapped the box shut and placed it on the table. She would need to put it somewhere safe. Maybe one day she’d wear it, if she ever got married. Sighing, she realised that wasn’t likely to happen now. Gazing into the trunk, she already felt drained by it all. Joyce shook her head. She thought it would all be connected to Philip, and hadn’t expected to see anything that belonged to her mother and father.

  Joyce heard the click of the front door locking shut, and immediately looked at the clock. It was only half past eight so it was too early for the girls to be home from the theatre. Arthur strolled into the dining room and took in Joyce sitting cross-legged on the floor. ‘Ah, you’re finally emptying the trunk are you?’

  Joyce jerked her head round at the sound of his voice. She nodded. ‘It seems to be mainly my stuff in here or things to do with my family, not that I’ve got anywhere near to the bottom of it yet, but I assumed it would be all to do with Philip.’

  ‘So did I.’ Arthur frowned. He stared at her red eyes and the dark lines that sat beneath them. ‘Well, you should go through it then because there could be something important in there – or some treasured possession that belonged to your mother.’

  Joy stood up, and ran her hands down the front of her skirt. ‘I’ve already found this.’ She picked up the small box that was on the table. ‘It’s my mother’s wedding ring; at least I think it’s hers.’ Opening the lid of the box, she passed it to Arthur. ‘There’s also a picture of my mother and father in the trunk. They looked so happy together.’ Joy shook her head. She watched as Arthur put the box back on the table. She blinked quickly before taking a breath. Her eyes widened as she stared at Arthur. It took all her energy to stay calm. ‘Did you know my father was still alive? Is that another secret you’ve been keeping from me?’

  Arthur paled. He lowered his eyes.

  ‘Well, that tells me the answer is yes. How many more secrets do you have? Do you not understand what it’s like for me? I keep discovering lie after lie and now it’s beginning to feel like my whole life has been a lie.’

  Arthur stepped forward and held his hand up in front of him. ‘Wait, I didn’t know your father was alive until I went to the hospital looking for Philip, and that’s when I saw him for the first time. I was as shocked as you are and told him he had to come and see you because I couldn’t carry that burden. I thought he would once I knew, but was clearly wrong. Please understand, I didn’t want to be the one who hurt you all over again.’

  Joyce walked over to the armchair and lowered herself slowly onto the soft cushions. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it, and every time I think about it I find myself shaking my head in disbelief.’

  ‘I’m exactly the same, and I’m not his daughter, so it must be a hundred times harder for you. Can I ask, how did you find out?’

  Joyce sat very still in the chair, staring into the grate of the unlit fire. ‘There have been a few times when I’ve thought I caught glimpses of him around the hospital, but I assumed my mind was playing tricks on me. He was always too far away for me to be certain.’ She paused, looking down at her hands gripped on her lap. ‘Something drove me to the hospital earlier today and when I got there he was sitting at my grandma’s bedside.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘It must have been one helluva shock for you.’

  Joyce looked up at him. ‘That’s putting it mildly. I passed out.’

  Arthur stared at her; his eyes were full of sadness. ‘I don’t know what to say. I trust he stayed and looked after you?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’ Joyce’s eyes became watery.

  ‘Did he offer you any explanation?’

  Joyce shook her head. ‘None that I heard, but I must admit I wasn’t listening very much. I was too busy telling him what I thought. He did say he was trying to protect me and I wouldn’t understand.’

  Arthur remained silent as he watched the raw emotion etched on Joyce’s face.

  Joyce pulled her lips into a tight line, before a sob managed to escape. ‘What I don’t understand, is why he would want to abandon me like that, especially so soon after my mother’s death. Why he would want me to think he was dead? I’m his daughter. Was I such a bad daughter that he wanted to get away from me? I just don’t understand and unless he can explain it to me I’m not sure I ever will.’

  Arthur walked over to the chair she was sitting on. He knelt down in front of her and clasped her hands in his. ‘I have no idea what your father was thinking, and I certainly don’t know where he’s been or what he’s been up to, but I can tell you this: from my experience, you are a wonderful person and I would’ve been grateful and proud to have you as my daughter.’

  Tears ran down Joyce’s cheeks. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

  Arthur pulled her into his arms while she sobbed.

  *

  Arthur closed and folded his newspaper, the rustling carrying in the silence. He placed it on the table next to his armchair. Looking up at the clock on the mantelpiece, he saw it was quarter past five. Joyce and Philip should be home soon. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair, wishing he knew where to find Ted. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joyce and what she said. He had been to the hospital a couple of times, hoping he would find him visiting his mother but he had either stopped going or Arthur had picked the wrong times to go.

  Arthur paced around the room, wondering what he could do to help Joyce. He couldn’t stop worrying about her. Her life had been turned upside down in th
e last few months and now to discover her father was alive? He shook his head. Would it be the last straw and tip her over the edge? Would she survive the shock of it all? ‘I think I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ he said into the empty room. ‘Gosh, never mind Joyce going mad; I’m talking to myself.’ He shook his head, picked up his newspaper and walked out into the hall. There were a couple of thuds at the front door as the doorknocker dropped in quick succession, making him jump. They didn’t get many visitors and he assumed it wouldn’t be any of the girls because they would’ve let themselves in. His footsteps were silent as he strolled over to the door. The doorknocker thudded again. He reached out and turned the handle to open it. It groaned under the pressure. A warm gust of wind blew into the hall, almost taking the door out of Arthur’s hand. He tightened his hold on it and shook his head, not believing what he was seeing. ‘You’ve got a nerve coming here.’

  Ted stared Arthur straight in the eye. ‘You know I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t desperate.’

  Arthur stepped over the threshold and glanced up and down the road, the ends of his grey hair taking flight. ‘You’ve been desperate since you’ve arrived in London. What makes today any different?’