The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

  ‘Aunt Frances.’ Michael’s voice jerked her back to the present. ‘I’ve told Grandad I’ll write to him, but his eyes aren’t too good. Will you read my letters to him?’

  She stared at Michael, not able to take in what he was saying. Before she could answer, her father’s broke in. ‘Please, Fran,’ he begged. Will’s eyes filled with unashamed tears.

  ‘Dad,’ she cried, hurrying to kneel by his side. She took hold of his trembling hands. ‘Of course I will. Do you really want me to come home and look after you?’

  Will nodded, his eyes never leaving her face.

  ‘Grandad, I told you she would,’ Michael said with confidence.

  Shirley, tired of family emotions, said, ‘Mike, want to walk me home?’

  ‘Sure.’ He stretched his long frame. ‘See you later, Grandad. Aunt Frances, thanks.’

  And Michael was gone.

  ‘Australia,’ Will muttered, ‘I might never see him again.’

  And nor will I, Fran thought. To be reunited with her son, then to lose him again was too much for her to bear. She started to sob, unleashing the years of suppressed emotions, hidden so deep within her.

  Will stroked his daughter’s hair, like he had when she was a child. ‘Shush, it will be all right, love,’ he soothed. But his caring words and gentle action made her cry even more.

  After a while, when her tears subsided, she drew away from Will, saying, ‘I’d better go and tidy myself up before Isabel comes or she will think I’m not capable of looking after you.’

  The staircase was dark, but she didn’t put on the light. She knew every inch of the treads and the fourth one up still creaked. The bathroom was as she remembered it, green-painted walls and the hard-water stains where the bath taps dripped. Leaning over the washbasin, she stared in the mirror, aghast at her blotchy, red face. But a quick freshen-up, a retouch of her make-up and her appearance was passable.

  On the landing, she glanced to one of the open doors of a bedroom. Could it be Michael’s? She tiptoed along the landing and stood on the threshold of the open door. Her eyes glazed over and her mind surged with hope. As her eyes focused, she saw that it could only be his room. She didn’t enter, but stood there soaking up the atmosphere. Having no knowledge of teenager boys’ rooms, except what she’d seen at the pictures, it was as untidy as she imagined it to be. Books lay scattered on the floor amidst cast-off clothing, the dried remains of a sandwich, posters of footballers adorned the walls and a whiff of aftershave reached her nostrils. She smiled. This was no ordinary room; this was a very special room. It was her son’s room. For a long time, she stood, content to gaze, not intruding, but absorbing her son. Then, the sound of a car crunching to a halt in the yard below broke her reverie. Isabel.

  One last look, then Fran turned away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Hello, Mike,’ Tina called from a shop doorway in Market Place where she stood sheltering from the steady drizzle of rain.

  Mike swung round, his face breaking into a smile when he saw her. ‘Been stood up?’

  ‘Joe said he might be late. Time for a coffee?’ Her heart gave a queer lurch. Did she fancy Mike? She wasn’t sure, but there was something about him that she couldn’t quite fathom.

  ‘Sure, I’m in no hurry.’ The rich timbres of his voice were welcoming on this grey evening.

  They walked a few yards to the cafe opposite the Market Cross that catered for the younger people, especially after six in the evenings and at weekends. Tina found a seat near the window where she could look out for Joe. Mike brought two steaming cups of coffee. She sipped the hot, tasty, frothy liquid, savouring it as it slipped down her throat and warmed her insides. ‘That’s good,’ she said and, not wanting to waste a drop, ran her tongue along her lips, licking the froth from round her mouth. She gave a sigh of satisfaction and put down her cup, giving Mike her full attention. ‘What’s new?’ she asked.

  Mike eyed her over the top of his cup, put it down and leant back on his chair, stretching out his long legs. His voice was conspiratorial. ‘I’ve just discovered this marvellous aunt who’s given me a cheque for a hundred pounds.’

  She grinned sardonically at him. ‘You’re making it up.’

  ‘No kidding. It’s true. She’s my mother’s sister and I’ve never seen her before.’

  ‘How come, so why would she give you all that money?’

  He shrugged. ‘She said it was for my sixteenth birthday.’

  ‘Is she about to pop her clogs?’

  He dodged Tina’s playful swipe. ‘She’s a lot younger than Mam.’

  ‘You’d better introduce me. Say I’m a long-lost relation and she might take pity on me.’ They both laughed.

  Then Michael said, ‘Seriously, I can introduce you to her. She’s coming to take care of Grandad, and I don’t think she has any friends here and you haven’t got any family.’

  Tina sat up straight on her chair and said hotly, ‘I’ve got Joe and Nancy.’ She wanted to yell, and I’ve got a mother somewhere who doesn’t want me.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Michael pulled his chair round to Tina’s and gave her an affectionate hug. ‘It’s just that …’ His voice trailed, not sure what the right words would be. Then he knew. ‘It’s just that I care about you. And we’re friends.’ He hugged her again.

  Tina felt the rapid beat of his heart through his bomber jacket and instinctively she drew closer to him, loving the nearness of his body to hers. Somehow it felt right. She slid her arm around his neck and kissed his cheek, feeling sharp stubble, which sent tingling sensations through her body. She let her leg rub against his, wishing … Suddenly, all too soon he moved away from her. She lifted her head to look at him and saw he was waving to someone through the window. She glanced out and saw Joe.

  Later, as Tina let herself into Nancy’s warm, cosy kitchen, a delicious whiff of something baking in the oven greeted her. Tears welled up in her eyes again, a lump stuck in her throat. From the sitting room she heard Nancy give an answer to a question from one of her favourite wireless programmes, Wilfred Pickles’ ‘Have a Go’. Tina poked her head round the door. ‘It’s only me,’ she said, her voice husky with emotion.

  She was just about to disappear upstairs, when Nancy called, ‘Tina.’ Nancy was on her feet, standing in the doorway studying Tina. ‘You look done in, lass.’

  Tina’s response was to burst into tears. As Nancy cradled her in her arms, Tina sobbed out her story. She and Joe had a row, all about nothing and of her search, or lack of it, for her birth mother, but she didn’t mention the funny gut feeling for Mike. She didn’t understand it and would find it difficult to explain, and what was the point when he would be so far away and out of her life? She was going to miss him though. Her sobbing intensified and Nancy’s arms held her closer.

  Later, sitting at the kitchen table, Tina drank hot, sweet tea with a liberal dash of whisky. She felt calmer but a little foolish for crying like a baby.

  But Nancy was a great comforter. ‘Lass, you’ve had a lot to contend with in your young life. Emotions can play funny tricks. I’ll make you an appointment to see the doctor.’

  ‘I haven’t got a doctor.’

  ‘You can register with mine. Losing your mam and coping on your own, you’re a marvel. But everybody needs help sometimes. As for young Joe, invite him for a meal at the weekend and I’ll give him the third degree.’ She smiled and said, ‘Now, I’ll tell you my good news. I’ve got myself another little job, starting next week so I can save a bit extra for my retirement. It’s with a nice old gent, some kind of family mix-up.’

  ‘I’m pleased for you,’ Tina said. And then, from nowhere, the face of Maggie flashed through her mind and she remembered how hard she’d worked. If only she’d helped her more, Maggie might still be alive. ‘Nancy, promise me you won’t overdo it.’

  Nancy laughed and said reassuringly, ‘Don’t you fret, lass, I’m fit and I like a challenge.’ Then a mischievous twinkle came into h
er eyes. ‘If it gets too much for me, I can always take you along for backup.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that, Nancy Davis,’ Tina replied, seriously.

  Two days later, Tina left work early so that she could go home, have a bath and change her clothes before her doctor’s appointment. Apparently, new patients can have a full medical examination. At first she wasn’t sure about this, but Nancy said it was a good thing. Nancy gave Tina the most direct route to the surgery, but somehow she took a wrong turning and ended up down a narrow street called Dog and Duck Lane. If she was going to stay in this town, she’d better find her way around, she told herself, firmly. Standing for a moment, she breathed in the cooling air of early evening, catching the smell of dampness, of threatening rain. The sooner she had this medical, the quicker she would be home having her meal.

  The surgery reception area was filled with bright lights, but the waiting room was empty, except for a couple standing at the desk giving the receptionist some details. Tina glanced around, she wasn’t looking forward to being examined, being prodded. But Nancy said the lady doctor was very nice. The receptionist, still busy, didn’t acknowledge Tina’s presence. The couple started to move away, but then stopped to ask another question. Tina could see the agitation of colour rising from the receptionist’s neck to her face. It was then that the receptionist looked up and fixed her with a frosty glare. Pressing her lips together to suppress a giggle, Tina lowered her gaze, fixing it on the woman’s name badge.

  Then, the floor came up to meet her. The lights of the room seemed to flash and dim in rapid succession. Her eyes refused to focus, but she forced them to read the receptionist’s name again. Isabel Renton, Isabel Renton, Isabel Renton. The name echoed in her mind, reverberating through her whole body. Who was this woman? Surely, this wasn’t her mother, this tall, dark-haired, sour-faced looking woman? She had no idea what her mother would look like, but she expected her to look pretty and have a caring manner, like Maggie.

  ‘Name?’ snapped Isabel.

  Tina opened her mouth, but only an incoherent muffled sound came out.

  ‘Come along. You mustn’t keep the doctor waiting. Name?’

  ‘Tina,’ she whispered.

  ‘Full name, please.’

  ‘Tina Newton.’ If she could have exerted her vocal cords, she would have yelled, ‘Christine Renton.’

  ‘The doctor will see you now, second door to the right along the corridor.’ Tina continued to stare at Isabel who had dismissed her and was busy filing. Then Isabel glanced up and glared. ‘The doctor has stayed behind especially to see you.’

  Without a word, Tina turned away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fran was in a happy mood as she boarded the train at York, bound for Beverley. Mr Spencer, the bookshop owner, had engaged another assistant. Since the reorganisation of the shop and the start of the special themes, sales had risen, so Fran had one Saturday off each month. She had the whole weekend free to see Michael, a surprise visit. She decided not to contact Isabel as she would only make excuses. Fran’s heart lightened at the thought of seeing her son again. She wondered about Isabel’s intended marriage and whether it would take place now that John Stanway was back home. Maybe his intention to marry Isabel and provide a home for her and Michael would not come to fruition. Then, Michael could live with her. She felt certain that he would love York and its many attractions, like the castle, the railway museum, or join the rowing club situated by the banks of the River Ouse and the many educational and cultural facilities open to him. The possibilities were endless. She felt quite energised at the thought of Michael coming to live with her.

  The rattle of the train drawing into the station and the hissing of the steam bellowing brought her back into the present. She felt good. Lightly, she jumped onto the platform. This time she had booked into a small guest house as she couldn’t afford to stay at the large hotel. Outside the station, to her dismay, she saw the only remaining taxi drive off. She would walk, the exercise would stretch her body after sitting on the train. There was a sudden clap of thunder and rain began to pour down. Turning up her coat collar, she hurried to take cover under the station canopy in the hope of another taxi appearing soon. Soon puddles appeared and the rain, mixing with dry earth, gave off a damp musty smell. She pressed further against the station wall in an attempt to stop her best pair of stockings from being splashed and her shoes getting wet. She didn’t see the man approaching. ‘So, we meet again,’ said a male voice.

  She turned in surprise. ‘Hello,’ she said, looking into the rugged face of Rufus, her knight from her last visit to Beverley. He was dressed in rough tweeds, shirt and a tie, which was pulled loose in a casual manner.

  ‘It’s becoming a habit, us meeting outside the station. Waiting for someone?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’m not expected. I was going to walk, but …’ She held up her free hand to indicate the rain. ‘So, I’m now waiting for a taxi.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ll give you a lift.’

  She thought of the last time she’d visited Beverley and met Nick Saunders on the train, and Rufus had been there at the station to collect him and had given her a lift to the hotel. ‘That’s kind of you, but I don’t want you to think …’

  ‘It’s not a problem. Besides, I like you.’ He winked and she laughed. ‘Where to?’ he asked, taking her case from her hand.

  ‘I’m staying at Mrs Stephenson’s lodging house just off Grayburn Lane.’ She settled in the passenger seat of the old Land Rover, the dog dozing at her feet. They waited for the horse and rulley, stacked high with bags of coal, to pass by. Down by Lairgate, they were held up by a stream of cyclists racing home from the factory for their dinner break. The street was quite busy with pedestrians walking by and, while the Land Rover cruised, Fran searched faces in the hope that she might catch an unexpected glimpse of Michael. But she didn’t and sighed deeply.

  Rufus glanced at her. ‘Are you here for anything special or business?’

  ‘No, not business. Last time I was here, it was a sort of family reunion and now it’s a prelude to a farewell …’ Or not, she hoped, a lump struck in her throat. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap and stared ahead. She hadn’t meant to become emotional.

  Rufus didn’t speak again until he brought the Land Rover to a halt outside the lodging house. ‘Let’s book you in and then I’ll buy you a stiff drink.’

  Mrs Stephenson, a bustling woman, tall, with an angular figure, showed Fran to her second-best bedroom at the back of the house. ‘Bathroom is shared with my permanent lodger, Miss Nicholls. She has her bath at nine sharp in the evening. I cook an evening meal for six o’clock. Was it just the two nights?’

  ‘Yes, just a weekend visit.’

  Mrs Stephenson pointed to a framed plaque hanging over the fireplace. ‘A list of my rules. I don’t allow gentlemen friends in the bedroom, but they can wait in my sitting room.’

  Fran blushed, but didn’t say anything. She suspected the woman had seen Rufus waiting outside for her and assumed he was a boyfriend. It was laughable – at her age she was now truly on the shelf, as she recalled her friend Maisie was fond of saying at their single status, before she herself married.

  After changing her wet shoes and paying her advance lodging money, Fran escaped.

  In the public house on the other side of Lairgate, Rufus guided Fran to a quiet corner in the snug and then went through into the noisy bar where workmen were having pints of beer and pork pies.

  Feeling drained of energy, she leant back, resting her head on the back on the bench seat. Within a few minutes, Rufus returned carrying a goblet of brandy for her and a half pint of beer for himself. ‘Drink this, Frannie. It’ll help you unwind.’

  ‘Thanks Rufus,’ she murmured. Lifting the glass to her lips, she let the golden liquid trickle down her throat, feeling its warmth. By the time she finished the brandy, she felt more composed. She glanced across the table at Rufus and said, ‘I’m sorry to be such
a wet blanket, but I guess it’s a bit of a sad time for me.’

  He put down his half-finished drink. ‘Want to talk about it, Frannie?’

  She liked Rufus. He was a big, bear-like man, but with a gentle, caring manner. She felt at ease with him. After only the slightest hesitation, her words tumbled out. She told him everything: about Victor and Isabel; Michael and the loss of his twin; her mother’s controlling ways and her bitterness, which over the years had caused Fran much heartache and misery; her reunion with Michael, but only as his aunt – and now Isabel was whisking him off to Australia.

  Rufus listened intently, not once interrupting. When she had finished, he remained silent for a few moments then said sympathetically, ‘You’ve had it rough, Frannie,’ and, leaning towards her, he touched her arm, looking into her tense face. ‘What I don’t understand is why your mother remained so unbending, so distant. I mean, I’m not an authority on the mind of a woman, but you gave her a grandson. She should have been more supportive and recognised your suffering. After all, you were little more than a kid yourself.’ He paused, then said, ‘One day, Michael will have to know the truth.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘Much as I’d love to tell him, I don’t think the time is quite right, not yet. Though, will there ever be a right time?’

  ‘I’m sure there will be. Look, Frannie,’ he said, taking a card from the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Here’s my number. If you need me, call me anytime.’ He glanced at his pocket watch. ‘Sorry, business to attend to. Must fly.’

  Fran ventured through into the bar, which was quiet and now empty of the workmen, to ask to use the public house telephone. ‘End of the bar, love,’ said the landlord, as he gathered up the used glasses.