Her Turn to Cry

by Chris Curran

  A chuckle. ‘Like I said, a bit old. Sid likes them young. Told me that himself. I was, twenty, twenty-one, when we first worked with him and when he made that pass at me it was like he was doing me a favour.’

  So how could Mum leave me there?

  Kay was looking at the iced bun. ‘Are you going to eat that?’

  ‘No.’ Joycie pushed the plate over and Kay cut a chunk from the end.

  ‘Shouldn’t really.’ She patted her round tummy, but took a huge bite.

  There was no point in asking any more about her parents, but maybe she could find out something useful for Mrs Shaw. ‘I don’t suppose you know what happened to my friend, Pauline, Mrs Shaw’s daughter?’

  ‘She got herself knocked up, didn’t she? Mrs S kept it quiet, of course, but that was the rumour. And honestly, Joyce, it was so awful that year after your dad died. Dennis was in a hell of a state and I could hardly think straight. Certainly wasn’t interested in other people’s problems.’

  ‘It just seems odd that the Shaws never heard a word from Pauline.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a real shame. Mrs S is a nice woman and the girl was a good kid. You two were great pals, weren’t you?’ Joycie nodded and Kay asked. ‘So when did you see her last?’

  ‘The year before, when we were in the show here. When Dad died I lost contact with her. It was my fault, but I was so unhappy. Unhappy and ashamed too. Couldn’t face telling people what had happened to him.’

  Kay licked her fingers. ‘Yes, I remember now. At the start of the season she asked me if I had your new address, but I didn’t. I meant to ask if she’d heard from you, but she stopped coming to the theatre shortly after that. Must have been when she took up with the boyfriend.’

  ***

  She arrived at Mrs Shaw’s a little before 4 o’clock. The table was laid by the French windows, just the way Joycie remembered, but that only made the room seem emptier. The rocking chair, its cushions undisturbed, sat unmoving beside the silent radio and when Mrs Shaw came in with the teapot and took what had always been Pauline’s seat Joycie had another of those dreamlike moments.

  ‘It’s so lovely to have you here, Joyce.’ Mrs Shaw poured them both tea and held out a plate of white bread sandwiches cut in neat triangles. ‘I think I’ve remembered the ones you liked best. There’s cucumber, here, and fish paste and those are egg.’

  They sat for a moment eating. The drizzle had stopped, the sun was trying to break through, and it was pleasant sitting by the open French windows. The garden was lush and very green. A little more overgrown than she remembered, but Mr Shaw’s favourite pink roses were as pretty as ever and she could smell the lavender from here.

  Mrs Shaw said. ‘Ned used to love his garden, but I don’t have time to keep it up.’

  ‘It’s still beautiful.’

  ‘Joyce, love, do you remember Helen Crawford?’

  She nodded, unable to speak for the cake in her mouth. Helen was a school friend of Pauline’s.

  Mrs Shaw went on, ‘She’s Helen Banks now. She got married and they moved to London.’ She reached into the pocket of her flowery apron. ‘This is her address and phone number and I just wondered, if you had time, you might speak to her and ask if she’s heard anything about Pauline.’

  ‘You haven’t called her yourself?’

  Mrs Shaw folded and unfolded the note. ‘I did but, well, I thought she might tell you something she wouldn’t say to me.’

  ‘You think she’s seen Pauline?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I got the idea she was keeping something back.’ She picked up the milk jug and put it down again then stirred the sugar in the bowl. ‘I just need to know she’s all right; she doesn’t have to come and see me unless she wants to.’

  Joycie took the paper. ‘Of course. I’ll try.’

  ‘You can send me a note or call the theatre if you find out anything. Ned hated telephones. Wouldn’t have one in the house. I thought of getting one when he died but there wasn’t much point. I’ve got no one to phone me.’

  ***

  There was still no sign of Bill when Joycie got to the station. She found a phone box and called Marcus.

  ‘Thank God. Where are you?’ he said. She told him and he was quiet for a moment.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘I’ve been going mad worrying about you. Why the hell couldn’t you have told me where you were? Picked up the phone just to let me know you were all right?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just needed time to think everything through on my own.’

  ‘So when are you coming home?’ The word home brought a sharp pain to her throat and she couldn’t speak. ‘You are coming home aren’t you?’

  ‘If you still want me to.’

  ‘Of course I do, you daft cow. Now get on that train and I’ll meet you at Liverpool Street.’

  ***

  Alone in a first class carriage again she tried to make sense of it all, but there was so much to take in she didn’t know where to start. And she could hear that familiar voice in her head telling her to leave it alone; to bury it. There was Bill, too, warning her she could be in danger if she went on. But went on with what? And why was he and whoever he was working for so worried?

  She looked at the paper bag on the seat beside her. Mrs Shaw had insisted she take the rest of the Victoria sponge. ‘It’s so nice to have someone to cook for.’

  Joycie’s mum had never made cakes; never had a proper oven. It must have been hard for her, moving from place to place, having nothing of her own, and Joycie had always thought that had a lot to do with her leaving. But that was just another of the stupid things she’d told herself to avoid facing the truth. The truth of that bloodstained mat.

  There were only two real possibilities. Either the boyfriend had forced her to go with him, hurting her in the process or … She raked her fingers through her hair. Or someone had more than hurt her. And if it wasn’t the boyfriend there was only one person it was likely to be.

  Cora had described the way her dad was the night afterwards: ‘I’ve never seen him like that and he was crying and raving on about your mum.’ And why had Sid sent Cora to check their lodgings? It must have been because of something Charlie told him.

  The sky had filled with dark clouds and the light came on in the carriage, turning the window next to her into a hazy mirror. Her eyes looked enormous. It was no surprise: she had known it all along, just didn’t want to know. And it could have been an accident. Her dad got home after the show and her mum told him she was leaving and taking Joycie with her. He might have been drinking and they argued: those noises she had heard, the bumps and then the silence. He wouldn’t have meant to hurt her. Joycie was sure of that.

  She sat for a long time, staring at her own dark image until they drew into a station and an elderly man got on, nodded to her and flipped open his evening paper.

  Perhaps her dad killed himself because when he was in prison he had time to think and for the first time had to face up to what he’d done.

  Now it was her turn to face up to things.

  ***

  The Chiswick Empire, near London – February 1956

  Joycie is alone in the dressing room for once. She shares it with Cathy, the magician’s assistant, and three girl singers, but they’ve all rushed off and Sid and her dad will be ages chatting to people at the stage door. She isn’t allowed to go out with them in case someone guesses she’s a girl, but she doesn’t care. Dad often comes back with autograph books for her to sign. The other day he gave her a note, with a name and address, saying: Please, please, write to me, and last week a girl left a message at the box office asking The Kid to meet her in the park.

  It’s a shame it’s always girls who want her autograph and she has to keep pretending she’s a boy. If these girls saw her outside the theatre they wouldn’t know her and certainly wouldn’t want to go anywhere with her. But she loves the fact that they like her. The older people in the audience like her too. She knows because of the way the
y laugh and ooh and ah when she’s onstage.

  She hangs the cap she has to wear as The Kid on a hook and unfastens the clips from her hair so it tumbles to her shoulders. Then she slips her braces down and takes off the scratchy collarless shirt. Although she still doesn’t have much on top, she wears a bandage around her chest to be The Kid and she’s just taken that off when the door opens. Even though it’s probably just one of the girls come back for something they’ve forgotten she holds the bandage against her chest.

  It’s Sid and he’s looking at her in that way she hates. He closes the door and leans against it. ‘No need to be shy with me, darling. I remember when you used to sit on my knee with your chubby little arse all bare. Hated wearing knickers when you were a nipper, do you remember?’

  She swallows and shakes her head, looking at the chair where her shirt is hanging, but she’s scared to reach for it in case she drops the bandage. ‘Cathy’ll be back in a minute, if you’re looking for her.’

  He smiles. ‘Cathy’s gone, darling, and I sent your dad off to get some Mackeson’s. Thought we could all have a drink together later on. You’re old enough now and looking so grown up.’ He’s walking towards her very slowly, his eyes raking her up and down and smiling in that horrible way he has.

  She looks at the door, praying for her dad to come, and holding the bandage tight against her chest.

  ‘It’s funny the way you’re such a hit with the girls,’ Sid says. ‘Wouldn’t they be surprised if they could see what I can?’

  He’s still moving closer and all Joycie can do is to press back against the dressing table.

  But then Sid takes the shirt from the back of the chair and hands it to her. ‘Put this on, sweetheart, you’re getting cold.’

  He doesn’t take his eyes off her, but somehow she manages to pull on the shirt and let the bandage drop. As she buttons up, Sid sits down and gestures for her to take the chair next to him. She looks at the door again, but he isn’t doing anything wrong and she feels a bit better with her shirt on, even though she has nothing underneath it.

  ‘I just want a word about the act without Charlie around, darling. Think he’s getting a bit jealous with you having more of the spotlight.’ He starts talking about some other bit of business they could do, looking at himself in the mirror and fiddling with the hair clips on the dressing table. She tries to concentrate.

  But all at once he’s standing and moving behind her chair. He grabs her hair and lifts it up. ‘See I’m wondering if we need to get this cut. I know you won’t like it, but there’s lots more we can do if you can take off that cap now and then. The kind of business Charlie does with his hat, you know.’

  He leans down so that his cheek is close to her ear, his chin almost resting on her shoulder, and she can smell tobacco on his breath and the tweed of his jacket. There’s a tang of sweat too, but when she tries to move away he keeps hold of her hair and it hurts.

  ‘I can see why those girls go for you, darling,’ he says. ‘But it’s the boys you like, don’t you? Not so innocent as you make out are you, eh?’

  His head is pressed hard against her ear and he’s still holding her hair so she can’t move. Her breath catches in her throat and her heart is beating so hard she can feel it thumping right through her body. He reaches down, unbuttons the top of her shirt and squeezes her bare bosom so tight it hurts and she opens her mouth to scream, but there’s no sound. And now, oh God, his other hand is into the loose waist of her trousers, his fingers pulling aside the front of her knickers.

  He mutters. ‘A real little tart aren’t you? Just like your mother.’ Scream, run, do something. But she can’t and he twists round so that he’s standing in front of her, moving both his hands to the back of her head and pushing it, pushing it, towards the buttons on the front of his trousers. The rough cloth is painful against her face and she can’t move although the stench of tweed and wee is making her gag. One of his hands pushes in front of her face groping at his buttons, the other still hard on the back of her head, pushing and pushing …

  ***

  ‘All right, my dear?’ The elderly man opposite was folding his newspaper and looking at her with concern as the train pulled into Liverpool Street Station.

  She managed to gasp out that she was fine, but had to wait until he’d got out and walked away before she could stop shaking.She wanted to sit there and cry and cry, but the carriage door was open and there was Marcus, shaking his blond fringe out of his eyes, smiling at her and holding out his arms. When she fell into them she pressed her face into his neck, breathing in the clean cotton smell of his shirt and the fresh, warm scent of his skin.

  Chapter Ten

  Marcus didn’t speak until they were in the car, then he looked at her and said, ‘You can tell me about it when you’re ready.’ She wondered if she’d ever be ready to tell him everything.

  When they got indoors she kissed his cheek and said, ‘I’m sorry about disappearing like that.’

  ‘I didn’t behave too well myself so let’s forget it shall we? Why don’t you go up and have a nice bath and I’ll make us some sausage and mash.’

  She looked at him for a moment, but could only manage to say, ‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’

  In the bath she forced her mind to go back to that dreadful night. The memory she had tried so hard to suppress. The worst thing was that she still couldn’t recall what had happened afterwards. It wasn’t just the arrival at the station that had stopped her remembering. Every time she tried to bring back the after her mind flinched away. So it must have been worse.

  Eventually she allowed herself to stop thinking about it and let her mind drift, lying in the warm scented water with her eyes closed. She had almost dozed off when Marcus called up that food was ready. He had put the plates on the coffee table and as she came in, wearing her old candlewick dressing gown with a towel on her head, he poured a glass of red wine for her. ‘I reckon you need this.’

  She took a long drink then put the plate on her lap and started eating. He’d done the sausages just the way she liked with lots of gravy and a pile of crispy onions on top of the mash. She ate quickly, aware of Marcus turning to smile at her every so often. After a while he stopped eating and sat back with his glass. ‘Was it any use then?’

  She told him first about Dennis and Kay and he said, ‘That’s interesting, so you think this Kay was the one who did the dirty on your dad, do you?’

  ‘She swears she didn’t, but Dennis knows her best and he’s sure she did. As she said, though, there could be any number of people who might have had it in for him.’

  Her hunger was gone now, but she carried on eating as slowly as possible. She wanted so much to tell him about Sid, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead when the food was all gone and he’d refilled their glasses she said, ‘I was hoping to see a girl I knew in Clacton. Her name is Pauline, but she seems to have disappeared. Her mum wants me to visit another friend who lives in London in case they’ve been in touch.’

  Marcus gave a little laugh. ‘Don’t forget we’ve got work booked.’

  ‘This shouldn’t take long. All I can do is ask Helen if she’s seen Pauline and pass the news to Mrs Shaw.’ She tucked her feet under her and pulled her dressing gown collar up around her chin.

  Marcus rubbed her knee. ‘But none of this is what’s upset you so much, is it?’

  Don’t think about it, don’t think. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into her glass where the wine seemed to swirl blood-red.

  ‘You haven’t seen that guy again, have you? The one you think is following you.’

  Breathing easier she told him about the encounter with Bill.

  ‘Bloody hell, that’s weird. Was he threatening you or trying to help?’

  She sipped her drink. ‘I don’t know. He seemed concerned about me, but he wouldn’t tell me who he was, or if he’s working for someone else. The way he talked scared me though and I still can’t figure out why he’s following me.’
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  ‘He didn’t tell you what he wants?’

  ‘Not really, just said I could be in danger. But it has to be something to do with my mum or dad.’ She saw Marcus glance at the phone. ‘And before you talk about calling the police again, I’ve already thought of that. In fact I threatened him with it, but he just laughed. And he’s right. What can I tell them? What has he done wrong?’

  ‘Following and threatening you, of course. That’s got to be against the law.’

  ‘If it is I don’t know how I could prove it. Even if they could find him it would be my word against his. You’ve only seen him once and no one heard what he said to me. We don’t even know if Bill’s his real name.’

  ‘Well we should get you a bodyguard then.’ When she laughed he said, ‘I’m serious, Joycie.’

  ‘I know and thank you, but let’s leave it for now. We’ll be back to our normal routine this week so he may lose interest. And you’ll be with me all the time.’

  He picked up the plates and headed for the kitchen. ‘OK, I prescribe a cup of coffee, some telly, then an early night.’ He switched on the TV as he passed it and Joycie stretched her legs out along the sofa, leaning back into the soft, soft cushions.

  ***

  She woke in bed and for a few moments couldn’t think where she was. Marcus must have carried her up after she fell asleep on the sofa. The birds in the garden were in full voice with the dawn chorus and she listened for a few minutes, enjoying the tunefulness after the squawking seagulls that had woken her in Clacton.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and padded down to the kitchen, made some tea and took it out into the garden. It was only 6 a.m. and her mind had that kind of early morning clarity that always made her think she could find a solution to anything. Sipping her tea she let the birdsong and the early morning quiet of the green garden soak through her as she tried to sift through all the things she had learned in Clacton. Kay had talked about Sid’s interest in young girls so what he had done to her probably wasn’t an isolated incident. She still couldn’t remember how that had ended and … her mind flinched back again. Surely it couldn’t be worse than the things she was imagining so why did it stay out of reach?