Oh, and they were happy. Joyce was in love, no doubt about that. After a while they left the small house in Ducie Street and walked down by the canal, watching the barges carry cotton and other goods down to the docks. Joyce thought Stan looked so handsome in his sailor’s uniform. Then they sat on a bench and talked all evening, about nothing in particular, and of course kissed a good deal.
‘Can I see you again?’ he asked. ‘You know you’re very special to me, don’t you Joyce?’
‘Am I?’
‘I’ve been going frantic trying to find you. I didn’t even know your last name. I was asking all the chaps if they knew you, and nobody did.’
Joyce was incensed. ‘I should hope not, I’m a decent girl.’ She tried not to think of what had happened at the party.
‘You know what I mean. I needed to find you. I was growing desperate.’
She wanted to believe this was true, but couldn’t quite. He was so wonderful, so handsome. What on earth did he see in her?
‘In the end I asked Bill, and he asked Eileen and there you have it. I found you. She’s a star is Eileen. What would we do without her?
This was a comment that would return to haunt Joyce in later years.
She let him kiss her a great deal more, but Stan was careful to stop before passion overwhelmed him and took them too far. Joyce appreciated the fact that he respected her, even though she would quite happily have let things go a little further, if not all the way. She was anxious to give the impression that she was still a virgin, having successfully blocked that unpleasant incident at Eileen’s party from her mind.
This time when Stan returned to his ship, which was still in dock awaiting orders, he wrote to her regularly, at least three times a week, and Joyce wrote back every bit as assiduously. She was deeply in love, and heady with happiness.
That is, until it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen her period for a while. The next morning she threw up in the sink and Joyce realised with dread that she was pregnant.
Chapter Twelve
Rose spent the evening with Irma, as agreed, having her cards read. She’d been worrying a good deal about Harriet lately, about how much it was safe to tell her, and the idea had come to her that a bit of insight into the future might help her to decide the best way to tackle the problem.
Irma shuffled a pack of cards and spread it out on the table. ‘Choose three, please, then place them face down in a row.’
Rose did so. Picking up the first card Irma revealed a two of spades. She considered this in silence for a moment and then, smiling at Rose to reassure her, said, ‘ This simply tells me that you are torn between two choices. Would you say that’s how you feel?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Irma picked up the second card, and the smile faded.
Rose gulped. ‘Go on, tell me what it says.’
‘It’s the five of hearts which means that this choice, this problem, is bringing you great sorrow. Is that true?’
‘Oh, aye, that’s true,’ Rose agreed. ‘I’m at me wits’ end. That’s why I’m here. I were hoping you could help me decide what’s best to be done.’
Again Irma smiled at her kindly. ‘I can’t help at all, only the cards can do that. But I shall do my best to interpret what they have to say correctly. Now, let’s look at the third card. Ah, a ten of diamonds. Something to do with a letter?’
Rose frowned, looking puzzled. ‘Not that I know of. I know nowt about no letter. Is that it? Is that all you can tell me?’
‘This was but a first and very basic reading. Let’s try for a little more detail.’
This time when she shuffled and spread the deck, she asked Rose to choose ten cards, then Irma laid them out in the shape of a pyramid. ‘This top card tells us the major influence upon your problem. Ah, the six of hearts. Something to do with the past, something you’re holding on to. It could be a memory, a person you miss, or a secret, perhaps. Only you can work out the answer to that.’
Rose nodded, but said nothing, waiting for whatever came next.
Irma’s hand hovered over the next card. ‘This second row concerns the choices you have to make. Two of diamonds and a two of spades.’ Irma frowned. ‘These suits do not sit well together. The cards seem to suggest a difficult union is at the heart of the problem, and that there may be a parting of ways in the offing. Does that make any sense? Is someone in the family planning to leave?’
‘Eeh, I do hope not.’
Irma looked into Rose’s pale face and patted the other woman’s hand. ‘Let’s not worry too much till we’ve read the rest.’
The next row did indeed give some encouragement as Irma turned up a Jack between numbered cards. ‘This seems to indicate that a young person is getting support from two close companions.’
‘That’ll be our Harriet,’ Rose burst out, relieved that not all the news was bad. ‘She’s had a bit of a shock recently – but I’m certainly doing what I can for the lass, and so is young Steve, I’m sure.’ She pointed to the rest of the cards. ‘And this last row, what’s that all about?’
‘This may offer us some advice on how to resolve your dilemma, whatever it is. But I have to say that if this is a problem of Harriet’s you’re concerned with, then she will need to come for a separate reading. I can’t help without her being present. The cards are speaking only to you remember.’
‘Right, yes, I understand. I’ll tell her. But I still need to know what I should do for the best. Go on.’
‘It’s not an exact science,’ Irma warned. ‘You may not get too precise an answer but I shall interpret what they say as well as I can, to help you decide.’
‘I’m listening.’
Irma turned over the next card. ‘The nine of spades. I’m afraid that seems to indicate a loss of health, or possibly money.’ She tapped one finger on the card. ‘It may simply mean too much worry, of course, imagined health problems, or a feeling of depression, so don’t start writing your will quite yet.’
Rose frowned. ‘I’ve done that already.’
‘The two of clubs next, which urges you to trust in your own intuition. That makes good sense. Now lets see what the two remaining cards have to say,’ Irma hurried on. It always troubled her when the run of cards was not good, and this wasn’t exactly a happy reading, not by anybody’s standards. As she turned up the penultimate card, she smiled with relief.
‘The six of diamonds. This gives us good news in that there may well be a successful outcome if help is given at the appropriate time. Ah, and this last card, the ace of hearts is one to treasure. This represents new love. Something or someone wonderful is to come into your life.’ Irma glanced up at Rose with a beaming smile. ‘Maybe you’ll find yourself a new fella who might solve all your problems.’
‘Don’t talk daft. I’m too old for all of that nonsense.’
‘No one is ever too old for love.’
Rose felt all hot and bothered by what she’d learned, and more confused than ever. ‘All this talk of choices, sorrow, partings and bad health. It don’t sound too good, do it? I’m not sure I’m any nearer solving my problem.’
‘It’s not easy to take everything in all at once. Give yourself time to think about it. I’m sure all will be revealed in the fullness of time.’ Irma began to collect up the cards, shuffled them, then put them back in their box.
‘Can’t we do it again?’ Rose asked, still looking troubled.
‘I’m afraid not. Take heart, Rose, that a good outcome was forecast so long as you remember what the cards said. You must use your intuition as the two of clubs recommends, of which you have plenty. That will help you make the right choices.’
‘But what about all this talk of partings, and a letter, and great sorrow. Is someone going to die?’ The old woman pressed one hand to her breast in sudden panic. ‘Not our Harriet?’
‘No, no, I’ve told you this isn’t about Harriet, it’s about you.’
Rose went white. ‘Then I’m going to die?’
‘No one’s going to die. The cards said nothing about death. It could be a loss of money, as I said, and not health at all. You’ll just have to wait and see, but at least you are prepared now, and hopefully will be better able to deal with whatever happens.’
Rose wasn’t too sure about that, but didn’t like to say so.
Irma led her to the door. ‘Come and see me again in a few weeks time if things haven’t improved. We could perhaps try the crystal and see what that can tell us. And don’t forget that ace of hearts for new love. That should give you real hope.’
Grant enjoyed a gamble but he wasn’t one to rely on chance, whether they be cards, palm readings, tea leaves or the crystal ball. He preferred a more hands-on approach. Besides which he was far more interested in the past rather than any future his nan might discover from Irma’s fortune telling. In particular, his mother’s early life.
Over these last few days he’d been asking rather a lot of questions around the various stallholders on the market, enquiring if they remembered Joyce when she was young.
‘I was wondering what friends me mam had during the war, if she had a boy friend before she married me dad.’ He’d tried making his request sound casual, as if he were only mildly curious.
Some, like Winnie Holmes, told him sharply that she didn’t poke her nose in other folk’s business, which was so blatantly untrue it almost made him laugh out loud. ‘You must know something.’
‘I know nowt, and even if I did, my lips are sealed.’ Which was the kind of enigmatic remark that didn’t help him in the slightest.
With others it had been hard to get them to stop. Once they started reminiscing, they’d go on for ages. They’d rant on about the home guard and rationing, a son or some other loved one they’d lost in the war, even recalling Stan when he’d been young and virile, which Grant had no wish to hear about at all.
Many of the men, like Sam Beckett and Jimmy Ramsay hadn’t been around, since they were in the forces doing their stint. Marco Bertalone had been in an aliens’ camp on the Isle of Man as he was Italian. Barry Holmes had been living in Blackpool, Clara Higginson in Paris of all places for much of the war, and several others had only come to the market in recent years.
Worn out from listening to these boring old yarns, Grant was beginning to despair of ever discovering anything useful. He wondered if it was worth even bothering to try this evening. Maybe he’d give it one more bash, but first he needed to check up on Harriet, and was intrigued to discover that her latest date was Vinny Turner.
Grant watched the couple stroll into the Salford Cinema arm in arm, then left them to it. A right loser he was. It gave him enormous satisfaction to think that Vinny would bring her nothing but misery as he sauntered off to pursue more interesting prospects.
Having left off stalking his half-sister and her latest boy friend, Grant decided to treat himself to a hamburger and frothy coffee at Belle’s café, despite having just enjoyed the steak and onions Harriet had made. And while he was enjoying this second supper, he thought he might as well ask if Belle had known his mother during the war.
‘I might’ve done,’ Belle told him, with a casual shrug. ‘Your mam did used to work on this market during the war, for Poulson’s Pies I seem to remember. That was before she took up hairdressing. Why do you ask?’
Grant was pleased and surprised by this snippet of information, the most he’d got so far, though how much it would help him he wasn’t quite sure. ‘Er, I’m planning a party to cheer her up,’ he improvised, saying the first thing that came into his head. ‘And I wanted to invite some of her old friends.’
Frowning, Belle set the hamburger before him, watching as he liberally dowsed it in tomato ketchup. ‘Is it her birthday or something?’
‘Not really, it’s just that she’s been a bit down lately, what with losing Dad and everything.’ Grant took a huge bite of the juicy beef, so that ketchup oozed out of his mouth and dripped down his hands. He licked it up, pleased with the tale he was devising, quite off the top of his head. ‘So, do you know of any? Old friends, I mean.’
Belle smiled. ‘Now that’d be telling, wouldn’t it?’
He felt a spurt of hope. ‘So you do know something? Go on, tell all, who were her special friends during the war? I’d really appreciate it, and I’m sure Mam would too. She likes a good party.’ Grant thought this bit of fiction so inspired he might even go through with it. It would be worth the effort to actually meet some of the old flames in her life. And his real father might turn out to be one of them.
‘I’m not so sure about that. We all have our secrets from when we were young, don’t we? And your mam is no exception,’ Belle darkly reminded him, handing Grant a paper napkin, which he ignored. ‘But I’ll give it some thought.’ She began to walk away, quietly chuckling, then half turned to cast him a teasing glance over her shoulder. ‘Of course, you could always ask Frankie Morris, over at the chip shop. He might be able to point you in the right direction.’
Grant sighed, grinding his teeth in frustration. Frankie Morris indeed. That big, blubbery man in a soiled apron whose bald head gleamed as if greased from the fat on his own hands? He’d be the last person in the world his mother would hang out with, war or no war. He was getting nowhere, nowhere at all.
Nevertheless, on his way home he did call in at the fish and chip shop, and risked the question. ‘Did you know my mam during the war when she was young?’ Grant asked.
Frankie paused in his labours of battering the fish, wiped his sticky hands on his greasy apron and waddled over to glower at the lad. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘I – I just wondered.’
‘If I did, that’s my business, not yours. Buzz off!’
‘So you did know her?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘But you knew some of her friends?’ Again Grant spun his yarn about a party he was planning, but something about the expression on Frankie’s face made him wonder if he’d pushed the explanation too far. ‘Well?’
‘What makes you think your mam likes parties?’
‘Everyone likes parties.’
‘Not your mam.’
‘Why?’
‘Would you like to see how it feels to be battered like a wet fish?’
Grant fled.
When he got back home he was surprised to find his mother sitting alone in the kitchen, sipping a rum and coke and looking very sorry for herself. It wasn’t like Joyce to drink alone and he wanted to ask where Joe was, but hadn’t got round to plucking up the courage when she came right out with it and told him.
‘Before you ask, Joe has gone home early. Apparently Irma has a wedding cake to deliver first thing in the morning, and Joe has to be up early to drive her there.
‘Oh, right!’ Grant didn’t dare risk commenting further, knowing it would only inflame her disappointment over the apparent shortcomings of her lover still further. Instead, wanting to please her, he told her the gossip he’d picked up about Harriet.
‘Hey, what do you think? You’ll never guess who our Harriet is out with tonight? Vinny Turner, no less. What do you reckon to that?’
‘Vinny Turner?’
‘Aye, he has a police record as long as your arm. Been up for shop lifting, drunkenness and assault, lives round the back of the fish market with . . .’
‘I know who Vinny Turner is, and the whole rapscallion crew that makes up that no-good Irish family. Why on earth would our Harriet be seeing him? He’s not in Steve Blackstock’s league?’
Grant was startled by how concerned and angry she sounded, but pleased that he’d obviously got Harriet into yet more trouble. ‘I reckon it must be what you might call teenage rebellion.’
Joyce glowered at him. ‘Teenage rebellion my left foot. I’ll give that little madam what for when I catch her.’
And for the second time in the space of one evening, Grant thought it best to beat a hasty retreat.
Chapter Thirteen
Harriet returned home
from the pictures later than usual, her cheeks glowing bright pink from all the kisses Vinny had given her. She knew in her heart that she was playing a dangerous game by going out with him when he had such a tarnished reputation, but rebellion was strong in her. She had this urge to do something wicked, to make people sit up and take notice, to have them see her as a real person with feelings and needs, albeit one damaged and hurt from all the revelations that had been thrust at her.
Maybe she was behaving badly because she was illegitimate, losing her moral standards or whatever it was; her decency or proper status in the community, exactly as Mrs Blackstock had predicted. But deep in her heart she didn’t want that to happen. It was Steve she wanted, Steve she loved not Vinny Turner, only she didn’t quite have the courage to resolve their quarrel.
In the meantime Vinny was making her feel good about herself, something she needed after having been so badly let down.
Harriet went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of cocoa and found Joyce sitting in her dressing gown sipping a small whisky and more than a little the worse for drink. Apparently, she was waiting up for Harriet.
‘What’s all this?’ Harriet asked on a laugh, almost tripping over something blocking her way as she walked in. She glanced in shock at the suitcase, all packed, ready and waiting. ‘Are you off on a trip somewhere?’
‘No, you are. I’ve put you up some sandwiches, and there’s money in the purse to buy yourself a train ticket to wherever you want to go.’
‘Go? What are you talking about? Go where?’
‘A new beginning, a new job, wherever you fancy, only you’re not stopping here. I’ve done my duty by you, much against my better judgement, and despite your being no relation. Now it’s over. Joe will be moving in soon, and we reckon it would be best for all concerned if you weren’t around when he did. It’s time for you to leave, so you can go first thing in the morning.’ Joyce’s eyes were half closed and her voice sounded slurred, so that Harriet could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Lonely Teardrops (2008) Page 11