Lonely Teardrops (2008)

by Lightfoot, Freda

  ‘No! I’m not going,’ Harriet cried. ‘I absolutely refuse.’ She intended to resist to her very last breath rather than spend her days incarcerated in that room. ‘Look, you and I both know this isn’t an argument about an illegitimate baby. This is about something which happened in the past, something that doesn’t even concern me, except that maybe I’m a pawn in some stupid game or other. Did you agree to keep me out of some twisted need for revenge against this girl Dad got pregnant? If so, then I refuse to be a part of it. I have the right to live my own life, not to be manipulated by you any longer. You don’t give a toss about me, or my child. You never have.’

  ‘I care about my reputation.’

  ‘True, I accept that, and I don’t want any trouble, or scandal, any more than you do. If I promise not to do a runner, to stay in the house, will you at least leave the bedroom door unlocked?’

  Joyce snorted her derision at the idea. ‘How could I trust you? You’ve run away once, and could again. Besides, folk come in and out of here all the time. It’s a hairdressing salon, for God’s sake! They’d be sure to realise someone was walking around in the flat upstairs and that it’s likely to be you, even if your grandmother weren’t blabbing her mouth off all over the place.’

  ‘But there has to be a better way to deal with this.’

  Joyce sank into the chair opposite with a weary sigh. Harriet had never seen her look so worn out, haggard almost, with bags under her eyes. ‘Such as what? There’s only one solution. This child must be adopted. On no account will I have it here.’

  Harriet lifted her chin and there was a firmness in her tone. ‘I’ve already told you a thousand times that I’m keeping it. I’m not sure how I’ll manage, but I’ll work something out when the time comes. I’m sorry if my condition causes you embarrassment, but there’s nothing I can do about that but agree to stay in the house. If that doesn’t suit, don’t you have any relatives who could hide me away for the next two or three months?’

  After several moments of consideration, Joyce said, ‘I could speak to Father Dimmock, ask him to recommend a Mother and Baby Home. If you won’t stay quietly here, then that seems the best solution.’

  ‘Nay,’ Rose interjected, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘You mustn’t put her in one of them places. They’re wicked! Look what they did to young Dena Dobson, and little Trudy, and that lot were Methodists. The nuns are much worse. We must steer well clear of them.’

  Joyce got to her feet, key in hand. ‘You either stay in that room, or go into a home where at least you’d have some company. Or I might just send you into a Home for Wayward Girls instead, which might never let you out. It’s what you deserve. The choice is yours. Either way, you’re not foisting that bastard child on me.’

  Harriet put her head in her hands and wept.

  Once his leave was over, Stan was back on board ship, bound for South Africa. They both knew that he was in for the long haul this time. Stan didn’t expect to be home for months, possibly years. But they felt strangely reconciled, closer than they had been throughout their marriage, and united in their decision to keep Harriet.

  It was a better outcome than Joyce could ever have dreamed of.

  After he’d gone, she wasted no time in seeing her husband’s mistress off the premises. Within days of his departure, she packed Eileen’s suitcase and pushed the girl, still weeping, out the door. Eileen did what she could to resist. She clung to the doorjamb with her fingers, desperately trying to fight off Joyce’s hands, which held her in a vicious grip. But she’d only recently given birth and Joyce was both taller and stronger than she at the best of times. Eileen lost her footing and fell sprawling in the gutter.

  Joyce smirked. ‘And that’s exactly where you belong.’ Then she tossed out a brown leather suitcase and the girl’s coat. The suitcase burst open, spilling clothes everywhere. Eileen ignored it as she dragged herself to her feet, rubbing the blood from two cut knees.

  Joyce was unmoved by her plight, too busy issuing yet another stern warning for her to keep her mouth shut if she knew what was good for her. ‘You should be grateful that we’re prepared to give this illegitimate child a decent home. Now go on, be off with you. You’re free as air, so take your money and go find yourself some other paramour.’

  ‘I’ll see you in hell before I let you keep her,’ Eileen hissed through gritted teeth.

  Joyce laughed, as if she’d said something highly amusing. ‘I reckon I’ve already been to hell and back, with clogs on, thanks to you. Now I’m just fine and dandy and laughing all the way to paradise.’

  ‘Where’s she off to?’ Rose asked, rushing over when she spotted a plump and breathless Eileen chasing her belongings all over the cobbles. She watched in horror as she snatched them up to stuff them anyhow into a brown suitcase while Joyce tossed out yet more bags and baggage onto the pavement.

  Rose was well aware of the rows that had been going on in the house over the past few days, but hadn’t paid too much attention to the details. Generally she managed to keep her nose out of it by electing instead to take refuge at the Edinburgh Castle pub with her mates. There was only so much she could take of her daughter’s temper.

  Now Joyce was smiling, not out of joy but with a kind of warped triumph.

  ‘Eileen has decided to go and live with relatives, haven’t you dear?’

  Her unfortunate friend made no reply as she pulled on her coat and began to button it with frantic fingers against a biting wind. She merely looked over at Rose with a plea for pity out of eyes puffy and swollen from copious weeping.

  ‘And where’s the babby?’ Rose asked her daughter. She was beginning to get an inkling of what was going on and didn’t much care for her suspicions.

  ‘Harriet is staying here. She belongs to Stan, don’t forget. And now to me too.’

  Eileen stood frozen and forlorn on the pavement, her head in her hands, and began to sob as if her heart was breaking. ‘I never meant this to happen, Joyce. You have to believe me. Stan thought we’d just have a bit of fun to make you jealous, to make you sorry for not being honest with him about Grant. Then I fell in love. I couldn’t help it, he’s lovely is your Stan. He was so kind to me. No man has ever been so kind.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your sob story, just get out of my sight.’ Joyce tossed out a brown paper carrier bag full of clothes which rolled into a puddle. ‘And don’t think I’ll soften, or change my mind and take you back, because I won’t. You’ve got money in your pocket, and somewhere to stay, that’s all I’m prepared to do for you. It’s more than generous considering you’ve stolen my husband.’

  ‘But you’ve stolen my child!’

  ‘It’s a fair swap then,’ Joyce snapped and closed the door. She felt very much like slamming it but had no wish to further alarm the neighbours. They’d made enough of a spectacle of themselves already. Fortunately, in this street, neighbours knew better than to interfere with other folk’s business because it might be them sounding off next week. The sooner she got out of here, the better.

  ‘Cup of tea, Mother?’ Joyce cheerily offered, before going off to make a brew as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Ever since Steve learned that Harriet was married he’d realised that he had no alternative but to do exactly as she’d instructed him to do, that is, forget all about her. He’d started dating a ‘nice’ girl, one of whom his mother entirely approved.

  Caroline was petite and blonde, and rather pretty in a girly sort of way. A fellow student, she’d made it plain from the first week that she fancied him, and he’d really grown quite fond of her. They got along great and she’d persuaded him to join the chess club and film society, although the movies seemed a bit arty to Steve, not really to his taste.

  He preferred a good laugh, like Jack Lemmon in The Apartment which they’d gone to see the other night. Caro had been less impressed, saying how awful it was to loan out an apartment in order to allow someone to commit adultery.

  ‘That’s the j
oke, how he comes to be in this mess because of his soft heart, and then he falls for the girl. It’s just a story,’ Steve had reminded her, but Caro’s sense of humour didn’t quite stretch that far.

  This was only one of many drawbacks he’d noticed about her. She wasn’t a great listener, and loved to organise him. More often than not she was the one who decided where they went on a Saturday night, leaving him very little say in the matter. Not that Steve cared. He seemed to have lost interest in most things along with losing Harriet, but he was starting to feel concerned about Caro. They had very little in common. She liked opera and he preferred rock music. Steve would much rather listen even to The Scrapyard Kids than some dire woman screeching on the high notes. He liked to read detective novels and Caro resented any time when he wasn’t able to talk to her, or rather listen to her talking.

  The other problem was his mother.

  Caro had come home with him on numerous occasions for tea or Sunday lunch, and although her parents were only humble shopkeepers, the very fact she was training to be a teacher, as he was, meant his mother was utterly captivated by her. Steve was beginning to feel quite incidental, as if this whole relationship with Caro was being engineered by his mother. The pair of them had become bosom pals, to such an extent that before he’d realised what was happening, he’d found himself agreeing to an engagement before he returned to college in the autumn.

  Caroline was an attractive girl, and good company, so it seemed easier to go along with her plans when he wasn’t in a frame of mind to see any alternative hope of happiness in his life. But fond as he was of her, he wasn’t certain if what he felt was true love. Was Caro the one? How could she be when he still couldn’t get Harriet out of his mind? And the idea of actually marrying the girl sent a shiver down his spine. He felt as if he was being manipulated into something he wasn’t yet ready for.

  He knew he would never even have looked at Caroline Lawson if Harriet had still been around. The mere thought of his lovely sweet Harriet being married to Vinny Turner was doing his head in. What had come over her?

  All right, he could understood that because of the foul mood she was in, this bitter resentment she was holding against Joyce, against life in general, she’d probably slept with the guy. But that was no reason to tie herself down to the idiot for life, although judging by his wild behaviour it’s doubtful his would be a long one.

  Steve hated himself for thinking such horrible thoughts, and he really must try harder to put Harriet out of his mind. Caro didn’t even like him to mention her and had become quite touchy on the subject. Harriet herself had made it very clear to him that her future was with Vinny. So what choice did he have? What did it matter who he married if it couldn’t be Harriet?

  As the summer term, and his first year at college, came to an end, Steve returned home alone, without Caroline. He’d decided he needed time to think things through in peace and quiet, to be sure in his own mind that he wanted this friendship to progress to something more permanent. His mother was full of questions as to why he hadn’t brought her with him.

  ‘I thought you two couldn’t bear to be apart?’ she challenged him, a sentimental smile on her face.

  ‘I never said that,’ her son insisted. ‘You did.’ He felt a familiar nudge of panic, knowing that what had started as an innocent friendship was quickly escalating out of control. Steve guessed his mother was already putting the finishing touches to the engagement party she intended to hold to celebrate what would clearly be the social event of the season. And she was constantly expressing how keen she was to meet dear Caro’s parents. If he didn’t watch out, she’d be nagging him to put down a deposit on a nice little semi and starting to plan the wedding.

  ‘There’s no reason why I can’t enjoy a bit of time alone, is there? She isn’t my fiancée, let alone my wife.’

  ‘Not yet! But the date of your coming engagement is marked in my diary,’ Margaret teased, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

  Steve began to feel quite hot under the collar. How he’d mired himself into a commitment of such magnitude, he couldn’t quite believe. ‘That doesn’t mean I plan to rush into marriage. I’ve just got through school practice, which was tough enough, and there’s still one more year of training to do, my thesis and finals to face. With the long vac coming up I need some time to myself, to think, and to catch up on my studies. I also need to earn some money. I’m going to ask Barry Holmes if he’ll take me back on the fruit and veg stall. I’ve neither the time nor the means to even consider taking a wife at the moment.’

  ‘Of course not, dear, no one is suggesting you should,’ Margaret Blackstock purred. ‘But the months rush by, and before you know it your training will be over, and with it the opportunity to find yourself a nice girl.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Steve retorted. ‘There’s plenty of time. Anyway, I’m thinking that maybe I should date a few more girls, just to be sure.’

  His mother looked horrified by the very idea of such a betrayal, and wagged an admonitory finger at her son. ‘You would live to regret it if you lost her. She’s a lovely girl and would make anyone a fine wife.’

  ‘There are plenty of other fish in the sea.’

  ‘Indeed there are,’ his father murmured from behind his paper.

  Margaret looked daggers at her husband, but managed to restrain herself and say nothing more, largely because of the warning glance he gave her in return. She confined herself to giving one of her disapproving sniffs, and Steve escaped, before the interrogation entered a more dangerous phase.

  Steve went straight over to the market to speak to Barry Holmes, who was more than happy to provide him with work for the summer vacation. Steve was delighted. This particular evening Winnie was also present, assisting her husband in packing away the fruit and veg into boxes. They exchanged a few pleasantries as they loaded up the van, and then Winnie said, ‘Have you seen Harriet lately?’

  Steve shook his head. ‘Not for a while, no. Have you?’

  Winnie glanced around, in that secretive way she had when she was in possession of a tidbit of gossip. ‘No, I haven’t, but reliable sources inform me that she’s back home.’

  Steve’s jaw dropped open. ‘Back home? How can she be? What happened to her husband?’

  Winnie frowned. ‘What husband? Oh, you mean that Vinny Turner? Nay, I wouldn’t know owt about that, but – my friend – my source, hasn’t said anything about no wedding. I’m sure I would’ve heard if she were wed. The poor girl’s - general health - however, is another matter,’ and Winnie tapped the side of her nose indicating she was allowed to say no more on the subject.

  Steve went white to the lips. Harriet not married? She was still free, like him? ‘Are you sure, Winnie?’

  ‘Absolutely positive. Not much slips past me, lad.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ Steve agreed.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Harriet woke from her snooze to become conscious of raised voices below. Left alone with her injured foot propped up on cushions, she’d been half aware that someone had come in a little while ago but had presumed it to be a late customer. Now she realised it was Steve, and to her horror they were talking about her, something about adoption. By the time she’d struggled up from the couch and limped to the top of the stairs where she could hear better, Steve was saying, ‘But it’s not the baby’s fault this has happened, is it? It must surely be the victim in all of this. Can I see her?’

  Joyce instantly dismissed the idea. ‘She’s not receiving visitors at the moment. In any case, didn’t I hear on the grape vine you were walking out with a pretty young blonde?’

  Harriet heard him shuffle his feet, as if with discomfort. ‘I do have a new girl friend, that’s true.’

  Joyce sniffed. ‘Harriet will be sorry to hear that, in the circumstances.’

  At the head of the stairs, crouched in a corner, Harriet put her hands over her face as her cheeks burned. Surely Joyce wasn’t hinting that Steve should marry her? She felt humiliated enough
that he should have learned of her shame, let alone that Joyce should even consider he might help her out of this mess. And who was this pretty blonde? Was she the same blonde that Steve had danced with the night she’d first gone with Vinny? For some reason her heart sank at the thought.

  Steve was thinking that all he wanted to do was rush upstairs to talk to Harriet. Joyce, on the other hand, was determined to stop him by physically blocking his path, and was now throwing every insult she could think of at her adopted daughter, even though Harriet wasn’t present to defend herself.

  ‘She’s a foolish, wayward girl who’s reaping the rewards of her own wantonness. She certainly won’t want to see you, not now you’ve got yourself a fiancé all lined up.’

  Harriet’s cheeks burned all the more as she caught some of this tirade, but didn’t hear Steve quietly suggest that this was perhaps for Harriet to decide.

  ‘Don’t imagine for one minute that she still loves you,’ Joyce hissed at the young man through gritted teeth. ‘The silly tart might well go back to this Vinny Turner and marry him in the end. Who knows? I wouldn’t put anything past that girl. He’s in London at the moment, I believe.’

  Harriet nibbled anxiously on her thumb nail as she strained to hear the hushed, angry voices. What on earth were they saying now? Something about Vinny? There was more mumbled conversation which she couldn’t quite catch and then her stepmother’s voice rang out, loud and clear.

  ‘You’re right to be cautious and make other plans, lad. A marriage for the sake of propriety rarely works, even if you were once fond of the girl,’ Joyce announced, her tone growing increasingly strident, almost as if she wanted Harriet to hear. ‘Anyroad, you’re not the father so it isn’t your responsibility, and taking on another man’s child is always a disaster. You’d find that you quickly came to resent it, may well turn away from it altogether when you have a child of your own.’