Chris Curran - Her Turn to Cry

It was her mum, unchanged in all these years, just like her memories and the dog-eared photo in her bag. Joycie’s breath stopped. But when the woman turned, brushing reddish hair away from her face, she was different. Not Mum then, but definitely related.

She breathed again, trying to remember the words she’d planned. ‘I’m Joyce Todd, Mary Todd’s daughter. Someone left this address with Irene Slade wanting me to get in contact.’

Somehow she was inside the house, the narrow hall smelling of cabbage and bacon, and then in the front room sitting on a hard sofa. The room was cold and clean; probably kept for best. A tiny boy watched her from the hall doorway, thumb stuck in his mouth, until a little girl in a dress with a torn sleeve pulled at his arm.

‘Come on, Mikey, leave the lady alone.’

The woman’s voice: ‘That’s it, Carol. Put him in the high chair and feed him his tea while I’m talking.’

Then she was back, without her apron, touching her hair. ‘I’m Mary’s sister, your auntie Susan. Mary will have told you about me.’

Joycie tried to speak, but no words came. She bought time by undoing her coat and slipping it off. She was freezing, but it seemed rude to sit there all trussed up. Then she pushed back her own hair and met the woman’s eyes. Her aunt (how strange that sounded) smoothed her skirt and gave a little cough.

‘It’s ages since I left that note. Never expected anyone to turn up.’ Her voice was like Mum’s, the northern accent just a little stronger.

‘Irene has just died and your address was with the things she left me.’ She didn’t say she’d refused to take it in the first place.

Susan was looking hard at her, a little smile quirking the corners of her mouth. ‘You know you look a lot like that model, Orchid. Did anyone ever tell you?’

Joycie could feel her face flushing. ‘I am her. Orchid’s the name I use professionally.’

‘Well blow me down. I mean, you do look like her, like her photos, your photos, but …’ Her face was pink now too.

For some reason this made Joycie feel better and she was able to laugh. ‘It’s all right. Most people are surprised at how ordinary I am. It’s really all about the make-up and the way they dress me.’

‘No, you’re a lovely looking girl. Not much like your mam, if you don’t mind me saying, but you take after your dad. He’s a handsome fella.’

‘Yes, he was.’ A movement from Susan. ‘He died a long while ago.’

‘Oh, I am sorry about that. I knew he wasn’t with Sid Sergeant any more. ’Cos Sid was on the bill that time I sent the note to Irene Slade. That’s why I went. Hoped to see Charlie. But Sid didn’t have a stooge. And I thought that was odd because Charlie told Mam he owed everything to Sid and would never leave him. You know your dad was an orphan?’ Joycie nodded. ‘Apparently Sid took him on when he’d just come out of the Dr Barnardo’s home he grew up in. Charlie said Sid was the only family he’d ever known.’

‘So it wasn’t my mum who left the address?’

‘No, it was me. I was hoping Irene might put me in touch with both of you.’

Joycie’s breath stalled for a moment before she could get the words out. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen my mum?’

Susan’s eyes were cloudy. ‘A long time. Not since before you were born.’

Something heavy seemed to drop from her throat to her stomach and Joycie knew if she tried to speak, or even to breathe, she might cry. Stupid, stupid idiot . She’d actually convinced herself she had no hopes or expectations. How wrong she had been.

‘So why didn’t you ask Irene to give your address to Mum?’

‘I did. I asked her to get it to Mary Todd or her daughter.’

That wasn’t what Irene had told Joycie. Was that because she had misread the note or because she thought Joycie was more likely to go searching if she thought it might have come from Mary herself or from someone who knew her whereabouts? If so then it had worked.

Susan was talking on and she forced herself to listen.

‘I didn’t like to send the note to Sid in case he and your dad had fallen out and that’s why they weren’t together, but I remembered Mary mentioning in her letters that she was friendly with Irene Slade.’

It was anger Joycie heard in her own voice when she was able to speak. ‘My mother left us when I was eleven years old and I haven’t seen or heard from her since.’

Susan was suddenly on her feet, one hand at her mouth, muttering something about tea. Joycie heard her talking to the children in the kitchen, her voice too low to make out the words. Then clinking crockery and a wail from the little boy. Joycie rubbed her arms. There was just one thin rug covering the brown and blue patterned lino on the floor. The fireplace was swept clean and she wondered if they ever lit it. There were no pictures on the wall and, apart from the sofa and the two armchairs, the only furniture was a spindly legged coffee table and a glass-fronted cabinet with a few china ornaments. If they had a TV it must be in another room.

Her aunt came back carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers, and milk jug. She put the tray on the coffee table and looked at Joycie. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, please.’

‘I expect you’ve got to watch your figure?’

It wasn’t true, she could eat anything, but she just smiled. When Susan handed her the cup it rattled in its saucer and, looking at her, Joycie wondered if she’d been crying. She sipped the tea, strong and hot just the way she liked it, and cradled it in both hands, grateful for the warmth on her fingers.

Susan pulled a hankie from her sleeve and rubbed her nose. ‘So, your mam, you’ve never had no word?’

‘Nothing at all. When was the last time you heard from her?’

‘Must have been summer ’53 because it was just before I got married and I was excited to think she’d be here for that. And she was gonna bring you with her. Mam and me couldn’t wait to meet you for the first time.’

‘I didn’t even know she had a family.’

Susan put two spoonfuls of sugar in her tea and stirred. ‘When we found out she was expecting our Dad went mad. I was only a kid, but I can remember him screaming at her and her crying. He said she was no better than a common slut. And carrying on with someone like that made it even worse. He wouldn’t have no more to do with her. Said none of us would.’

‘Someone like what?’

‘You know, on the stage. He was religious, Dad, didn’t hold with that kind of thing.’ She was still stirring and stirring, the spoon clinking against her cup. ‘Mary left with your dad, but she used to write to Mam regular like. Dad was very strict and Mary knew he would destroy any letters so she sent them to our neighbour, who used to bring them round when Dad was at work.’

‘Did your mother write back?’

‘Now and then. When she could do it without Dad finding out, but it was difficult. Mary let us know when you were born and I begged Mam to take me to see you, but it was impossible.’ When Joycie shook her head, Susan did the same. ‘That’s how it was in those days. Dad made the rules.’ She smiled. ‘I can just imagine my hubby trying to lay down the law like that. I’d soon tell him where to get off. But Mam had to do as she was told. We all did. And to be fair to Dad there was no money for gallivanting around the country, especially as you kept moving.’

That probably explained why her mum never mentioned her family. If Joycie was unlikely ever to see them it would have been pointless.

The little girl had come to stand by the open door, staring in again, but the toddler staggered from behind her and crawled onto his mum’s lap. She spat on her hankie and rubbed it over his face, while he squirmed and whimpered. Then he took one look at Joycie and buried his head in Susan’s chest.