Chris Curran - Her Turn to Cry

A shriek from moped boy. ‘Ooer, hark at it. Told you she were posh.’

The others joined in with honks of laughter and the nearest boy came even closer, looking round at his mates then back at her. ‘How’s about a kiss then, darling. Bet you’re not too la de da for that.’ She shoved him away and his face changed. ‘Don’t you push me, you tart.’

Loud clicking footsteps and the boys turned as a man of about forty, tall and thin in a camel coat and black trousers, rounded the corner. He stopped and looked at her. ‘These lads bothering you, miss?’ His accent was London, not Manchester.

The boy nearest Joycie said, ‘Nah, mister, just having a chat, weren’t we?’ He looked at his friends, but they were getting ready to ride away. He moved his bike back onto the road. The man stared at him, arms folded over his chest, his hard gaze shifting from him to moped boy, who started his engine and rode off. The other lad followed fast, shouting, ‘Bye, darling, see ya,’ as he went.

Joycie looked at the man. ‘Thank you.’

‘Waiting for a taxi are you?’ he said, his voice low and polite.

‘Yes, it should be here by now.’ Silly to feel scared, he was trying to help her.

A piercing whistle and there was her taxi. Almost as if it had been waiting for his signal. She reached for the door but he was there first, holding it open and giving a tiny bow as she climbed in. His hair was short and greased down, his face shiny and newly shaved. He had very pale grey eyes.

‘Thank you, you’re very kind.’ She tried to close the door, but he held onto it.

‘Station is it?’

‘Yes.’

He leaned towards the driver and she caught a whiff of aftershave. ‘Better hurry if she wants the London train.’ She reached for the door again, but he held on. ‘You shouldn’t be hanging around street corners in a place like this, you know. And it’s just as well those lads didn’t recognize you.’

As the taxi pulled away he gave her a small wave and a little nod and turned away, shiny black shoes gleaming under the street lights.

Joycie and her dad have got into the habit of having their tea at the Italian café on the front before walking to the theatre. He always lets her have ice cream for afters and today it’s her favourite: banana split. He smokes and sips his coffee while she eats; the ice cream cold on her lips.

When he screws up his eyes and hands her a paper napkin she scrubs at her face and he gives a little laugh. ‘Your mum would have my guts for garters if she could see you.’

It’s almost the first time he’s mentioned Mum since she went and Joycie swallows hard and puts down her spoon, biting her lip to stop from crying.

Dad rubs her shoulder. ‘Sorry, darlin’, didn’t mean to upset you.’

His voice sounds thick and Joycie feels bad because it’s her fault. She starts to eat again even though her throat feels all clogged up.

‘You mustn’t blame your mum for going, Joycie. She’s a great girl and I didn’t deserve her. Never was much of a husband. But she loves you to bits and I bet she’ll be in touch one day soon.’ When Joycie looks up he’s smiling at her, but his blue eyes are bright with tears. So she gives him a wobbly grin and he sniffs, rubs his eyes and says, ‘And we’re all right for now aren’t we?’

She finishes her banana split and holds his hand as they walk along by the sea in the late sunshine. People look at her dad as they pass, probably recognizing him from the show, but she can see that some of the women look because he’s so handsome. She’s proud to be holding his hand and to know he’s her dad. And she’s not going to think about that stained mat any more.

And anyway she looked for it when she got back from Irene’s the day after Mum left and, although the black shoes were still in their box under the bed, she couldn’t find the mat.

Joycie woke to Radio Caroline playing The Moody Blues’ ‘Go Now’ in the kitchen. Marcus was back then. He hadn’t come home last night, no doubt staying with some girl he’d met. She was grateful that he never brought anyone back here when she was at home. She had no right to expect even that of him, but it always upset her to think of him with someone else.

A tap on the bedroom door, and he was there, holding a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich. He sat on the bed, handing her the cup. ‘All right? How did it go?’

She took a big gulp. ‘It was my aunt. I never even knew she existed, can you believe that? She seems really nice, but she hasn’t seen Mum since she left us and doesn’t know anything about this bloke she’s supposed to have run off with.’

‘So what does she think happened?’

‘She has no idea, although they did contact my dad just after Mum left.’

‘And what did he say?’

Joycie took a huge bite of her sandwich to give herself time to think, waving her hand so he knew he’d have to wait. He smiled and folded his arms as if prepared to sit in silence for as long as it took.

When she could stand it no longer, she spoke through the food still in her mouth, and Marcus handed her a tissue from the bedside cabinet, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘The same thing he told me: that she left him, and he didn’t know where she was.’

‘So what do you think now?’ When Joycie shrugged and carried on chewing he said, ‘I mean, if she left him for another man, who was the guy?’

‘I’ve no idea. Over the years I realized she had other men, but it didn’t affect me and never seemed to bother Dad either. I don’t remember anyone being around at that time, but he must have been special if she left us for him.’

Marcus went over to the window and pulled the curtain so that the sun streamed in, making a bright halo of his hair. ‘You think it was something else, though, don’t you?’ She didn’t answer, her heart beating hard, as if by telling him it could make what she dreaded true. He faced her, half sitting on the dressing table. ‘Come on, Joycie, whatever you say I can tell you don’t really believe she deserted you.’

She put the plate down and began pleating the crumpled sheet between her fingers. ‘I couldn’t, not for a long time, even though everyone said so. Eventually I just learned to accept it because there seemed to be no other explanation. But my aunt, she’s called Susan, says Mum really loved me. She doesn’t think she would have left without me for any reason. But who knows, perhaps this bloke wouldn’t let her bring me, and she had to make a choice.’

‘What did your dad tell you?’

‘That he was a rubbish husband, and he didn’t blame her for going. He always said Mum left me with him because she couldn’t provide for me, and because she knew it would have broken his heart to lose me too.’ She rubbed her nose with the tissue Marcus had given her, but it was greasy and smelled of bacon, and she scrabbled in the box for another.

Marcus came back to sit on the bed and pulled her into his arms. They sat for a while, her head against his chest as she breathed in his lovely, familiar smell and listened to the steady beat of his heart. He smoothed her hair until she moved her head so that it rested in the curve of his warm palm, and he kissed her forehead.

‘I’m scared, Marcus,’ she said. ‘But I can’t leave it alone now.’

‘I know,’ he whispered.

Then they kissed properly; a long soft kiss. His heart began to thump faster against her thin nightdress. Her own heart was speeding too, and when his lips pressed harder and his fingers twined into her hair she felt a throb of longing for him.

‘Little cock-teaser, that’s what you are, just like your mum.’