Chris Curran - Her Turn to Cry

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Killer Reads

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Copyright © Chris Curran 2016

Chris Curran asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © JULY 2016 ISBN: 9780008196059

Version 2019-01-08

In memory of Jim and Bedelia Curran. Dad, who passed on his love of books, and Mum, who took me to the library every week to borrow them.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page Her Turn To Cry CHRIS CURRAN an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright Killer Reads An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016 Copyright © Chris Curran 2016 Chris Curran asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollins Publishers 2017 Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books Ebook Edition © JULY 2016 ISBN: 9780008196059 Version 2019-01-08

Dedication In memory of Jim and Bedelia Curran. Dad, who passed on his love of books, and Mum, who took me to the library every week to borrow them.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Author’s Note

If you enjoyed Her Turn to Cry , read on for an exclusive extract of the latest psychological thriller by Chris Curran.

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Chris Curran

About the Publisher

Joycie usually loves it when Dad takes her to work with him. But not today. She wants to stay at their lodgings in case Mum comes back. She keeps telling Dad she’s eleven now and old enough to be left on her own, but he won’t listen.

Sid Sergeant is already in the dressing room, a fag in the corner of his mouth, squinting at himself in the mirror through the swirls of smoke. Old Harry, a conjuror they call The Great Zarbo, stands facing the sink in the corner. Joycie can hear a splashing sound and, along with the usual smells of tobacco, make-up, and beer, there’s a pong of wee that makes her nose twitch.

Sid twists to look at them. ‘Cover up, Harry, will you,’ he says.

Harry turns on the tap and fiddles with his trousers, talking to Dad over his shoulder. ‘Sorry, Charlie. Didn’t know you were bringing the nipper. Someone’s been in the lav for ages.’ He waddles to the dressing table. ‘You gonna sit with me while your dad’s onstage, eh darling?’

Her dad raises his dark brows at Sid. ‘That’s OK, Harry; I’m going to ask Irene to mind her.’

As the star of the show, Irene Slade has her own tiny room. She’s doing her hair at the cluttered dressing table. ‘Hello sweetie pie.’ Irene pats the chair next to her and, looking at Charlie in the mirror, she points at a packet of chocolate cakes sitting on top of the mess of jewellery and sticks of make-up. ‘I must have known you’d bring her in tonight. Got her favourites.’

When Dad has gone Joycie eats her cake and watches as Irene gets dressed, trying not to think about Mum. Irene is lumpy and middle-aged in her street clothes, but crammed into shining satin and sparkling with sequins and fake diamonds she looks as glamorous as Rita Hayworth. People say that, once upon a time, Irene performed in front of the old king, George VI.

She catches Joycie looking, fluffs out her hair and kisses the air with glossy lips. ‘Not bad for an old girl, eh, lovey? Now be a darling and go ask your dad to get Sid off that stage on time tonight. I don’t want to be hanging about in the wings for half an hour again.’

Joycie stops between the two dressing rooms when she hears Sid’s voice: ‘So what’s wrong with Mary this time? You had another row?’

‘No.’ Her dad’s voice is so low she has to strain to hear him. ‘She saw Joycie off to bed, but she wasn’t there when I got back after the show last night. I looked in the wardrobe and all her best clothes are gone.’

But that’s not right because Joycie checked when Dad went out and Mum’s favourite blouse was still there and her new black shoes in their box under the bed. She would never have left without them.

And now Joycie’s thinking about what else she saw under the bed, but she doesn’t want to. Don’t think about that, don’t think .

Harry the conjuror is too far away for her to hear more than a mumble. Sid is loud enough, though: ‘You’re better off without her, Charlie. You know what she’s like. Found herself another fancy man I shouldn’t wonder.’