A Hopscotch Summer (6 page)

‘Where’ve yer been, Joycie? Go on – tell us what it was like!’

‘Who was the lady? Where did she take yer?’

Everyone was full of questions the next day. Em and Joyce were running across Kenilworth Street to Mrs Button’s little bakery. Cynthia had given them one and sixpence out of the two half-crowns from the mysterious ‘lady’ to buy cakes for everyone for tea, and told Em not to let go of Joyce’s hand, as if she would have done in any case. None of them ever wanted to let Joyce out of their sight again.

Soon Katie and Molly and several others latched on, badgering Joyce with questions.

‘Where did you go, Joycie?’ Katie asked, outside the shop, where the smell of warm jam and buns and doughnuts beckoned them inside.

Joyce turned her puppyish face up. She liked Katie, with her long dangly plaits. Katie was always kind to her, and she looked up to her as one of the big girls.

‘We went on a tram,’ she announced.

Em whirled round. ‘Did you? You never said!’ To Katie she added, ‘She just keeps saying she had a nice big bed, even though the rest of us were worried half to death . . .’

‘And taters, with butter,’ Joyce added dreamily.

‘What was the lady’s name?’ Katie asked.

Joyce just stared at her and shrugged.

‘’Er’s only four,’ Molly chipped in. ‘’Ow’s she going to know where she was or who the lady was?’

Katie gave Molly a superior look as if to say, Oh
you’re
here again, are you? But it was quite a sharp remark from Molly, who usually went round with a blank, closed expression. Molly made a face back. Katie went to link arms with Em, to show Molly who was boss, but Em was too busy clinging on to her little sister.

Em led Joyce into the tiny shop while the others gathered round the door, mouths watering at the lovely smells. Mrs Button’s shop consisted of her front room, and she and her husband lived in the back. The stairs were ahead and the room was blocked off by a narrow counter on which rested trays of bread and cakes. Behind it stood Mrs Button, a minute lady in height but very wide in girth. Because she was so small she had to stand on a stool to see over and serve her customers, so she appeared from behind the counter like a jack-in-a-box springing up. Her face was so chubby that her features seemed buried in it, like the currants in her buns. But she was always kind and cheerful and loved children. Now and again the Buttons’ old black and white mongrel, Bullseye, would come to the door and stand looking, and Mrs Button always shooed him briskly away.

‘I don’t want you in here under my feet, you silly old thing. Go on, in the back!’

And Bullseye would lower his head in a disappointed way and slink back in to Mr Button and the hearth.

‘I see you cheeky monkeys are back!’ she greeted Em and Joyce in her high, bird-like voice, beaming down at them from atop her stool. ‘Has your mother sent yer today? Ooh you did give everyone a turn running off like that, Joycie! Where did you get to, eh?’

The same vague look came over Joyce’s face as every time she talked about her escapade.

‘She got lost and went off with some lady,’ Em said.

‘Oooh,’ Mrs Button said. ‘Fancy. Well, you’re back now, ain’t yer, that’s the main thing. Gave your poor mother a terrible fright, though, that you did! Now what’re you going to ’ave today, then?’

Em and Joyce spent a delicious few moments choosing a bag of cakes – doughnuts and angel cakes and custard slices – Bob’s favourite. Mrs Button made an approving noise with each choice they made and bundled them up. Em handed her the shilling Mom had given her and when she got her change, seeing Molly and Katie and two other girls still hanging round the door, she said, ‘Let them have a cake an’ all!’

She picked out four custard tarts and her friends seized on them eagerly.

‘Oh,
ta
, Em!’ Molly cried, eyes popping with delight at being included.

‘You should thank our Joyce,’ Em said.

Soon they were all tucking into the sweet, spiced custard and making noises of ecstasy.

‘Ooh, they’re lovely, they are, Mrs Button,’ Katie said politely.

Jenny Button stood on her stool beaming down at all this enjoyment of her wares, which meant more to her than her very meagre profits.

‘You’ll ’ave to come back another day for some more, then, won’t yer!’ she said happily.

She shooed them away from her door and Em started walking off to take the cakes home. The other girls, after the excitement of the cakes, suddenly realized that Molly Fox was still latched on to their group and that they didn’t want her.

‘Don’t you ’ave to get ’ome or summat, Molly?’ one of them said nastily.

‘Yeah – home to have a wash with any luck!’ Katie O’Neill said.

‘Molly, Molly, washes under a brolly!’ One of them thought of a new chant and soon the others were joining in.

‘Molly Fox, Molly Fox, always stinks of smelly socks!’

Katie nudged Em and giggled. She couldn’t stand Molly Fox and though she was not sharp about making up insults she enjoyed hearing the others tormenting Molly. Em smiled, but with mixed feelings. She didn’t really want Molly hanging around her either. She didn’t half stink – it put you off. But Molly had been kind to her when she got the cane, and there was something sad about Molly that made Em feel sorry for her. It couldn’t be nice having everyone teasing her all the time and being the odd one out, not really knowing how to go about making friends. Em knew she was popular and that she’d hate to be like Molly Fox, trying to brazen it out and pretend she didn’t care, when Em could see she was cut to the heart.

‘I got to get home,’ she said, glad to get away from the taunting, the thought of having to take sides. She couldn’t side with Molly Fox, though, could she? Not in front of everyone else. ‘Come on, Joycie! See ya!’

Cynthia had bought a joint of beef and cooked loads of roast spuds and cabbage, and they had the cakes afterwards, all on the strength of the little windfall pressed into Joyce’s hand by an unknown woman.

‘Well, ta very much, whoever she is,’ Bob said, raising his glass of ale as they all sat round the table. ‘God knows, she caused enough trouble and worry. This is very nice, Ma, very nice indeed.’

Em watched her mom and dad, saw him looking light-hearted and relaxed, Mom in her best dress the colour of cornflowers, a bit tight after the baby but she still looked lovely, and all the family round in the cosy little back room. Em had helped her mother polish up the range with black Zebo polish and it was alight and warm, the kettle gently heating on the hob. The lights were on, glinting off the jugs and a few cheap ornaments arranged along the mantel over the range. On the wall by the table there was a picture of a country scene, a field with a curving stretch of river and flowers in the grass. Things were back to normal at last, better than normal. There was Tizer for the three children and it felt like Christmas! Even baby Violet was happy and smiley as if she could sense the good mood in the room.

‘Whoever she was, she had no right to any of our kids,’ Cynthia said fiercely. ‘God knows what happened – I don’t s’pose we’ll ever know now.’

They’d tried asking Joyce every question they could think of but received nothing much more in the way of answers. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, as if she’d almost forgotten about the escapade. Now she was back home and it was like a dream to her.

Em was thrumming with happiness, the memory of her mother’s tears and her sister’s terrible disappearance already fading as she listened to her mom and dad laughing and joking together. Now, she felt, everything was going to be all right.

‘You’re not going out – I’ve told you. I’m not letting you out of my sight!’

‘But Mom, I wanna play out with Nance!’ Joyce protested. ‘It’s boring when Em and Sid ain’t here!’

Cynthia saw the resentful expression on her little girl’s face and felt as if she was going to explode with anger. She had a list of jobs to do as long as her arm and the babby was already grizzling again upstairs. But she had to keep Joyce right under her nose – had to! It was bad enough having to let Em and Sid go to school out of her sight. What if it happened again? What if next time one of them disappeared and never came back?

‘You do as you’re told, my girl’ she erupted furiously. Her apparent recovery had been short-lived, the fruit of Joyce’s return. Now, though, every nerve in her body felt wrenched tight again, as if she might snap. ‘You’re staying in and that’s that.’

‘No I ain’t!’ Joyce, who was used to being shooed out of the house from under her mother’s feet, wanted to get out to her friends like she usually did. She opened the door and ran out into the street.

‘Don’t you defy me!’ Cynthia pursued her, moving to grab her out on the pavement. Joyce flung her arms up over her head to defend herself and her show of fear enraged Cynthia even more. Anyone’d think she was forever beating the child, the way she was carrying on!

‘You’re not going anywhere, d’you ’ear me?’

Dot appeared by her open door.

‘All right, Cynth? Oh—’ Her thin, good-natured face grimaced comically. ‘One of them days, is it? What’s up with you, Joycie? Coming out to play with Nance?’

Joyce pouted and Cynthia, too wound up even to speak, grabbed her by the arm and propelled her towards the front door, leaving Dot staring in wonder. ‘Huh – like that, is it?’ she muttered, going back to her work.

‘You just do as I flaming well tell you and get back in the house, my girl!’ Cynthia snapped, pushing Joyce indoors.

Violet’s screams met them as they went inside and Cynthia’s nerves tightened another notch.

‘You can get up to your room and stay there till I tell you to come down!’

She saw the fear and hurt in her little girl’s eyes as Joyce resentfully stamped her way upstairs.

Cynthia sank down at the table, her heart thudding so hard that she laid her hand over it.

‘God in heaven . . .’ she whispered. What was the matter with her? Only two days ago she was running through the streets, ready to give her own life and soul if only she could see Joyce again, have her back home safe, her precious little girl. Yet now, the state she was in, she was turning on the child as if she were the devil himself! How had she come crashing down so low again in such a short time?

The baby’s screams cut right through her, tearing at every nerve in her body, and she put her hands over her face, trying to find the strength to go and see to her. The tears ran out between her fingers.

‘Help me . . .’ she whispered. ‘Please . . . Someone . . .’

‘Cynth?’

There was a tap at the door twenty minutes later. Cynthia had dragged herself upstairs to fetch Violet and was still sitting with her, feeding by the table.

‘Can I come in, bab?’

Dot pushed the door open and leaned against it, her wiry figure in a faded pale blue frock with an apron over it and stout black shoes. Her hair, long and straight and caught up in a loose bun, had once been glossy black, but was turning prematurely grey. She was smiling her toothy smile, then, seeing the state of Cynthia, her expression sobered.

‘You all right, love? You look like Barney’s Bull.’

Cynthia tried to say yes of course she was all right, but another wave of tearfulness choked her and her eyes filled. She looked down at Violet who was still sucking sleepily at her breast.

‘Oh dear, oh dear – feeling a bit like that, are yer?’ Dot said, turning to close the door, rattling its loose handle. ‘I thought there was summat this morning and our Nance’s been on at me, wanting Joyce out there with her. Joycie poorly an’ all, is she? I’m not surprised after all that carry-on at the weekend.’

Cynthia was shaking her head. ‘No, it ain’t her, it’s me.’ The sobs broke out then and Dot came and patted her on the shoulder.

‘You’ve ’ad a lot on yer plate, bab. I ’spect it’s the blues after the babby. I always feel like drowning myself and the whole bleeding family for a week or two after!’ Dot said this with such cheer that it was hard to imagine it had ever really been true. ‘And you’ve had a shock, what with your Joyce . . . ’Ere – ’ she went over to the range – ‘kettle’s not been on. And the thing’s almost out! Come on – I’ll get it going – we could both do with a cuppa. Good job I’m still in me pinny!’

Dot stoked the range, filled the kettle in the scullery and set it on the heat. Cynthia watched her, still unable to stop crying. ‘Soon ’ave yer feeling better,’ Dot said, mashing the tea and flashing another smile at Cynthia, who made a weak attempt to smile back. She didn’t believe she’d ever feel better.

It had all happened as if overnight. When they found Joyce again after those agonizing hours of searching, they’d all been relieved and overjoyed. Everything felt right, the low state she was in before Joyce disappeared seemed to be forgotten. They were together again as a family after the terrible threat of losing Joyce forever and nothing else mattered!

But in two days everything had changed. She could feel herself sliding down, down, like someone disappearing out of the light into a mineshaft, leaving all the others around her at the top wondering where she had gone. It was a terrible effort trying to get through even the simplest tasks. Everything felt overwhelming, as if she couldn’t cope. And now there was the fear as well: it had occupied her, eating away inside like woodworm. Danger seemed to lurk everywhere, threatening her children, especially the youngest, Joyce and Violet.

‘Look,’ Dot said kindly as they drank their tea at the table, ‘let me take Joyce and she and Nance can play out. I’ll keep an eye on them.’

‘No!’ Cynthia protested, wild-eyed. ‘I don’t want her going out there again. You never know who might be about, what might happen. I’m keeping her in with me . . .’

Dot looked concerned. ‘Cynth, you’ve got to get yourself together. You can’t just keep her in all the time. Where is she now, upstairs? It’s hardly fair on the child, is it? Not if she wants to see her pals. I know it was a bad do at the weekend but that were different – it was up the park. There’s no harm’ll come to her here.’

Eventually Cynthia gave in, especially when Joyce, who had crept down and was listening on the staircase, came running into the room.

‘Please, Mom – let me go with Auntie Dot – please!’

She watched the ever capable Dot lead Joyce out of the house, her heart pounding, hands sweating, but she clenched her fists and said nothing. Dot was right, she could hardly keep Joyce a prisoner in the house for evermore!

When they’d gone she sat down again, staring across the room, her face a blank. She lost track of how long she stayed sitting there.

As Dot led the two little girls out of Cynthia’s she almost ran slap bang into Iris Fox, who was crossing the road towards her. Dot felt her hackles rise as Iris’s ignorant features formed into their usual spiteful sneer.

‘Out with yer little darkie, I see?’ she said, nose in the air. ‘I’d’ve thought yer’d have more pride in yerself,
Mrs
Wiggins.’

She walked on by with a triumphant smirk. Dot’s temper was boiling but she never let herself rise to Iris’s taunts. She was never going to sink so low as to bandy words with that creature.

‘Come on, you two,’ she said tartly, ushering Joyce and Nancy through her front door. Luckily they were giggling together and hadn’t even noticed Iris. The two of them were soon playing together. Dot started on some vigorous cleaning to work off her temper.

But as she cleared the floor to give it a scrub, her thoughts still dwelt furiously on Iris Fox. Iris had always been the first to come out with mouthy comments about Nancy, whoever was in earshot, and Dot especially loathed her for that. It didn’t exactly take a genius to work out that Nancy wasn’t Charlie’s after all this time. Of course there was going to be gossip when she was first expecting and no husband in sight, but most people just accepted it and kept their traps shut, especially now Nancy was growing up. It was only Iris who would boom along the pavement so that everyone could hear, ‘Huh, look at that little piccanin! Touch of the tar brush there all right! Been with a black man, ’ave yer, bab?’ Her ignorant face would be screwed up with smug malice.

Dot held her head high and ignored Iris, and never said a word to anyone else either, however flaming nosy they were. Only Cynthia, her staunch friend, knew who Nancy’s father was – a musician from somewhere near Naples who had been busking his way round the country, looking for somewhere to settle. He’d been staying for the time being nearby, in the Italian Quarter in Duddesdon, but Dot had met him in the Bull Ring. The mutual attraction was immediate and he walked her all the way home, carrying her bags, his squeeze box slung on a strap over one shoulder. His name was Fausto – ‘Fah-oosto!’ he taught her to pronounce it – and in her loneliness, her aching body and spirits had fallen easily for his flashing smile, his jaunty songs and jovial, accented conversation. Secretly he spent two nights with her before he departed for London, never knowing he had left her carrying his child.

‘Fausto,’ she murmured, standing the chairs on the table, trying to pronounce it the way he had. A smile played round her lips. Christ, he was a handsome bloody chancer, she thought, remembering him fondly, despite it all. Swinging into her life then swinging right out again. He’d made everything a gruelling struggle. Yet she had no regrets. If she couldn’t have her Charlie back, at least she had a beautiful daughter to fill some of the loneliness. Bugger Iris Fox and her like – the silly cow was too thick even to tell a black man from an Ey-tie! And anyway, her Nance was the joy of her life now.

She heard the girls giggling upstairs and smiled to herself. But then the smile faded. Joycie was all right after all her adventures, that was for sure. But what about Cynth? She’d never seen her friend in such a low state. Surely she should have bucked up after the babby by now.

‘I’ll come and see yer again later, see you’re all right,’ she murmured, going to the scullery to fill a bucket of water. ‘Cos I don’t like the look of yer at the moment – that I don’t.’