Lonely Teardrops (2008) (14 page)

Silence, that was the answer. Joyce had no intention of allowing one drunken sailor to ruin her life. Who would believe in her innocence? What was she supposed to do, for goodness sake, report this silly young man, whose name she didn’t even know, to the police? And what would they do? Nothing! They’d tell her off for being so stupid as to let him. Men always stuck together, didn’t they?

Besides, they’d hardly be likely to blame a young serviceman for wanting a bit of fun before he went off to fight for his country. They’d remind her there was a war on, that tensions were running high, that whisky and fear can do funny things to a bloke, and that the young man might be dead next week.

Joyce made up her mind. If her friends didn’t know, if no one knew, then no one could ever turn round and accuse her of behaving like a tart.

A week or two later, to her great surprise and delight, she did get a letter from Stan, and Joyce knew instantly that she’d made the right decision. She ripped open the envelope and read the letter with fast beating heart. He was apologising for not having written sooner, explaining that he’d had a hard job finding out her address, and weren’t they a pair of daft clucks for not having thought of that. He’d been granted a few day’s leave following his initial training, and could they please meet up?

Joyce wrote back at once to say, yes please.

She was brought out of her reverie by the jingle of the doorbell. And as she hurried down to let her lover in, hungry for something other than food, Joyce thought how she deserved this bit of pleasure in her life. She loved it when she and Joe were able to enjoy a little privacy, making the most of these few hours alone to slip into bed together. It never took him long to get out of his working togs and between the sheets. Joe liked his bit of fun and was a generous lover, always making sure that Joyce was happy too.

And he made a point of remembering to keep her well provided with rum and coke, Joyce’s favourite tipple. They were soon cuddled up against the pillows, sipping their drinks contentedly together.

‘So poor Irma’s on her own again this evening?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Do you reckon she suspects?’

‘I’ve no idea. She wouldn’t dream of telling me what she thinks.’

‘Why, because she’s used to you and your women?’

‘Nay, Joyce love, you’re the only one for me.’

‘But not the first.’ It was not a question.

Joe took a long swallow of his drink. He was more a beer man himself, but went through with this little ritual of sipping a rum and coke after their love making session for Joyce’s benefit. It made him feel as if he were pleasing her. But where was the point in pretending she was the first? It was no secret that he had many notches on his belt, of which he was really quite proud. ‘Well, that might be true, love, but it’s best to be the last, isn’t it, rather than the first?’

‘Ooh, Joe, what a smarmy old softy you are. I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Joyce giggled, giving him a smacking kiss on his bristled cheek. ‘I could really fancy you, if I weren’t taken,’ she teased. ‘Ooh, silly me, what am I saying? I’m not taken, am I? I’m free as air, at last, which you seem to have failed to notice.’

‘Aye, course I’ve noticed. All the better for me that you are free.’ Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth Joe regretted them. He didn’t care to acknowledge how free Joyce was following her husband’s demise. Irma never complained about his little peccadilloes, and they rubbed along surprisingly well. She was a first rate cook, and he doubted Joyce would take such good care of him. He couldn’t quite see her keeping his overalls so dazzling white either, important on a food stall, or darning his favourite socks. So whatever had possessed him to say such a stupid thing? He was perfectly happy with the way things were, and had no wish to change the situation, which suited him well.
 

Joyce, however, took quite the opposite view. Now that her husband Stan had died, she was beginning to realise that maybe she wanted more than a quick tumble between the sheets. She had her future to think of, after all, and much as she enjoyed her little hairdressing business, she thought it was about time she relaxed a little more and let someone else look after her for a change.

‘All the better for me too,’ Joyce agreed. ‘You wouldn’t believe what I had to put up with, fetching and carrying for that man, suffering his black moods, trapped in this house.’

‘Eeh, I don’t know about trapped exactly, you and me seemed to get together quite regular, though of course nowhere near often enough,’ Joe hastily added, noting the glint in her glare.

‘Not to mention putting up with . . . other things which Stan foisted on me.’

Joe considered pretending not to understand, but then Joyce had dropped enough hints over these last months to give him a good picture of how things stood between herself and Harriet, so quietly remarked, ‘Well, at least the lass was able to share the load, once she got older.’

‘Huh, lot of use
she
was.’

Joyce genuinely believed that she’d sacrificed her life to Stan, that she’d spent much of it caring for a crippled husband, tied to the house in case he should need something. She conveniently ignored the fact that once Harriet was old enough, she had been the one who’d done the lion’s share of caring for her father.

Now, Joyce was entranced by the prospect of having the freedom to go out and about more and have a man take care of her for a change. It was an intoxicating thought, something she’d never been lucky enough to have. Joe Southworth featured largely in these plans for the future. He had a good business, wasn’t in bad shape for a man his age, and she was really quite fond of him.

‘So you will tell Irma soon then, now that we’re going to be spending more time together? In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to move in.’

‘Move in? What, here, with you?’ Joe’s eyes widened with shock.

‘That was the general idea. Then when the divorce comes through, we can tie the knot all legal and above board. What do you say?’

Joe was too stunned to speak for a moment. This was the last thing he’d expected. ‘Nay, I could never do that.’

‘Why not?’

He floundered a little, wondering what he could possibly say to avoid this looming hazard. ‘Live o’er t’brush together, you mean? Nay, what would folk think? And Irma would never stand for it.’

Joyce chuckled. ‘Irma would have no say in the matter, and folk would only think what a laddo you are. A real man!’ She slid her hands between his legs and fondled the hot hardness of him. ‘I’ve ample proof of that, haven’t I?’

Joe loved it when she made him out to be a real lothario, as it was rather how he saw himself. ‘Yeah, but aren’t you a bit overcrowded here already, what with your mother, and Grant, and that young lass, of course. Harriet, for one, wouldn’t care to have me take her father’s place.’

‘She’ll do as she’s told,’ Joyce snapped, pulling his trousers off him just as he’d started to pull them on.

Joe certainly had no difficulty in performing an encore which brought great pleasure to them both, but whether he wished to make these little overtures into a life-long symphony, he couldn’t quite decide. He avoided further discussion by taking Joyce off to the Dog and Duck for her second rum and coke, where conversation could move along less dangerous lines.

What he didn’t appreciate was that once Joyce Ashton had set her mind on something, she generally got her way. Although if she were honest, that trait hadn’t always served her well in the past.

Joyce had been so excited that Stan had got back in touch that she’d agreed he may call for her at the house. She even introduced him to Rose, who managed to behave herself for once. Her mother didn’t bring out any old baby photographs, nor did she make any embarrassing jokes or tell boring little anecdotes about her as a little girl. She just sat smiling as she watched her daughter with her young man, clearly pleased to see her happy.

Oh, and they were happy. Joyce was in love, no doubt about that. After a while they left the small house in Ducie Street and walked down by the canal, watching the barges carry cotton and other goods down to the docks. Joyce thought Stan looked so handsome in his sailor’s uniform. Then they sat on a bench and talked all evening, about nothing in particular, and of course kissed a good deal.

‘Can I see you again?’ he asked. ‘You know you’re very special to me, don’t you Joyce?’

‘Am I?’

‘I’ve been going frantic trying to find you. I didn’t even know your last name. I was asking all the chaps if they knew you, and nobody did.’

Joyce was incensed. ‘I should hope not, I’m a decent girl.’ She tried not to think of what had happened at the party.

 
‘You know what I mean. I needed to find you. I was growing desperate.’

She wanted to believe this was true, but couldn’t quite. He was so wonderful, so handsome. What on earth did he see in her?

‘In the end I asked Bill, and he asked Eileen and there you have it. I found you. She’s a star is Eileen. What would we do without her?

This was a comment that would return to haunt Joyce in later years.

She let him kiss her a great deal more, but Stan was careful to stop before passion overwhelmed him and took them too far. Joyce appreciated the fact that he respected her, even though she would quite happily have let things go a little further, if not all the way. She was anxious to give the impression that she was still a virgin, having successfully blocked that unpleasant incident at Eileen’s party from her mind.

This time when Stan returned to his ship, which was still in dock awaiting orders, he wrote to her regularly, at least three times a week, and Joyce wrote back every bit as assiduously. She was deeply in love, and heady with happiness.

That is, until it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen her period for a while. The next morning she threw up in the sink and Joyce realised with dread that she was pregnant.

Chapter Twelve

Rose spent the evening with Irma, as agreed, having her cards read. She’d been worrying a good deal about Harriet lately, about how much it was safe to tell her, and the idea had come to her that a bit of insight into the future might help her to decide the best way to tackle the problem.

Irma shuffled a pack of cards and spread it out on the table. ‘Choose three, please, then place them face down in a row.’

Rose did so. Picking up the first card Irma revealed a two of spades. She considered this in silence for a moment and then, smiling at Rose to reassure her, said, ‘ This simply tells me that you are torn between two choices. Would you say that’s how you feel?’

‘Oh, yes.’

Irma picked up the second card, and the smile faded.

Rose gulped. ‘Go on, tell me what it says.’

‘It’s the five of hearts which means that this choice, this problem, is bringing you great sorrow. Is that true?’

‘Oh, aye, that’s true,’ Rose agreed. ‘I’m at me wits’ end. That’s why I’m here. I were hoping you could help me decide what’s best to be done.’

Again Irma smiled at her kindly. ‘I can’t help at all, only the cards can do that. But I shall do my best to interpret what they have to say correctly. Now, let’s look at the third card. Ah, a ten of diamonds. Something to do with a letter?’

Rose frowned, looking puzzled. ‘Not that I know of. I know nowt about no letter. Is that it? Is that all you can tell me?’

‘This was but a first and very basic reading. Let’s try for a little more detail.’

This time when she shuffled and spread the deck, she asked Rose to choose ten cards, then Irma laid them out in the shape of a pyramid. ‘This top card tells us the major influence upon your problem. Ah, the six of hearts. Something to do with the past, something you’re holding on to. It could be a memory, a person you miss, or a secret, perhaps. Only you can work out the answer to that.’

Rose nodded, but said nothing, waiting for whatever came next.

Irma’s hand hovered over the next card. ‘This second row concerns the choices you have to make. Two of diamonds and a two of spades.’ Irma frowned. ‘These suits do not sit well together. The cards seem to suggest a difficult union is at the heart of the problem, and that there may be a parting of ways in the offing. Does that make any sense? Is someone in the family planning to leave?’

‘Eeh, I do hope not.’

Irma looked into Rose’s pale face and patted the other woman’s hand. ‘Let’s not worry too much till we’ve read the rest.’

The next row did indeed give some encouragement as Irma turned up a Jack between numbered cards. ‘This seems to indicate that a young person is getting support from two close companions.’

‘That’ll be our Harriet,’ Rose burst out, relieved that not all the news was bad. ‘She’s had a bit of a shock recently – but I’m certainly doing what I can for the lass, and so is young Steve, I’m sure.’ She pointed to the rest of the cards. ‘And this last row, what’s that all about?’

‘This may offer us some advice on how to resolve your dilemma, whatever it is. But I have to say that if this is a problem of Harriet’s you’re concerned with, then she will need to come for a separate reading. I can’t help without her being present. The cards are speaking only to you remember.’