Lonely Teardrops (2008) (27 page)

And in their place stood her mother’s narrow divan bed, small wardrobe and chest of drawers, all brought downstairs with Joe’s help. It seemed almost bizarre that her lover, together with his wife, should be moving her invalid mother and all her possessions without even a by-your-leave. But then wasn’t that the story of Joyce’s life? When did she ever have control over anything? At least she’d put her foot down over that irritating child and banished her from the house. Long may she stay away.

Only days later, Irma and Rose were celebrating a good progress report from the doctor by happily eating a Knickerbocker Glory in Bertalones’ ice cream parlour. Papa Bertalone had put extra strawberry syrup over the peaches, strawberries, grapes and melon pieces and two scoops of ice cream, topped off with a swirl of cream, flaked almonds and a fan wafer. Irma licked her spoon in delight, savouring every delicious mouthful.

‘A little of what you fancy does you good, eh?’

Rose chuckled. She was feeling particularly buoyant as the morning outing had done her a world of good. Frustrated though she might be with the slowness of her progress, the doctor seemed pleased enough with her. ‘It’s thanks to you . . . Irma . . . I can … sit here … and eat this … wicked stuff.’ Her words were still slow, but made better sense these days.

Papa Bertalone was patiently listening to what she had to say too and scolded her gently, taking issue with her choice of words. ‘My Italian ice-a creama not wicked. It good for you, Rose. It full of the best ingredients, eggs, cream, and the finest fruit.’

‘I know, Marco, I wasn’t . . . complaining. Enjoy . . . every . . . mouthful. Happy! Out and about . . . even though…’ and she slapped the wheelchair with one hand as if to indicate she resented it.

‘We are happy to see you,’ he agreed, clapping his hands with pleasure. ‘But do not worry about the chair. My Gina spend many months in one after she have the polio, but look at her now, walking, working for Dena, and living life to the full.’

‘How is Gina?’

Papa Bertalone beamed. ‘She very happy. She is to be married soon, to Luc, the love of her life.’

‘A fine young man,’ Irma said. ‘I hope they’ll both be very happy.’

‘Then she will give me many grandchildren, many bambinos.’

‘Grand,’ Rose agreed. ‘Grandchildren can … bring problems, Marco.’

Rose’s expression grew serious as she thought of her own. She was quite certain young Grant was up to no good. Rose could see it in the sly way he watched her sometimes, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what the problem was. As for Harriet … The old woman sighed, and shook her head. ‘Wish my lass were here. I… miss her.’

Seeing that he had upset his customer, Papa Bertalone dashed off to bring them both an extra cherry to pop on the top of their ice creams, which made Rose smile through her tears. Irma put her plump arms about her friend and hugged her. ‘She’ll be home soon, I’m sure of it.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Was Steve’s assessment of Vinny right? This thought tormented Harriet in the days following their encounter. Surely not. It might be true that he was a little on the wild side, but wrong to imply he treated her badly or had no heart. He cared about his family, for one thing. Harriet knew he sent money home most weeks to his younger brothers and sister because she bought the postal orders from the Post Office for him.
 

Even so, Harriet was aware that she really shouldn’t be getting involved with the likes of Vinny Turner yet couldn’t seem able to resist him. He was lovely, utterly gorgeous, the best looking of the group. And he made her feel special. It was so good to know that somebody, at least, cared for her, after all she’d been through.

And the way he made love to her was exciting and thrilling.

There was something in the way he touched her that was forever her undoing. He only had to look at her and she would melt inside. Then, everything Nan had ever told her about keeping herself decent and respectable would crumble to dust.

Harriet was running herself a bath, crumbling in a sweetly scented bath cube so that she’d smell nice for him. It was past eleven and he still hadn’t returned from tonight’s gig. No doubt he’d be out with the lads celebrating, knocking back a few beers. Harriet had chosen to return to the hotel because of a headache but he’d promised her faithfully that he wouldn’t be too late.

‘You can keep the bed warm for me, babe,’ he smirked with a suggestive little wink.

‘Don’t I always?’

Harriet smiled as she recalled the evidence of jealousy when he’d spotted her engrossed in conversation with Steve.

‘You don’t still fancy Stevey boy, do you?’ he’d asked, making a beeline for her the minute Steve had left.

‘Don’t be daft. I’m with you now, only I had to be polite and talk to him, didn’t I, since he’d come all this way to see the band?’

‘Can’t think why he would. I expect it was you he was really wanting to see.’

‘Not jealous, are you?’ Harriet had teased, widening her eyes appealingly.

‘You’re a free spirit, girl. I put no chains on you,’ he casually responded, and with a shrug of his shoulders he’d leapt back on stage for the next number. It wasn’t quite the answer she’d hoped for but Harriet knew it was only bluff. Vinny liked to pretend he didn’t care about anything or anyone, which was how he coped with the difficulties in his own life.

Yet when they were alone he would tell her she provided the oil which kept his motor running, or she was the butter on his bread, and they’d fall about laughing. He had such a funny way with words, all a cover to pretend he didn’t care.

No, Steve was entirely wrong about him. Vinny might have problems but he was decent and kind inside, warm and loving. This was her life now, with Vinny.

Of course there were aspects to his character she really didn’t care for, Harriet thought as she lay back with a sigh in the lemon-scented water. Privately, she considered that he drank too much. He often came back the worse for drink after a night out with the lads, and he really shouldn’t smoke those weeds. She absolutely refused to share one of the smelly cigarettes with him now. The woozy feeling no longer appealed as they made her feel slightly sick and out of control. Harriet would watch with some concern as he smoked one after the other and then be comatose for hours, sometimes days, often missing any number of rehearsals.

On one occasion he actually missed a gig, and was furious with her, blaming Harriet for not waking him up in time.

‘I tried,’ Harriet told him, mortified that he should consider it was her fault.

Perverse as ever, he’d laughed, pretending he was only worn out because her demands upon him were so insatiable, and Harriet too had fallen into a fit of giggles, blushing with embarrassment.

He was such fun to be with. What did it matter if he missed the odd show? Vinny didn’t have anyone to answer to but himself. Neither did she.
 
She no longer had Joyce nagging her, manufacturing an interest in her education or pretending to care about her career prospects which was all show put on simply for the sake of appearances.

Not for the world would Harriet attempt to lecture Vinny on how to behave. They’d both opted for freedom, and she respected his right to it. It wasn’t as if she was in love with him, or anything silly and sentimental like that, so why should it matter to her what he got up to? She was simply grateful that he had at least included her in this adventure.

‘We’re just having a bit of fun,’ she told herself firmly. ‘It’s not in the least bit important. I don’t care what he does.’

Yet when he was late back, like tonight, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the clock.

Harriet carefully shaved her legs as she lay soaking herself in the foaming hot water. Vinny hated girls with hairy legs, preferring them to be smooth and silky. He was always complimenting her on the softness of her skin, and the sweet scent of her. She felt a warm glow of anticipation inside as she patted herself dry and pulled on a pair of baby doll pyjamas, an outfit he adored. He’d be back soon, and she meant to be wide awake, waiting for him.

Even if there were times, like now, when he would sometimes neglect her, leaving her kicking her heels with nothing to do while he and the lads beat out music all day, or sat up half the night drinking and smoking, Harriet judged it wise to make no comment. Maybe she was afraid of being told to pack her bags and leave, as her own mother – Joyce - had done. Much as she might want him to be with her, Harriet accepted this behaviour as an essential part of his nature, and of the world he was involved with.

She lay in bed in the shabby hotel room trying to concentrate on a romantic serial in
Woman’s Own
, fighting tiredness to keep her eyes open so that she’d be alert and ready for love when he finally appeared. But sleep overcame her in the end, and when she woke it was to find sun streaming through the window, and he still wasn’t back.

Harriet felt a keen disappointment but not for the world would she complain when he finally did show. No doubt he’d got caught up in a jam session, or the lads were involved in composing a new number and he’d quite forgotten the time. Why would she expect him to give up any of that just for her? Harriet was determined to go along with whatever Vinny wanted. Wasn’t she content simply to be a part of his life?

At the very next gig there he was again, waiting for her, just as if she’d never ordered him to forget her, or told him off for following her and playing guardian over her well-being. If Steve had come to lecture her yet again she’d give him what for. Harriet marched right over and demanded to know what the hell he was playing at. ‘Are you following me, Steve Blackstock?’

‘Hello, Harriet, you’re looking well.’

‘Don’t try to soft soap me. Why are you here? Don’t tell me you’ve just developed a passion for rock ‘n’ roll. Or is this yet another apology, because if so. . . ’

‘Actually no, it isn’t.’ Steve took his hands out of his pockets to hold her gently by the shoulders as he faced her with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. ‘There’s something I meant to tell you last time, and because we had words . . .’

‘A flaming quarrel, you mean - yet again.’ She wanted to shake his hands away but that would seem petty, and Harriet suddenly felt very safe and warm being held by Steve again.

Steve ignored the remark, and his face now held a sadness that filled her with a sudden fear. His next words confirmed it. ‘I meant to tell you about Rose. Your nan’s not well. I thought you’d want to know.’

Harriet looked at him in dismay, all anger draining from her. ‘Nan’s ill?’

‘She’s had a stroke. It’s OK, don’t panic. She’s being well looked after by Irma Southworth.’

‘Where?’

‘At yours, where else? Irma calls in countless times during the day to see to her, and she’s sleeping there too, I believe, so she can be on hand to look after her during the night.’

Had this news not been so very serious Harriet would have burst out laughing at the thought of Irma and Joyce sharing a house. It seemed ironic, in the circumstances. But she was already searching for her coat. ‘I must see her. Will you come with me?’

‘I’ve got my car outside, I’ll give you a lift.’

Harriet glanced across at Vinny and the lads, strumming away, Shelley singing for all she worth. She could hardly interrupt them in mid-flow, so she left a message for them with the barman and gladly accepted Steve’s offer.

Joyce was as unwelcoming as ever. ‘And what ill wind has blown you in?’ was her opening remark as she opened the door to find Harriet and Steve Blackstock standing on her doorstep.

‘I’ve just heard that Nan is ill. Why was it left to Steve to let me know?’

Joyce looked down her nose at her stepdaughter. ‘How did we know where you were? You could be anywhere. Might not even have been in Manchester.’

‘Of course I was still in Manchester, and it wouldn’t have been difficult to find me, if you really wanted to. An announcement in the paper might have done the trick, for a start.’
 

Harriet turned to Steve and thanked him for the lift. They’d said little to each other in the car as he’d driven her home, beyond expressing their mutual concern over Rose. But there’d been an awkwardness between them, one which seemed impossible to bridge. Too many wrong words, too much bad feeling, and Harriet could still sense the disapproval emanating from him which was almost unbearable. They’d given up on the stilted conversation and her thoughts had turned inward as she became pre-occupied with her own worries over her grandmother. Steve had kept his eyes on the road. Now she tried to smile, put a hand on his arm to show her appreciation.

‘Will you be wanting a lift back later?’ he asked. ‘Or will you be staying overnight?’

‘She’s not staying here,’ Joyce said, her tone as sharp as ever. ‘We’ve no spare bed now Irma is resident.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you out,’ Harriet coolly remarked. ‘Thanks, Steve, I’d appreciate a lift back, if you don’t mind.’

He was secretly delighted. ‘No trouble. I’ll pick you up in about an hour, will that be enough time, or do you need longer?’

‘That’ll be fine.’

As he strode away, Joyce reluctantly opened the door wider and allowed Harriet inside. ‘There’s no need for you to be here at all. We’re managing fine without you.’