Lonely Teardrops (2008) (30 page)

Harriet smiled at him, as if he were a small boy she needed to humour. Vinny might be a rogue, but he was fun. ‘Can we go out to play tomorrow instead? Today, there’s something far more important we need to talk about.’

He pretended to sulk. ‘What? What can be more important than a day out with me?’

‘I’m pregnant.’

He stared at her for a long moment as if he hadn’t quite heard correctly, and then his face lit up. ‘You’re having a baby? Are you serious?’

She nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

To Harriet’s utter astonishment he wrapped his arms about her and hugged her tight, raining kisses all over her face. ‘Aw, now isn’t that lovely? Don’t I just love kids? The more the merrier my ma used to say. And I could teach him to play the guitar, assuming he’s a boy of course.’

Harriet laughed with relief. She couldn’t believe how well he was taking it. It was astonishing. She’d expected shock, denial, even anger or resentment. Never for a moment had she anticipated this open-hearted joy. She could have cried with happiness, realising how tense she’d become over the last few weeks. ‘So today we need to start making plans.’

He kissed her delightful snub nose. ‘What sort of plans?’

‘For the baby. For us.’

‘We’ll call him Dylan. Didn’t I always want a son called Dylan? That’s a good Irish name, to be sure.’

‘You can call him whatever you like,’ Harriet told him fondly, quite light headed with relief. ‘The point is, I’m still under age, so we’ll have to get Joyce’s permission before we can marry. Even though she’s no longer my real mother, I suppose she’s still my legal guardian, or whatever they call it. I don’t expect her to object. She’ll be only too pleased to be rid of the responsibility.’

‘Responsibility? Hey, I don’t do all that stuff. I put you in charge of responsibility.’

Harriet tweaked his nose. ‘Of course I am. Don’t worry, you can leave everything safely in my hands. She’s
my
mother – er, stepmother, after all, so I’ll go and talk to her, shall I? Get her to sign the forms.’

‘Forms?’

Harriet felt her cheeks grow warm before his enquiring gaze. ‘I picked them up from the Register Office the other day. It’s OK, I’m not expecting you to go down on bended knee and propose, or anything vaguely romantic like that, but I thought I’d save you the trouble since you’re so busy with the band. I just need to get Joyce to sign them, then we can have a quick and easy little ceremony. No fuss, no bother.’

‘What I want is a quick and easy bit of the other,’ he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with a thoroughness that excited her, as it seemed to be proof of his love. ‘That’s enough talk about responsibility, let’s just celebrate our baby.’

Vinny wanted her, and her child, so what else mattered?

He’d surprised her by his warm response, but then he was ever unpredictable. He always seemed so different when they were making love, as if his thoughts were only for her, his edginess quite dissolved. He stopped being cynical and sarcastic and became sweetly loving. Just the sensual way he kissed her caused Harriet to believe that, deep down he cared for her very much indeed, for all he might pretend otherwise.

She loved the hard pressure of his mouth, the curl of his tongue against hers and the feather-light touch of his fingers as they slid over her upper thighs to that secret part of her.

‘Let’s make music,’ he murmured, in that teasing way of his.

‘Oh, yes please, don’t ever stop,’ she begged, groaning with delight as shafts of pleasure rippled through her.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he murmured, drawing off the sexy black lace nightdress he’d bought for her so he could kiss and suckle her nipples. ‘I’m going all the way, sweetie, right to the top.’

Harriet giggled, knowing he was referring to his career, but also hoping that he was secretly telling her that he’d take her with him all the way too.

She climbed astride him, pushing herself on to him, moving slowly at first, revelling in her power. Then he rolled her over, pulled her beneath him and brought her to such a height of passion, Harriet didn’t care what happened to her, as she fell once more under his spell.

Moments later, instead of falling asleep as he was inclined to do after one of their love-making sessions, he leapt from the bed and began pulling on jeans and a sweater. His back was turned towards her as Harriet chattered on about the sort of dress she might wear for the wedding, too busy making plans to notice his slight withdrawal.

‘We might have a bit of a bash afterwards, what do you think? Nothing too expensive, and we can think about serious stuff like babies and houses later.’

Vinny picked up his guitar as he glanced at her, his expression quite blank. ‘You know I don’t care for serious, babe. Why do we have to be
serious
?’

‘It’s what grown-ups do, Vinny.’

‘That’s OK then. You be the grown-up. I’m not, nor ever intend to be. You do what you like, babe. I’m off to the Belle Vue Speedway with the lads.’

‘Vinny ...’ but he’d gone, guitar in hand.
 

Harriet shook her head in fond despair. What a child he was, but at least he’d taken the news so much better than she’d expected. All she had to do now was speak to Joyce.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘By heck, it must be a day for bad pennies turning up.’

Harriet had chosen lunch time to call, knowing the salon would be closed for an hour, thereby avoiding an audience to their conversation.

She’d wasted no time strolling round the market, much as she might have wished to catch up with old friends. Champion Street looked much the same as ever on this cold March day, grubby awnings flapping in a chill wind; pinched-faced customers arguing over the price of fish. The steaming, appetising aroma of Benny’s hot potato cart wafted tantalising across to her. She’d maybe buy one later, when she was done. A small child was having a tantrum because his mother refused to buy him a plastic windmill that whizzed round when you blew on it. Harriet felt a warm glow inside to think she’d soon be a mum too, with a small child of her own. Oh, and wouldn’t she give it all the love her own so-called mother had always denied her?

She arrived at the salon just as Joyce was dropping the latch on the front door, judging her moment perfectly in case she should decide to go off and have dinner with Joe in Belle’s café. Her greeting, if that’s what you could call it, was as cold and unwelcoming as ever.

‘Is that what I am then, a bad penny? Well, it’s good to see you too, Joyce. You don’t mind if I call you that, so that we’re both clear where we stand. And don’t fret, I haven’t come home for good. I won’t take up more than a moment of your time.’

‘You’d best come in then, before Winnie sees you and comes dashing over, ear lugs flapping.’

Joyce didn’t take her upstairs, or offer any sort of refreshment. She swivelled a hair dryer out of the way and indicated Harriet should sit on one of the salon chairs.

Harriet looked round. ‘Where’s Nan? I’d like to see her while I’m here.’

‘She’s off out gallivanting with Irma Southworth. She might not be back till this evening.’

Harriet felt a burst of disappointment. What bad luck! She’d been so looking forward to seeing her grandmother. But this had been a rather spur-of-the-moment decision, not quite knowing when she’d find the courage to tell Vinny about the baby, so she hadn’t mentioned in her latest letter that she might pop over.

‘Not having her cards read again, is she? Are you sure she won’t be back before this evening, or I could go over to Irma’s and ...’

‘I’ve told you, they’re both out for the day, so it’s not worth your while waiting.’

Irma had taken Rose to the doctor, but not for the world did Joyce intend to tell Harriet that. Like it or not Irma was having some success with her regime of exercises, which meant that Rose was on the mend. She might soon be free of that blasted wheelchair and the last thing Joyce wanted was to have Stan’s daughter back home, fussing over her precious nan and reminding her of how she’d messed up her life. She’d quite changed her mind on that score.

‘I haven’t got all day so say whatever you’ve come to say, and get it over with. If it’s money you’re wanting ...’

‘No, I don’t want your money. Have you seen Steve recently?’ Harriet asked, again putting off the evil moment. She hadn’t seen Steve in weeks, not since the night he’d brought her to visit Nan, and that was before Christmas. Maybe he’d got the message at last to leave her alone. Even so, she thought about him a great deal and wanted to know that he was well.

‘He’s doing okay at that college I believe, according to the weekly bulletins issued by that snobby mother of his.’

‘Does he ever ask about me?’

Joyce was thinking of her dinner going cold upstairs and impatiently shook her head. She stood ramrod-straight, arms folded, making it all too clear she was not in the mood for casual conversation.

She looked thinner than ever, Harriet thought. Her hair seemed darker, almost black, and the plucked eyebrows more finely drawn, the mouth tighter and deeply puckered.

‘Well, the fact is ...’ Harriet took a breath ‘... I’m getting married.’

Joyce stared at her without comprehension for a moment. ‘Married? But you’re only ... Oh, my God! You’re pregnant!’ Anger flooded through her, clouding her vision, and her heart started to thump. Joyce could see Harriet’s mouth moving, knew she was still talking but the sound of the girl’s voice was nothing more than a roaring in her ears.

All these years of carefully nurturing an aura of respectability seemed to come crashing down around her. She’d dragged herself up from the pits of Ancoats despite the shame of a dustman for a father, overcome a rape with no help from anyone, a straying husband and having this cuckoo child foisted upon her. She’d built herself a fine business, was respected on this market. Everyone came to Joyce’s to have their hair done. And not a word of scandal had ever crept out in all the years she’d been here. Now this little madam, this trollop, had brought shame upon them all.
 

Joyce could feel herself trembling with rage, was having difficulty keeping her hand from slapping the little slattern, and her voice shook as she finally found her voice. ‘Why am I not surprised? I always said there was bad blood in you, girl. Like mother, like daughter.’
 

‘Are you going to tell me who she is - or rather was - this mother of mine?’

‘What the hangment does it matter now, after all this time? She was a nobody, a bit of skirt or fluff Stan picked up. A slut, exactly like you.’

Harriet bristled, inwardly chiding herself to remain calm. ‘I’ve not intention of entering into a slanging match with you, Joyce. I just brought these.’ Handing over the forms she briefly explained how, as her guardian, her stepmother’s signature was necessary since she was still under age. Joyce snatched up the pen and signed in a fury, without blinking, without even asking his name.

‘Thank goodness he’s prepared to marry you. Make sure it’s quick. How far gone are you?’

‘Not even three months yet. Don’t you want to know who I’m marrying?’

Joyce’s upper lip curled. ‘If it’s that Vinny Turner, you’ll rue the day. He’ll bring you nowt but misery, which pleases me greatly. Why should
you
be happy? I never was with your father.’

Harriet got up, anxious now to be gone. She’d considered calling on a few friends, once this difficult interview was over, but now she just longed to dash back to Vinny.

‘Tell Nan I’m sorry to have missed her this time, but I’ll call again soon. And I’ll bring my husband with me.’ Then she walked out without a backward glance.

Joyce slammed the door after her, marched upstairs and picked up her mug of cold tea, then flung it in the sink where it smashed into a dozen pieces.
 

Harriet had hardly turned the corner of Champion Street when there was another knock on the salon door. Joyce, in no mood to be interrupted yet again stamped down the stairs and flung it open.

‘Yes?’ she snapped, to her surprise finding Steve Blackstock kicking his heels on the doorstep, looking all hangdog with his hands in his pockets. ‘Flaming ‘arry, what a morning I’m having. I thought you were away at college?’

‘I’m home for the weekend, so I thought I’d just pop over.’

‘What for this time?’ Joyce groaned. ‘You’re never away.’

‘I was wondering if you’d heard anything of Harriet lately?’ Steve asked, as politely as he could manage. He didn’t much care for Joyce, but despite Harriet’s earnest pleadings that he forget about her, he simply wasn’t capable of doing so. He’d kept away for as long as he could, but some instinct, some need in him, always brought him back here in the end.

‘If you’ve got an address I’d like to know what it is, so’s I can write to her. Just to keep in touch, since we’re such old friends.’

‘I haven’t the first idea where she lives. I should think, since she’s with that Vinny Turner, she’s barely in one place long enough to wash her socks,’ Joyce snapped. ‘Anyroad, you’ve just missed her.’

Steve looked aghast. ‘Missed her, why, has she been here?’

Joyce glanced up the street, as if she half expected to see Harriet still walking along it. Steve did the same. ‘She was here just now. Only just this minute gone.’