by Annie Murray
‘Sid? You awake?’
There was no reply. She could hear her brother’s loud, healthy breathing. Climbing in with him, she and her dolly cuddled up against his warm, solid body, and eventually Em fell into a restless sleep.
Nine
To their surprise, a policeman called at the house the next morning. Dot was already round with them, trying to give comfort when Bob let him in.
Em crouched on the peg rug by the hearth hoping no one would notice she was there, while the young constable sat by the table, seeming very big. She stared at his huge black boots and his helmet, the strap tight under his fleshy chin. After a few moments he eased the helmet off, to reveal tufty brown hair.
‘No sign of her, then?’
‘Not a thing.’ Bob stayed standing, obviously ill at ease with a copper in his house. Anguish and frustration made his tone angry.
‘Please, find her for us,’ Cynthia begged. She was sitting at the table with Violet in her lap and she looked sickly and exhausted. Dot was beside her.
‘Our officers are searching—’
‘About bloody time!’ Bob exploded. He lit yet another cigarette, drawing on it in small, agitated puffs.
‘Is there anywhere you can think of, anywhere she might have gone – a relative, or a friend?’
‘D’you think we’re stupid or summat?’ Bob raged at him. ‘D’yer think if there were anywhere like that we wouldn’t’ve thought of looking ourselves? What the hell d’yer take us for, eh?’
‘Just try and stay calm.’ The young man stood up and put his helmet back on as if to re-establish authority. There were no more questions he could think of. ‘I’m sure she’ll turn up . . .’ He edged towards the door.
‘That’s what they all say,’ Bob said disgustedly.
Slamming the door behind the constable he shouted, ‘Fat lot of sodding good to anyone!’
Dot gave Cynthia a sympathetic look and Em drew her knees up tight, curling her toes. It frightened her, hearing Bob shouting like that. He was usually a mild man who deferred a lot to his wife. He even called Cynthia ‘Ma’ sometimes.
They were at their wits’ end all that Sunday morning, not knowing what to do. The only thing they could think of was to go out and search and search again.
‘We’ll stick together this time,’ Bob said. ‘I don’t want you running off, Cynth, I want you with me, me and the kids.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and walk round again. What else can we do?’
She was very quiet, dull-eyed, as if all her energy and hope had been burned out yesterday, and walked beside her husband as they took it in turns to push the pram. Em and Sid trailed along behind, not thinking of doing anything else. Church bells were ringing in the distance. The rain had gone and it had dawned a mellow September day, the sun lighting up the streets full of playing children. Surely Joyce must be somewhere among all of them?
But still they were disappointed. They returned again and again to the recreation ground, as they had done yesterday, not knowing where else to begin. There were no other relatives they could turn to. Bob’s brothers were far away. Cynthia’s sister, Olive, lived over in Kings Heath but they were certain it would never have occurred to Joyce to try and make her way there.
So where on earth could she have gone?
‘Oh God, Bob, d’yer think she’s there somewhere?’ Cynthia said, shuddering, as they stopped to rest on a bridge overlooking a narrow part of the cut. A sodden piece of sacking drifted by. ‘Could she’ve fallen in?’
‘No – shouldn’t think so,’ Bob said.
The canal’s murky water gave up no clues. And neither, that afternoon, did any of the streets and alleys. People who remembered them from the day before came up and asked if they were still looking and commiserated with them, but no one had seen Joyce or had any idea where she might be. Em saw the grave looks on their faces and sensed that they were beginning to think the worst. She didn’t like to imagine what the worst might mean.
The warm afternoon began to fade and none of them wanted to go home, to say that they were giving up, but then Violet began to cry again and Em and Sid were dragging their feet.
‘Come on, love,’ Bob said gently to Cynthia. ‘We can’t keep this up all night. We’ll have to go home sometime.’
To Em’s surprise her mother didn’t argue. It felt as if they’d worn out the same few streets with walking and looking and asking, then walking and looking again. They were at a loss as to what to do next.
‘We need some grub inside us, that’s what,’ Bob said.
They went home in silence, as if no one wanted to say what they all felt: that they’d given up and left Joyce because they didn’t know what else to do, or where to look, even though they would have moved heaven and earth if they’d known how.
Bob stoked up the range and Cynthia cooked eggs and fried bread and they had some leftover potatoes. Em tucked in, surprised at herself for being able to eat, but they’d been walking miles. The four of them sat round the table. Bob moved Joyce’s chair out of the way, and no one could think of anything to say. It all felt wrong. They didn’t put a light on, and it became hard to see as the light faded outside and the air filled inside with smoke from Bob’s cigarettes.
Eventually Cynthia said, ‘Best get the crocks washed, then.’ She dragged herself from her seat and went to the scullery to fill the kettle. After a moment they heard her crying uncontrollably. ‘Oh God. Oh God, help us! Just bring her back . . .’
Bob lit another Woodbine and the smell of smoke reached Em. She found it comforting. Cynthia quietened and came back into the room with the kettle. They sat listening to the whisper of it heating up.
‘I don’t want you kids playing out tonight.’ As if they would have even thought of it. Em didn’t want to play out. It seemed ages since she’d seen Katie, as if she was part of another life. She just wanted to be at home where it felt safe.
Cynthia was pouring water into a bowl on the table when there was a loud knock at the door and Dot’s voice crying urgently, ‘Cynth! Bob – quick!’
Em saw her mom and dad’s eyes meet through the steam.
Cynthia stayed by the table, seeming unable to move as Bob went to get the door. They all heard his exclamation of surprise.
‘This lady come down from Rupert Street with ’er, said they’d found ’er wandering and did I know who she was,’ Dot panted. ‘Said she was sure she came from Kenilworth Street but that were all she knew.’
All of them were at the door now, crowding round. Em pushed past her dad.
‘Joycie!’ she screamed, and ran to her sister, flinging her arms round her. ‘Joycie! Oh, Joycie, where’ve yer been?’
Sid came and joined in, shouting ‘Joycie!’ at the top of his voice, very excited.
Cynthia was weeping with relief and they all took it in turns to cuddle Joyce, who just looked confused and overcome, but otherwise perfectly all right.
‘Oh, thanks, Dot!’ Cynthia cried, the tears running down her cheeks. Dot was tearful as well. ‘Oh, my little Joycie – thank God!’
Bob wiped his eyes and lit the lamp and they all stood round staring at Joyce in wonder. Cynthia peered more closely.
‘What’s that you’re wearing? That’s not your dress, is it?’
Em noticed then that Joyce was dressed in a pretty, pale pink frock with a silky pink ribbon on the front, fastened in a bow.
‘Where d’you get that?’ Cynthia sounded harsh in her worry. ‘And where’s your yellow one?’
‘That lady give it me,’ were Joyce’s first words to them. ‘I dunno where my other one is.’
‘What lady?’ Bob demanded. ‘Where the hell’ve you been?’
Cynthia sat down and gently pulled her daughter to her. ‘What lady? Tell us, Joycie. Where’ve you been? You were out all night. We’ve been worried to death!’
Joyce looked at her with wide eyes. She seemed really disorientated.
‘I been with the lady. She took me
back to her house. And she give me a dolly only I ain’t got her any more, but I kept these.’
She raised her left hand and only then did they see that she was clutching a fistful of soft, silky ribbons in different pastel shades. Joyce pulled one of the ribbons from her fist, a pale yellow one, and handed it to Em, who held it, feeling how soft it was to stroke with her fingers. She knew she would tie it in Princess Lucy’s woolly hair.
Everyone stared, unable to make any sense of this.
‘I had a nice bed,’ Joyce volunteered. ‘Big and soft. And she gave me this dress. And taters – nice taters for my tea, with butter . . . And she gave me these . . .’ This time she opened her right hand, to disclose two shiny half-crowns.
Cynthia looked up at Bob, bewildered.
‘Where on earth’s she been?’
‘God knows.’ He shook his head. Already he looked more relaxed, the tightness gone from his body, and he gave a chuckle. ‘We can have a feast to celebrate on that! And maybe she’ll tell us in time. But she’s home and none the worse for it, ain’t she? That’s the main thing. Eh, Em?’
He winked, and ruffled Em’s hair. And Em felt she might burst with happiness.
Ten
‘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.
Eleven
‘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!
