by Chris Curran
‘I’m sorry, Kay. He seemed so much better when I spoke to him. I thought you’d be all right.’
‘Me too, but I could tell something was worrying him. And it just got worse and worse. Then yesterday he left me a note saying I’d be better off without him, which he knows is ridiculous.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Back to Mum and Dad in Cornwall for a bit, I suppose. Then find some kind of job.’ Those wretched pips again and the last of Joycie’s pennies rattling in. ‘But that’s not why you’re ringing me, is it?’ Kay continued.
‘No, I need to ask you something more about Dad and Dennis.’ She thought she heard Kay sigh, but there was no time to waste. ‘Dennis said it was love at first sight for him. When did you first suspect there was something between them?’
A definite sigh. ‘I really don’t know, it’s all so long ago.’
‘Well, did the three of you ever go out together in those early days? After the show maybe?’
‘I honestly can’t remember.’ Joycie could almost hear the but so she bit her lip and stayed silent. After a few seconds Kay said, ‘I’m sure we would have jumped at the chance, though. We both fancied Charlie at first.’
‘So there could have been gossip backstage?’
‘Not about Charlie and me. That was never a goer, but Dennis was besotted, and it was obvious to me that your dad had a thing for him too, so I’m pretty sure other people in the show must have noticed. But Charlie told Dennis he was married and planned to stay that way.’
‘And Dennis accepted it?’
‘He had to. Wasn’t happy about it, of course, and …’
‘What?’
‘Well at one stage I seem to remember he talked about going to see your mum; to ask her to give Charlie up.’
Joycie’s heart gave a thump. ‘And did he?’
‘When I told him not to be stupid he laughed it off, said he was joking, but who knows.’
Joycie was aware that her money must be running out. ‘Thank you, Kay. When you do see Dennis will you ask him to call me?’
The pips were going again and Joycie had no more coins, but she heard Kay say, ‘I don’t think that’s going to be any time soon. If he’s run away from me and from the act something must really have spooked him.’
Chapter Eighteen
It had been hot in the studio, but it was a lovely evening, and as they drove home with the top of the Morgan down Joycie leaned back on her seat and closed her eyes, letting the breeze ripple over her face and through her hair. But it didn’t help to calm her. Her brain was buzzing, and she sat up and told Marcus about the phone call to Kay.
‘Kay says Dennis didn’t try to hide the fact that he had fallen for Dad and that even though Dad insisted he was married and loved Mum it was obvious he was attracted to Dennis as well.’
‘Which means your mum could have seen it too.’
‘I suppose so.’
After a few moments Marcus said, ‘So Kay thinks Dennis has run away because something scared him?’
‘Yes, and I’m wondering if Bill put the frighteners on him. I mean, he followed me to Clacton so he probably saw me with Dennis.’
‘But why would he threaten Dennis?’
‘To stop him talking to me again. Telling me whatever it is they’re so keen to keep quiet.’
‘You think Dennis might know something important?’
Joycie swallowed and raked at her hair. If so then it was her fault that he was terrified and Kay’s life and career were in ruins. ‘I can’t think of any other explanation, can you?’
‘Yes, I can think of plenty.’
Marcus stopped at a zebra crossing for a woman with a pram. She glanced at them and Joycie saw recognition spark in her eyes. The woman slowed to a stop. A car on the opposite side hooted and she jumped and moved away, still looking back at them. Marcus gave a little chuckle. ‘Well she’s got something to tell the old man when she gets home.’
Joycie didn’t feel like laughing. ‘What were you going to say about Dennis?’
‘Only that there could be any number of reasons why he might have wanted to disappear. After all, you don’t really know anything about him.’
***
Hastings – September 1953
Joycie is holding a pillow to her face to muffle the sound of her crying. She had been dreaming about Mum, thinking she was still with them and they were all happy, but when she woke she remembered.
It’s almost exactly a month since her mum went missing, and Joycie knows she won’t be coming back. Dad doesn’t talk about her much, nor does anyone else when Joycie is around, but she can guess what they’re saying. They all think Mum has gone off with her fancy man. Joycie isn’t a baby and she understands what that means, but she doesn’t believe it. Mum would never have left without her.
There’s a noise coming through the wall from the other bedroom, what she still thinks of as Mum and Dad’s room, and as she puts down the pillow and listens she hears Dad moving about and mumbling. She knows he hasn’t been sleeping well and he stayed up late last night. Those two singers from the show, The Bluebirds, came to see him and they sat drinking together for ages. Were still there when Dad sent her to bed.
Joycie likes them. Kay is so pretty and Dennis is handsome and they are a lot younger than the other acts in the show. They brought Joycie some sweets and a bottle of lemonade so she could have a drink with them. Dennis even offered her a sip of his whisky, but Dad said, ‘No,’ and Kay smacked Dennis on the arm and told him not to be wicked. When Kay laughed it was almost like singing, and Joycie felt happy for the first time in ages. Then Dad told Joycie it was time for her to go to bed, and Kay said they should be off too. But Joycie heard them talking until she fell asleep.
Maybe it’s because of Kay and Dennis that Joycie had that happy dream. But now she feels bad that she forgot about Mum going away even in her dreams.
It sounds like Dad is crying and she wants to go to him. If she does he might talk to her: tell her everything about what really happened to Mum. But the thought of that makes her scared and she huddles down into the warm bed trying not to hear Dad.
After a while his crying gets softer and she decides to make them both some tea. That will cheer them up and they won’t need to talk about anything. Her feet are warm, but the lino beside her bed is cool and a little shiver goes through her.
At her own door she freezes because she can hear two voices and for a tiny moment her heart seems to jump up into her throat. But it isn’t Mum; it’s a man’s voice. Surely Kay and Dennis can’t still be here – and if they are then why are they in Dad’s bedroom?
His door is closed and Joycie presses her ear against it. She knows it’s wrong to be listening at the door like this, but she stays where she is until she’s so cold her knees are shaking.
Dad is letting out little sobs and someone else is muttering to him. It’s Dennis. They keep talking and Dad’s sobs slowly die away. She doesn’t hear a lady’s voice, so Kay must have gone home and Dennis has stayed because he could see Dad was upset.
Then the voices stop and there are only rustling sounds that go on and on. And after a while Joycie creeps back to her own room and lies awake listening to the creak of the bed next door.
***
Joycie was no cook, but she could make a good omelette so she told Marcus she would do the dinner if he’d take Fatty for her walk. Although it was still light outside she pulled the kitchen curtains. They were ugly things covered in alternating rows of huge orange onions and scarlet tomatoes. Marcus’s mother had chosen them, presumably to give the kitchen a Continental atmosphere. Joycie and Marcus never used to close them, but since Fatty’s disappearance Joycie was far too aware of the long garden looming outside the windows.
While she mixed the eggs and grated some cheese she tried not to think about Dennis, but it was impossible. What reason did he have to be scared? Marcus was right that she didn’t know him at all well. So it was quite possible that
his running away had nothing to do with her visit. But surely it was too much of a coincidence.
Fatty burst through the front door, with Marcus in tow, and charged into the kitchen; her big red tongue dangling out of the side of her mouth; eyes bright at the thought of food. Joycie threw down the grater – what was the point of all this? Every question just led to more confusion and she seemed to be getting further and further away from finding out what had happened to her mum. And to her dad for that matter.
She jerked open the cupboard, grabbed a can of dog food, and cursed as the hopeless can opener did its usual stop/start act. Pushing the tin towards Marcus, she said, ‘Can you open this?’
He hummed to himself as he tipped the pungent meat into Fatty’s dish and refreshed her water bowl. ‘There you are, girl.’ His cheeriness and Fatty’s delight as she wagged her tail and slobbered down her dinner made Joycie smile despite herself.
When she carried the plates in and put them on the coffee table she pushed all the letters and playbills still scattered on the sofa back into the keepsake box. She’d shove it on top of the wardrobe when they’d eaten. Try to forget it all, at least for now. She and Marcus were going to New York next week and she would let herself enjoy that.
Marcus handed her a glass of red wine and plonked down beside her on the sofa. ‘This smells good,’ he said leaning back. He sat up again at once and pulled out a folded newspaper from behind one of the cushions, handing it to Joycie. It was the one from the keepsake box.
‘My mum must have put this in by mistake. There’s nothing about the show or any of the acts.’
A flash of memory and she saw her mum staring down at the table where Joycie had spread out the newspaper to catch the potato peelings. Another flash: peering from her bedroom door to hear her parents’ argument and seeing Mum folding and refolding the same paper. Then something she had hardly noticed at the time, but remembered now. As her mother walked away to shut herself in her bedroom she was putting something into the pocket on the front of her apron.
‘It must have been the paper.’
‘What?’
She had said it aloud and Marcus stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth.
‘Mum saw something in the newspaper that upset her and that’s why she kept it.’ She went to put her plate on the floor but Fatty, who had been lying on the rug by the fireplace, looked up and ambled over, her tail wagging. Marcus chuckled and held out his hand and Joycie passed the plate to him then spread the newspaper on the coffee table, pushing Fatty gently away. ‘And it must have been on the same page as the carnival pictures because that was where I’d opened it.’
One whole page was covered with snaps of the parade. The spectators lining the narrow streets as they watched the carnival floats and people in fancy dress. But the opposite page had ordinary news. And one item drew Joycie’s eye: a blurry photo of a smiling young girl. ‘This is it,’ she said. ‘It’s got to be.’ She read it aloud:
‘“The body of missing teenager, Sharon Madison, 16, was discovered on Thursday morning by fishermen at Rye. It is thought that she drowned. Sharon was last seen leaving her home in Hastings Old Town on Monday. Our reporter talked to her mother, Margaret Madison, 45. Mrs Madison said Sharon was a happy girl, but had been upset after a recent split from her boyfriend. ‘I couldn’t understand it, they were childhood sweethearts,’ she said.
When we talked to Nigel Godwin, 17, however, he claimed that the couple had parted over a week before. ‘Sharon found someone else and I hadn’t seen her since we broke up,’ he said.”’
I heard Mum tell my dad that the landlady had seen the three of you together,’ Joycie said. ‘I thought that might have been Dad and the two Bluebirds, but my first idea was that it was him with Sid and some girl.’ She tapped the paper. ‘So what if it was this Sharon?’
Marcus read through the story again. ‘She was sixteen, which would make her Sid’s type, but …’
‘And the girls used to hang about at the stage door to see Dad. If Sid saw someone he fancied they used to go out together after the show, but Dad would make himself scarce before the end of the evening.’
‘So if this Sharon killed herself, you’re thinking it could have been because she was upset when it turned out your dad wasn’t interested?’
‘Or more likely because of what Sid did to her when Dad left them alone.’
‘He attacked her you mean?’
‘Something like that. After all it was only Dad turning up that saved me. And who knows what might have happened if a girl resisted him and there was no one to help her.’
Marcus put his hand on her forearm. ‘You do realize this is all complete guesswork?’
‘No, Marcus, it isn’t. Mum saw something on this page.’ She stabbed her finger at the print. ‘And there’s nothing else it could be. She said the landlady saw the three of you together. That had to be Dad, Sid, and this girl. Then she saw that the girl had drowned.’
‘Come on, Joycie, that’s a bit of a leap. Are you saying Sid was responsible? That he might even have murdered her, and your mum guessed?’
‘I don’t know what happened and I doubt Mum did either. She just thought Dad should admit they’d seen her around the time she died. I remember her saying if Dad didn’t do something about it she would. And if Sid knew what she intended …’
‘Now hang on there. You don’t even know if this Sharon met your Dad or Sid.’
‘But if I could find out that she’d been to the show …’
His grip tightened. ‘It would prove nothing. And even then it would get you no further.’
She pulled away to cross her arms tight over her chest. ‘If my mum was going to expose the connection with this girl it might explain her disappearance.’
Marcus took her shoulders and turned her to face him, his clear blue eyes gleaming. ‘You don’t really think that, do you?’
Joycie could feel herself flushing and she shook him off. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve got to try and find out. Go to Hastings and track down this Sharon’s family and the boyfriend.’
He took a slug of wine and slumped back on the sofa. ‘OK, if you think it’ll help let’s go down as soon as we get back from New York.’
‘No, I can’t wait that long. I want to go tomorrow.’
‘You know I’ve got to redo some of those pictures of the bridesmaids this weekend. I’ve no idea how long that might take.’ His voice was tight.
‘I’m fine to go on my own. It’ll stop me being bored while you’re busy.’ She tried to sound casual, suddenly knowing she didn’t want him to come with her. He was staring at her and she jumped up and took their plates into the kitchen. Her own food was untouched, a yellow congealing mess on the plate, and she slid it into the bin and began splashing water into the sink.
Marcus followed and stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Fatty sat beside him giving a little whimper. ‘You realize it might be a waste of time,’ Marcus said. ‘Or, worse, you might find out things you’d rather not know.’
She plunged her hands into the water. It was too hot and she had to add some cold to make it bearable, holding her fingers under the tap to cool them. She could feel Marcus’s eyes on her, but refused to turn and look at him. ‘I might find out that my dad killed Mum, you mean? Deep down, I’ve always realized that was possible and at least I’d finally know for sure. In some ways it would be a relief.’ Even as she said it she wondered if that was true.
‘And what will you do if it turns out there are no answers?’
‘I don’t know.’ She’d hardly eaten any of the omelette, but there was a sour eggy taste in her mouth. She swallowed down hard.
He came behind her, his arms around her waist, his breath fluttering a strand of hair against her cheek. ‘You shouldn’t go on your own. We can have a bit of a holiday when we get back from the States. Drive down there and afterwards take a tour along the coast.’
She was hot, pressed against the sink, trapped by his weight
and the warmth of him, but when she twisted round holding her wet hands out to each side he moved even closer. ‘I’ll book us into a nice hotel. Get a room with a huge bed and a bath big enough for two.’ He nuzzled her neck.
Dirty little tart, I know what you want.
She pushed him away, grabbing a tea towel and drying her hands. ‘I’d rather go tomorrow – get it over with.’
He stood, hands by his side, just looking at her. She knew she should put her arms around him, tell him she was sorry, that it wasn’t him she had pushed away, but she couldn’t speak. And she couldn’t bear to see his expression; to see how she had hurt him. She turned back to the washing up, hearing him move into the living room, Fatty’s claws rattling on the parquet floor as she followed him.
‘I’ll take the dog out. Might pop into the pub as well,’ he said. ‘No need to wait up.’
She finished the washing up. Don’t think about it, don’t think. Then dried the dishes and put them away and scrubbed the sink with Vim. After that she mopped the kitchen floor and tidied the living room, putting everything but the newspaper into the keepsake box. She would take the paper with her tomorrow.
She had hoped the work would help her to sleep, but once in bed it was still not dark outside and she lay staring at the ceiling trying not to think about anything. It seemed hours later when she heard Marcus come in, talking softly to Fatty then coming upstairs. She closed her eyes pretending to be asleep, but he carried on past her door and into his own bedroom.
Hastings – July 1965
Joycie threw her bag onto the hotel bed and walked over to look out along the busy promenade and towards the Old Town of Hastings where the local fishing boats were drawn up on the shingle. It was a warm and cloudy afternoon and the grey-blue sea looked like pleated silk frilled with white at the shoreline. She picked up the phone to call Marcus.
In the end she had slept later than she meant to and he had woken her with some tea. He sat on the bed, not looking at her as he spoke. ‘Are you still planning on the Hastings trip today?’
