by Mia Dolan
Marcie’s smile diminished. ‘Your choice.’
Her good feelings obviously had no place in Carla’s life, yet the woman looked nervous. She kept fidgeting with her bag, her clothes and her eyes seemed to wander all over the place.
She studied the heavily made-up face, discovering lines that she hadn’t seen there before. Carla, she realised, was a lot older than she’d thought on first meeting. Why the sudden rudeness? Did she think Marcie was going to throw her out again? She seemed very nervous this time.
‘Why exactly have you come?’
‘Because I was asked.’
‘I didn’t ask you.’
‘Sod this!’ Carla sprang to her feet. ‘I know when I’ve outstayed my welcome.’
She bundled her coat around her more tightly and clutched her black patent handbag.
‘Carla!’
It was Michael who intervened. ‘Carla, you’re here for a purpose. I think you should stay.’
Marcie was still smarting. ‘She can go if she likes. I don’t need her for my business. I can get along by myself …’
‘Marcie.’ Michael’s voice was firmly persuasive and when she read his eyes she saw only affection and consideration for her. ‘Marcie, I think you should listen to what Carla’s got to say.’
There was a pause as Rosa brought in a tray of tea and biscuits. Without a word or a glance at any of them, she retreated back into the kitchen where Garth was drawing a sketch that both amazed and alarmed her.
‘We lied,’ said Carla, her gaze firmly fixed into her teacup. ‘It wasn’t Allegra who put up the money for your business. It was me.’
Marcie was suddenly racked by a strange sensation she couldn’t quite understand. She felt a great urge to flee as though afraid of what she was about to hear. On the other hand her body felt heavy as though she’d been immersed in liquid marble.
Stay.
The voice she’d presumed to be her mother’s had left her alone for some time now. To hear it again – even that single word – took her by surprise.
‘You? Why?’
‘I was doing it on behalf of someone else. I …’ Carla didn’t seem to know how to begin.
‘Let me start the ball rolling,’ said Sally. And she did. She told Marcie about the cocktail party and the wife of a high court judge. She told her of Carla contacting her just after. Even before Carla began recounting the life of a homeless girl who’d met a certain Antonio Brooks, she knew who they were talking about.
‘My mother!’
Carla sighed. ‘Your mother spent most of her life in an orphanage. When she left there was nothing much for her. She got in with a bad crowd and trouble came with it. She was a bit of a bad girl …’ She smiled at the memory. ‘That’s why your dad was attracted to her. She did well for a girl from nowhere. Me and her …’ Again she smiled at the memory. ‘We were mates. Best mates. She had no mum and dad and I wished I didn’t have any. My old man used to get pissed out of his head and knock the stuffing out of us – me and me mum. I left home and hitched up with Mary, your mother. And we did alright. We had a nice little business going and had it made. I may as well be honest with you – we both worked the streets. Then along came Antonio Brooks and swept her off her feet.’
She shook her head. ‘Amazing. What a change in a girl! One minute she was a real hard case, and the next all she wanted from then on in life was to be a good mother and wife. Unfortunately things didn’t quite work out that way.’
Marcie listened in horror as Carla retold the story that had been told to her.
‘Your mother went up to London to buy you a special dress for your communion. It was to be a big surprise. She hadn’t even told your father. A mate of his had offered to drive her up. Unfortunately that “mate” …’ Carla spat the word contemptuously. ‘Well, he had his own agenda. The last thing she remembers is waking up in hospital with her clothes dishevelled and covered in blood. She couldn’t remember a thing. Not even her name. She had no option but to make a new life for herself. Not even having a name, she assumed the name of a dead child from off a grave stone.’
Marcie listened, with her heart feeling as though it were in her throat. She had an ugly suspicion who might have given her mother a lift to London. Alan Taylor had made a few offhand comments that made her suspect it was him. He’d been obsessed with her mother, just as he’d been obsessed with her.
However, he was dead and she wasn’t inclined to mention his part in this. Instead she asked, ‘The woman in the chauffeur-driven car. That was her?’
Carla nodded. ‘She couldn’t resist peeking at you and her granddaughter.’
‘Why didn’t she come herself?’
Carla’s gaze was now fixed on her hands. ‘Well! It was bit difficult. Her husband’s very posh. He don’t know nothing about her old life. It was only after marrying him that her memory began to come back. But she couldn’t tell him the truth. He’s old. Once he’s dead and gone, it’ll be a different matter.’
Not once had she met the frozen look on Marcie’s face.
‘Being curious, she’d already found out that Antonio had divorced her for desertion and remarried. But there was one thing she couldn’t find out from bits of legal paper; she couldn’t find out about you. She wanted to see you, but was afraid of how you’d be towards her. After all, she did desert you – in a manner of speaking.’
Marcie could barely control herself and certainly couldn’t speak. There were so many emotions whizzing around in her head; so many questions; so many things she wanted to say. Sentences kept forming and falling apart. Engrossed in what Carla had been saying, she hadn’t noticed Michael move away from the window. He was now standing behind her. She felt his hands resting reassuringly on her shoulders as if to say, I am here. Trust me.
One question, the most important question of all broke through all the others. ‘When can I see her?’
Carla locked her fingers around the teacup. ‘You can’t.’
All the high hopes Marcie had suddenly been entertaining came crashing down around her head.
Michael squeezed her shoulders.
Carla rushed on with her excuse – which to Marcie’s mind was all it ever could be. An excuse. Not a good reason.
‘Look, love, like I just told you, her husband is very much older than her and no longer in good health. He hasn’t got long to live. Look at it from her point of view: he’s at death’s door and she’s telling him she’s not who it says on the marriage certificate and that she was once a whore and married to a hood. Sorry, Marcie,’ she said on seeing Marcie’s wince, ‘but your old man is a hood. A crim! There’s no getting away from it. And she don’t want to tell him about her past. The poor old judge would have an instant heart attack. He’s been good to her. She can’t repay him like that. So if you’ll just wait a while …’
Somehow it didn’t seem a good enough excuse. Marcie couldn’t help thinking that Carla was a very good storyteller. This all seemed so far-fetched; she’d never imagined her mother as a whore and neither could she imagine her as a judge’s wife.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she snapped.
Carla’s features froze. Her eyes, the lids heavily embellished with purple eye shadow, flickered like the dying flames of a fire.
Finally recovering, Carla leaped to her feet and wrapped her coat around her as though the weather had suddenly turned freezing.
* * *
At the station she slipped away from Sally and made a phone call. The voice on the other end was firm and strong.
‘Did you tell her what I told you to tell her?’
‘Course I did,’ Carla answered. ‘I said exactly what you told me to say, that Leo is a high court judge and about to kick the bucket.’
The woman on the other end of the phone sighed deeply. Leo Kendal was far from being a high court judge, though he’d been sent down by a few in his time. He was old and dying from cancer. He was also a jealous man. Waiting was hard, but she would stand it. The end resul
t would be worth it.
Michael had driven Carla and Sally to the railway station but returned. Sally had made small talk. Carla had sat staring out of the window. She’d gone into the station ahead of Sally and he’d seen her entering a public phone box. He vaguely wondered who she’d phoned. There was no way of telling.
‘Do you think she’s telling the truth?’ Marcie asked him.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But leave it for now. Give it some time and we’ll make a few enquiries. Who knows what we might find out?’
The evening was bright and clear. The sunset was salmon pink against a background of glowing furnaces on the Isle of Grain.
They went for a drink in a local pub once Joanna was asleep.
‘Sorry, Michael. I’m not good company this evening.’ She pushed away the vodka and tonic. She couldn’t drink. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t swallow.
‘It’s understandable. In that case I’ll leave the question I wanted to ask you till another time.’
She fingered the glass as she thought about all that she’d heard. Her mother had been beaten and raped by a friend of her father. She could guess who that was so would never ask. She clearly remembered the way Alan Taylor used to look at her. She also recalled him mentioning her mother in glowing terms. That hadn’t been kindness glowing in his eyes. It had been lust. She’d never know for sure of course, unless she could ask her mother directly, but she had a feeling she was right.
Perhaps the evening would have stayed sombre if the door to the bar hadn’t crashed open. All eyes turned that way.
‘Marcie! Michael!’
Tony Brooks looked a right sight. His clothes were dishevelled; he had a two-day growth of stubble on his chin and a black eye fringed with purple and yellow.
He staggered over. He smelled musty, as though he’d been travelling or cooped up somewhere airless.
Michael got him a pint.
Tony rubbed at his chest.
Silently Marcie eyed the man who had taken a girl from the streets and married her. She had to admire him for that. He was hardly the most upright man on earth, but basically he had a kind heart. He could forgive the devil himself if he spun the right yarn.
He swigged deeply on the pint Michael had bought him.
Overcome with emotion, Marcie kissed him on the cheek.
He looked at her in amazement. ‘What was that for?’
She smiled. ‘For being you.’
‘That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there, Tony. Anyone I know?’
Her father grinned. ‘Not unless you’ve met my missus. Still, I gave as good as I got.’
Michael’s eyebrows rose. ‘You gave your missus a pasting?’
‘Not so much her, but that bloody Father O’Flanagan. They’re supposed to be celibate you know, being Catholic and all that. But I don’t think he was taking her bloody confession in the nuddy!’
He went on swigging his beer as though it was an everyday incident to catch a wife having it away with a Catholic priest.
Marcie and Michael exchanged looks and couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Later as they walked home, Marcie in higher spirits than at the pub, Michael turned her round to face the stars shining over the sea. The moon was full. It was almost as though the stars were touchable and the moon could be pulled down and bitten into – just like the cheese some said it was made from.
‘What are you up to?’
‘I said I wanted to ask you a question. Are you ready for me to ask it?’
She thought she knew the question he was going to ask but couldn’t understand why he had turned her to face the sea and the vast expanse of sky.
‘That’s eternity,’ he said as if reading her thoughts. ‘Did you know that the star pattern we see isn’t current, it’s from thousands of years ago?’
She laughed, still not understanding.
‘I want you to become Mrs Jones.’
Today had been momentous. He couldn’t possibly comprehend just how propitious the time for asking this question. All her life she’d felt motherless – and fatherless for much of the time. Tony Brooks had been in and out of prison her whole life. She had much to thank her grandmother for but she was determined that Joanna would never suffer like she had suffered. At least now she knew for sure her mother was alive. She ached to be able to see her but if that wasn’t to happen in the immediate future at least she had hope that it might one day.
And now she had Michael. Did she love him? She thought she did, perhaps not in the reckless first love way that she’d felt for Johnnie, but she wanted to be with him. She cared about him deeply. She also knew that first and last he would make a good father. She was certain of that.
It’s the right thing to do.
This time she knew who that voice belonged to. Like her grandmother she had lost the great love of her life, but he was still there, whispering in her ear and keeping watch over those he had loved.
She nodded. ‘A little voice tells me that it’s a good idea. So I’ll go with that.’
Michael folded her to him. His chest was warm against her back. His arms were protective.
‘Does this little voice also tell you that I love you?’
Marcie smiled. She didn’t need Johnnie to tell her that. ‘I love you too. You’ll be taking on two women.’
‘Yep.’
‘And then there’s my family.’
‘Yep.’
‘And Garth.’
‘Him too.’
Arms entwined they made their way back to Endeavour Terrace where they found Rosa Brooks sitting with a grin on her face.
‘I’ve made tea,’ she told them. ‘And a cake.’
‘Like for a celebration,’ added Garth, who’d already been cut a piece.
Michael looked surprised, but Marcie wasn’t. Garth was something different inside than he was outside. Her grandmother assessed people and drew her own conclusions and Marcie was beginning to do the same thing.
Marcie had her own reasons for marrying Michael and hoped the signs were good for their future. He was a good man. No matter what happened she was a stronger person than she had been. Besides that, she was no longer alone. She had Michael and knew he would always be there for her. And somewhere out there she had a mother who was watching out for her.
Acknowledgements
I have been so lucky to have a great team behind these books, the success of a book is reliant on many people all working towards the same goal. I am very aware that without the dedication of the team from Ebury we wouldn’t have had the success with Rock A Bye Baby, and be continuing that success with Anyone Who Had a Heart.
In particular I would like to thank: Hannah Telfer and Mel Yarker from Sales; Alex Young, Zeb Dare and Di Riley from Marketing; Hannah Robinson, Sarah Bennie and Ed Griffiths from Publicity. I am also very grateful to Publishing Director, Hannah MacDonald, for having such vision and to my editor Gillian Green for having the patience of a saint.
A special thanks as always to my family, who never seem surprised when I start doing something new.
Thanks also to Jeannie Johnson, who is my rock with these books.
And, last but so not least, a special thanks to the man in my life, Craig Darrock who never wavers, never complains, and always manages to lift me up when I fall down.
Ebury Press Fiction Footnotes
Turn the page for an interview with Mia Dolan
What was the inspiration for Anyone Who Had a Heart?
I enjoyed writing the story of Marcie in Rock A Bye Baby, so it was a natural progression of her story, and I understand the world that Marcie is living in, so it makes it easy to write.
Marcie in Anyone Who Had a Heart appears to be developing her own psychic gifts – will her skills become as developed as her grandmother’s?
Now that would be telling! You’ll have to wait and see. It may be that she only ever has ‘feelings’ or, in fact, her skills may develop way beyond her grandmother’s abilities.
Who is to say it’s only one voice? It could be a few spirits that come at different times of need, then again it could be the voice of her spirit guide …
Dream casting time: who do you picture playing Marcie in a film of your books?
Because she is still quite young, it would have to be a young actress, and the actress I think is amazing is Lacey Turner who plays Stacey Slater in EastEnders.
Which book has made you laugh? Which book has made you cry?
All Creatures Great and Small made me laugh, and writing my first book, The Gift, made me cry.
Which book would you never have on your bookshelf?
Anything to do with devil worship.
Is there a particular book or author that inspired you to be a writer?
I have loved reading since I was a young girl, so I don’t think I can say that just one author inspired me to want to write. I find I can lose myself in a good book – even more so than films even. This is what I hope I offer readers of my novels – the chance to lose yourself in someone else’s world for a while.
What is your favourite word?
My favourite word is ‘Craig’, as he is the man in my life. After twelve years on my own I never thought I would have another relationship, so it’s all quite magical.
Why do you write?
Because I enjoy telling a story, and, as mentioned before, I think reading is the best escapism. Both reading and coming up with ideas for my own books help me to get to sleep every night. I love the whole world of books and story telling.
Which book are you reading at the moment?
The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot.
What are you working on at the moment?
I have launched Paranormal SOS, which is an emergency service for people being terrorised by phenomena, and this takes me all over the UK with the team I work with.
I’m also working on a new Marcie story, Wishing and Hoping, which will be out next year.
