A shiver ran down her spine at the memory. If she’d thrown her erstwhile friend out, instead of attempting go along with Stan’s wishes, then maybe everything would have been different. But then if Eileen had never invited Joyce to that party in the first place, she would not have suffered that assault. Which of them should bear the blame for the disaster that had overtaken them, or were they both equally responsible?
Joyce had lost patience in the end, had no intention of trying to please him any further. In a fit of jealous rage, she’d embarked upon a fling of her own, with an old friend of hers, Frankie Morris, if only to prove she didn’t give a damn what Stan did. A bit of tit for tat, and why not? Foolishly, in the throes of passion and wanting to put Stan in as bad a light as possible, Joyce told Frankie the whole sorry tale from start to finish, and was astonished when he claimed to know the drunken sailor responsible for ravishing her.
‘I reckon it were our Pat. He’s a right boyo is my young brother. Can’t hold his whisky, and I know he were at that party of Eileen’s.’
Joyce was annoyed, telling him she really didn’t want to know who the man was. She much preferred him to remain anonymous. Furious with herself and deeply embarrassed, she dumped Frankie, wishing she’d kept her silly mouth shut. He wasn’t pleased and turned nasty as a result, threatening to reveal Pat’s name and the circumstances of their encounter to all and sundry if she didn’t agree to go on sleeping with him.
Joyce was having none of that. She hadn’t successfully protected her reputation to have it blown apart by Frankie flipping Morris.
‘I don’t think so, Frankie. If you do that, I’ll have to tell everyone about that little encounter you had with Billy Carlton behind the bike sheds.’
He blushed scarlet with fury. ‘What encounter? I never did any such thing. That’s a bare-faced lie!’
‘But could you prove it?’
Smiling to herself, Joyce knew she’d silenced him for good. Her reputation was safe and she’d not make such a silly mistake again.
Joyce looked about her small salon, at its smart lemon and grey décor, the row of sinks and the pretty net curtains protecting her clients from the curious gaze of onlookers as they sat under the dryer. If this was evidence of her victory, it had been hard won.
As she pulled on her coat, preparatory to meeting Joe in the Dog and Duck, she thought of all the money and effort, all the hard work she’d put into this little business.
Surprisingly, her mother had been most supportive in the years immediately after the war, during what became one of the most difficult periods of her life. Dealing with a crippled, mentally scarred, war-damaged husband had been bad enough, let alone the aftermath of that other more personal and emotional war between one-time friends. It had all taken a terrible toll upon her.
And when, on top of everything else, Joyce had been threatened with eviction because the landlord decided he wished to sell the place, Rose had gone so far as to step in and buy the property herself. Joyce had been astonished, not even aware her mother possessed the kind of money to be able to afford to make such an offer. But the generous gesture had meant they were all safe, even though her useless husband hadn’t brought a penny into the marriage himself.
Joyce recalled how Rose had helped to mind Grant in those early years of peace. How she’d been the one to take Harriet under her wing when Joyce had been quite unable to bear even to look at the child.
Where was the girl now, Joyce wondered, and did she care? It was to be hoped she was married, at least. Joyce felt nothing but shame over the girl’s condition, and not a scrap of pity. She was the author of her own misfortune, and the last thing Joyce wanted was to have her own respectability tarnished; her own efforts to be accepted as a worthwhile member of the community ruined by the stupidity of that cheap little tart.
She certainly hadn’t endured a loveless marriage in order to protect her precious son, only to have the entire edifice of her carefully constructed high moral standing in the community brought tumbling down by the actions of one silly girl. Not after the effort she’d made to protect it.
Life had been an endless struggle, no doubt about that. A struggle which had taken its toll over the years, and Joyce never could quite rid herself of that sense of guilt which still hung over her like a black cloud. She was only too aware that it had turned her into a bitter woman, and was it any wonder? she thought, wallowing in self pity.
She called to Rose in the back room. ‘I’m off down the pub. Do you need owt?’
‘Aye, a new left leg. But if you don’t find one hanging around, I’ll have to carry on hobbling around on this one.’
Joyce didn’t even smile at her mother’s droll wit as she let herself out of the salon, carefully locking the door behind her. Her mind was busily engaged elsewhere. She’d had enough, of that she was quite certain.
She felt the need for some peace in her life. Joyce wanted someone else to lift these cares from her shoulders, to carry the burden of responsibility for earning a good living, and giving her a little fun for a change. She needed Joe to leave Irma.
Harriet wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when some sound woke her. It was a door opening. Shelley slipped into the bedroom on silent feet, and the next instant was lying beside Vinny in the big bed on the opposite side to Harriet.
Harriet clearly heard her loud whisper. ‘Since you didn’t come to me tonight, I thought I’d join you here instead,’ and smiling impishly she wrapped her arms about his waist. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said to Harriet.
Harriet was stunned, not having the first idea what to say, or how to deal with this. She’d believed that she’d made her feelings on the subject of sharing very clear, yet her comments had apparently fallen on deaf ears. Fighting through a fog of sleep she struggled to focus on exactly what Shelley had said: Since you didn’t come to me... What on earth was going on?
‘Shelley, what are you doing? Why are you here?’
Her friend giggled. ‘Vinny told me ages ago you wanted to spice things up a bit, and since we’ve patched up our differences, I assumed you were willing for me to share in the fun.’
‘But, I explained to you ...’ Harriet stopped and looked at Vinny, at the way he slid his arm casually around Shelley’s shoulder, how his fingers instinctively traced the mole at the top of her arm, and knew with a chilling certainty that this wasn’t the first time her so-called friend had been in his bed, or he’d visited hers. As if to emphasis this fact, he gave the other girl a welcoming kiss full on her lips. Harriet turned abruptly away, the blood pounding in her head, unable to bear the sight of their intimacy. She felt as if she’d been punched in the face. Her heart was pounding and she felt dangerously close to tears. She made to leave but Vinny grasped her wrist to prevent her from moving.
‘Don’t go, Harriet. Remember, love is an adventure to share between friends.’
‘Are you serious?’ She felt overcome by confusion, trying to decide if this was normal behaviour. It didn’t sound normal, and Harriet certainly had no wish to share Vinny with anyone, least of all with Shelley.
‘‘Why not?’ he was saying. ‘Could be fun, don’t you reckon?’
‘Is this because I’m pregnant, and not quite up to love-making any more?’
‘No, of course not. Anyway, it’s nothing to do with the pregnancy. Our love-making has just got a bit staid and boring, that’s all.’
‘Staid and boring?’
Vinny looked away, refusing to meet her shocked gaze. ‘You know how it is babe, how I hate to be predictable. You agreed we needed to put a bit more fizz into things, so don’t go all uppity on me. We can all have a good time together. Just because I like Shelley doesn’t mean I don’t want you too. I can have you both, can’t I?’
‘No,’ Harriet said. ‘Actually, you can’t.’
Vinny chuckled, nuzzling into her neck, nibbling her ear. ‘Sweetheart. Stop being so prissy. You should learn to relax and enjoy yourself a bit more, otherwise wh
y are you even here with my rackety band?’
It was a good question. One to which Harriet couldn’t easily find an answer.
She gazed into those dazzling green-gold eyes and for a second found herself hesitating, baffled and bewildered by what he was saying to her. In that moment Harriet almost longed to be the kind of girl who could happily agree to such an adventure. Yet in reality she wanted only to run as fast and as far away as possible from these two people who held such a different moral outlook to her own on what was right and wrong.
But where would she run to? To Joyce, who was even more straight-laced and moralising? To Nan, who still didn’t know anything about her condition? And did Harriet really want to risk losing Vinny? Hadn’t she finally admitted that she loved him. Or was Steve the man she truly loved and still pined for? One thing was certain, Harriet would never want Steve in bed with her at the same time as Vinny. Was that because she loved her ex-boy friend more, or because she was indeed provincial and old fashioned, as Shelley had suggested?
Vinny wasn’t even bothering to wait for her answer. He was again kissing Shelley, with more fervour this time, her slender legs and arms curled enticingly around him. He grinned over his shoulder at Harriet. ‘Just relax, babe. Your turn next.’
‘Or join in, if you feel like it,’ Shelley murmured, arms wrapped possessively about Vinny’s waist as she slid the flat of her hands up and down his bare back. ‘What does a little three-in-a-bed romp matter between friends?’
Apparently Harriet was expected to remain by his side while he made love to her best friend. She lay for a whole five seconds as if turned to stone while the couple writhed and moaned, kissed and petted in the bed beside her. It felt like five minutes, five hours! Never, in all her life, had Harriet experienced such shame. She longed to vanish in a puff of smoke, to crawl into some black hole and disappear so that her misery would no longer be visible, even to herself. Why didn’t she shout at him? Why couldn’t she move? Why didn’t she simply run away? Because she loved him? Or because she was weak?
Maybe what Shelley suggested was true. She no longer cared what happened to her, but was simply desperate to hurt herself in order to spare everyone else the trouble.
Had she lost everything, even her own self-respect the moment she climbed into bed with this exciting, dangerous man?
At this thought a small curl of anger was ignited deep in the pit of her stomach. It began to grow and spread, burning and scalding, till her breath became shallow and rapid, her heart pounded and a rosy mist of fury swam before her eyes. How dare this girl pretend to be her friend, and then steal her man right before her eyes?
How dare this man use her so badly? People just seemed to walk all over her. Joyce, Steve, Grant, and now Shelley and Vinny. She really wasn’t putting up with it any more.
With every scrap of energy she possessed, Harriet flung herself off the bed. ‘Stop this at once!’ she screamed. ‘It matters what we do because I’m a real person, not some bit of scum brought in on the heel of your shoe. What’s more, we’re about to get married because I’m carrying his child!’
Vinny calmly looked up at her, eyes hooded, stoned out of his mind as usual. ‘I’m pleased about the baby, you know I am. But I never said anything about getting married. That was all your idea, not mine. I’m a free spirit, babe, always will be.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Harriet hadn’t the first idea where she was going. She knew only that it was cold and dark, and it was raining. She also knew that she was deeply afraid. Huge blocks of warehouses, cranes, stacks of timber and boxes waiting to be loaded on to ships and barges loomed ominously close, but she couldn’t seem to find her way out of the docks. Maybe because as well as the darkness, she was also blinded by her own tears. How she had stumbled onto these wharves in the first place was quite beyond her.
She felt as if she’d been walking for hours but could remember very little of where, exactly, she’d been. Maybe round in circles.
Following the humiliation of the little scene back at the hotel, she’d simply grabbed her coat and run out into the night. Harriet could see that it had been a very foolish thing to do. She hadn’t even remembered to pack her things, or pick up her purse. So here she was with no money, no bed for the night, and nowhere to go.
She was also pregnant with Vinny’s child, and he hadn’t moved a muscle to prevent her frantic departure. There clearly wasn’t going to be any Register Office wedding, so being lost seemed of small concern by comparison.
Harriet had never felt so low in all her life. There didn’t seem to be any way forward, no future she could bear to contemplate. When Nan had made that blunt announcement on the day of her lovely dad’s funeral, her security had vanished forever. She’d felt then as if she were hanging over a cliff. Now she’d fallen into a raging sea that had tossed her about as if she were no more than a piece of flotsam, and Harriet knew she didn’t have the energy, or the will-power, to climb out of it.
Where was the point? Her father was dead. The mother she’d accepted and loved all her life despite Joyce’s inability to show any affection, was not, in fact, her mother at all. Steve, the boy she’d loved with all her heart, had turned from her when she’d needed him most. And now she’d lost Vinny.
It came to Harriet then, in a moment of unexpected clarity, that her relationship with Vinny had been pure fantasy, a bit of fun, yes, as she’d first claimed it to be, but nothing more. She’d run away with him out of desperation, fallen in love with an image that she had created, and not with the real Vinny Turner at all. Perhaps her naivety had been brought about by a desperation to prove something to herself: that she was still attractive, or that someone at least wanted her.
But it had all been a complete fantasy. Vinny didn’t love her at all, except in Harriet’s own imagination. All Vinny loved was himself, and the dratted grass he smoked. Nobody, in fact, loved her. Not a single soul, save for Nan, cared if she even lived or died. And she couldn’t for shame face her lovely grandmother. She’d lost everything that mattered, even her own self respect.
Harriet walked on, dazed with pain, found the dock gates quite by accident, but they were locked fast. How had she got in? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t even know if the hotel was nearby or miles away, and she hadn’t the first idea how to retrace her steps. Moments later, she found herself walking over a bridge. She paused to look down into the smoothly flowing black water beneath, visible only by the light of a thin sliver of moon. She stared into its velvety blackness and longed to sink into it, ached for oblivion to put an end to this pain that was tearing the heart out of her.
What a mess she’d made of her life. When Joyce had thrown her out, she should have done something sensible with the twenty-five pounds she’d given her. She should have got herself a proper job. The money would have paid for respectable lodgings for several weeks. Instead, she’d wasted it all on fish and chips and beer for that stupid rock group who spent money without any thought for the future.
She should be thinking of her own future now. Hers and the baby’s. But she didn’t seem to have one. She was nearly five months pregnant yet wasn’t fit to be a mother. And how could she bring it up on her own with no home, no job, no father, and no one to help her? Oblivion, that was what she craved. An end to this pain. Dry eyed, Harriet began to climb on to the parapet of the bridge.
‘Nay, Joyce love, it’s not that easy,’ Joe informed Joyce with a sad shake of his head when she put this point to him over her usual rum and coke later that evening. ‘I can’t just abandon the biscuit business we’ve built up together over the years. It would be difficult to separate which bit was hers, and which mine, if you catch my drift?’
‘It seems perfectly obvious to me. You keep the biscuit stall and leave Irma her cake making business.’
‘Nay, it’s not that simple. She needs me to drive the van, for deliveries. And I need her to do the accounts.’
Joyce silently ground her teeth then tucked her arm in
to his, smiling winningly up at him. ‘You could always sell the lot to those developers. I could sell them my property too. Then you and I could take off into the wide blue yonder, go somewhere new, do something entirely different. We could start afresh, just the two of us. Maybe Australia, or Canada. Plenty of people are emigrating in search of a better life. Why don’t we join them?’
Joe felt a wave of panic. This was the craziest idea she’d come up with yet, and some of them had been pretty daft, like him moving in above the hair salon with Rose and Grant. But what on earth had made her dream up this daft notion? It was totally unexpected and scared the pants off him. He could see the light of excitement in her eyes, and did his best to calm her down before it all got quite out of hand.
‘Eeh, Joyce love, I don’t know about that. It’s a long way from Champion Street is Australia. Anyroad, selling the business would be letting everyone down. And what about Rose, your mam? I thought she owned the shop, not you. If so, she’d never agree.’
‘Her health is pretty shaky, and those stairs are hard on her bad leg. I could persuade her.’
‘I very much doubt it. Rose is fighting as hard as anyone to save this market, mounting a substantial battle against them developers. Even now she’s in the process of organising a special meeting between the market committee and the city council members, politicians and the like. She’s insisting if they make us close down and move out, it’s their responsibility to find us an alternative location. She’s a little demon, your mam, when she gets going. I’ve seen her make them councillors tremble. How could we fly in the face of all her efforts and just sell up, take the money and run? It would be criminal. Wicked!’
Lonely Teardrops (2008) Page 27
