A Hopscotch Summer (5 page)

Within moments Cynthia was out of bed, her worry driving out all other considerations. She threw on her clothes and rushed round to Dot and the other houses nearby to ask everyone for help. She was liked in the neighbourhood and knew she could rely on them, and everyone was fond of Joyce. But at first no one else was worried. They tried to reassure her.

‘Don’t you go fretting, Cynth,’ Dot told her. ‘Young Joycie’ll’ve just wandered off somewhere. When she’s satisfied her curiosity she’ll be home.’

‘She’ll soon come running home when she’s ready for ’er tea!’ someone else said.

They all wanted to believe that Joyce had just wandered off. But it wasn’t like her. Sociable Joyce was like Em’s shadow. She wasn’t one for going off on her own.

‘Was there anyone about, could’ve offered her sweets?’ Cynthia fired out frantic questions. ‘You must’ve seen summat!’

‘No, I never saw a thing,’ Bob told her desperately. ‘One minute she were there and when I turned round . . .’ He shrugged, his face haggard with anguish.

They all rushed back to the recreation ground, Dot and some of the others as well. Cynthia, refusing to leave Violet with anyone, was pushing her in the pram, and Em and Sid had to trot to keep up. Em felt sick, sensing her mom and dad’s panic. Soon after they got there the neighbours spread out around the streets. Em and Sid were still with Bob, but Cynthia had rushed off somewhere else, moving faster than the rest of them as they trawled the neighbouring area. She was rushing along, frantic, with the pram. Em followed her father’s steady tread as they scanned the rec, then walked the streets, calling Joyce’s name, asking people if they’d seen her. She would have been hard to pick out among a gaggle of the neighbourhood children. Em kept looking to see a blue ribbon in a little girl’s hair.

‘I ain’t seen anything out the ordinary,’ one woman said. ‘No kids that looked as if they was lost . . . There was a little girl I ain’t seen before – she had a dolly, beautiful it was – but she was with her mother, quite well-to-do looking.’

No, not Joyce. They shook their heads sadly and moved on. Most people were kind and promised they’d keep an eye out, but there was nothing else they could say.

Em held Sid’s hand. He was unusually quiet and just followed and she kept thinking: We’ll find her in a minute, just round the next corner. She expected to see Joycie running towards them, right as rain.

But she didn’t come.

They walked and walked in the damp, grey afternoon, covering the same ground over and over again, circling back to the recreation ground as if they just couldn’t believe she wasn’t there, that they hadn’t looked carefully enough. Now and then they met Cynthia hurtling along with the pram, her hair a wild frizz in the damp.

‘I’ll go this way,’ she’d say, rushing off again. ‘No good us all going together, is it?’

The hours passed. The neighbours had all drifted home but the family could not be persuaded to tear themselves away. How could they go home without Joycie when it was getting dark? Once again they ended up in the recreation ground, staring across at the tall slippery slide, willing Joyce to be one of the dwindling number of children queuing to go down it. They all stood in tired, defeated silence.

‘Better go to the fuzz,’ Bob said at last. ‘If Joyce was going to turn up she’d’ve been here by now.’

Some of the neighbours came out to greet them in the drizzly dusk when they got back to Kenilworth Street. Em saw Katie and Molly among them. She didn’t know what to say to them but was glad they were there. This was a crisis; it wasn’t just a question of a child wandering off for an hour or two. Em heard the murmurs of speculation.

‘D’yer think them Mormons’ve got her?’ somebody suggested.

‘What about the gyppos? They was only round with their pegs and lavender a day or two back. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw ’em.’

There were mutterings about sinister strangers who’d been seen in the area and about the white slave trade until Em could stand to hear no more and moved away. Sid stayed stuck to her side. He seemed younger suddenly, big-eyed and silent, clinging to her hand. Cynthia had not come back with them and Em didn’t know where she was, but soon Bob appeared again, hurrying back from the police station.

‘They said they’d keep an eye out,’ Bob told the neighbours, bitterly. ‘Fat bloody use! If you want anything done, you have to do it yer cowing self round ’ere.’

‘The Land Fit for Heroes,’ another old soldier, left with only one arm to fill his jacket sleeves, took up his usual complaint. ‘You can be a hero if you
are
fit. The rest can go hang so far as the powers that be are concerned. No one gives a sod about us.’

‘Where’s your mother?’ Bob asked Em.

Em shrugged. She was cold and scared. Although it was comforting having all these people out there with them, she felt overwhelmed and just wanted to go inside in the warm. Sid kept tugging on her hand saying, ‘When’re they going to find Joycie?’

‘I dunno. Just shut yer cake’ole, will yer?’ she snapped, thinking even then what a telling-off she’d have from her mom if she’d heard her using that expression.

Sid started to snivel. ‘I want Mom and our Joyce – and I want my tea!’

‘Oh, Sid.’ Em relented and put her arm round his shoulders, her own tears starting to well up. It was dark now, the neighbours moving like shadows between the dim street lights, talking and speculating. Everything felt serious and frightening now night had come and still there was no Joyce.

‘I wish our mom’d come back,’ she sobbed, as she and Sid clung together in the dark street.

Cynthia stopped in a dimly lit side street and lifted Violet out of the pram. The child had been crying for some minutes, needing a feed after the long afternoon being propelled along the streets by a mother half out of her mind with worry.

‘No one’ll see me here,’ Cynthia panted, unfastening the front of her dress. She crouched down on a step deep in the shadows and let the hungry infant suckle from her leaking breasts. There were patches of wet down her front that until now she had not been aware of.

It was the first time she had been still for hours. Looking round she saw that she was by the wall of the old cavalry barracks where they were planning to build the flats. Now she was still, the worry of the situation hit her even harder.

‘Where are you, Joycie? For God’s sake, where’ve you gone?’ she said desperately. ‘Come home, wherever you are! We just need you home.’

The tears came then, all the pent-up feelings of the afternoon tearing out of her in sobs. She wept for a time, then dashed her tears angrily away. There wasn’t time for all that: she had to keep searching, to find her little girl!

All afternoon she had circled the area round the recreation ground where Bob had taken the children, entreating the heavens that in one of the streets, round one of the corners or alleys, she would spy Joyce wandering lost.

‘Joycie, Joycie, where are you?’ she’d muttered to herself. ‘Your mom’s here – come on, Joycie, come to me . . .’

Though she had barely eaten for days, she had been ablaze with energy, as if she could rush onwards, searching and asking everyone forever, and her strength would never run out.

She’d hurried north as far as Ashted Row, across towards the canal, winding back and forth through the narrow little streets, her whole being shrieking with need for the sight of her daughter. Once or twice she thought she saw her and tore along towards a small girl, hope pulsing in her, only to be bitterly disappointed. People looked at her strangely, a dark-eyed woman, hair scattered wildly over her shoulders, dressed only in a thin frock, tearing along with a pram as if Old Nick was after her. She stopped and asked them, over and over, and seeing their shaking heads, moved on. Hours had passed, but she scarcely noticed.

Now she had stopped, though, it was as if she had collided with a wall of weariness and despair. Sitting on the step, the child’s urgent mouth on her nipple, she rubbed a hand over her wet cheeks, aching with need and worry. For a moment she closed her eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. A train was shunting in the goods yard nearby and its rhythmic chuffing seemed to echo the leaden thud of her heart.

She was startled by a low, cracked voice. ‘Can you spare us a penny, lady?’

Opening her eyes, she saw a small, huddled figure in the shadows, a stooped woman shrouded in rags.

‘I’ve had not a bite since yesterday.’

‘I, I’ve no money,’ Cynthia said to the poor old dear. Normally she would have given, of course she would. The old and sick were the ones suffering the most in these hard times.

‘God bless you, lovey.’ The little figure shuffled away, melting into the darkness.

This brief encounter brought Cynthia back to herself. When she had given Violet a drink from each breast she snatched her nipple away and dragged herself to her feet to settle her in the pram, swaying from hunger and exhaustion. She wondered what the time was. The streets were quiet now, though the pubs were open, full of light and chatter.

Trying to summon the burning energy she had had earlier, she pushed the pram on down the street, but now she was full of chill hopelessness. How was she ever going to find Joycie? Then a new hope lit in her. Her head seemed to clear. She had no idea whether they had found Joyce already and she was at home. Perhaps it was all right after all and Joyce was already tucked up in her bed with Em while she was out here circling the streets!

Moving even faster, she propelled the pram towards home. Turning into Great Lister Street, almost running, she caught sight of a blessedly familiar figure coming her way.

‘Cynth?’ Her husband’s voice rang along the street, sounding shrill with tension. She dashed to meet him.

‘Bob! Oh what’s happened? You’ve found her, haven’t you? Tell me you’ve found her!’ She clung to him, finding none of the reassurance she craved in the distraught lines of his face.

‘No . . .’ He shook his head brokenly. ‘No, love, we ain’t. I come to find
you
this time. Come home, Cynth – we’ll have to carry on in the morning. It’s no good now. We’ve looked everywhere there is to look – it’s like a needle in a haystack.’

‘You can’t just give up and go home!’ she shrieked, working herself back up into hysterics, pulling on his arm. ‘We can’t just leave her – she’s only a babby, out in the streets without us! We’ve got to carry on!’

‘It’s no good!’ Hating himself for it, he delivered a slap across her cheek and she reeled away, stunned for a moment. ‘We can’t just go on wandering about, wearing ourselves out! There’s the others – and you’ll make yerself ill. Come home with me and in the morning we’ll start again.’

Commandingly, he took Cynthia’s arm and all the fight suddenly went out of her. She went limp. He led her to the pram which he pushed with his other hand. ‘Come on, love, let’s go home.’

Em reached out her hand, but all she felt was the cold place in the bed where Joyce should be beside her. She couldn’t sleep without Joyce. Princess Lucy was a tiny comfort and she cuddled her tightly, but she couldn’t make up for her sister’s warm, comforting little body.

She lay looking up into the dark, frightened and bewildered. Everything about the day had been wrong: Mom crying in bed, and then everything that came afterwards even worse – Joyce disappearing, the terrible worry on their faces, searching, never finding her. She didn’t feel like crying now. Instead a sick feeling sat like a stone in her belly.

I should’ve gone with them, not stayed in with our mom!

What was Mom always saying: ‘Look after our Joycie – you’re the big sister.’ And she always had looked after Joycie and it had been a happy, joyful part of her life. And now she’d gone and let everyone down – it was all her fault!

Unable to stand the cold, lonely bed any more she got up, taking Princess Lucy with her.

‘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.

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.