Her Turn to Cry: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming. Chris Curran

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СКАЧАТЬ reached out and rubbed her knee, and once again she saw her dad looking back at her as the police led him away. He did love her. She couldn’t imagine what he went through in jail, but it must have been terrible to make him commit suicide, knowing it would leave her alone.

      ‘Did you ever find out who turned your dad in?’

      She twisted to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Well you said the only evidence they had was the letters.’ He changed gear as he turned the car into a narrow street, but he must have heard her breath catch. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

      ‘The police. When they came to our lodgings they didn’t really have to search. They seemed to know exactly what to look for and where to find them.’

      ‘So whoever tipped them off was someone he knew.’

      ‘Someone he must have known really well.’

      ***

      You could have knocked Mrs McDonald down with a feather when she realized she had Marcus Blake and Orchid on her doorstep. She was even more astonished when Joycie explained she was Charlie and Mary Todd’s daughter.

      ‘Come in, come in.’

      The landlady was almost quivering with excitement as she bustled ahead of them into her overheated kitchen: somewhere little Joycie had only glimpsed through a half-open door. Over tea and custard cream biscuits she told them Mr Grant – George – had been a long-term lodger until he left to get married. ‘Ooh, that must have been five years ago now. She was a widow with a bit of money and they moved out to Surrey, but he still sends me a Christmas card every year.’

      ‘So he was living here for some time after we stopped coming.’

      ‘Yes, it would have been ’59 or ’60 when he left.’

      ‘My mum and he were close for a while, weren’t they?’

      Mrs McDonald chuckled. ‘That’s one way of putting it, darling. George was a real ladies’ man, and your mum wasn’t the only one by a long chalk, but it was never serious with him. Not until his rich widow came along.’

      ‘Was Mum serious about him?’

      ‘I shouldn’t think so. Only doing it to make your dad jealous, I thought.’ She looked suddenly suspicious. ‘This isn’t a divorce thing, is it? I wouldn’t want to get George in any trouble.’

      ‘Oh no, my dad’s dead.’

      Mrs McDonald reached a hand towards Joycie, but then put it to her mouth. ‘Poor Charlie, that’s terrible, he was no age.’

      ‘But Mum left us in ’53, just after the last time we stayed here, and I wondered if she went off with Mr Grant.’

      ‘No, darling, George was just a bit of comfort for her. She was a lovely girl, and what with Charlie being the way he was …’ She looked at Marcus as if for help, and when he nodded she let out a heavy breath. ‘He was a theatrical, wasn’t he? And like a lot of them he was light on his feet, as they say. Probably should never have married, but then your mum was a slim little thing, boyish like, and they must have been very young when they got together. But they were still fond of each other, you could tell that.’

      Marcus leaned forward. ‘Do you think Charlie knew about the affair?’

      ‘I shouldn’t be surprised, but she would never have left him for George, and George wouldn’t have asked her to.’

      They managed to avoid more tea and said their goodbyes, but on the doorstep Joycie said: ‘So you knew my dad was homosexual?’ Mrs McDonald pursed her lips, as if the word was too rude to respond to, and crossed her arms over her acreage of bosom, but Joycie carried on. ‘It’s just … I wondered if you ever mentioned it to the police?’

      Mrs McDonald squeezed her bosom tighter, hands high in her armpits. ‘Certainly not. Apart from a couple of commercial travellers, like Mr Grant, I’ve always had theatricals staying here. If I reported everyone who was that way inclined the place would soon be empty. Anyway, live and let live is my motto.’

      Joycie touched her beefy forearm. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’

      They thanked her and turned to go, but she said, ‘Why do you want to know all this after so long?’

      ‘My aunt just got in touch with me hoping to trace Mum.’

      ‘Only I was wondering. Because someone else was asking after your mum and dad a week or so ago. I thought he was a debt collector, but perhaps it was your uncle?’

      A chill down her back. ‘What did he look like?’

      ‘Smart chap, fortyish, and as I say looked like a debt collector to me. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him, if you know what I mean. Lovely shiny shoes, though.’

      ***

      ‘It was the same man – the one from Manchester – the one with the autograph book,’ Joycie said.

      ‘Surely not.’

      ‘The way she described him, I just know it’s him.’

      ‘But why would he be calling on your old landlady?’

      ‘I don’t know, but it scares me.’

      ‘Do you want to go to the police then?’

      ‘They’d just laugh at me, you know that,’ she said.

      They were both quiet for the rest of the journey, but when she got out of the car and was climbing the steps to the house Joycie found herself looking up and down the sunny street. Marcus put his arm round her as he slotted in his key. ‘Relax, there’s no one there.’

      There was the usual pile of post on the hall floor, and Joycie put it on the little table and began to look through it, trying to calm herself.

      ‘There you are – Fort Knox,’ Marcus said, attaching the chain to the front door and slapping the heavy wooden frame. ‘And we could get a dog, if you like. I wouldn’t mind an Afghan or something.’

      Joycie only half-heard him because she was opening a big brown envelope, her heart beating hard.

       Dear Joyce,

       These are the letters from Mary to our mam or all the ones Mam kept anyway. It was lovely to see you and the kids haven’t stopped talking about you. It would be nice if you could come for a proper visit sometime.

       Your loving aunt,

       Susan

      Marcus came behind her and rested his warm hand on her shoulder. She put her head against his cheek. ‘You’ll want to read those on your own I expect?’ he said. When she nodded he rubbed her arm. ‘I’ll be in the darkroom. Call me if you need to talk.’

      It was sunny outside now so she made a cup of Earl Grey and took the bundle of letters into the garden. СКАЧАТЬ