Sid laughs. ‘Go on, darlin’ make an old man happy, eh? It won’t bite you.’
Her dad nods although his forehead is creased, and he gives Sid a sidelong glance. Joycie feels silly, but she puts on the cap and obeys the directions from Sid’s waving cigarette to push her hair up into it.
Sid turns to her dad. ‘She’s got so tall lately and with trousers and a jacket she’d look just like a boy. A second stooge, see, that’s something a bit different, which is what we need. There’d be some pocket money in it for her too, if it works out.’
He’s grinning at Joycie, and her heart does a little flip at the thought of being onstage. She loves the show and hates staying at their lodgings all on her own.
‘So how do you fancy it, love? Being part of the act with me and your dad? You’d like that wouldn’t you?’
Her face is throbbing with heat as she pulls off the cap, and all she can do is nod.
Chelsea – April 1965
Joycie arrived home exhausted. Cecil Beaton had been kindly and old-school courteous, his voice reminding her of actors in pre-war films. It had been clear however that he didn’t think much of her looks, and he had spent ages rooting through boxes of scarves, fur hats, and wigs, obviously trying to find some way to disguise her flaws. Then he’d posed and reposed her until she could hardly stand.
After they finished he made her a gin and It, served without ice in a champagne bowl that made her think of the glasses Irene had let her drink Babycham from when she was sixteen.
She made herself some tea, slipped off her shoes and sat with her feet curled under her in front of the telly. There was nothing worth watching this early in the evening, just a boring programme showing bits of news too dull or silly for the main bulletin. But at least it distracted her enough to calm her thoughts.
Marcus was seeing Cora right now. He’d called Joycie at Beaton’s house, much to the old gent’s annoyance. ‘I rang her office, and when I told the secretary it was a private matter she put me straight through. I asked Cora if we could meet and that I’d prefer if she didn’t mention it to Sid.’
‘I can imagine what she thought.’
‘Well, let’s just say she agreed pretty smartish, and we’re meeting at a pub where she says Sid never goes. I’ll see you about eight. If not send out the search parties.’
It was ten past eight when the Morgan pulled up outside, and she had to force herself not to rush to the door. But he wasn’t alone. She heard him talking loudly as he rattled his key in the door, obviously trying to warn her. ‘As I said, Cora, I’m not sure if Joycie will be in.’
She jumped up, pushing her feet back into her shoes and was in the kitchen with the door closed before they came into the hall. Feeling ridiculous to be hiding like this she listened as Marcus got Cora settled on the sofa with a sherry: ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll just check if Joycie’s upstairs.’
When he came into the kitchen he pulled a face and whispered, ‘Sorry I had no choice. She says she’ll only speak to you.’
Joycie didn’t bother to pretend she’d been upstairs, just walked into the sitting room and plonked herself on the armchair opposite Cora. She was looking even more tarted up than usual: for Marcus’s benefit Joycie guessed. Her legs were surprisingly slender for such a well-upholstered woman, and she stretched them in front of her, glancing down with a tiny smile at her sheer black nylons and patent stilettos.
‘Hello Joyce, darling, I’m sorry to crash in on you two lovebirds like this, but Marcus tells me you have questions you want answering about your mum, and I thought it was only right to come and see you.’
‘Thank you.’ Joycie knew it was probably just an excuse to nose into their lives.
Cora opened her handbag and brought out a gold lighter and a pack of cigarettes. They waited as she lit up and took a long drag and a dainty sip of sherry, leaving a smear of lipstick on the rim of the glass. Joycie guessed she would have preferred a port and lemon.
When Cora spoke it was in an exaggerated whisper. ‘Joyce, dear, I’m wondering if you wouldn’t rather we talked on our own.’ She turned to Marcus with a brilliant smile and a flutter of lashes. ‘No offence, sweetheart.’
Before he could speak, Joycie said, ‘It’s fine, Cora, Marcus and I don’t have secrets.’ If only that were true. She kept secrets even from herself. Marcus moved back to the window seat, making it clear he was giving them space.
‘You were wondering about the chap your mum ran off with, were you?’
‘If there was one. I’ve spoken to my aunt.’ Cora raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. ‘She’s sure Mum was coming to them on her own and bringing me with her. My aunt is convinced there was no other man. But Deirdre says you seemed sure about it and that you knew the bloke.’
Cora picked a tiny fleck of something from her tight black skirt, inspecting it as she spoke. ‘You have been busy, haven’t you?’
Joycie leaned forward. ‘I need to know.’
‘Well I’m sure it’s no news to you that your mum usually had a boyfriend somewhere on the scene, so when Charlie said she’d run off with the latest we didn’t question it.’
‘But Deirdre said it was you who told everyone.’
A shrug. ‘My darling, Sid and I just wanted to make things as easy as possible for you and your dad so we were happy to spread the word.’
Her heart was drumming so hard she could barely speak. ‘So who was he?’
Cora leaned back on the sofa with a shrug. ‘Search me.’
A fierce spurt of rage. ‘If you don’t know anything, why the hell did you insist on seeing me?’
‘I must say, Joyce, I never expected gratitude from you, but there’s no need to be rude. Your young man,’ she gestured towards Marcus, ‘said you were tearing yourself apart about it, and I thought I might be able to help.’
Marcus coughed in the background, but Joycie didn’t look at him, just stood and said. ‘I need help to find out what happened to my mum and if you can’t do that then there’s no point in us talking.’
She walked to the door, but Cora didn’t move, just raised her empty glass to Marcus. ‘Wouldn’t mind a fill-up, darling. And then, if you don’t mind, me and Joyce need a minute alone.’
He poured her another drink, squeezed Joycie’s shoulder, saying, ‘I’ll be in the darkroom. Give me a shout when you’re finished,’ and went out, closing the door behind him.
Cora eased off one of her shoes and rubbed her foot, then did the same with the other and looked up at Joycie still standing by the door, her hands clenched. ‘Look, darling, I can see what it must be like, not knowing, but sometimes it’s best to leave things be.’ She waved her hand to take in the room. ‘You’ve got a good life now, and there’s no call to go upsetting yourself by raking up the past.’
‘Please, Cora, just tell me everything you know.’
Cora patted the sofa, and Joycie sat next to her, breathing in a fog of Chanel No. 5. ‘All right, you win.’ Cora didn’t quite say the words, you asked for it, but her expression did. ‘Don’t get me wrong, no one could blame your mum for wanting some male company.’ A little pat on Joycie’s knee. ‘Your dad obviously wasn’t interested any more, if you know what I mean.’
Joycie moved away from her touch. ‘Not really, Cora.’ Why make it easy for her?
Cora pressed her fingers to her lips and gave a delicate cough. ‘You know why they put Charlie in prison, don’t you?’
‘I’ve worked