The Yearning Heart Read online

  The woman took charge, and said to the youth, ‘Take her into that cafe and I’ll pick up her things.’

  He spun round and called to the motorcycle driver, ‘You coming, Joe?’

  ‘You go on. I wanna see if me bike’s all right.’ They found an empty table in a corner of the noisy cafe. There was an awkward silence between them. Tina kept her gaze averted and looked down at her torn stockings, her only good pair. Her skirt and knickers, wet from sitting on the pavement edge, clung cold and uncomfortable to her shivering body.

  ‘There you are.’ It was the woman. Relief flooded through Tina. ‘I’ve ordered tea,’ she said, slipping Tina’s case beside her chair. ‘I’m Nancy Davis. What’s your name, love?’

  ‘Tina Newton.’

  ‘I’m Mike,’ said the youth.

  Just then, the waitress brought the tray of tea and biscuits. Nancy poured, adding a liberal spoonful of sugar to Tina’s cup. As she gulped down the hot liquid, it reminded her of sickly syrup, but it worked, helping to steady her nerves and she began to be more like her perky self.

  Joe sauntered into the cafe and slid into the seat next to Mike and nodded to Nancy, but ignored Tina. This immediately raised her hackles and she snapped at him. ‘Found a scratch on your precious motorbike?’

  Joe rose to the bait. ‘Lucky for you, it’s okay or it would have cost yer.’ He pulled off his old ex-RAF flying helmet to reveal ginger hair and a pale, freckled face. Mike was tall, with thick dark hair, while Joe was shorter, but wiry looking. They seemed an odd group, Tina petite, with her beret and red hair both bedraggled by the rain, and Nancy round and motherly.

  Tina’s foot touched her case. ‘Thanks for picking up my clothes.’

  ‘That’s all right, love, but most of them are wet and a bit dirty.’ Tina’s smile dropped from her face. ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll take them home and wash them. You can collect them tomorrow.’

  Tina gazed at Nancy’s honest face, which reminded her of Maggie. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘There’s only me and Cyril and he’s a long-distance lorry driver and won’t be home until tomorrow night, so I’ve plenty of time on my hands.’ Her broad smile took in all three.

  Tina glanced at the two youths, who both looked bored.

  ‘Are you one of them new-fangled tourists?’ asked Joe, indicating the case. She gave him a withering look. ‘What are you here for then?’ he questioned.

  She straightened her back, tossed back her head and replied, tersely, ‘None of your business.’

  Quick to stop the situation from becoming too heated, Nancy turned to Tina, saying, ‘Shouldn’t you be going now, love?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She put her hand in her pocket and scrambled for the slip of paper with the address written on it, but it wasn’t there. She bent down to search the floor. ‘It’s gone the address where I’m meant to be going. I had it before you knocked me down.’ She glared at Joe.

  Mike pulled a mangled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and held it up. ‘This it?’

  Tina snatched it, smoothed it out on the tabletop and stared at the nearly illegible writing. Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffed to try to disguise them, blinking them away. ‘It’s where I’m meant to be staying,’ she mumbled. ‘But I don’t know where it is.’

  Joe squinted at the address. ‘It’s not far from the garage where I work. I can give you a lift.’

  ‘On a motorbike?’

  ‘Not scared, are you?’ His eyes mocked.

  ‘Course not.’ But she was. She’d never been on one before.

  Nancy wrote her address for Tina. ‘I live down by the beck, so you can’t get lost.’

  Tina stood up and gave her an affectionate hug, saying, ‘Thanks, Nancy.’

  ‘I’m meeting Shirley so I’ve got to go,’ said Mike.

  Lucky Shirley, thought Tina, as she watched his athletic stride as he disappeared from view. Outside the rain had stopped. Tina wiped dry the pillion seat with the sleeve of her coat before hitching herself up on to it. As they went round corners, she closed her eyes as she leant her body the same way as Joe’s. The late afternoon air caught at her cheeks and she felt revitalised, right down to the soles of her damp shoes. When Joe brought the bike to a halt, much to her surprise, a pang of regret caught at her and she found herself saying, ‘That was great.’

  ‘You can have a spin anytime.’ He grinned, showing his two crooked front teeth.

  On impulse, as she swung off the bike, she asked, ‘Has Mike got a motorbike?’

  ‘No chance, he’s not an earner like me.’

  She shrugged and turned to the house. Darkness had crept across the sky and there was no light on at 3 Fordham Street. She felt a twinge of uneasiness seep through her cold, damp body. She knocked on the door, but there was no reply. She knocked again. Quickly, she turned to Joe who was about to kick off, panic rising, she said, ‘Mrs Dixon was expecting me.’

  ‘I’ll wait,’ he replied.

  This time, she banged hard on the door. Suddenly, a sash window shot up in the house next door, and a man poked his head out and shouted. ‘Mrs Dixon’s in hospital. She’s had a fall.’

  ‘But I’m supposed to be lodging with her,’ said Tina, not quite taking in the situation.

  ‘Sorry, can’t help.’ The window was closed.

  Anxiety mounting, she turned to Joe. ‘What am I going to do?’ She was in a strange town with nowhere to go. Her first thought was to go home and forget Isabel Renton. On the vicar’s advice, she had paid a month’s rent on the house. ‘A bolthole if you need to come back,’ he said.

  She sighed deeply. She was a failure before she’d even started.

  ‘You can come home with me,’ Joe offered.

  ‘You what?’ she said, colouring up. ‘Are you trying to pick me up?’

  He glared at her. ‘Don’t be daft. I can have the pick of any girl I choose and I certainly wouldn’t pick you. You’re like our moggie that fell in beck.’ He began to kick start the bike. She made a snap decision.

  ‘I’ll come,’ she said, ‘but no funny business.’

  Sensing her uneasiness, he replied, ‘You can have me sister’s bed. She’s staying at a friend’s.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘There’s only Dad and he’s working a late shift.’

  She hitched herself back on the bike and they sped off to Joe’s house on the other side of town.

  She was surprised how modern it was. ‘Nice, ain’t it?’ he said, grinning. Opening the front door, he led the way into the kitchen. She sat at the yellow Formica-topped table, watching as he heated up a tin of tomato soup, whistling as he did so. He seemed in control of his life. Hers was a total disaster. Tears prick her eyes and she hastily dashed them away as Joe turned round.

  Tina devoured the meal quickly, surprised how hungry she had been. Her clothes were stuck to her body and she would love to take them off, have a good wash and go to bed, but how could she say that without it being misinterpreted?

  Joe broke into her thoughts. ‘We got a television,’ he announced proudly. ‘Want to watch it?’

  A yawn escaped her lips and she felt very drowsy. ‘Sorry, I’m tired. I could sleep for ages.’

  Thinking it sounded as though she was ungrateful, she said, ‘But if you want me to, I will.’

  He grinned. ‘No, that’s all right. Not often I get to watch what I want.’

  She got to her feet. ‘Is there anywhere I can get a wash?’

  ‘Bathroom’s upstairs, top of the landing.’ He grinned, adding, ‘Posh, ain’t we?’

  She laughed. Feeling more confident, she asked. ‘Could I borrow some pyjamas?’

  ‘I’ll get you something.’

  Pink satin pyjamas, his sister Maureen’s, Tina guessed. She had left her damp clothes on a clothes horse in the kitchen, hoping they would be dried by morning.

  Maureen’s room was pretty, in co-ordinating shades of green and very tidy. Tina snuggled down in the comfy bed, cl
osed her eyes, the pull of sleep immediate. So, it came as a shock to be rudely awakened, an hour or so later, by someone yelling at her.

  ‘What the devil are you doing in my bed?’

  Startled, Tina wondered where she was, as she stared up at the angry-faced young woman with Titian-coloured hair, who had whipped back the blankets. Tina remembered. ‘Joe’s sister.’

  ‘Right. And who are you?’

  Woken by the commotion, Joe, clad in striped pyjama bottoms, strutted into the bedroom.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Sis. I thought you weren’t coming home.’

  ‘Get rid of her, out of my bed. Now,’ Maureen shouted, flouncing from the room.

  Tina glared at Joe. ‘Right mess, this is,’ she said, swinging her legs onto the floor. She shivered as she left the warmth of the bed. ‘Now what am I going to do?’

  Joe tugged at his tufts of ruffled hair, and said, his voice full of sleep. ‘You can have my bed.’

  ‘You’re joking.’ She had visions of him sneaking in with her during the night. She was halfway across the room when he barred her way.

  ‘Look, it ain’t my fault. I didn’t know she was coming home.’

  ‘Well, I’m going.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Where do you think you’ll go?’

  Seeing the futility of the situation, Tina burst into tears. She wanted her mother, Maggie, to feel her soothing arms about her. How she wished …

  ‘Come on,’ said Joe, putting a comforting arm round her shoulders. ‘There’s the settee.’

  For a long time, Tina lay awake on the lumpy settee, with a blanket firmly tucked around her, wondering what on earth possessed her to come to this awful town. Why hadn’t she taken the vicar’s advice to find out about Isabel Renton first? The woman had abandoned her so why would she want to see Tina again? Tomorrow, Tina vowed, she was going home.

  Chapter Ten

  Next morning, Tina was up washed and dressed. No one else was awake and the house was silent. It was too early to go round to Nancy’s house to collect her clothes, so she went into the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, and her glance strayed to the loaf of bread and the dish of butter left out on the table top. She felt sure Joe wouldn’t begrudge her a slice of toast. The smell of newly toasted bread was comforting, but gave her a touch of home sickness, a longing for her home and she missed her mother with an ache she hadn’t believed possible.

  Was she being a coward, going home at the first sign of a setback? It made more sense to do as the vicar suggested in the first place and to discover more about Isabel Renton. She could write to her, if only she had an address. Agnes Bewholme, named in the letter to Maggie, had used a solicitor’s address in Beverley. But, when the vicar had contacted them, they had no knowledge of a Mrs Bewholme. It was possible that her file was destroyed in a fire and since then, they had moved to new premises and no one working in the offices recalled an Agnes Bewholme. The hospital where Tina was born was now derelict. It was as if she didn’t exist.

  ‘Blimey, you’re up early,’ Joe said, as he ambled into the kitchen. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

  Shaking herself out of her reverie, she nodded. She didn’t look at him as he moved noisily about the tiny kitchen. He plonked a mug in front of her and pulled up a chair and sat opposite her, but didn’t speak until he’d drained his mug. Then, he said, ‘I’ve got an idea. Wanna hear it?’

  She glanced at him, thinking he was handsome in a rugged way. He grinned at her as if reading her thoughts and she quickly looked down and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I could take you to Nancy’s. You’ve got her address.’

  After she had collected her clothes, she could then go home.

  ‘It’s a good idea of mine, don’t you think. You could offer Nancy the same money.’

  Slightly confused by his last sentence, and completely misunderstanding him, she replied, ‘How much do you think for cleaning my clothes?’

  He looked baffled. ‘How the ’eck do I know? It’s the lodging money I’m talking about.’

  Then it hit her. ‘You mean for me to stay at Nancy’s?’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘Joe, you are a wonder.’ And, in a moment of spontaneity, she hugged him, liking the warmth she felt from the touch of his naked upper body.

  ‘Gerroff, woman,’ he huffed, but rather pleased.

  Two weeks had passed and Tina stood looking out of the sitting room bay window of Nancy Davis’ house. It was a cosy house with two bedrooms and a box room for Nancy’s sewing, a tiny bathroom, a sitting room, a kitchen with a veranda built on leading to a tiny garden where Cyril, Nancy’s husband, grew vegetables. Nancy welcomed Tina into the bosom of her home while Cyril tolerated her. He was a long-distance lorry driver, so Nancy was glad of Tina’s company and told her not to worry about money. But Nancy worked, cleaning for her ladies and Maggie had brought Tina up to pay her way. So she had applied for jobs and, within a week, she had found employment at a department store in town. She had the relevant work experience. Later on, she would train for something more ambitious. Proudly, she had hand Nancy two weeks board and lodgings of three pounds. ‘I don’t need all this,’ exclaimed Nancy.

  ‘It’s what I gave my mam.’

  Now, Tina turned absently from the window and glanced around Nancy’s living room, with its soft, comfortable furniture and modern tiled fireplace, where a fire burnt brightly each evening. There was a bowl of apples on the top of the fancy metal tea-trolley, and a jar of boiled sweets on the shelf beneath. It was a reassuring room. It gave her a sense of security, something she desperately needed at the moment. Fleetingly, she wondered what kind of house Isabel Renton lived in. She shook her head, not wanting to think about the woman and turned back to looking out of the window. Her face lit up and her insides gave a little flutter as she saw Joe’s motorbike swerved to a halt outside the house. He was taking her for a spin to the coast.

  Over the few weeks she’d been in Beverley, they had become quite friendly. Tina had told Joe snippets of her life, just enough to satisfy his curiosity: of her mother’s untimely death and how, having no other relatives, she had decided on a fresh start. A good friend had recommended Beverley. True, up to a point, but she didn’t feel ready to reveal her real reason for coming – not yet. The knowledge that Maggie was her foster mother still hurt and the fact that the woman who gave birth to her had abandoned her was too painful to talk about.

  Tina smiled and waved a welcome to Joe, locking the front door behind with her brand-new key, which Nancy had had especially cut for her.

  She climbed up behind him, smelling a faint odour of grease and oil. She pulled her coat tight so the wind wouldn’t whistle through it. ‘Here, grab this.’

  She took the dark blue woollen object. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A balaclava. Pull it over your head. Keep you warm.’

  She did so, grumbling, ‘I bet I look a bonny penny.’ Joe’s reply was lost in the revving up of the engine. As they sped the open country roads, she was glad of the warmth of the encasing hat. She loved the freedom of the bike, a totally new experience for her. It helped to blow away her doubts and fears. As Joe increased the speed, she felt the wind whizz passed her, caressing her, sending her senses into total exhilaration. She clasped her arms tighter around Joe’s waist, loving the nearness of his body. She felt truly happy for the first time since Maggie’s death.

  They travelled on, passing fields showing new shoots of crops, slowing down as they approached sleepy villages, waving to old men sitting on benches on the green. At last they reached the salt blown sands of the coast of East Yorkshire. Parking on the cliff top, they stood close together, looking out to sea. The area was wild and rugged, and nothing like the seaside trip Tina had taken with Maggie to a bustling Scarborough. Here was just the wide expanse of the North Sea, the low cliffs tufted with grass, the unblemished sands, and the distant horizon shimmering with the unknown. The pure magnificence of nature took Tina’s breath away. She whipped off the Balaclav
a, the breeze lifting up the ruffles of her hair and her nostrils filled with the tangy smell of sea and fresh air. ‘Joe, it’s magic! What is this place?’ She turned to him, eyes shining.

  He laughed at her joy. ‘Turmarr. My secret place. Not even Mike knows about it.’

  ‘I’m honoured, sir.’ She gave a mocking curtsey. ‘Race you.’ Then she was away, half slipping half running down the soft clay cliff face. At the bottom, she tumbled and Joe was there to haul her to her feet and they sat on a boulder. ‘I’m going to take off my stockings and shoes.’ He watched as she kicked off her shoes and slowly, tantalising, undid her suspenders and rolled down her stockings, placing them carefully inside her shoes. Before he could move, she was off again, racing along the sands. She loved the feel of her bare feet on damp sand and the tiny grains which stuck to her skin. Joe soon caught up with her, his own feet bare, long and narrow in contrast to hers. Hand in hand they made for the shore line; here they frolicked, braving the cold sea water, loving the surf of the waves. Their energies were tireless as they moved further along the coast, their enjoyment brimming as they laughed and called to one another.

  Suddenly, Tina stopped and turned to look back along the beach, her eyes skimming the cliff top. ‘Joe, I can’t see the bike.’ She shaded her eyes from the glare of the brilliant sky.

  ‘Don’t worry. I know every inch of this coast.’ He took hold of her hand, saying, ‘We’ll go back now. It’s getting colder.’ They rubbed their feet dry on the grass and she was glad to don her stockings and shoes. Next time, she would bring a towel.

  As they prepared to mount the bike, impulsively, Tina flung her arms about Joe and hugged him. ‘Thanks for such a magical time.’ Next moment, his lips were on hers, soft and warm, melting into hers.

  Gently, he drew away from her, his brown eyes glinting, holding hers. ‘Anytime,’ he whispered, ‘Just say the word.’

  When they arrived back to Nancy’s house, the night was already drawing in and lights were on. Tina slid off the bike, saying. ‘Thanks for a great time. It was special.’ She wanted to kiss him. But he might think her too forward. She half turned and he caught hold of her, drawing her to him. He looked into her eyes, as if reading her thoughts, his lips touched hers and she clung to him, feeling their passion and tenderness – a feeling that she had never experienced before.