JOSEPHINE COX

Midnight

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2011

Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

ISBN: 978-0-00-730146-1

EBook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007383825

Version: 2017-08-16

This is for my Ken, as always

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Also by Josephine Cox

About the Publisher

This book is very special to me. During the writing of MIDNIGHT, my darling sister took ill, and never recovered. It was one of the most traumatic times of my life, because a sister is extra-special, a gift to be treasured. And I treasured her far more than I can ever describe. Winifred was my best friend, my confidante and soulmate. We did girlie things and talked naughty as only two women can. We cried together, laughed together, and shared every intimate moment from when we were children.

She was there when I was born, and she will be with me forever, though sadly not in person. My first memory of her was when she was pushing me in my pram and it tipped over. I remember screaming for my ‘Mammy’ and I recall Winifred picking me up in her little chubby arms and rocking me quiet. My Mother never knew where I got the scratches and bumps.

Growing up, we were mostly inseparable. We played tricks and were wonderfully naughty. We laughed and cried and fought anyone who hurt the other. Our Winnie was kind and fierce and gentle and harsh. She did not suffer fools gladly, and she said what she meant. We all loved her without condition; her brothers and sisters; her many lovely children; and the men she gave her heart to; especially dear Mick. We will all miss her. She was a one-off. The like of which we will never see again.

My sincere condolences to all of you who have lost a loved one. Keep the memories close. They will comfort you when you’re low. And for those of you who have fallen out with family, please make up if you possibly can. The family is the most precious gift you could have. Cherish it. Because you never know when it might be snatched away.

Chapter One

DISTURBED FROM HER sleep, Molly shifted across the bed to him. ‘Wake up, Jack. I’m here. You’re safe now.’ Wrapping her arms about him, she kept him close.

Lost in the darkness, Jack heard her faraway call. Beneath his body the earth was soft and pliable. He was not alone, though. Something else was here. Something shocking.

He heard Molly calling, and he knew instinctively she was his only way back. ‘I’ve got you,’ she promised. ‘I won’t let anything hurt you!’

With each crippling nightmare, Molly was there for him. ‘I have you safe, Jack,’ she murmured. ‘I won’t let you go.’

For as long as he could remember, Jack had fought his demons. They were always there, in his sleep, in his dreams. Always in the darkness. Hazy, shifting shadows, hiding in the moonlight. And all around him, a sense of evil and the eyes . . . cold, unmoving.

He could hardly breathe. He needed to get away from here.

He could hear Molly calling. He knew she would save him – but for how long? So many times he’d escaped, only to be drawn back, time and again, to this lonely midnight place.

The darkness and the images had haunted him forever; almost to the edge of madness.

From far away Molly’s insistent voice quietened his heart, ‘Wake up, Jack . . . wake up!’

Desperate to leave, he was instinctively compelled to stay.

Why had the visions plagued him all these years? Why would they not let him be?

‘Ssh now.’ Folding the corner of the bedsheet, Molly wiped away the beads of sweat that poured down his face. ‘Listen to me. It’s just a dream,’ Softly she coaxed him, ‘Open your eyes, Jack. Come away now.’

Most times she could waken him, but this time he resisted. Closing her fingers about his flailing fists, she spoke sternly: ‘Jack! You need to open your eyes and look at me.’

Suddenly, without warning, the fight went from him. His clenched fists fell heavily by his sides and Molly felt his whole body tremble and shiver. He woke up and turned to look at her, his eyes scarred and heavy with what he had seen, back there, in that place.

‘Midnight, ’ he whispered brokenly. The remnants of horror lingered like a cloak over his mind. ‘Where is it, Molly?’ he murmured. ‘What does it mean?’ He gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Why won’t it let me be?’

She searched for an answer. ‘It isn’t real,’ she said finally. ‘It was just a dream – a bad dream – and now it’s over.’

When he slowly shook his head, she placed the palms of her hands either side of his face. ‘Let it go, Jack. Don’t think about it now.’ Like many times before, she saw how deeply it affected him. Tenderly, she kissed him, once on each cheek, much as a mother might kiss her child. ‘It’s gone now,’ she comforted him. ‘Maybe it won’t ever come back.’

‘Maybe.’ He leaned into her embrace. ‘. . . Maybe not.’ He knew it would be back. Molly meant well, but she didn’t know what it was like. How could she?

All his life the nightmare had haunted him, and not only when he slept. Sometimes in the daylight hours, something evil carried him back there. Something urgent. Something deep in his psyche.

As a boy he might be playing in the street with his pals, when the darkness would suddenly come over him and he would creep away to hide in some quiet corner. The other boys began to tease him. They said it was no good having Jack Redmond on your side, because halfway through the match he would suddenly run away to huddle in a dark corner. He never told them the truth. He never told anyone.

If he had, they might have thought he was ‘off his rocker’ and should be locked away – like that poor soul on Tamworth Street who had drowned her newborn twins before killing herself. He heard the cruel talk, about how she should ‘rot in Hell’. The thought of it filled him with a different horror.

Jack Redmond had never betrayed the awful secret he carried with him. He began to believe he must have done a bad thing. If not, then why was he afraid to close his eyes and sleep?

And what about the drawings he’d made at school? Those frightening images that appeared on the paper, almost as though something – or someone – else was making the pictures and not him.

The teachers were annoyed. They took the drawings away. They said he should pay attention and listen to what was asked of him, instead of allowing his imagination to run riot.

They never understood – but it wasn’t their fault. How could they see what he saw, trapped in that lonely hellhole, so real and terrifying? Was it his warped imagination? Or was there really a place like that somewhere?

What a shocking thought . . . that it might actually exist outside of his nightmares. He shuddered. Surely that could never be.

Or could it?

As the years passed, the fragmented images remained, as did the feelings of helplessness. He had so many questions, and no answers. Jack wondered if he would ever know the truth, and more importantly – did he really want to?

All he had ever wanted was for it all to go away, and for him to be normal, like other people. Instead, the nightmares were growing stronger, more persistent. He wanted to know, but he was afraid.

Jack took a deep breath, thrusting the images from his mind. Outside, the early-morning sun in Leighton Buzzard was already spreading a brightness over the day. Soon, the alarm would go off and he would get up and go about his business. For now though, he felt halfway between that place and this. It was a strange, disturbing feeling.

He heard Molly speaking softly in his ear. ‘Feeling better now?’

A quietness came over him as he gazed on that wide, pretty mouth and troubled brown eyes. Molly was everything to him. She was his woman, and she kept him sane.

He had always believed that he and Molly were meant to be. To have her as his wife, settle down and raise a family was his dearest wish. But he dared not make any plans for a future together. At least, not until he was rid of the demons that tormented him.

Drawing her close, he kissed her tenderly. ‘Yes, I’m all right.’ He needed her, but he did not deserve her. ‘Thank you, Molly,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Ssh.’ Running her fingers through his unruly mop of brown hair, Molly thought him to be a fine figure of a man. He had such strength of character in his features, particularly his eyes, which could be very mischievous at times; yet even when he laughed, those eyes were brooding, as though hiding a secret – a cruel, unforgiving secret that haunted the mind.

‘Molly?’ Jack leaned forward, to bury his face in the softness of her neck, ‘I’m sorry.’ He drew away, but kept his arm about her. ‘None of this is fair on you.’

‘No, it isn’t!’ Her quiet anger was fuelled by a pressing desire to get on with their lives. ‘You’re right. What’s happening is not fair – on either of us.’ It was time to say what she felt.

His silence made her feel guilty, but she continued: ‘It’s been going on for too long, and I’m afraid.’

‘Afraid?’ Jack thought it an odd thing for her to say. ‘Of what, exactly?’

‘The nightmares . . . the way they affect you. I’m afraid for you, Jack.’

She was also afraid for herself. Angry too. Why would he never listen to her?!

Jack remained quiet. He was used to her sudden bursts of anger, but this time he believed she was right to speak her mind.

‘You need help,’ she insisted, ‘Surely you can see that?’

Shrugging her off, Jack replied, ‘It was just a bad dream and now it’s gone – maybe for ever.’

Molly grew impatient. ‘You must see what’s happening to us! The nightmares . . . the lack of sleep, and the fear of where it’s all leading. We can’t go on like this – it’s eating into our lives. You have to see someone!’

Impatient, Jack moved away. ‘I’ve heard it all before, Molly. I don’t need to hear it again!’

‘Oh, but you do.’ Clambering up, she stood before him, deliberately blocking his way. ‘I see what it does to you, Jack, and this time it was worse than ever, because this time I was beginning to think I would not be able to bring you back. I was frightened, Jack. I was really frightened!’

‘You needn’t have been.’

Her voice shaking, Molly gave him a warning, ‘I can’t put up with this, Jack. Can’t you see? This thing is taking over! You can’t sleep and when you do, you go to a place where there is no rest, no peace, and sometimes lately when I talk to you, you’re not even listening. You’re back there somewhere . . . lost in a place I can’t go.’

‘Oh, now you really are talking rubbish!’

But Jack knew she was right. Sometimes in the evening, when he sat down after a hard day at work, he felt himself drifting into the darkness. Up until now, he had not realised Molly was aware of it.

‘Jack?’

‘Yes?

In a stern voice Molly told him what was on her mind. ‘These nightmares . . . the lack of proper sleep – it’s only a matter of time before it affects your work, and mine too.’

Jack was adamant. ‘That won’t happen!’

‘But it could!’ Molly was relentless. ‘I mean, it’s definitely beginning to affect our relationship.’

In that moment, a sobering thought came to her. ‘Oh my God! Maybe it’s not the nightmares or lack of sleep that’s taking you from me!’

‘What d’you mean?’ Jack was shaken. ‘Nothing is taking me from you!’

‘Don’t fob me off, Jack! Every time I raise the question of marriage, you’re full of excuses. You need to save more money first, or you want to wait until I’m absolutely sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Well, I can tell you now, I’m beginning to think you want rid of me but you don’t have the guts to tell me, so then you worry, and the worry plays on your mind and you have these bad dreams. That’s the truth of it, isn’t it?’

‘No!’ He was genuinely shocked. ‘No, it isn’t, and I can’t believe you’re even thinking that.’

‘So what am I supposed to think? Tell me, Jack. I mean, we don’t talk at any great length, do we? We don’t even go out any more. We don’t have friends back – and we haven’t made love in weeks! Can you blame me for thinking you don’t want me any more?’

Wrapping his capable hands about her small shoulders, he drew her closer, ‘I love you as much as ever. You’re a very special part of my life, and always will be.’ He kissed her full and longingly on the mouth. ‘You and me, we belong together,’ he whispered. ‘I knew it from the start.’

‘Do you really mean that?’

‘You know I do, Molly, and like I say . . . I’m really sorry for putting you through all that – the nightmares and lack of sleep. Making you think I didn’t want you any more.’

Gently moving away from him, she sat on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s not just the nightmares,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s the fact that you won’t do anything about them.’

‘There’s no need. They’ll probably go away in time.’ Deliberately ignoring his protest, Molly went on, ‘The trouble is, you can’t see what I can see.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that when you’re inside the nightmare, you make these weird little sounds, like you can’t breathe, and you lash out violently, as though fending off some kind of attack – as if there’s something that means to harm you. What is it, Jack? What fills you with such terror?’

Jack looked away. ‘I don’t know.’

‘So, do you want to know?’ Molly’s anger bubbled to the surface. ‘Do you want answers?’

He shrugged. ‘I just want to be rid of the nightmares.’

‘What if they’re not nightmares?’

‘What d’you mean?’

Molly searched for the right words. ‘I’m not sure, but maybe you should get a medical. Maybe it’s something to do with the brain?’

‘No medical.’

Agitated, he got up and went to stand beside her. ‘Listen to me. I know you’re worried for me, and I’m sure the lack of sleep is beginning to affect you too. So I was thinking, maybe the answer is for us to sleep in separate rooms, at least for now?’

‘I don’t want to sleep in separate rooms,’ Molly snapped angrily, ‘unless I was right just now, and you really do want to be rid of me. What’s the plan, Jack? Get me out of your bed then the next move is out the door. Is that it?’

Jack grew agitated. ‘Look, all I’m saying is, we’re both getting ratty, and it’s my fault.’

‘So get checked out.’

‘OK then, yes – I will.’

‘When?’

He gave a shrug, ‘When I find the time.’

‘In other words, never.’

When Molly began to push him further, he backed off. ‘I’d best get ready for work. I don’t want to be late again.’

‘I’m not letting this drop,’ she warned him. ‘I mean it!’

‘I can see that.’

‘So tell me,’ she demanded, ‘why you won’t get help. Explain it to me, because I don’t understand.’

‘Just leave it, Molly. Like I said . . . I’ll deal with it.’

There was no feasible way of explaining to her. How could he describe to anyone else what he experienced when inside the nightmare? The answer was, he couldn’t. There were no words for it. The whole terrible experience was like a part of him, like an arm or a leg. Sometimes, that haunting place really felt like an extension of himself. How could anyone ever understand?

Seeing him looking so lost, Molly’s heart went out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to be angry,’ she said impatiently. ‘It’s just that I don’t understand how you could suffer for so long, without at least trying to do something about it. There are people out there who might be able to help you. That’s all I’m trying to say.’

‘I don’t want us to row,’ Jack told her. ‘But I don’t believe it’s possible to stop someone having nightmares. It’s not like putting sticking plaster on a cut, or fixing a broken arm, is it? And don’t you think I’d have tried talking to someone years ago, if I really thought it might help?’

‘All right, Jack, I hear what you’re saying, and I know you don’t like the idea of discussing it with a stranger – but talking to someone about it won’t make it any worse than it is. You could explain how long you’ve been having the nightmares and how they’re disrupting your sleep, so much so that you’ve started nodding off behind the wheel of your car. It’s dangerous, Jack. Suppose you crashed? I would never forgive myself for not having tried everything in my power to make you get help.’

In truth, she was growing impatient, even asking herself whether she should bring their relationship to an end. After all, there were plenty of other fish in the sea. Jack came with a lot of baggage, and did she really need that responsibility?

‘Seeing a doctor won’t help.’

‘Oh, and you know that, do you? Without even trying?’ Molly measured her words carefully. ‘We’re not talking about a doctor who mends broken legs or delivers babies. But there are other doctors – who specialise in how the mind works.’

Jack didn’t like the sound of that. ‘You mean a shrink?’

‘If that’s what you want to call them, yes. People who know about troubles of the mind. All I’m asking is that you just go and see. Make enquiries at least.’

‘No!’ Jack had had enough. He escaped to the bathroom, calling as he went, ‘Even if I went to see somebody as you suggest, they can’t tell me any more than I already know. All they can do is ask me questions to which I have no answers. Or, they could drug me and probe my mind. I don’t want that, and I won’t do it, not even for you.’

‘Now you’re just being pig-headed!’ Molly followed him to the bathroom. ‘Look, you could tell them what happens – what you see, what you feel. Explain how it affects you. Tell them how at first it happened maybe once or twice in a month, but lately it’s every week.’ She took a deep breath, then said more calmly, ‘If you make an appointment, then later decide not to go through with it, that’s OK. You can walk away. It’s worth a try through, isn’t it?’

Encouraged when he gave no reply, she went on, ‘Just make an appointment, eh? Will you do it, Jack – for my sake?’

Placing one hand on her shoulder, he absent-mindedly brushed the fringe from her eyes. ‘I don’t like the idea,’ he said. ‘Besides, how could I make them understand, when I don’t even understand myself ?’ Just thinking about it, he could feel the sweat coating the palms of his hands. ‘I’m not sure I can do it, Molly.’

‘So, what are you afraid of ?’

Momentarily taken aback by her direct question, he answered, in a soft voice, almost as though he was speaking to himself, ‘Maybe I’m afraid of what’s lurking there, in the back of my mind. Maybe I’m afraid of releasing some terrible thing that might be even worse than the nightmares.’ He wondered what could ever be worse than his nightmares.

He grew troubled, ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more,’ he told her. ‘Not to you, and certainly not to some stranger.’ Seeing her about to speak, he snapped, ‘Leave me be, Molly! I’ll deal with it in my own way. I’ve told you before – I can handle it!’

A few moments later, he emerged from the bathroom, filled with regret for yelling at her, ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘OK, if it’ll make you happy, I’ll promise to think about it, and that’s as far as I go for now. So, does that satisfy you?’

Molly answered sulkily, ‘Well, it’s a start, at least.’

‘OK, so now let it drop. I don’t want to hear any more about it. No more nagging. No more arguments. Agreed?’

‘All right, then. But if you haven’t done something about it within a week, then I’ll be after you again. I won’t leave it there!’

Jack merely gave a grunt.

‘I mean it,’ Molly went on. ‘I can’t take much more of it – and I certainly don’t want to sleep in separate beds.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘But it might come to that. Just look at us now. We’re almost at each other’s throats again, and I don’t want it to be like this.’

He may be a good catch, she thought, but was he worth the aggravation?

Having washed and shaved, Jack now threw on his shirt and trousers while Molly had a quick shower and got ready for work at Banbury’s estate agents.

Over coffee, Jack was bright and chatty, but he rejected breakfast. ‘I’m not really hungry, ’ he said. ‘The boss is out on some appointment and the other four guys are all tied up with clients, so I’ve been asked to oversee the showrooms. I thought we might meet up for a bite to eat about twelvish My treat, so what do you say?’

Molly liked the idea of that. ‘Great! I’ve got a viewing in Leighton Buzzard at ten-thirty, which should take me up to midday, so yes, I’m up for that.’

Jack was anxious to get away, ‘So, I’ll see you later then?’

After a quick slurp of her coffee, Molly asked him. ‘Can I just say one more thing? Then I promise, I’ll shut up?’

Jack nodded. ‘Go on then,’ he urged. ‘One more thing, but then I’ve got to go.’

Molly spoke with sincerity. ‘I know I’ve been nagging you, but it’s only because I’m worried. It’s been three months since I came to live here with you, and in that time, I’ve seen what these nightmares do to you. Even during the day sometimes, I’ve seen how you glance over your shoulder, almost as though you half expect somebody to be there. It does concern me, Jack, and I’d be so relieved if I knew you were seeing someone about getting help. Before it drives us both crazy.’

Reaching out, she patted his hand. ‘There! That’s all I wanted to say, and now I’ll shut up about it. So, where do you want to meet up? I don’t want to go to that scruffy little café near the showrooms. The last time we went there, I had a hair in my sandwich.’

Jack was easy. ‘OK – what about the pub in Woburn Sands – the one on the corner, called the Drake? They do cracking home-cooked food.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve had lunch there.’ ‘Oh, really? So how come you didn’t take me?’ ‘Because it was a work thing, booked and paid for by the customer.’ Grabbing his jacket from the back of the door, Jack slipped it on. ‘I’ll see you there then?’

On his way to the car, Jack looked back to see Molly waving him goodbye from the doorway.

‘See you later!’ he called.

Molly gave a curt nod.

A moment later, he was gone.

‘You’d best keep your promise, Jack Redmond!’ she muttered to herself.

En route to work, Jack thought about Molly’s warning. He understood her concern, but she could have no real idea of his fears. Crawling along in the traffic, his mind went back to when he was a child. Strangers had tried before and failed to rid him of the nightmares. ‘They couldn’t help me then,’ he thought, ‘so how can they help me now, when I’m thirty?’ Leaving Leighton Buzzard behind, he swung onto the A5 and headed for Bletchley.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he slowly began to agree that Molly was right. It was only a matter of time before their relationship was damaged beyond repair, and he didn’t want that to happen.

By the time he’d arrived at work and parked the car, the idea was growing on him. Making his way down to the showrooms, he felt more confident with every stride. ‘I suppose I could make an appointment,’ he thought, ‘and like Molly said, I don’t need to stay if I feel uncomfortable about it.’

Pushing open the heavy glass doors, he bade a cheery good morning to his colleagues. ‘Is the boss in?’ he asked the pretty blonde at reception.

Flicking out a handkerchief, the girl, called Jan, discreetly blew her nose. ‘Sorry, Jack, but, Old Branagan called in to say he was heading straight for Bedford.’

‘Dammit!’ Jack was disappointed. ‘I’ve got someone interested in trading his car against our demonstrator. I just need to run the costing by him.’

He gave it a moment’s thought. ‘That’s okay. The customer isn’t due until late morning – plenty of time for me to phone the boss on his mobile. All I need is a quick conversation. I’ve got all the figures, except for the price tag on the demonstrator.’

Placing his folder on the counter, Jack gave her an easy smile. ‘Branagan’s a crafty devil, though! He’s known all week that we’ve got the schedules to work through.’

Jan giggled. ‘You’ll have to sort out the schedules yourself then, won’t you?’ She winked cheekily.

Jack winked back. ‘Ah! But if I do the deal on the demonstrator, it’ll be me who gets the commission.’

Enjoying the banter, Jan asked casually, ‘Have you thought about that offer?’

‘What offer?’

‘You know.’ She tutted. ‘I thought Branagan had already mentioned it – about you running the new showrooms they’re setting up in Lancashire. That’s your neck of the woods, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes! I mean no, I haven’t really thought about it, and no, I haven’t actually been offered it yet either.’

‘Yes, you have. I heard him telling you about it only the other day. He asked if you had a hankering to go back north. I heard him say it.’

‘Yes, but he didn’t offer me the job.’

‘In a roundabout way he did.’

Jack smiled, ‘Ah, but asking questions in a roundabout way doesn’t get answers, does it? Besides, what with the recession biting, who knows if they’ll be going through with it? Soon, none of us will be able to afford to buy cars. We’ll be back to our pushbikes, or Shank’s pony.’ He chuckled.

‘So, if you were asked,’ Jan persisted, ‘you’d say yes, would you?’ She hoped not, because Jack was the only really friendly bloke there. All the others treated her like part of the furniture. Car showrooms were truly a man’s world, and didn’t she know it.

Jack gave it a moment’s thought. His answer was a resounding ‘Nope!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve been there, done that.’ He smiled. ‘So, is the inquisition over now, little Miss Nosy?’

‘Don’t you miss the north?’

‘Sometimes.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

‘What about family and friends – wouldn’t you like to get back amongst them?’

‘I was an only child and my father died when I was sixteen,’ Jack answered. ‘My mother soon remarried and moved to America with her new husband. I heard later that she’d taken on three teenage children, a house the size of Buckingham Palace, and money coming out of their ears.’ He gave a wry little smile. ‘I never heard from her again. But it didn’t matter, because even before she left she never had any time for me. I think she saw me as a waste of space.’

‘Aw, that’s awful!’ The young woman could not imagine life without her own, doting parents.

‘Truth is, I never missed her after she was gone. I’d been left to my own devices for years. So, when Dad died and Mother took off, I sorted myself out, just like I’d always done.’

When she had abandoned him, his mother left him an address, but she must have moved quickly on, because when he wrote to that address, the letter came back, stamped Return to Sender. He was not surprised. In the end, he set about making his own way in the world.

It had not been easy – and there’d been no chance of taking up the place he’d been offered at Manchester University, which he’d regretted for a long time – but he was proud of what he’d achieved.

When he relayed all this to the girl, she tutted. ‘So, your mother turned her back on you. Well, it’s her loss, not yours.’ She quickly regretted her curt, throwaway remark. ‘Oh look, Jack . . . one day she’ll turn up on your doorstep, you’ll see.’

Jack used to think the same, but it had been too long and now he had no desire to ever see her again. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ he replied with a shrug.

‘What about friends?’ she prompted. ‘You must have made some of those?’

‘Well yes, there were school-friends, of course, but we lived too far apart to become lifelong buddies. We went to school, then we left and got on with our lives.’

‘And neighbours? Did you not make friends with some of the neighbours’ kids?’ She could see he was impatient to be off, but did not want to let him go just yet.

Jack’s mind went back along the years. ‘There were no boys of my age living in the street,’ he recalled. ‘I knew all the neighbours though, because after my father passed on, my mother carried on working for a while. She did shifts on reception at the Kings Hotel, and it seems I was bandied about like a little parcel . . . or so Eileen told me.’

‘Who’s “Eileen”?’ Jealousy sharpened her voice. ‘An old girlfriend?’

Jack laughed at that. ‘Hardly.’ It was all coming back now. ‘Eileen was Libby’s mother.’

‘So who’s Libby?’

‘My friend. When my mother went out to work, Eileen would sometimes look after me, and she’d bring Libby round with her. She’d read us stories, do puzzles with us and have lots of fun, and sometimes she’d take us to the park.’ He remembered it all so vividly. ‘Eileen Harrow was more of a mother to me than my own mother,’ he said in a low voice.

‘What about when you were older, though?’ Jan wanted to know. ‘Did you have friends at secondary school?’

Jack shook his head. ‘Not what you might call real friends,’ he said. ‘Truth is, apart from an ongoing friendship with Libby, I was a bit of a solitary sort. I preferred my own company.’

When the visions rose in his mind, he quickly excused himself, giving her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Jan, I’d best get on.’ One word; the tiniest memory – and they invaded his mind. He dared not let them loose. He dared not!

Behind him, the girl watched him go. ‘You’re a handsome devil, Jackie boy,’ she murmured. ‘If you’d only give us a chance, you and me could be great together.’ Knowing it would never happen, she gave a heavy sigh. If Jack Redmond had clicked his fingers, he could have any girl he wanted – she knew that. Trouble was, he only had eyes for that bossy-boots Molly Davis from Banbury’s. It was obvious that Jack adored his Molly, but Molly was rumoured to be anybody’s, as long as they had a fat wallet. Still, there was no one more blinded than a man in love, Jan thought enviously.

The reminiscing had lifted Jack’s spirits. He made himself a coffee, then went into his office with the idea of tackling the day’s schedule. After turning on his computer, he took his coffee to the window, where he looked out across the yard and beyond, to the main road, now choked with traffic. For a while he sipped his tea and thought of Molly. Maybe he really should get help? But he’d been through all that as a child. The doctors gave him games to play and things to do; they tested his mind until he was dizzy, but nothing changed.

Nothing ever changed.

In the end the medical men told his parents he would grow out of the bad dreams, and they had to be satisfied with that. On the day Jack turned sixteen, his father was badly hurt in a factory fire and died soon after. Two years later, in 1996, his mother took off to America for her new life.

Before she left, she told Jack he was to blame for his father’s early passing. ‘You’re the one who killed him,’ she ranted. ‘You knocked the stuffing out of Gordon – all that trouble from school, then the screaming in the night. There’s something wrong with you, I’m sure of it! You should be locked away.’ Soon after that, she packed up, lock, stock and barrel, and sold the family home, leaving her son with his late father’s silver tank-ards and the sum of £1,000 to make his own way in the world.

Just now, going through the past, Jack knew he had to make a decision. Things could not carry on as they were. Surely the right thing to do – both for Molly and for his own peace of mind – was to face up to his demons.

‘OK, Molly, you win,’ he decided. ‘I’ll take your advice and talk to the doctor. After all, what have I got to lose?’

He suddenly felt as though an unbearable weight had fallen from his shoulders. Besides, his GP, Dr Lennox, was a very understanding man. ‘That’s it!’ Going over to his desk drawer, Jack took out a batch of paperwork, and concentrated his mind on that. ‘Decision made!’

Chapter Two

BOWER STREET IN Blackburn was a quiet little street of ordinary homes and ordinary families. Like families everywhere, they all had their problems, but the mother and daughter at Number 20 had more than their fair share. On this fine brisk morning, Eileen Harrow was in an angry mood.

‘If I want him in my bed, that’s for me to decide – and you, my girl, should learn to mind your own business!’

The sixty-year-old woman had entertained many men in her bed these past years, and though her judgement was sadly misguided, her determination never wavered. ‘I’m sorry, Libby. I know your father did wrong by you, by going off when he did, but that’s all in the past – and if I can forgive him, why can’t you?’

While Libby frantically searched for an answer, the older woman jabbed a finger at her. ‘All right, then. Forgive him, don’t forgive him – it’s up to you. But I will not have my own daughter telling me what to do!’

‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Mum. I only want you to be safe.’

‘Why can’t you forgive him?’ Eileen persisted. ‘If I’m ready to forgive him, you should be too.’ Fired up and itching for an argument, she squared up to her daughter. ‘My man is home now, and this time I want him to stay. And if you don’t like it, you can clear off out of it!’

Libby remained silent, while her mother ranted on, sadly convinced that the stranger she had brought home in the small hours was actually the husband who had deserted her many long years ago.

‘Well?’ Eileen waited, hands on hips, for an apology. ‘Do you forgive him? Is he welcome to stay?’

Libby had seen it all before. Not for the first time, she had woken up that morning to find that her mother had taken a stranger into her bed. ‘Mum, please listen to me . . .’

‘No! I’ve heard enough. Pack your bags and leave, you ungrateful girl!’

‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ Libby gently persisted. ‘I don’t want to upset you. Trust me, Mum.’

But when Eileen was in this kind of mood, it was hard to calm her. ‘I’m only trying to help. I don’t want you getting all riled up.’

‘Then stop telling me I can’t sleep with my own husband! If my blood pressure goes through the roof, it’ll be your fault, not mine.’

‘Please, Mother, you need to trust me,’ Libby pleaded. ‘You’re not well.’

‘What d’you mean, I’m not well?’ The older woman rounded on her. ‘You think I’m off my head, don’t you? You think I’m incapable of making my own decisions. Well, you just listen to me for a minute, young lady. I know you were upset when your father left us, but now he’s back – and if you’re not happy with that, then you can pack your bags and bugger off!’

‘Please, Mother, don’t be like this.’ Libby knew she must calm the older woman before it got out of hand. ‘Please hear me out.’

‘No!’

With surprising suddenness Eileen became docile. She was no longer the angry woman who had threatened to throw her daughter out of house and home. ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she said, looking bewildered. ‘What were you saying?’

Relieved that the moment had passed, Libby told her, ‘I’m about to make breakfast for us.’ She glanced cautiously up the stairs. ‘When he comes out of the bathroom, you need to send him on his way.’

Eileen followed her gaze. ‘Send who on his way?’

‘Your friend.’

‘What friend?’ Not for the first time, Eileen Harrow had somehow sneaked out of the house in the early hours, desperate to find the man who had deserted them so long ago. ‘Oh! You mean your father!’ In her fragmented mind she was young again, deliriously happy because her man was home. Clapping her hands together, she giggled like a child. ‘I told you I’d find him, and now I have. It was so dark, though. I got worried I might never see him again. But then I found him and I brought him home where he belongs.’

‘No, Mum.’ Libby’s heart sank. ‘You made a mistake. We don’t know this man. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t belong here.’ Libby hated being the one who shattered her mother’s hopes and dreams, but it was her lot in life to love and protect this darling woman. ‘I still can’t believe you managed to sneak out when I was sleeping.’ She had been extra meticulous in taking all the necessary precautions, but somehow her mother had fooled her yet again.

‘Ha!’ The older woman chuckled triumphantly. ‘I watched where you put the key.’

‘Really? Well, I shall have to be even more careful in the future.’ Libby made a mental note of it. ‘Right, Mum, we need to talk,’ she went on. ‘Once we’ve got rid of your new “friend” we’ll take a few minutes to enjoy our breakfast. After that, we’ll get you dressed and all spruced up, before Thomas runs us into town. We don’t want to keep him waiting, and besides, we want to have a good look round the shops. Last time we went out, we had to rush back for your hospital appointment. Remember you saw that lovely hat in British Home Stores? Well, if it’s still there, you can try it on and see if it suits you. It would be perfect for spring and summer outings.’

Reaching out, she took hold of her mother’s hand. ‘Would you like that?’

As with many things these past years, Eileen did not recall the hat, but she smiled at the thought. ‘Am I going somewhere special?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Do I need a new hat?’

Libby beamed at her. Sometimes her mother’s affliction reduced her to tears, but not this time, because once again she had a situation to deal with. ‘Yes,’ she answered brightly. ‘Thomas promised to take us to the park, the first really warm day we get. It’s too cold now – March winds and rain most days. But come April, we might take him up on his kind offer. So yes, you do need a new hat, and if that one suits you, it’ll be my treat.’

With her fickle mind shifting in all directions, the older woman remembered, ‘Oh, a fresh pot o’ tea, you say?’

‘That’s right.’ Libby was relieved. She went to put the kettle on.

‘And remember to put two tea-bags in it? Last time you only put in one, and it tasted like cats’ pee.’ She laughed out loud. ‘Not that I’ve ever drunk cats’ pee, but if I had, it would taste just like that tea of yours.’ She gave a shiver as though swallowing something horrible. ‘So, this time, have you done what I told you?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Two teabags, then?’

‘Yes, Mother. Two teabags, one sugar – the way you like it.’

‘I bet you didn’t warm up my cup!’

‘Yes, I did that too.’

‘Good girl. At long last, you’ve learned your lesson. You can be such a naughty child!’

Through the haze in her mind, Eileen saw a chubby six-year-old with long, fair plaits and mucky hands, instead of a shapely, pretty woman aged thirty. ‘What am I to do with you, eh?’

‘Sorry, Mother.’ Following doctors’ advice, Libby had learned how to deal with her mother’s unpredictable moods. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’ Gently reaching out, she suggested in a quiet voice, ‘Come on now, Mum. Don’t let your tea go cold. You know how you hate cold tea.’

Unsure, Eileen moved back a step. ‘Too cheeky for your own good, that’s the truth of it. Drive me to distraction at times, you really do!’

‘I try not to.’ She gently wrapped her fingers about the older woman’s hand. ‘Come on, Mum.’

Eileen took a tentative step forward, only to pause again as though unsure. ‘You do realise, don’t you? I shall have to tell your father when he comes down.’

‘If you must.’

‘He’ll probably smack your legs.’ She jabbed her forefinger into Libby’s chest. ‘Oh, and don’t think I’ll stop him this time, because you deserve a smack!’

‘I expect I do.’

There followed a quiet moment, during which the older woman took stock of the situation, her kindly gaze holding her daughter’s attention. ‘Perhaps I won’t tell him,’ she confided in a whisper, ‘because he can get nasty when he has to give you a telling-off.’ Her face softened. ‘Yet he loves you, Libby. We both do.’

Choking back the tears, Libby told her, ‘And I love you, Mum . . . so very much.’

Libby had small recollection of her father, who had gone away when she was still a little girl. Like a fast-fading picture in her mind, she saw a big man with blue eyes, dark hair and quiet manner; a man with a beguiling Irish accent who came home from work and went upstairs to change before the evening meal. Most times when the meal was over, he would go out – returning much later when she and her mother were in bed. Occasionally she recalled the odd, brief cuddle, but that was all. There was no memory of closeness or laughter. There were no night time prayers or bedtime stories from Ian Harrow. There was a quiet sadness about her mother then, and in the years following his desertion of them, that made Libby feel guilty, even when she had not misbehaved.

At school she was a bit of a loner. She did have one good friend, though. Kit Saunders was in the same class as her. They laughed and played, and their friendship lifted her spirit, but when the bell rang for home-time, a great loneliness came over her. Kit’s dad worked shifts and was always waiting at the gates for his beloved daughter. Kit and her parents did fun things together. Sometimes they took their daughter to the summer fair and one year, they invited Libby to go with them. Kit’s father won his daughter a big teddy-bear on the coconut-shy. The kind girl asked him to win one for Libby, and he did his best. It was a much smaller one, but the little bear had the funniest face, and Libby was thrilled. Oh, how she loved him!

During the day, George the bear (named after Boy George, her favourite pop star) sat on Libby’s bed, and at night he came under the sheets and together they cuddled up to sleep. He was her friend and to this day, George still sat on her bed, waiting for his cuddle.

Sadly though, Kit’s family moved away and Libby lost touch with them.

The truth was, Libby never really knew her father. Her mother adored him, though. Apparently, during their marriage, Ian Harrow chose countless women over his wife. He had many affairs and once or twice even left her, but he always came back. Until the last time.

Even then, her mother continued to love him; every day and well into the night, she watched for him through the window, and afterwards cried herself to sleep. After a while, she became forgetful; she began to lose direction. If it hadn’t been for Libby coming home from school and clearing up, the house would have been buried in filth. It was only a matter of time before Eileen’s health really began to deteriorate, and after a while it really did seem that she didn’t care whether she lived or died.

It was a cruel, heartless thing he did, deserting them. Over the years, Libby often wondered if that was why she had shut him from her mind. In a way, because of him – and because her mother increasingly withdrew into her own little world – Libby’s childhood ended the day her father abandoned them.

Eileen Harrow’s breakdown happened gradually, without her daughter even noticing. At night, when Libby lay half awake in her bed, she could hear her mother sobbing, calling out, asking why he had wanted to leave her; asking if it was her fault. Had she let him down somehow? Had she not loved him enough, or not shown it enough? And was he really never coming home? It was that which she found hardest to accept.

Libby’s grandmother would come up on the coach from Manchester and stay for a time, but then she began to buckle under the strain, and her visits grew less frequent. Still grieving after the loss of her own husband, Arthur, she eventually stopped coming altogether, and died in 1992, aged seventy-three.

Libby’s grandparents on her father’s side didn’t want to know them. They claimed it was Eileen’s fault that he had strayed and they could not forgive her. They thought she should have done more to keep him happy at home. The letter they wrote was very harsh. Soon after the event, they returned to their native Ireland.

When Eileen became too confused to be left on her own, Libby quit her job as a teaching assistant and began working part-time at the local supermarket, Aston’s. Thanks to their very good neighbour, the widower Thomas Farraday, Eileen was looked after, and even occasionally taken out for drives and for walks in the park.

Unfortunately, Thomas then suffered a health scare, and Libby was obliged to give up work altogether, in order to take care of her mother. That was five years ago, and now, her mother was her life. Thankfully, Thomas regained his health, and for that Libby was immensely grateful. It meant she could do a couple of hours each morning at the supermarket and get out of the house for a while.

Eileen continued to believe that her husband Ian would come home. But he never did, and Libby never forgave him, as her mother’s mental health worsened.

‘Hey!’ Eileen’s angry voice shattered Libby’s thoughts. ‘Did you hear what I just told you?’

‘Sorry, Mum. What was it you said?’

‘I said you’re not such a bad child after all,’ Eileen replied sharply. ‘You’re just a bit mischievous at times. So I’ve decided I won’t tell your father. At least not this time!’

Familiar with her mother’s mood swings, Libby kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘You must never do it again, though. Or I will tell him, I really will. And then there’ll be ructions.’

‘Oh, quick! Here he comes.’ Libby drew her mother’s attention to the figure coming down the stairs. Libby had never before seen the man – a scruffy, tousle-haired individual in his late fifties. ‘Let me do the talking, Mother.’

‘What’s going on ’ere?’ The man smiled from one to the other. ‘You two ’aving a bit of a barney, are yer?’ He was quick to sense the atmosphere, and equally quick to realise that the younger, pretty woman was not best pleased to see him there. Well, sod her, he thought, and sod anybody else who didn’t take to him. He had a living to earn just like other folks, and he would earn it in any way he could, good or bad.

Addressing Eileen, he asked, ‘This your daughter, is it? Not too keen to see me, is she, eh?’

‘Ignore her, Ian.’ Affording Libby a scowl, Eileen smiled up at the man. ‘She always was a difficult child! As you know.’

The man gave a curt nod of the head. His name was not Ian Harrow but Peter Scott, a bully-boy and laya-bout. Having spent the night with the crazy old bat, all he wanted was his payment.

Looking him up and down, Eileen struggled to remember. ‘I’m so glad you came to see us. You mustn’t go just yet, though. Oh dear, it’s been such a long time since you were last here. Please, won’t you stay for a cup of tea?’ Unable to remember him, she grew agitated. ‘Oh, and a slice of toast and marmalade, eh?’

‘What?’ He saw his opportunity. ‘I’m not ’ere for bloody marmalade!’

‘Oh, well, some bacon and eggs, then.’ The flustered woman turned to her daughter. ‘We do have eggs and bacon, don’t we?’

‘Sorry, Mother,’ Libby lied, hoping he might leave without any further fuss. ‘I didn’t have time to do a shop yesterday.’ This was an awkward situation; one of many over these past difficult years.

‘No eggs or bacon? Well, it won’t do, my girl. It won’t do at all!’ Raking her hands through her hair, the older woman began stamping her foot. ‘No eggs or bacon! You’re worse than useless! Can’t even mek a bed properly! However hard I try, you never learn, do you?’ Turning her attention on the stranger, she stared him up and down. ‘An’ who the hell are you?’

Peter Scott gave a sly, gappy grin. ‘Oh, now I see what yer at!’ The grin slipped into a scowl. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, you old cow,’ he hissed. ‘Oh, an’ I can tell you now – lying in bed with you turned my stomach!’

‘What d’you mean?’ Looking from the man to her daughter, Eileen was obviously confused. ‘What does he mean?’ she repeated worriedly. ‘What’s he saying?’

‘I’m warning yer, don’t try that on me!’ he snarled. ‘I don’t tek kindly to being conned!’

All the same, this time he thought he might have fallen on his feet. First the old one sidles up and asks him to go home with her, and now he discovers there’s an even better opportunity to get away with his pockets full. Maybe after he’s given the younger one a good seeing-to, an’ all.

Twisting the tale, he said, ‘Nice try, ladies – I’ll give you that. But it won’t work. Y’see, I ‘appen to be in the same line of business.’

‘What are you getting at?’ This time, Libby sensed real trouble. Like before, her mother had obviously thought this man was her husband and promised him the earth to come back home with her. It was not the first time that Eileen Harrow had scoured the streets for her missing husband, only to come across some ne’er-do-well ready to use the situation to his own advantage. ‘I’d like you to explain,’ she went on coolly. ‘And then I’d like you to leave!’

Scott laughed – a hollow, unnerving sound that sent the older woman cowering against the wall. ‘Lah-di-bloody-dah, ain’t we?’ Irritated, and anxious to get away, he pretended to search his pockets. ‘Yer thievin’ devils! Me money’s gone! I can see what yer up to now! Con artists the pair of yer! And clever with it. But not quite clever enough. It’s obvious that you set out to rob me blind. And I ’ave to admit, yer took me in good and proper at first, but now it’s clear as day what yer after.’

Taking a step forward, he concentrated on Libby. ‘You’re the brains behind it, while this one’ – he grinned at Eileen, who was still cowering against the wall – ‘is the bait. And no doubt the police will see it the same way after I’ve finished.’ He had to make them out as villains, or the younger one would likely call the police on him.

He outlined his interpretation of events. ‘So there I was, minding me own business, when this woman latched onto me, said she needed me to ‘come home’ with ’er. Enticed me back here, she did, and very convincing it was too. I didn’t realise I was being set up to be robbed.’ He congratulated himself on being witty enough to turn the tables on them. ‘I can see it all now. The two of you are in it together. Con-artists, just like I said. You set a bloke up an’ leave him wi’ nowt.’

‘That’s a lie!’ Libby retaliated. ‘You must have realised my mother is ill, yet you deliberately took advantage of her!’

He slowly clapped his hands together. ‘Oh, very good.’ He grinned widely. ‘So now, what do you think to my interpretation of events?’

‘I think you’re a liar and a rogue. And if you reckon for one minute that anyone would believe your story, you’re a damned fool!’

‘Is that so?’ The smile disappeared from his face. Leering at her, he hissed softly, ‘Well, that’s my story, word for word, exactly as it happened, and I’m prepared to tell it to anyone who wants to know.’ Anger coloured his voice. ‘Yer ought to be bloody grateful it were me she latched onto! There are men out there who might have given you silly pair a good hiding, an’ more. No doubt they’d ’ave gone through this house an’ took everything worth a bob or two. An’ I reckon, it’s only what yer deserve.’

Fearing he might get violent, Libby moved to protect her mother, ‘I want you out of here – now!’ she said in a low voice. The thought of him bedding her mother was sickening.

Turning his trouser pockets inside out, Scott continued to play the victim. ‘There were at least fifty quid in these pockets when she picked me up, and now it’s all gone. So, unless yer want more trouble than yer can handle, you’d best hand over what I’ve earned, along with the cash you stole from me trouser-pockets. Oh, an’ don’t mek the mistake o’ shouting for help.’ To prove the point, he grabbed Eileen and held her in a vicious grip, before abruptly releasing her when she began to struggle.

As he took a step towards Libby, Eileen startled them both by yelling obscenities. ‘You leave her alone!’ Rushing forward, she clung to Libby with one hand, while with the other, she feverishly plucked at her hair until she resembled a wild thing.

‘I’m going nowhere, not without what’s mine!’ Grabbing Libby by the neck, he yanked her forward. ‘You’d best shut her up, or I will!’ With one mighty thrust he sent her hurtling backwards.

Subdued, Eileen was sobbing. ‘Who is he?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Why does he want to hurt us?’

‘Don’t worry, Mum. I won’t let him hurt you.’ Libby realised that the quickest way to be rid of him would be to offer whatever money they had. But since they had so very little, that was not really an option.

Her voice trembling, Eileen said to Libby, ‘If he’s here when your father gets home from work, there’ll be the devil to pay!’ Glancing furtively at the door, she half expected Libby’s father to burst in and protect them.

‘You heard her,’ Libby said, squaring up to the intruder. ‘My father will be home soon from the night shift. So if you know what’s good for you, you’d best make tracks!’ Keeping her mother safe, she added firmly, ‘There’s nothing for you here.’

‘I’ll go when I’m paid what she owes me. And fifty quid on top!’ His smile widened, to show a crooked row of yellowing teeth as he eyed her up and down. ‘Happen you’d prefer me to take part payment in other ways . . . if yer know what I mean?’

Libby knew exactly what he meant. ‘Like I said, we’ve got nothing for you. So, if you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to call the police.’

‘Go on, then!’ he goaded. ‘Call ‘em now! I can soon explain how I found this poor, deluded old dear wandering the streets, prostituting herself to any man that took her fancy. Being a proper gent, I managed to find an address tucked in her pocket, and I made sure she got home safely. That’s what I’ll tell the police, I reckon they’ll get the Social out and she’ll be banged up in a home, where she belongs.’

‘No one would take any notice of a man like you!’ All the same, Libby was worried. If he really did what he threatened, the officials would be all over her, asking questions and snooping around. And if that was the case, who knows what might happen? Her mother must not be taken from her.

‘Oh, and don’t forget, there are any number of witnesses who’ll back me up,’ Scott boasted. ‘They all saw how she offered herself on a plate to any man she came across – promising money and everything.’ He added cruelly, ‘Only it seems they didn’t need the money as much as I did.’

Lowering his voice, he leaned forward. ‘Like any decent bloke, I took pity on her, an’ the fact that she’s safely home proves that. So I think you know who the police will believe. No doubt they’ll ask why you allowed this poor old soul to wander the dark streets in her nightwear. You put her in danger, that’s what they’d say.’

Sensing Libby’s concern, he went on menacingly, ‘If it weren’t for me, some lesser man might ’ave had his way with ’er, before throwing ’er in the canal. Wrong in the ’ead she may be, but to tell the truth, compared to some of the scrubbers we get on the streets, she’s passable enough for a bit of fun.’

‘You get out!’ Diving out from behind Libby, Eileen suddenly threw herself at him, fists flailing. ‘Get away from my girl!’ The force of her attack sent him stumbling against the wall. ‘What d’you want in my house? Get out! Go on, get out!’

Shocked by Eileen’s vicious onslaught, and now with Libby joining in, Scott found himself being man handled across the room. Libby managed to open the front door, where the two of them struggled to push him outside. ‘Show your face here again,’ Libby warned, ‘and I’ll have the law on you!’

‘Yer don’t say!’ Grabbing Libby by the throat, he tried to push her back inside. ‘I don’t need no trouble with the police, so just give me what I’m owed, an’ I’ll go!’

When Eileen came at him again, screeching and clawing at his face, he raised his arm and, with one sharp thump, sent her backwards across the room.

‘Hey! What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ The man came at him from behind.

Older than Scott but strong as a bull, Thomas Farraday grabbed the younger man by the scruff of his neck, lifted him off his feet and literally swung him down the path, straddling him as he tried to scramble up, fists bunched and ready for a fight.

‘This ain’t got nothing to do with you!’ Scott argued, before a hammer-sized fist smashed into his mouth. It was enough to send him scampering, but not without a parting shot as he nursed his jaw: ‘You want locking up! Mad as hatters, the lot of you!’

Then, as Thomas took a step forward, he ran like a crazy man, stumbling wildly in his panic to get away. From a safe distance he shook his fist. ‘I’ll not forget this in a hurry!’ he yelled, though when Thomas started after him, he fled down the street, never to be seen again.

Chapter Three

AFTER WAITING UNTIL the unwelcome visitor was out of sight, Thomas went back to find Libby trying to calm her mother, who had been deeply disturbed by the entire episode. Seated at the table, Eileen was rocking back and forth. ‘It was all my fault,’ she sobbed. ‘I brought him here, but he wasn’t the one.’ She glanced up, her misty eyes looking from one to the other. ‘Y’see, I thought he were my Ian. I’m sorry I caused all this trouble.’

‘It’s all right, Eileen, love.’ Seeing how Libby was too choked to speak, Thomas came forward. ‘He’s gone now, and by the way he shot round that corner, he’ll not bother you again.’

Calmed by his quiet voice and gentle manner, Eileen looked up with tearful eyes. ‘You’re a good man, Thomas.’ Taking his work-worn hand into hers, she gently kissed it. ‘And I’m a silly old woman. They should put me away for what I’ve done to my Libby.’ Eileen had fleeting moments of lucidity, and this was one of them.

Glancing to where her daughter was making a pot of fresh tea and some scrambled eggs, she gave an almighty sigh: ‘My lovely girl!’ When she wiped her eyes, Thomas felt her sorrow. ‘She never married, you know. And it’s all because of me.’

Thomas gently quietened her fears: ‘I’m sure she’ll find the right man one of these days,’ he promised. ‘Besides, she’s only thirty, so there’s time enough yet.’

Eileen was amazed. ‘Oh dear! Is she thirty already?’

‘I believe so, yes.’

‘So, she really is wasting her life, then?’

‘No.’ Thomas had a special fondness for these two women. ‘Libby loves taking care of you. You know yourself, she would have it no other way.’

In her mind, Eileen was beginning to drift again.

‘Thirty isn’t old, but it’s not young either, is it, Thomas?’ When she looked away, he felt her pain. ‘It was me who brought that bad man home. I didn’t mean to. I was looking for my Ian. I need him, and Libby needs a father.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘My little girl is thirty, and all these years she’s been without a daddy.’ Her voice broke. ‘And I’ve been without a husband.’ She added gratefully, ‘Oh, I know you’ve been kind to Libby and me, but you’re not her father, are you, Thomas? And she’s thirty already.’ She looked at him curiously. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

Thomas smiled. ‘Oh, my! What I wouldn’t give, to be thirty again!’

‘You and me . . .’ Eileen stroked the back of his hand, ‘we’re old, aren’t we, Thomas?’

He laughed out loud. ‘Aw, I don’t know about that.’ While he was well into his late sixties, Eileen was only just sixty. And though at times her mind was broken, she was still an attractive woman, with her high cheekbones and sparkly brown eyes. She had a kind heart and, when her intelligence was not overshadowed, she displayed a bright, appealing sense of humour.

‘D’you really think Libby will find her man? I mean, you’re not just trying to pacify a silly old woman, are you?’

He shook his head. ‘You’re not to worry, sweetheart. Libby will be all right. And you mustn’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a lot to contend with.’

She smiled up at him. ‘You know, don’t you?’ she murmured. ‘You understand the way it is.’

‘I do, yes,’ he replied softly. ‘I understand, because I’ve been there.’ He reflected a moment, before going on: ‘Sometimes, when you can’t bear to think about the cruelty of life, you hide inside yourself.’

Eileen was amazed at how Thomas always managed to say the right thing. ‘Is that what I do – hide inside myself ?’ She felt somehow pacified. ‘I never knew that.’

Shifting positions, he sat down beside her. Sliding his arm round her shoulders, he drew her close to him. ‘You’re not the only one, Eileen, love,’ he confided. ‘At some time or another, we all have a need to hide inside ourselves.’

‘Do we really?’ Something in his manner made her curious.

‘Yes, sweetheart, we do.’

She leaned into his embrace. ‘Thomas?’

‘Yes, m’dear?’

‘Do you hide sometimes?’

He smiled, a slow, rueful smile that carried him back over the years. ‘Oh yes. Like I said, we all do.’

‘Why is that, Thomas?’

He took a moment to search for the right words. ‘Well, sometimes, when life gets too hard for me to handle, it helps me to go to a quiet place, somewhere deep inside, where nobody else can follow.’

For reasons he would rather not say, Thomas knew all about that. ‘It’s my own little haven, y’see?’ He glanced down into her upturned brown eyes, and his heart was pained. ‘Are you feeling better now, m’dear?’

Eileen’s smile was beautiful. ‘Yes, thank you, Thomas. You always help me.’

He smiled back. ‘Well, that’s good. I’m always glad to help, as you know. And don’t ever forget, I’m always here for you and Libby. You know that as well, don’t you?’

‘Mmm.’ Already her mind was shifting.

From across the kitchen, Libby heard their conversation. Deeply touched by his genuine kindness, she listened while buttering toast. These two people were not angels, by any means. They each had tempers when riled and they took no prisoners. Yet they were kind and generous, and beautiful in spirit.

Over the years, since she was a little girl, Libby had looked up to Thomas, who had proved to be a great comfort to her mother. Libby had strong affection for this dear man, and the friendship was between Thomas and her mother was a joy to see.

Their innocent chatter made her yearn to have a man of her own. To be making plans for the future. To be someone’s sweetheart. To walk down the aisle, plan a home, and be a mother. And most of all, to share the burden that life had become. And yet, she had coped, because of her deep, abiding love for her mother. No one had wanted this sorry situation, but they still had each other, and the ever-watchful Thomas.

Like Thomas, she understood about that special hiding-place where no one else could follow. Libby had often visited that special place inside herself, to dream and wish and hope. It was a wonderful, brief respite from the way her life had evolved. Though when she came back to reality, nothing had changed. Nothing ever would. But for that short, precious time, when carried along by her imagination, she was free to dream.

In many ways, Libby considered herself blessed. She had her health and strength and so did her mother, apart from her slowly deteriorating mental state; although thankfully, Libby was able to make her days as normal and enjoyable as possible.

The two of them had a pretty home, paid for by the man who later abandoned them. She and her mother were warm and cosy, and they shared a deep bond of love. One way and another, there was enough coming in to feed and clothe them both, even though they had to watch every penny.

Libby often reminded herself that there were many people worse off than them. She counted her blessings. Life threw challenges at you: some you could deal with and some you couldn’t. Life was no easy ride for anyone, she knew that. She also knew that all you could do was to get through the best way you could.

‘Breakfast is ready, Mum. Thomas, would you like some scrambled eggs? I’ve made plenty.’

As the three sat and enjoyed a hearty meal, Eileen began worrying again. She was sad because her darling girl was nearly thirty years old and still not wed. So there were no children or grandchildren to love. Eileen truly believed it was all her fault, even though both Libby and Thomas tried to convince her otherwise.

‘It’s like Thomas said – I just haven’t met the right man yet,’ Libby assured her cheerfully. ‘One day I’ll be filling the shelves in the supermarket, and just like on the TV ads, some handsome fella will pick up the tin of beans I accidentally dropped, and before you know it, I’ll have met my future husband and father of my ten children.’

‘Hey, you’d best not have ten children,’ Eileen teased. ‘I won’t be able to fit them all on my knee!’ But in her more lucid moments, Eileen knew the truth: her daughter had been robbed of marriage and children, and all because of having to look after her.

‘I had a husband,’ Eileen now announced. ‘When we first married, we were so much in love we never needed anyone else. Then we had Libby, and everything was perfect . . . for a time.’ She discreetly wiped away a tear. ‘After we had the baby, my Ian began to change. He was restless – didn’t seem to want us any more. Sometimes he went with other women. I found out and I faced him time and again. He kept saying he loved me, and I had to believe him. I so wanted to believe him!’

A look of despair was etched on her face. ‘In the end I stopped worrying, because I knew I had to put up with it, or lose him. I pretended it wasn’t happening, and we were much happier. Later though, he left me anyway.’

When her voice broke and she began to stare into her teacup, Libby told her, ‘You don’t need to think about all that, Mum. It’s all water under the bridge, and I don’t like you being upset.’

Eileen gave a sad little nod. ‘I have to say it,’ she told her. ‘He’s been gone so long, and I need him here with me! I need answers. I need to ask him why he did it.’ She grew agitated. ‘It must have been my fault. I must have done something wrong.’

This time it was Thomas who intervened, his voice stern but kindly. ‘It was not your fault, my dear. If you think back, you’ll remember how it really was. Your husband did love you – he would have been crazy not to. But he liked to play the field. We all knew that, and we all wondered how you managed to put up with it for so long. The truth is, for whatever reason, he liked other women. One was never enough. You were never enough. His own little daughter Libby was not even enough to keep him faithful. When he left, it was not your fault, Eileen. It was his. You must never forget that.’ It hurt him to see this darling woman so terribly sad.

‘He’s right, Mum.’ Libby agreed with his every word. ‘It’s common knowledge – Father was a womaniser. You stood by him, and yet he still went away, leaving us both behind, and me only six years old. Like Thomas said, it was nothing you did. Dad liked other women. It was just the way he was, that’s all.’

‘Ah, but you never knew about that woman next door, did you?’ As was her way, Eileen suddenly brought the discussion to a different level. ‘Claire Redmond, her name was.’

Libby was intrigued. ‘Yes, I do remember her,’ she confirmed. Sometimes her mother took her completely by surprise.

Thomas recalled the neighbour in question – a loose woman who liked other men, even before her husband died. ‘What was her son’s name, now . . . ?’ he pondered. ‘Jim? Joe? Oh, goodness! My memory’s getting worse by the minute.’

‘Jack!’ Libby’s voice rang out. She had not forgotten him and never would. ‘His name was Jack, and he was my best friend.’

Thomas scowled. ‘From what I remember, Jack’s mother was a real flighty sort – go with any tom-cat that howled, she would!’ He added softly, ‘Shame about what happened to her husband. Gordon was a nice enough bloke – struck down with a heart-attack two days after that big fire he got caught up in, and him only forty-two. It just goes to show – we never know what’s round the corner, do we, eh?’

There was a moment of quiet, before Eileen spoke again, and what she had to say came as a surprise to both Thomas and Libby. ‘Claire Redmond was a bad woman.’ She wagged a finger at Thomas. ‘She threw herself at my Ian!’

Nervously rolling her teacup in her hands, she leaned forward. ‘You were a bairn at the time,’ she told Libby, ‘and I took you with me to babysit for little Jack. Later, I found I’d left my coat behind, so I put you in your cot and nipped back – and there they were in the hallway. Your father and Jack’s mother – going at it like two ferrets, they were!’

Rendering the other two speechless, she went on. ‘I was so ashamed. My own husband – cavorting with her, and right on our own doorstep!’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘So maybe I’m really not to blame after all.’

‘That’s right, Mum. You were not to blame.’ Libby was used to her mother switching from one subject to another, but this time she was shocked. The thought of Jack’s mother and her own father ‘going at it like ferrets’ was not a pleasant one.

‘If I remember rightly,’ she said, ‘Jack’s mum went away and never came back.’

‘That’s right, dear. His poor father passed on. Two years later, young Jack comes home from school to find the house with a “Sold” sign outside. Soon after, his mother packed her bags and took off with her American boyfriend, leaving young Jack to fend for himself.’

Thomas still recalled that day, all those years ago. He also recalled the desolate look on the boy’s face as he walked past his window. ‘What mother would do such a dreadful thing, and just a few days before the boy was about to leave school?’ He tutted loudly. ‘First his father gone, and then his mother. Then he finds himself with no roof over his head. What a dreadful start to his young life! No one cared tuppence about him.’

‘We did – he could have stayed with us until he found somewhere,’ Libby said, rather sadly.

‘Happen he was too proud.’ Thomas too would gladly have given the lad a home.

‘Or maybe he wanted a fresh start,’ Libby mused. ‘Maybe he wanted to put as many miles between himself and Blackburn as he could.’

Thomas agreed. ‘As I recall, he was a sensible, decent sort of lad. More than capable of making his own way in life too, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Eileen smiled. ‘He was such a quiet baby . . . pale-looking and good as gold. And then he turned into a fine, handsome young man.’

Thomas nodded at Eileen’s memories of Jack, but he recalled Jack as being a chubby baby, with a smile to brighten the day and an active curiosity about everyone and everything.

All this talk of Jack made him strong in Libby’s mind. For a long time she had hoped he might come back, but then a new family moved in next door, and she resigned herself to the idea that she would never see him again. To this very day, she missed him. She missed his company and his quiet smile, and the way he always took it on himself to take care of her at school.

Once, after an older girl had bullied and upset her, Jack had shyly kissed her on the mouth, before shooting off quickly, as though having shocked himself. That was the first time he ever kissed her. And the last. Thinking of it now, she involuntarily raised her fingers to her mouth, gently brushing her lips. The memory of Jack’s mouth on hers was surprisingly vivid.

‘Libby!’ Her mother’s raised voice broke the spell. ‘I was talking to you.’

Mortified, Libby was quickly attentive. ‘What is it, Mum?’

‘Oh, dear, I’ve forgotten now, but it doesn’t matter. Must’ve been something and nothing.’

Like Libby, Thomas was miles away, back in the past, thinking of the tragic Redmond family; and particularly of young Jack. ‘What age will he be now?’ he mused. ‘As I recall, he were just a bit older than Libby, so he must be over thirty now.’

‘Oh, dear, is it really that long?’ Eileen was surprised and saddened at the speed with which the years had flown away.

‘I wonder where he went.’ In truth, Libby had never stopped wondering.

Her mother wondered too. ‘I hope he’s all right.’

‘I expect he’s wed,’ Thomas chipped in, ‘wi’ a couple o’ children running round his backside.’

As always, Eileen had a short span of concentration. ‘Libby, now I remember what I wanted to ask you,’ she said.

‘Good. So, what was it, Mum?’

‘Do you ever feel guilty about your father?’

‘Not at all, no.’ She was used to her mother flitting from one subject to another.

‘Don’t you want him back?’

‘Not now. He chose someone else over us and left.’ Libby was more bitter than ever. Convinced that her father’s womanising had damaged her mother’s mind, she had been disgusted to learn that he had even had a fling with Jack’s mother.

‘Don’t you love him?’ Eileen asked.

‘I didn’t even know him, not really.’ Nor did she want to, ‘Don’t forget, I was only a little girl when he left.’

When Eileen again grew silent, Libby wished she hadn’t voiced her true feelings. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to be so hard.’

Eileen understood. ‘You were right,’ she answered. ‘He did hurt us both, very much.’ Her pretty brown eyes misted over. ‘It’s just that, well . . . I really miss him, that’s all.’

‘I realise that,’ Libby said kindly, ‘but it was a long time ago and, like Thomas said, you could never have changed him.’

After her father went away, he was kept alive by the photographs lovingly placed about the house by her mother. And also by the stories her mother would tell over the years, about how it used to be, and how, one day, Ian Harrow was bound to come home. But he never did.

‘It’s best if you don’t think about the bad things any more,’ Libby suggested now.

‘You didn’t know, but last night, when you were fast asleep, I went to find him,’ Eileen confided. ‘I sneaked out and walked the streets – and there he was.’

Sensibly , Libby let her talk. It was the only way.

Eileen mumbled on: ‘I hoped he might be sorry for what he did to us. I wanted it to be like it was before . . . well, you know, don’t you, love?’

‘Yes, Mother, I think I do.’

‘When I found him, he was angry with me. At first he tried to send me away, but I told him if he would come home with me and be like he was before, I would forgive him. I even promised him money. He was bad, though, wasn’t he? He came back, but he only wanted to hurt us again.’ Her voice broke. ‘Oh, Libby, why would your father do such a thing?’

Realising she was drifting away from reality, Thomas felt obliged to help. ‘Listen to me now, m’dear. That man you brought home was not your husband.’

‘Who was he, then?’ Eileen looked at them both, perplexed.

‘You should never have gone out, Mother,’ Libby said firmly. She had believed the precautions she’d taken were enough. Thomas had even fitted a gate at the top of the stairs. And yet again, her mother had outwitted them both.

‘I’m sorry, Libby, I won’t do it again.’

‘Good. I’m glad about that.’

‘The bad man who hurt us just now. Was that your father?’ Her confusion thickened.

Libby suddenly found it hard to hold back the tears.

She was losing her mother again. ‘No, Mum. That man was a stranger. Thomas sent him packing.’

Inside her mind Eileen struggled to put the pieces together. ‘Who was he, then?’ she asked worriedly. ‘Why was he here?’

‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, m’dear.’ Gently intervening, Thomas put her mind at rest. ‘He came in off the streets, wanting a handout. He was a rogue, and now he’s gone.’

‘I don’t want him to ever come back!’

‘You don’t need to worry, my darling, because he won’t be back.’

‘Not ever?’

‘No. Not ever.’

‘Do you promise?’

Thomas nodded, his eyes moist with sorrow. ‘I promise. With every bone in my body.’

‘Thank you, Thomas. You’re the best friend to me and Libby,’ Eileen whispered, and in an impromptu move that surprised the other two, she leaned forward and pursed her lips for a kiss.

With aching heart, Thomas took hold of her hands, and drawing her close, he kissed her quickly, with great tenderness. ‘I’m always here for you,’ he promised hoarsely. Then, addressing Libby, he stood up to leave. ‘Thanks for that nice bit o’ breakfast. Went down a treat, it did.’

Libby nodded. ‘Mum’s right,’ she acknowledged. ‘You really are a true friend.’ She had been touched by the way her mother had asked him for a kiss, and he responded, appearing to be deeply moved.

Thomas assured her, ‘What I did was only what any right-minded bloke would do. Now then, ladies, don’t forget: if you need me . . .’

‘We know where you are,’ Libby finished, and showed him to the door, where they bade each other good day.

Thomas walked the few steps along Bower Street to his own little house next door, thinking about the vile creature he had sent packing. ‘He’ll not be back,’ he muttered. But like Libby, he had a feeling it would not be the last time Eileen would go wandering off. ‘We shall have to keep a sharper eye on her in future.’

He gave an involuntary shiver. The sun was bright, but there was no warmth in it. ‘You should’ve put your coat on,’ he chided himself. ‘Catch your death o’ cold if you’re not careful!’

Cheering up, he made his way through the little wooden gate and on down the garden path, pausing to see if the flower-buds were peeping out. ‘Too early yet!’ he chuckled wryly. ‘They’ve got more sense than me. Like as not, they won’t pop their heads up for a while yet.’

Letting himself into the house, he closed the door behind him. It was only a few steps along the passageway to the living-room. Once there, he dropped his weary body into the depth of a big old armchair. When it creaked beneath his weight, he laughed out loud. ‘Sounds like I’m not the only one getting old,’ he remarked to the empty room. ‘Old and worn, me an’ the chair both.’

Rolling up his shirt-sleeves, he noticed a dark, elon-gated bruise on his wrist. ‘I’m too bloody old to be rugby tackling fellas, that’s for sure!’

He gave a deep, rumbling laugh. ‘Saw the bugger off though, didn’t we, eh? Me an’ the lasses – we saw the bugger off good and proper!’ For the first time in a long while, he felt useful. Moreover, he felt proud to have dealt with such an ugly situation.

His mood sobering, Thomas gazed at the fire-grate and the dark coals flickering there. He felt safe in this little house; sheltered from the changing world and the harshness of life. This home was where he had been most happy, with his late wife. It had always been a deep disappointment that he and Rose were never able to have children. If they had, his life and hers would have been all the sweeter. Maybe then, she’d still be with him, grandchildren on her knee.

Growing melancholic, he got up from the chair and ambled over to the sideboard, where he studied the array of photographs displayed there. His eyes settled on one in particular – of a pretty young woman seated on a swing near the rose-beds in Corporation Park.

He recalled the day clearly. It was high summer and they’d been married for two years to the very day. The gentle breeze lifted her long fair hair, just as he was about to take the picture. She laughed, he clicked the button, and she was captured for ever. This photograph had always been his favourite one of her. They were young then, and she was so beautiful.

He had always wondered what she saw in him – an ordinary-looking bloke with few prospects. But oh, how he loved her, and still did . . . to this very day, in spite of everything life had thrown at them.

Collecting the photograph, he carried it to the chair, where he sat down and stared at it for what seemed an age, until the tears ran freely down his weathered old face. ‘I know what Eileen meant when she said she missed her husband,’ he told the image, ‘because I miss you, every minute of every day.’

After a time he went to the back window and looked out. ‘See that!’ He turned the photograph, imagining she might see what he’d done to the garden. ‘I’ve set the flowers either side of the path, the way you like it,’ he said proudly. ‘And look at the potting shed . . . I’ve created a bed of your favourite red geraniums along the front. Should be lovely, come the summer.’ He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back. ‘Give it another month, an’ our little back garden will be ablaze with colour, you wait and see.’

Glancing up at the skies, he chided himself, ‘Hark at me! Telling you what it looks like and how pretty it’ll be. I expect you can see more than I can, from up there with the angels.’

His sorry gaze lingered on the shifting clouds, following their progress across a kindly sky. ‘I do miss you, Rose,’ he murmured. ‘I even miss you nagging at me when I made your tea too strong. I miss our cuddles, and seeing your pretty face in the mornings when I wake, and I miss your chatter and laughter. I know I’ll never hear that again, and it makes me really sad.’

When the tears threatened again, he told himself sharply, ‘You stop that, you silly old devil! She’s gone, and you can’t bring her back. It’s the way it is, and that’s that. Some of us are destined to go, and others are left behind to soldier on, and like it or not, that’s a fact of life.’

He chatted for a while, telling her, ‘Eileen next door snuck out again. She went looking for her two-timing husband. Brought a real bad fella home this time, she did. But thankfully, we managed to get rid of him without too much trouble.’

He lapsed into thought for a time, before softly confiding, ‘I must confess, Rosie, I really do like Eileen. In her clearer moments, we seem to understand each other. We’ve both suffered a loss and we’re both lonely – though of course she’s a bit luckier than me, because she’s got her daughter Libby, while I’ve got no one.’

A gentle sadness marbled his voice. ‘Yes, I know she’s damaged and I know she’s a handful, but it’s nice to be able to take care of someone, and those two lovely people next door are more like family than neighbours. During the day, when Libby goes to work and I nip round to keep Eileen company, I find myself laughing with her over silly little things. We sit and have a cup of tea and I let her chatter on, because she likes to talk, and it does my old heart good.’

He relayed the gist of the recent conversation about Jack Redmond, remembering how Rose used to claim that Jack’s mother was unfit to have children, while mourning the fact that infertile women like herself were denied the opportunity of ever becoming a mother.

‘The truth is, young Jack were thrown to the wolves,’ Thomas declared angrily. ‘If you’d still been here, I know you would have offered him a home, my sweet Rosie, but he were a proud young fella, and I don’t believe he would have accepted any kind of charity. Just now, me and the girls next door, were wondering what might have happened to him, and whether he found a better life after leaving these parts.’

He scratched his head. ‘Listen to me, talking away as if you’re sitting there listening to me! But y’see what I’m saying, sweetheart? It’s good for me to pop in next door. It keeps me up with what’s going on, and it gives me summat to think about. Moreover, it’s nice for me to look after Eileen of a morning. We have a laugh. We get on really well together, and you know what?’ He gazed directly at his late wife’s photograph. ‘Eileen and Libby make me feel I’m needed, if y’see what I mean?’

While his gaze lingered on her pretty face, his old heart flooded with guilt. ‘I’m really sorry, my lovely. I don’t mean to make you jealous, or hurt your feelings or anything of the kind, but I do love Eileen. Oh, not in the way I loved you. I could never love any woman like I love you.’

He gave a quiet smile. ‘I’m not saying we never argued, because you know very well we did, and there were times when you drove me to distraction.’ He did not want to think badly of her; to him, she would always be his first and only real love. ‘I’ve always loved and adored you, and I always will.’

Pressing two fingers on his lips, he transferred the kiss onto her photograph. ‘The thing is, we none of us know what’s round the corner. Fate can be a giver or a taker. Sometimes she’s kindly, and sometimes she causes terrible pain. Things happen and we’d rather they didn’t – and however desperate we are to change them, we just can’t.’

Returning the photograph to the sideboard, he went across the room, heavy with regrets, and as always, wishing his wife was still there. Sinking into his familiar, cosy armchair, Thomas let his mind wander back over the years.

There had been so many wonderful times which he would not change for the world, but there were other, more recent memories that brought him little comfort. He also had a deep regret that he and his wife had not been blessed with children. And now, he was left to face the future alone.

He had always been a practical man. He believed there was a reason for everything; though for the life of him, there were times when he struggled to fathom what that reason was. Overwhelmed with emotion, he leaned forward in the chair, spread his hands over his face and, frantically rocking back and forth, he began to cry. When the dark memories flooded his mind, the sorrow was more than he could bear. ‘I miss you, my lovely,’ he whispered. ‘And I’m so sorry.’

In that crippling moment, he thought of everything he had suffered since his woman had gone. First, the raw shock of it all. Such pain. Such grief. And then the unending loneliness.

The trauma of losing her would never leave him. Grief and pain he had learned to live with. But the loneliness was the worst punishment of all.

Chapter Four

‘YOU’RE LUCKY THE specialist had a cancellation and could fit you in so quickly.’

‘Don’t be afraid to say it, Molly,’ Jack reminded her. ‘He’s a psychiatrist!’

‘Look, Jack! Don’t let’s go through all this again. Just go and see him. For my sake, if not for yours. Neither of us have had a good night’s sleep in ages!’

‘No need to get agitated, Moll. I haven’t said I won’t go and see him!’ Jack wondered what he might be letting himself in for, and he was not looking forward to seeing the psychiatrist. I think you’re over-reacting. I know I’ve kept you awake, but like I said, I’ll move into the spare room. It’s not a problem for me.’

Molly would not hear of it, ‘You’re wrong! It is a problem – for both of us!’ Snatching up the breakfast-plate, she slid it onto the sink-top. ‘I’ve told you before: sleeping in separate bedrooms would be the beginning of the end of our relationship.’

‘Huh! That’s not saying much for our relationship then, is it?’

‘We’re already drifting apart, Jack. I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before I’m out of your life altogether.’

‘That won’t happen. Not if I have anything to do with it.’

‘Look, Jack. I know it isn’t easy for you, but you must go and see him, even if it’s only to talk.’ She paused, recalling all the things he had told her, about the childhood drawings, and the dark images. ‘I don’t see what you see, when you’re dreaming,’ she conceded quietly, ‘but I’ve seen how the nightmares affect you. You have to talk with someone who might be able to help you. This is your chance, Jack,’ she coaxed. ‘What have you got to lose by keeping the appointment?’

When Jack gave no answer, Molly grew angry. ‘For pity’s sake, Jack! What the hell is wrong with you?’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘Then tell me!’

She placed her hands over his in a gesture of reassurance. ‘I’m frightened of losing you, Jack. I’m frightened that if you don’t get professional help, there might be no way back.’

Jack gave a harsh little laugh, ‘That’s a bit dramatic –no way back!’ He knew what she meant, but wouldn’t admit to it.

In truth, there were times when he thought the same. Lately, he found it increasingly difficult to cope.

‘JACK!’

Molly’s raised voice startled him.

‘Will you keep the appointment, or not?’

Collecting his plate and cup, Jack got out of the chair to place them in the sink. ‘Look,’ he explained, ‘if I seem reluctant to go, it’s just that I went through a lot of this stuff when I was a kid.’

He remembered it as if it was yesterday: the long hours in a stuffy room; the questions he found hard to answer; the fruitless tests and meaningless suggestions, and later the snide remarks from the other kids at school.

Afterwards, for a time the nightmares went away, but they soon came back, stronger than ever.

He had promised never to put himself in the hands of strangers again, so he learned to live with his fears. He became clever at putting on a front for his parents and teachers. When the dreams took him, and he woke with the darkness and the images still clinging to him, he would walk the floor of his bedroom until he was able to relax into a kind of shallow sleep. They never knew. And he never told them.

Consequently, the sessions with the child psychologist eventually stopped altogether. But not the dreams and not the darkness, because they were still there, in that other place. The place where his mind took him.

Over the ensuing years, he had hidden his secret well. Until Molly came into his life and began to sleep with him.

‘You win, Sweetheart.’ Walking over to the sink, he put his arms around her. ‘As soon as I get to the office, I’ll talk to the boss and arrange an extra-long lunchtime.’

‘Good! And I’ll do the same.’

‘Why would you do that?’ he asked defensively. ‘To check up on me? To make sure I get there, is that it?’ He did not want her too involved.

Molly protested, ‘No! It’s just so you won’t have to go on your own, that’s all.’

‘But that’s just it,’ Jack told her. ‘I want to go on my own.’

‘No! That’s not right. You need me there.’

‘Molly, listen to me. I prefer to be on my own.’ Sometimes, she was like a dog with a bone. ‘I don’t want to worry about you being there – if I freak out, or anything. You see, once the therapist starts digging into my brain, who knows how I might react? Like I said, I’ve been there before, so I know what I’m talking about.’

‘All the more reason for me to be there for you.’

‘No, Molly – the subject is closed. I appreciate the offer, but I’m going on my own, and that’s an end to it.’

‘All right, I’ll stay away – but if you want me, give me a call or text me, and I’ll be straight over.’

‘I can tell you now, I won’t be calling you. Like I say, I know what’s coming, and I’m probably better equipped to deal with it now I’m older.’

A short time later, they left the house. Within the hour, Jack had dropped her off at the estate agents in Woburn, before travelling on to the Bletchley showroom, where he clinched a deal with a longstanding customer.

‘You’ve made the right choice, Mr Gallagher.’ With the papers signed and the monies paid, Jack led the client outside, where the shiny new Lexus was parked and waiting.

‘I doubt there’ll be any problems.’ Handing over the car-keys, he then shook the buyer by the hand. ‘If you think of anything you’ve forgotten to ask, just give us a shout.’

The customer was a weasel of a man, but while he looked somewhat lost in such a big car, he appeared more than capable as he skilfully manoeuvred it out of a tight spot, before driving off at some speed.

Jack rubbed his hands. ‘Another satisfied customer,’ he thought, feeling very pleased with himself. ‘Another sizeable commission.’ But when he remembered his appointment in a couple of hours’ time, his sense of achievement fell away.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Jan the receptionist had noticed how he seemed on top of the world when he walked by her with the customer, and now he looked as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. ‘Lost one of your boy-toys, have you?’ she quipped. ‘Don’t be sad. There’s another delivery in today.’

‘That’s right.’ Jack gave her a cheeky wink. ‘One out, another in. Keeps the wheels turning, so they say.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She tutted. ‘So does that apply to women too – one out, another in?’

‘I never said that.’ He was used to her teasing.

As he hurried back to the office, she called after him, ‘At least when you sell a car, you can look forward to a commission! Not me, though. I smile and make the tea. I answer the phone, run about and take a lot of stick from you lot. But I get no commission.’

Jack leaned out of the office door, ‘Ah, but you get the unending gratitude of the team, and a big smile from yours truly. What else do you want?’

‘Do you really need me to tell you?’

Jack laughed out loud. ‘Not just now.’

‘Later then?’ She gave him a saucy smile.

‘Behave yourself, you!’ He went back into the office, still smiling at her naughty banter.

A short time later, having filed away the last of the paperwork from the sale, he made his way to the main office and tapped on the door.

‘Come!’ The voice was small, but the man seated behind the desk was built like a buffalo, with a short, thick beard and dark-rimmed spectacles. ‘I see you’ve clinched that deal this morning? Well done, Jack!’

Hoisting himself out of his seat, the boss, Branagan, strolled across to where the office window looked into the showroom. ‘So, what can I do for you?’ Hands clenched behind his back, he commented, ‘Well, now! For a man who’s just earned himself a handsome commission, you don’t seem too pleased with yourself. Is there a problem?’

Jack explained, ‘I need to beg some time off this afternoon – an hour, possibly two.’

Stuart Branagan became curious. ‘Might I ask why?’

‘Doctor’s appointment,’ answered Jack.

‘Really? Is everything OK?’

Jack already had an answer. ‘It’s nothing serious – well, at least it’s serious to me, because it’s quite painful. I strained my back some time ago. I just need my GP to take a look so he can give me something for the discomfort, that’s all.’

‘Strained your back, you say?’ The manager was instantly on his guard. ‘You haven’t been lifting stuff on these premises when you’re not supposed to, have you? Because if you have, there’ll be no comeback on the company. You know the rules, Redmond!’

Jack was quick to reassure him. ‘No, it’s nothing I’ve done here. I don’t know how I did it, but it’s beginning to really play me up. My doctor will probably prescribe anti-inflammatories, that’s all. I won’t be away long. An hour. Two at the most, depending on traffic.’

Branagan gave a crude laugh. ‘Too much nookie with that girlfriend of yours, is it?’

Jack ignored his unwelcome remark.

Seeing that Jack was not amused, the big man went on to remind him, ‘Don’t forget we’ve got a delivery late this afternoon. It’ll be all hands on deck.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time.’

‘Mmm!’ Branagan was none too pleased, but he needed Jack, especially as he himself had only been with the company for a short time and was still learning the ropes. Moreover, with the under-manager having left a fortnight back, Jack’s experience and expertise were invaluable to him, at least for now.

‘Very well. But make sure you’re here when that delivery arrives.’ With that, Branagan swung round on his heels and, without another glance at Jack, returned to his desk.

As Jack closed the door behind him, the older man muttered, ‘You’ve become far too big for your boots in these showrooms, Redmond! It’s even got to the point where the staff would rather go to you for advice than come to me.’

He had a habit of sucking his bottom lip when rattled, and he was rattled now. ‘Undermining my authority, that’s what you’re doing. Well, I know your little game.’

He watched as Jack retreated into his office. ‘I’ve already got the man to fill your shoes, Redmond!’ he mumbled spitefully. ‘So the sooner I can shift you up north, the better.’

His new son-in-law Jamie was the sort of person he needed to work under him. Unambitious, but hardworking. Ready and able to make the sales, but not too keen to take on managerial responsibility.

Oh, yes. Once he was rid of Jack, he would choose his staff carefully. Capable salesmen who, as long as they got their commission, were not too bothered if someone else took all the glory.

When he realised the receptionist was looking at him, he smiled sweetly and gave a condescending nod. If he hadn’t dropped the blinds before returning to his work, he might have seen the rather crude sign she made to him.

Jack saw it, though, and smiled to himself. Having already been obliged to discreetly mop up the new manager’s mistakes, Jack held much the same opinion of Stuart Branagan as Jan did. ‘Little sergeant-major!’ he mumbled, ‘hunched in his office, ordering tea and biscuits, and putting on airs, while the minions out here have to work twice as hard to keep the place going.’ He had hoped he might get on with the new manager, but no matter how he tried, he could find no respect for him.

‘All right then, Jack?’ That was Bill West, a young newcomer, wet behind the ears but eager to make a name for himself.

‘Fine thanks, Bill. And you?’

‘Not sure.’

Jack understood. ‘Been thrown in at the deep end again, have you?’

The younger man nodded mournfully. ‘You couldn’t help me out, could you, Jack? Only I’ve mixed my appointments up again. I don’t want to tell the boss-man, or that’ll be his excuse to have me out the door.’

He went on quietly, so as not to be overheard: ‘Trouble is, I’ve got this customer arriving in five minutes . . . he wants a trial run in the four-by-four. But when I checked my notes just now, I realised I’ve gone and booked Mr Tomlinson in at the same time, and I can’t get hold of him to change the appointment. He’s not answering his phone.’

‘What’s he coming in for?’

‘To talk about finance, on a trade-in against a new car.’

‘Go on then.’ Jack could see he was beginning to panic. ‘Be sure and make a good job of selling that four-by-four, and I’ll deal with your Mr Tomlinson. Have you done your work on the finance?’

‘Yes. It’s in my desk-drawer – second down on the left.’

‘And do you have his first name?’

‘Er, yes. It’s Jason, I think.’

Jack had a piece of advice for him. ‘First rule of the game, Bill. Make a mental note of the client’s first name. Read the signs, and if it’s all going well, then you adopt the friendly approach . . . but not too friendly, if you know what I mean?’

Bill nodded, ‘I really do appreciate you doing this for me, Jack.’

‘That’s OK. As it happens, I’ve got piles of paperwork to check and file, but because I need to take an extra-long lunch-hour, I’ll be staying on late to make up. So, I’ll do the paperwork then.’

‘Aw, thanks, Jack. You’re a pal. I owe you one.’

As it turned out, Bill’s first appointment was done and dusted in record time. With Mr Tomlinson arriving half an hour late, the young man was thrilled that everything had fallen so neatly into place. However, buoyed by his first-ever big sale, he was too excited and too gushing to concentrate on the matter in hand. Consequently, the second customer walked away without signing.

‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked Jack.

As always, Jack gave it to him straight. ‘Sale or no sale, Bill, once you’ve dealt with one customer, you need to clear your mind and concentrate all your attention on the next one. You have to make every customer feel as if they’re the only one that matters.’

Then, not wishing to curb Bill’s enthusiasm, Jack slapped him on the back and assured him, ‘Don’t be too down-hearted, though. Mr Tomlinson came here because he liked our product. I dare say he’ll be back. They usually are.’

Bill thanked Jack and went away to consider his advice. Jack’s words had pricked his bubble, but he had learned a valuable lesson today. One he would never forget. And for that he was grateful.

As the morning wore on, Jack grew more edgy. The hours passed all too quickly, and then it was time to leave for his dreaded appointment. He was on his way out, when Jan called to him, ‘Going anywhere nice for lunch?’

‘Hardly!’

‘Want me to come with you?’ she asked, fluttering her eyelashes saucily.

‘No, ’cause I need you to keep an eye on young Bill,’ Jack told her, worried that he might have been a bit too harsh with his advice.

‘Why? What’s he up to?’ Jan was curious.

‘He’s not up to anything as far as I know, but I reckon he might need a friend and a cup of tea . . . when you’re making one.’

By the time she turned to look where Bill might be, Jack was already out the door and heading for his car.

Once inside the car, he sat awhile, wondering if he should go or not. There was no denying he was nervous – and he had every right to be. Molly was right, though. If he didn’t master this thing, it would master him.

More than anyone, he knew the score. The nightmares had gone on for too long. Maybe now that he was older, he could handle whatever the sessions threw up. Also, since his relationship with Molly was taking a battering, it was time to seek help. Time to trust a stranger again; enough to put himself into their hands. Today could be his chance to root out his fears and hopefully put a stop to the torment.

The alternative did not bear thinking about.

Chapter Five

DOCTOR LENNOX WAS waiting at the clinic to greet Jack.

The GP was a handsome fellow in his early sixties and with numerous letters after his name. ‘As I explained in our little telephone chat, I’m not qualified to deal with these particular issues,’ he said, ‘but Mr Howard, on the other hand, is one of the best in his field. You’ll be in safe hands with him.’ He suddenly caught sight of the man in question. ‘Ah! Here he is now.’

A tall, bony man with sweeping eyebrows and a look of authority came striding up to Dr Lennox, and greeted him as a valued old friend. ‘Good to see you, Sam.’

Having briefly renewed his acquaintance with the older doctor, he then turned to Jack and shook him by the hand. ‘You’ll be Mr Redmond, no doubt? I’m Alan Howard.’ Taking stock of Jack, he saw a responsible, accomplished man, just as Dr Lennox had described. He also saw the shadows beneath his eyes and the tension in his features, and could tell that he was deeply troubled.

‘Dr Lennox tells me you’ve agreed to let him sit in on the session?’ The psychiatrist allowed the whisper of a smile. ‘If you’ve changed your mind, we’ll just send him away.’

Jack assured him it was fine. ‘I’ve known Dr Lennox for a few years now,’ he confirmed. ‘I would be happy to have him stay – if that’s all right with you?’

‘Of course. We don’t apply rules as such.’ Howard’s voice was unusually soft, almost mesmerising. ‘I’m here to help, and that means I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary. So, if having your trusted family doctor on hand puts you at ease, I have no objections whatsoever.’

In truth, having another person sitting in on the session was not something Howard would normally allow, but he knew Sam Lennox very well and trusted him implicitly. Also, he knew that Lennox had deep concerns regarding his patient, and wanted to see for himself how Jack reacted to this treatment.

‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m not looking forward to this,’ Jack admitted. ‘The sooner it’s over, the better.’ He could feel his hands beginning to sweat, and somewhere in the pit of his stomach a dozen rats were gnawing at him. The only thing that kept him there was fear. The fear of not knowing. The fear that if he didn’t go through with this right now, while he had the chance, he might well live to regret it later.

Howard fully understood Jack’s misgivings. After all, it was tantamount to stepping into the unknown – for everyone concerned.

After a quick word with the receptionist, Howard was ushering Jack and Lennox along the winding passageway to his consulting room, ‘Here we are. Everything’s ready.’

Jack took stock as they went inside. The room was small, with a high ceiling and pastel-coloured walls. The furniture was minimal. There was a tall, double filing cabinet in the corner, a long couch along one wall, and in the centre of the room, a small desk, displaying a lamp, and one solitary file, which Jack assumed must have his name on it. In front of the desk there were two chairs – one upright, one easy.

While the walls were soothing to the eye, the furniture was heavy in style and finished in darkest-brown leather; the same sober colour as the curtains which framed the two long Victorian windows, through which the daylight dimly filtered in.

There was a unique sense of peace about the room. It helped put Jack at ease, in spite of every nerve in his body crying out for him to run from there. To run from whatever might be revealed. Because if it was revealed, then it would actually exist – and until now he had been able to convince himself that the place he visited in his dreams was only the figment of a vivid imagination. And that hopefully, one day soon, the dreams would vanish, as though they had never been.

The soft voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘There is nothing for you to worry about,’ said Mr Howard. ‘We’ll just talk, you and me. You’ll talk and I’ll listen. You say as much or as little as you feel comfortable with. If you say stop, we’ll stop. Is that all right, Jack? Does that put your mind at rest?’

When Jack merely nodded, Howard gestured to the armchair. ‘You sit here, please, Jack.’ He then glanced at the older man. ‘The couch for you,’ he instructed light-heartedly.

The doctor made no reply. He made his way to the couch and settled down. He was content with his vantage point. From here he could follow the proced ure without being a disturbance to anyone.

A few moments later, when all were seated, Mr Howard asked Jack to tell him about himself. ‘Your background . . . where you were born, family – that sort of thing.’

For years, Jack had made every effort to shut his past out, but now he cast his mind back. ‘Well, I’m an only child,’ he started. ‘I was lonely, I remember that.’

‘Was your relationship with your father a happy one? What I mean is, did you get on better with him than with your mother?’

Jack took a moment to clarify his thoughts. ‘Sometimes, when she was in a bad mood, I was frightened of my mother. Oh, I’m not saying she beat me, because she never did. But she had such a quick temper, you see? My father was more gentle. Sometimes he took me to football matches – we supported Blackburn Rovers – and sometimes he took me fishing. He was a good man . . . a hard-working man.’

For one fleeting moment, a deep sadness threatened to overwhelm him. ‘I was sent home from school one day. At that time I was coming up to my GCSEs. My mother was hysterical, so Eileen next door had come in and was sitting with her. She told me that my father had been taken to hospital, that he was hurt bad after being trapped in a fire at the factory where he worked. She said another man had died.’

He paused before going on quietly, ‘Two days later, my father died too.’ He had not let himself think about all this in any detail for such a long time; it was painful talking about it now.

‘My mother cried a lot. She didn’t want me near her. It was as if she blamed me for what had happened. So Eileen took me in for a time. Her daughter, Libby was my best friend. After school, we went on long walks across the fields to Cherry Tree, where we would sit in the field and talk about things – Libby was a good listener. Sometimes if the weather was really hot, we’d paddle in the brook, and go home with wet feet.’

The thought of her made him smile. ‘Libby wasn’t like the other kids at school. Unlike them, she never laughed at me or called me names. But she did not like my drawings. She said they frightened her and she didn’t want me to show them to her any more.’

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