JOSEPHINE COX

The Loner

COPYRIGHT

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2007

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Source ISBN-13: 9780007221134

EBook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN 9780007279548

Version: 2017-08-10

DEDICATION

This book is for my Ken, as always

My thanks to my large and wonderful family for all the love and support you have always given me. And to my many friends, including the ones who read my books and write to me. What would I do without all of you? Stay well, be good, and if you can’t be good, be naughty!

CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PART TWO

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PART THREE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART FOUR

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

PART FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHATTERBOX

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EXTRACT

THE LONER

ALSO BY JOSEPHINE COX

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

PART ONE

Blackburn, 1955

The Road to Ruin

CHAPTER ONE

SHE MADE A ghostly figure as she silently wended her way through the dark, shadowy streets.

Late again, she thought. But there was little regret as she recalled the fun-filled evening, with good company and a man’s arms about her. Why should she feel guilty? What was so wrong about her having a good time? She was still relatively young and vibrant. The men liked her and she liked them, and there was more to life than sitting at home and being a good little wife. Life was too short for that.

As she turned into Derwent Street, she thought of young Davie. Only then did she feel ashamed. She hoped he wasn’t waiting up. She didn’t want to see the sadness in his eyes when he saw her arrive home at this late hour, giddy with booze and caring for nothing or no one, except him, her darling son.

‘You’re a bad woman, Rita Adams,’ she told herself. ‘You should have been home hours ago.’ She gave a small, nervous laugh. ‘There’ll be sparks flying, you’ll see.’

Her unsteady footsteps echoed eerily against the pavement as she continued her way past the row of terraced houses. At this hour, most people were in bed and only one house was lit up. This was her home. This was where her family would be waiting and watching. She thought of her child again, and the guilt was cutting, ‘Davie’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve a mother like you.’ There were times when she hated herself.

Shivering in the cold night air, she clutched the lapels of her coat and drew it tighter about her. ‘Remember now,’ she muttered, ‘you’ve spent the evening with your old friend, Edna.’ Such lies, she thought. Such badness. She reached her gaze towards the twitching curtains and saw the shadowy figure of a man. ‘He’s waiting for you,’ she whispered nervously. ‘Best not let him guess what you’ve been up to.’ She giggled. ‘Best have your story good and ready.’

Each time she had a different excuse, and each time she became a better liar. Tormented, she thought of her long-suffering husband, and her ageing father whose house they lived in. But it was her son she mostly feared for: Davie was a fine and loving boy who did not deserve a mother like her. These three wonderful people were her family and she loved them with a passion, and God help them, they loved her too; more than she deserved.

After an evening of laughter and drink she remembered how it had been, in the back alley, the thrill of being in the arms of a stranger. She didn’t know his name, nor did she want to. They simply met, talked and laughed, shared a moment of frantic excitement, and then he went on his way.

No money ever changed hands on such occasions. It was the excitement, that was all she craved. Brief and sordid, the encounters meant nothing to her. She adored her husband; she cherished her family. But sometimes, for some mysterious reason that she didn’t understand but was powerless to resist, Rita Adams followed the urge to abandon her responsibilities and lash out at life.

If she lost control, it wasn’t her fault she told herself – it was not her fault. Life was wonderful, and then it became too mundane, and then she began to wander. But it was wicked. She was wicked; a loose and shameful woman. And afterwards, she was always sorry. But ‘sorry’ was never enough. She knew that.

Having searched for a plausible excuse for coming home so late, Rita had hit on the idea of Edna Sedgwick. She had been meaning to go and see the old dear for some long time now, and what was more, Don knew that. He was aware that her old friend had been poorly. She’d tell him that she’d rushed round there when she heard that Edna had worsened…and had spent more time with her than she should have.

Plain and outspoken, with a mop of bleached hair, Edna had been a good neighbour, and when she moved away, the whole family had missed her. It was the most natural thing in the world for Rita to go and see the sick woman.

Surely her Donny wouldn’t argue with that?

Rita felt a pang of guilt at using Edna as an alibi to lie her way through this night – not only because she had promised not to lose touch, but somehow, two long years had passed since Edna and Fred had left the street, and Rita had never found the time said loudly, 'I will to pay her old friends a visit.

Her part-time job at Michelle’s Hair Salon, doing all the perms and the rest of it, kept her occupied. It was murder on the feet though, she thought, fishing for a cigarette in her handbag. Somehow, she managed to strike a match and light it. Taking a deep drag, then stumbling on, she said loudly, ‘I will come and see you soon, Edna mate, I really will. I’ll be on your doorstep tomorrow, an’ that’s a promise.’ A hollow promise, she knew.

In that moment, between three and four a.m., she felt as though she was the only person in the whole world. But then suddenly, it was as if this world was awakening; house lights were going on as people got ready for early shifts, and dogs were let out to relieve themselves against the lampposts. Best get home, Rita thought, quickening her steps. Falling this way and that, she found it highly amusing. ‘Yer drunken beggar, our Reet,’ she giggled. ‘Stand up straight, will yer.’

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed on, one hand steadying herself against the walls of the houses and the other keeping her coat tight about her.

In the distance, she could hear the faint clatter of horses’ hooves against the cobbles. That would be Tom Makepeace, on his way to the Co-op Dairy depot to deliver his milk churns from the farm and to collect the crates of bottles for his round. Tom knew all and sundry hereabouts, and everyone liked the man, Rita included. Her son and Tom’s daughter Judy were the best of pals.

The clattering grew louder until he was right there beside her. ‘Good God, Rita love, what are you doing, wandering the streets at this time o’ the morning?’ he asked, reining the big horse to a halt. With a gruff manner and his homely face worn by the elements, Tom was in his mid-forties and as decent a man as could be found anywhere. Like most folks he had heard the rumours that circulated about Rita, though he had learned never to make hasty judgment. All the same, he suspected she would have a plausible lie in answer to his question.

‘I’ve been to see Edna Sedgwick,’ she fibbed. ‘Got talking – you know how it is.’

‘Oh, aye, I know how it is, and I heard she’d not been well. Has she improved at all?’ Tom knew something about Edna that Rita obviously didn’t, but he played along with her lies.

Anxious to get home, Rita cut short the conversation. ‘Oh, yes, she’s a lot better, thank God…only I spent more time with her than I should’ve. Got to be getting home now.’ Moving on, she made every effort to walk with dignity, but her head was whirling inside and her feet seemed to go every way but forwards. Instead of sobering up, she felt worse than ever, and what’s more, her hangover was kicking in now. Rita Adams, you’re a born liar! she thought. One o’ these days it’ll be the death of you.

Feigning a smile, she called after him, ‘Bye then, Tom. Stay well now.’

Turning his head, Tom noted how she swayed from side to side. ‘Drunk as a skunk and a liar into the bargain!’ He clicked the old horse on, and shook his head forlornly. ‘Some folks never learn.’

He thought of his own family, and felt like a millionaire. Although his wife Beth was neither flamboyant nor striking in her looks, like Rita, she owned the prettiest eyes and a smile that could light up a room. An admirable cook, despite all the rationing they’d had to get used to, during and straight after the war, she thought nothing of cracking him over the head with the mixing spoon whenever he got under her feet. He chuckled out loud. Many were the times she’d chased him down the path after catching him with his finger in the mixing bowl or pinching some crust off a newly-baked loaf.

Their daughter Judy was an added blessing. Deeply thoughtful and gentle in her manner, her laughter was like music to his ears. But she could also be outspoken and strong-minded. When championing any particular cause, she possessed a temper that could shake the foundations of the earth. Her friendship with Davie Adams was deep and abiding; he was the brother she had never had, the apple of her eye. It was a good job the young ’un took after his father, Don, and not his mother, Tom thought.

Beth and Judy. These two were the pivot of Tom’s existence. And he thanked the Good Lord for them, every day of his life.

Glancing after Rita, Tom recalled the heartache she had caused her family. What a foolish woman she was. She had a loving husband, a fine son, and a generous father who had taken them in after she and Don had lost everything in a failed business venture. Yet time and time again, she put them all through the mill.

He flicked the reins to gee up the horse. ‘God knows how they put up with her,’ he grumbled.

‘’Cause I’m buggered if I would!’

CHAPTER TWO

FROM HIS BEDROOM window, young Davie Adams watched his mother come stumbling down the street. Her beautiful dark hair was wild and dishevelled; he heard the raucous laughter and her quick defiant shouts, and his heart sank. ‘Drunk again,’ he murmured. ‘Oh, Mam! Why do you do it?’

He sneaked out to the landing and looked down. In the light from the parlour, his father’s anxious figure threw a shadow over the carpet as he paced up and down, waiting for her, obviously worried about her. The boy knew that his dad loved his mam, and forgave her every time. But what if this was one time too many? His young heart thudded with fear and misgiving.

‘Go back to bed, lad. Don’t be out here when she comes in.’

The boy almost leaped out of his skin. ‘Grandad!’ Turning, he saw the old man standing behind him. Once tall and straight, with looks that could entrance any woman, Joseph Davies was now slightly stooped, his dark hair marbled with grey, and a look of desolation in his blue eyes. ‘Will she never learn,’ he asked gruffly. ‘God forgive me, what kind of daughter have I raised?’

‘Don’t get upset, Grandad,’ Davie whispered. ‘You’ll see, it’ll be all right. It always is.’

Smiling fondly, the old man laid his hand on the boy’s head. ‘You’re a good lad, Davie. An example to us all.’ He nodded. ‘Happen you’re right. Happen the both of us should get back to our beds.’ He gave a stifled little cough. ‘Afore we catch our death o’ cold, eh?’

He paused at the sound of someone fumbling with a key in the front door lock, then the banging of fists against wood, and then her voice, loud and angry. ‘What the devil are you lot playing at in there? Thought you’d lock me out?’ There was a crude laugh and then she was yelling, ‘OPEN THIS DOOR, YOU BASTARDS! IT’S BLOODY FREEZING OUT HERE!’

Joseph’s face crumpled with disgust. ‘Drunk and shameless…cares for nothing and nobody, least of all us.’ He had long heard the gossip, and for a while he had chosen to ignore it. But little by little, the truth had hit home: his daughter, little more than a streetwoman.

Suddenly she burst in, muttering and swearing when she lost her balance as she turned to slam shut the door. ‘You buggers locked me out – left me in the cold like some mangy old dog.’ Grovelling about on her knees, she continued to moan and curse, ‘Thought you’d keep me out, did you? Unfeeling, miserable bastards…’

‘Stop that racket – you’ll wake the boy! Nobody locked you out.’ Don was unaware that his son was already out of bed, a witness to everything.

Startled that he was so near, Rita scrambled to her feet and looked up. Standing before her was a man of some stature, his handsome features set hard and his dark Irish eyes tinged with sadness. Where he had once been proud and content, there was lately a nervousness to him, a sense of despair had gradually etched itself into his heart and soul, and it showed – in the eyes and the deepening lines on his face, and in the way he held his shoulders, bowed down as though he had the weight of the world on them.

Everyone knew how it was between him and his wife. His workmates knew more than most. Some had even bragged of bedding her. They goaded and tormented him, until he was forced to defend both himself and his wife. Twice he’d been involved in fierce fighting, and each time it was he who took the blame and got sent on his way.

After a time he had learned to keep his head down and get on with his work There seemed no point in trying to defend her any more, and though he evaded the jokes and innuendos, the shame was crippling, but he was a man trapped in the wonderful memories of how it used to be. Even now he loved her with a passion that frightened him. But now, at long last, his love for her was overwhelmed by another more powerful feeling; a feeling of utter, crippling revulsion.

‘Hello, Donny, my big, handsome man.’ Unsteady, unashamed, she opened her arms and went to him, her clumsy fingers tousling his brown hair. ‘You needn’t have waited up. I meant to be home earlier, only I went to see Edna Sedgwick. We got talking – you know how it is…’

He pushed her away. ‘Don’t lie to me, Rita.’

‘I’m not lying.’ She could look him in the eye without the slightest compunction. ‘I’m telling you the truth! Why do you never believe me?’

He smiled then – a slow, sad smile that made her feel guilty. ‘Because I’m not the fool you take me for,’ he answered in his soft Irish lilt. ‘I’ve learned the hard way so I have.’

When again she prepared to lie, he bristled with anger. ‘For God’s sake, Rita, look at the state of you. You’ve been out on the town…again! Booze and men, that’s what you’ve been up to! Who was it this time, eh? One of the men from the factory, was it? One of my new workmates, is that the way of it, eh? Will I go into work on the morrow and have ’em all staring at me,…sniggering behind my back and pitying me? Is that how it’ll be?’

‘NO!’ The guilt was written all over her face, and still she defied him. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. I would never do a thing like that.’

‘Liar!’ He looked down on her face and adored every inch of it. But if he didn’t stand up to her this time, he never would. ‘I know what you’ve been up to. You’ll not squirm out of it this time. I’ve had enough of being the town laughing-stock. It’s all over now, so it is. You’ve played the dirty on me once too often.’

‘I already told you, I was with Edna.’ She had learned to lie handsomely. ‘We were in her house all night.’

When she came closer, reaching up, he got another waft of her tainted breath, and it sickened him. ‘I want the truth.’ He pushed her away.

‘I already told you – I went to see Edna.’ Rita yawned. ‘She was right glad to see me, Donny – she asked after you and the boy, and—’

‘For God’s sake, Rita, will ye stop!’ Suddenly he had her gripped by the shoulders. For what seemed an age he looked her deep in the eyes, and what he had to say next shook her to the core. ‘So, you went to see Edna, did you? And what would you say if I told you that Edna Sedgwick died two days ago.’

Throwing her aside, he looked at her with contempt. ‘Fred called here earlier to tell us the news.’ The bitterness in his voice was cutting. ‘Poor Edna’s been at death’s door this past week, and you didn’t even know, or care. In the two years since she moved away, you couldn’t find the time to go and see her once – not even when you knew she’d been ill. So I’ll ask you again: who were you really with tonight?’

Genuinely shocked to hear the news about Edna, Rita knew her lies had found her out. A sob rose in her throat as she looked pleadingly at her husband.

He hardened his heart. ‘I don’t suppose you even know who you were with. Lifting your skirts to some stranger you might never see again. I dare say he thought you were a woman off the streets. And where did ye go this time, eh?’ The big Irish man could have wept as he said the ugly words to his beautiful wife, who degraded them all with her actions. ‘Down the alley, was it?’ he persisted. ‘Or did you find some filthy room at the back of a pub?’

When the awful truth of his words hit home, Rita’s heart sank. So Edna had died and she didn’t even know. She and Edie, as she had always called her, had been the best of friends, shared many a giggle as Rita did her neighbour’s hair of an evening, accepting one of her homemade sponges in return. Innocent days, simple pleasures. Remorse settled on Rita like a cloud. What was she doing – to herself, to her family?

‘Don’t talk like that, Donny,’ she pleaded. ‘You know it’s you I love.’ She couldn’t help what she did, but she was sorry. She was always sorry. ‘I won’t do it again, I prom-’

‘No more promises!’ Don Adams came to a decision that had been months, if not years, in the making. ‘You’re not the woman I married,’ he told Rita. ‘Sure, I don’t know you any more. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I don’t want you in my bed, and I don’t need you in my life.’ Suddenly, though his heart ached with love for her, he felt as if a great weight had fallen from him. The endless torment was over. He strode towards the door.

There was something about his manner that frightened Rita; a kind of finality in his threat she had never heard before. He was talking of not wanting her, not needing her. Oh, but he’d said that before during their rows, many times. But this time he seemed different and she was afraid. He was her life, her one and only true love. She could never survive without him.

‘First thing in the morning,’ he went on, ‘I’m away…me and the boy. As for you…’ He turned, just for a moment, staring at her, seeing a stranger. ‘It’s finished, Rita. I’ve had enough. From now on, you can do what you like, because I don’t give a sod!’ Ignoring her wailing and her excuses, he left the room.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard her scurrying after him. ‘Don’t leave me, Donny. I’ll be good…Don’t stop loving me!’ She grabbed him by the trouser leg, pulling him back.

Frustrated, he swung round and snatched her to him. ‘How can I ever let myself love you again?’ he said, on a shuddering breath. ‘Dear God, Rita! There was a time when I would have willingly died for you, I would have fought the world for you – and I have. But not any more.’

‘Don’t say that.’ She saw her life ending right there. ‘Please, Donny, don’t forsake me.’

‘What – you mean in the same way you’ve for-saken me?’ There was a break in his voice. ‘You’ve shamed us all. You’ve shamed me and the boy, and your father – the only one who would take us in when I lost my business and couldn’t pay the rent.’ He despaired. ‘Time and again, I gave you a second chance. Like a fool, I thought you might come to your senses.’

Thrusting her away, he said harshly, ‘Why do you need to be with these other men? Aren’t I man enough for you? Don’t I treat you well – provide for you, love you as much as any man can love his woman?’

He thought back to the time when their love was young. Oh, but it had been so wonderful – exciting and fulfilling for both of them. They had met fifteen years ago, when Joseph had come into the firm of carpenters where young Don, waiting for his call-up papers, was working. It was Rita’s half-day off from her apprenticeship at the hairdresser’s so her daddy had brought her along for a bit of company. The young Irishman and the seventeen-year-old girl had fallen for each other at first sight.

Don sighed deeply, all these thoughts rushing through his brain while he held his wife’s body close to his, feeling her heart beating wildly against his own.

When had it all started to go wrong? he asked himself. Maybe if they had had more children…but it wasn’t to be. More likely, it was when he’d gone overseas with the Army in 1942. A lot of people had changed during the war – and not for the better. Good marriages had gone bad all the time. He knew that Rita resented being stuck at home with baby Davie, and that bitch of a mother of hers, Marie, had encouraged her to go out drinking and dancing and doing God knows what.

It had all led up to this. And he couldn’t take it any longer.

‘What is it with you?’ he asked brokenly. ‘You’re fortunate to have three people in your life who give you all the love they can, and yet time and again you throw it all back at us.’

Supporting her by the shoulders he looked at her sorry face, now swollen with the drink, her once pretty eyes drugged and empty, and the tears rolling down her face. And his heart broke. She looked so vulnerable, so sad, he wanted to press her to him, to hold her so tight and love her so much that she would never stray again, and for a moment, for one aching moment, he almost forgave her.

If only she would mend her ways, he thought. If only she could bea proper wife and mother, like she used to be. But she couldn’t. That woman had left them all behind long ago. ‘No, Rita.’ The sadness hardened to a kind of loathing. ‘Sure, I can’t forgive you any more.’

In that moment, when he turned from her, he felt incredibly lonely, and more lost, than he had ever been in his whole life. And yet he still loved her. He always would.

From the top of thes tairs, Davie and his grandad saw and heard everything. ‘Come away, boy’ The old man slid an arm round his grandson’s shoulders. ‘You don’t need to listen to this.’

As his father walked up the stairs, a broken man, Davie looked into his eyes. ‘You won’t really leave, will you, Dad?’ he asked. ‘You can’t leave us.’

‘I’m not leaving you, son.’ Davie was his pride and joy. The boy was conceived before Rita went bad, so he had no doubts about being the boy’s real father. Moreover, Davie had a way with him that reminded Don of his own boyhood, in his manner and his thinking, and in that certain, determined look in his eyes. Yes, this boy was his own flesh and blood, and through the bad times when Rita neglected them both, it was Davie’s strength and nearness that kept him sane.

He looked at the boy, with his shock of brown hair and his quiet dark eyes and he saw a man in the making.

Taking him by the shoulders, Don told him, ‘You must go back to bed now. In the morning, you and me are away from these parts.’ He glanced up at his father-in-law. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’ve tried my best. She’s your daughter. I hope to God you can talk some sense into her.’

The old man nodded. ‘And if I can…will you comeback?’

Don thought for a moment, before shaking his head. ‘No.’

Through his anguish, the older man understood, though he did not underestimate the ordeal ahead of himself.

‘No, Dad!’ Davie had never been so afraid. ‘She needs us. I’ll talk to her…I’ll make her see. She won’t do it again, I promise.’ He tried so hard to hold back the tears, but he was just a child and right then, in that moment, his whole world was falling apart.

Then, seeing how determined his father was, he clung to his grandad. ‘Don’t let him go!’ he sobbed. ‘Tell him, Grandad, tell him she’ll be good and she won’t hurt us any more. Tell him, Grandad!’

Suddenly Rita was there, shouting and yelling and going for Don with her claws outstretched. ‘You cruel bastard! So you’d leave me, would you!’ Wild-eyed and out of her mind, she went for him, hitting out, tearing into his flesh with her nails, and it was all he could do to defend himself and at the same time keep the pair of them from toppling down the stairs.

‘ENOUGH!’ Enraged, the old man threw the boy to safety, before lashing out at her with the back of his hand. ‘To hell with you! You’re no daughter of mine!’

When she stumbled and slid down the steps in an oddly graceful fashion, the boy lurched forward and ran down the steps after her. At the bottom, when he went to help her up, she threw him off. ‘LEAVE ME!’ she screamed.

Then, seeing the agony on his young face she was crippled with guilt. ‘I’m sorry, son. It was my fault, all my fault.’

Struggling with her, he managed to sit her up. ‘Where are you hurt, Mam?’ His voice trembled with fear.

Composed now, she smiled resignedly. ‘I’m not hurt. Give me a minute to get my breath.’ She chucked him under the chin. ‘He can go if he wants to. You can make your mammy a cup of tea and the two of us will talk until the sun comes up – what d’you say to that, eh?’ She didn’t tell him how her back felt as though it was broken in two, nor that her arm had bent beneath her at a comical angle, and the pain was excruciating. She felt strange. Drunk, yes. But there was something else, a frightening thing, as though all the life and fight had gone out of her in an instant.

Horrified, and riddled with guilt, Don ran down the stairs two at a time. ‘For God’s sake, Rita, are you mad?’ He stretched out his arms to help her. ‘What possessed you to start a fight at the top of the stairs like that? You could have been killed!’

Seeing her like that, he couldn’t think straight. He loved her, hated her, needed to stay yet had to leave. The look on young Davie’s face tore at his heart. Where did it all go wrong? Was it after Davie was born? Maybe she couldn’t cope when money was tight and he found it difficult to get a job? Was the badness always in her? Or did he somehow cause it? But how could he blame himself? What did he do that was so wrong? And could he really stay here now and keep his sanity? Did he still love her enough?

‘We don’t need you!’ Her spiteful voice pierced his thoughts. ‘You bugger off!’ She waved him away, angry with him, angry with herself. ‘Go, if you like, and don’t comeback. Me and Davie can do well enough without you.’

For a long moment he looked at her, at the dark, lifeless hair that long ago shone like wet coal, and the eyes that were once alive and smiling but were now dull and empty. He recalled the years of happiness they had shared. But then he thought of the many times he had given in and gone another round and each time it ended in arguments. This time had been the worst, when her own father had lashed out and sent her hurtling down the stairs.

It was no good. He knew that their lives together were over and, though it was a wicked shame and he would have done anything for it not to be so, it was time to realise that they had no future together.

‘I thought I told you to bugger off!’ She kicked out at him, gritting her teeth at the pain that shot through her.

‘All right, Rita.’ The sigh came from his boots. ‘But I’m taking the boy with me.’ He knew if he left Davie with her, their son would only be taking on a thankless responsibility, one, which even he himself could no longer cope.

‘I’m not coming with you! I’m staying with Mam!’ The boy looked up, his eyes hard and accusing. ‘If you won’t take care of her, I will’

‘No, son. She’ll only break your heart. Whatever you do, and however often you beg her to give up her bad ways, she’ll never change.’

‘She will!’ Tears stained his young face – angry, hopeless tears that tore his father’s heart wide open.

Don shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, son. She’ll carry on the same way, with the men, and the booze…and she’ll make all kinds of excuses. She’ll tell you lies until you start to believe them. She’ll shame you, make you lose all your friends, until in the end you can’t hold your head up. She’ll make you feel life isn’t worth living.’

‘NO!’ Seeking reassurance, Davie turned to his mammy. ‘You won’t, will you? You won’t tell me lies and make me ashamed?’

She shook her head. ‘No, son, I won’t do that to you.’ God forgive me, she thought. I should let him go – let them both go – and leave me to suffer the consequences. But she was weak, and frightened, and she couldn’t bear to relinquish her child.

‘And you won’t go with all the men, will you, Mam?’

‘No, son, I won’t do that ever again.’ False promises and lies! Too many lies, too often, until now she didn’t know any other way.

For a while, the household settled to an uncomfortable calm. Davie helped his mammy into the sitting room where she slumped into a chair.

The sound of Don moving to and fro, packing his case in the bedroom overhead, could be heard. There was a buzzing behind Rita’s eyes and her whole body was trembling; Davie sat holding her hand.

About a quarter of an hour after he had disappeared upstairs, Don came downstairs, carrying his case. Setting it down in the doorway, he paused to ask one more time: ‘Can you change your ways, Rita? Can you be the woman you once were?’

Some last crazy impulse made her taunt him: ‘For my son, yes. But not for you.’

He did not reply, but merely nodded. It was confirmation to him that the wife he knew was long ago lost to him. Looking at his son, he said quietly, ‘I’ll make us a good life, Davie. I want you to come with me. Will you do that for your daddy – will you?’

The boy shook his head stubbornly. Torn two ways, he knew that every word his father said about his mam was the truth. He knew how often she had lied; he sensed she was lying to him now. But still he couldn’t bring himself to leave her.

‘I have to stay here.’ His head told him one thing; his heart another. And being a child who had not yet learned the way of life, he gave the only answer he could. ‘Mam needs me.’

The man looked from the boy to the woman, and back again at the boy, who had a man’s heart, and he felt an overwhelming sense of pride. His sorry eyes went across to his father-in-law who had comedown stairs and was now hunched at the table looking as though the end of the world had come.

That was what Rita did, Don thought. She had sucked the life out of everyone here, and it was never her who paid the price. It seemed to give her some sort of twisted satisfaction. Well, as far as he was concerned, the spell that had held him captive for so long was well and truly broken.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Dad,’ he told the old man. ‘Don’t let her destroy you! Joseph, do you hear what I’m saying?’ He waited for the old man to look at him, and when he saw his quiet smile, he returned it with a nod of the head; reassured that they now understood each other.

Taking a piece of paper from his pocket, he handed it to the boy. ‘If ever you need me,’ he told Davie, ‘contact this man. I was in the Army with him. He’ll know how to find me.’

The boy took the paper and laid it on the ground. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he whispered, his uplifted gaze like a knife in the man’s heart.

Without a word, Don flung his arms round his son. Choked with emotion, he embraced him for a long moment, before releasing him. ‘I wish to God it could be different, son. But your mam’s made her choice, and now I’ve made mine.’ He held the boy at arm’s length. ‘I don’t want to leave you behind. Please, Davie, get your things and come with me.’

The boy shook his head. ‘I can’t.’ Everything was disintegrating, and there was nothing he could do. ‘Don’t go, Dad. Please, please don’t leave us.’

Don looked at his wife and saw the angry set of her mouth, and he knew his decision was right. ‘I need to go, son,’ he answered wisely, ‘just as you need to stay.’ With her lies, she had even won over his son. May God forgive her for this, for he could not.

‘Don’t forget,’ he reminded Davie. ‘I’ll always be there for you, whenever you need me.’

For her too, he thought. Even though she had destroyed their lives, he would not cut off all ties with her. For the boy’s sake, he thought. That brave, loyal boy who truly believed his mother would keep her word.

When the door closed quietly behind him, the boy clung to his mother. ‘We don’t need him,’ she said tiredly. ‘I’ve got you now. We’ll be all right, Davie. We’ll look after each other.’

He was startled and alarmed when she had one of her sudden mood-swings. ‘Bastard!’ Grabbing the cushion from behind her, she flung it across the room. ‘He’s a wicked man, Davie. All I did was have a drink and enjoy a good time- an’ what’s wrong with that, eh? What harm was I doing?’

Dipping into her handbag, she took out her packet of Park Drive and a miniature bottle of Booth’s gin, and took a long swig from it. ‘He’ll miss me, you’ll see,’ she declared, lighting a ciggie. ‘He’ll miss his old Reet and he’ll soon be back, you mark my words.’

‘Shall I put that in the cupboard?’ Reaching for the bottle, Davie was disappointed when she snatched it out of his grasp, smacking his hand away.

‘I can’t let you do that,’ she told him. ‘I’ve had a bad shock. I need my strength.’ On seeing his downcast face she tapped him more gently on the arm. ‘Go and make your mammy a cup of tea, there’s a good boy’ She was angry – angry at her husband for leaving; angry because she was in pain and nobody cared. And she was very angry, that a boy not yet fourteen should think he could tell her what to do. ‘Go on, then. Shift yourself!’ She sucked on the cigarette and blew out a long plume of smoke.

Concerned and afraid, Davie insisted. ‘I don’t want you to have any more of that.’ He pointed to the bottle. ‘Please, Mam, let me put it away.’

‘DO AS YOU’RE BLOODY WELL TOLD!’ she screeched, lashing out with the back of her hand.

With no choice, Davie left her there and went into the kitchen, where he stood for a time by the pot sink, his fists clenched, head hanging low and his eyes closed. He felt rejected, with a deep-down sadness that was like a physical hurt. He had to ask himself, how many times had his daddy felt the same way he felt now?

In the next room, Rita remained slumped in the chair; she was hurting badly from the fall, but she didn’t want pity. She wanted her life the way it had been. With Donny gone and her father turned against her, all she had left was Davie, but he was just a boy. How could he look after her? The time was fast approaching when she would get the sack from the salon, as she kept erratic hours – and what would become of them then?

When the sadness threatened to overwhelm her, she fumed at how cruel Don had been in leaving. Then there was her father…her own flesh and blood. If Joseph had been any kind of a man, he would have given Donny a bloody good hiding. ‘You let him desert me, Dad, and I’ll never forgive you for that.’ Her shrill voice sailed through to the kitchen where he was now leaning against the pot sink, his pained eyes staring out at the long dawn.

Still a strong, capable man, despite long years in the foundry, and a heart battered by bad memories, the old man heard her relentless abuse and knew exactly how he had spawned such a degraded creature. She was made from the same mould as her mother.

Moving to sit by the kitchen fire, and adding a bit of coal to it, he ran his hands through his thinning hair, trying hard to turn a deaf ear to his daughter’s rantings. His son-in-law’s departure had cut Joseph to the quick. Yet it only reinforced his belief that what he was about to do had to be done – because if he relented now, she would be the death of him – and what of the boy? Someone had to give her a jolt – make her realise what she was doing, get her off the road she was travelling. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind, and that was the way of it.

She’ll blame everybody else, like she always does, he thought crossly. She’s done the damage to herself and torn this family apart, and God help us, she still hasn’t learned. His mind flew to his wife, dead of TB these ten years, and although he still grieved for her, his life was peaceful now, after long years of torment due to her faithless ways.

His mind was made up. No one else should have to suffer like that. Davie would come off worst…that fine young lad who would love his mother whatever she did. Good or bad, he would only ever see Rita as his adored mammy.

In the next room, the vicious tirade was unending. The whole world was against her, Rita raved. Her father was bloody useless and besides, he had always been a thorn in her side, lecturing her about the rights and wrongs of parenthood, and how she should be a better wife and think of others. What a bloody cheek – when he himself had been unable to control his own wife, who used to disappear for weeks at a time with her latest boyfriend. Rita had hated and loved her mother in equal measure.

For one dizzy moment, Rita thought she could smell her mother’s perfume – Attar of Roses – mixed with something far more heady, a scent that the girl later recognised as gin, now her own favourite tipple.

Thinking of her mother now filled her with rage. ‘GO ON, THEN!’ she bellowed. ‘YOU CAN ALL CLEAR OFF – AND SEE IF I CARE!’ Taking hold of the poker, she smashed it into the grate. Then the bottle was thrown, spilling its contents across the half-moon rug. Struggling to her feet and sobbing with the effort, she clung to the standard lamp.

Laughing wildly now, she saw the boy watching her, white with fear. When he darted forward to take hold of her, she drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the mouth, gasping when the blood trickled down the side of his chin. And oh, the way he was looking at her…as though she was the Devil incarnate. Taking the heavy poker, she laid into the mantel-piece, sending the clock and ornaments shattering across the floor.

Then she was crying. ‘I’m sorry, son,’ she gabbled. ‘It’s the drink and whose fault is that, eh? Your dad’s left me and you know I didn’t deserve that.’ She swayed, her hand at her mouth, feeling sick as a dog.

‘I want you out of this house.’

Joseph had come into the room and had witnessed everything.

‘What? You can’t do that!’ Fear marbled her voice. ‘Look, Dad, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’ve always had a temper, you know that. I’ll put it right. I won’t do it again. Look, here!’ Reaching into her purse, she shook out a handful of silver coins. ‘I’ve got money, I’ll get you some new ornaments and—’

‘I want nothing from you!’ The old man stood tall. ‘I don’t care about the damned ornament, but you can never replace that clock. It was precious to me – a gift from your mother – all I had left of her.’ His gaze fell to the money in her hand. ‘Earn that, did you?’ His voice thickened with disgust. ‘Half an hour in the alley, was it? Well, you can keep your filthy money, you trollop, because I don’t want it. What I want is you, out of this house…NOW!’

‘But Grandad!’ The boy came once more to her defence. ‘Mam’s already said she won’t do it again.’ Inside he was in turmoil, but he had to be strong for her.

Seeing Davie’s downcast face, and knowing how he must be hurting, the old man said kindly, ‘Not you, son. I don’t want you gone from here. It’s her I want out of my house. She’s had her chances time and again, and each time she’s promised to change her ways.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘It’s like your grandmother, all over again. My Marie was just the same, God rest her soul. You see, my boy, I just can’t go through it all again. We’ve allus given in, but not this time. I’m too old and tired to take it any more. It’ll be the death of me.’

‘But you can’t send her away!’ The boy panicked. ‘Where will she go?’

‘Back to the streets where she belongs.’

‘That’s fine.’ Rita struggled to stand. Holding on to the back of the chair, she told them both, ‘I’m a proud woman, and I don’t stay where I’m not wanted. Help me, Davie. I know where we can go, me and you. We don’t need this hovel. We can do better, you and me!’

‘Not you, Davie!’ Just as Don had pleaded with Davie, so now did the old man. ‘She’s not worth it. Let her go and find her own sort. You stay here.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Please, Davie, don’t go with her. Stay here, with me.’ Truth was, at this moment in time, he needed the boy more than ever.

But the boy’s answer was the same as before. ‘I can’t leave her, she’s my mam. We’ll take care of each other.’

‘So, you mean to desert me as well, do you?’

‘I have to look after her.’

‘No, Davie!’ Somehow, he had to stop the boy from going. ‘You’re not listening to what I’m saying. Your father tried to warn you, and now I’m begging you…don’t go with her. She’ll take you down the road to ruin. Stay herewith me… please.’

The boy was steadfast. ‘No, Grandad. She needs me.’

‘What? And you don’t think I need you?’

The boy shook his head. ‘Not as much as Mam does.’

‘Right!’ Desperation heightened to anger. ‘Go on then! If that’s what you want, you can bugger off the pair of you, out of my house and out of my life. And I pray to God I never see either of you again!’

For a long, shocked moment, the boy looked him in the eye, not wanting to believe what he’d just heard.

‘Come on, sweetheart.’ Rita stubbed out her cigarette and tugged at his sleeve. ‘We don’t need him. We don’t need anybody. You and me, we’ll be fine on our own.’

The old man lingered a moment longer, silently pleading with Davie to see sense and change his mind. But he knew how loyal the boy was, and he had seen how his father leaving had made him all the more protective of his mother. And he realised he had lost to her, yet again.

Without a word, he went upstairs, where he sat on the edge of his bed, saddened at what his own daughter had become, and worried about Davie: there was no telling where Rita might take him. God only knew where it would all end.

A few minutes later, Davie came upstairs to collect a few things. He paused at the old man’s door. ‘I’m sorry, Grandad,’ he said.

But there was no forgiveness in the old man’s heart, only fear for the boy, and hatred for his daughter. ‘Go away,’ he grunted.

‘I don’t want to leave like this.’

For a fleeting moment, the old man almost relented; for the boy’s sake, perhaps he should give her another chance. But how many chances would she need before she saw what she was doing to herself and others? No! The mixture of old and new anger was still burning, and he deliberately turned away, his heart like a lead weight inside him.

After a while he heard the boy move away, heard his footsteps dragging down the stairs – and it was all he could do not to go after him and catch him in his arms and tell him they would have a home here for as long as they wanted.

But he had been through it all so many times with her, just as he had with her mother, and each time she sank deeper into the swamp. Then there was the gossip and the sly looks in the street. You couldn’t go on like it, and she wouldn’t change her ways. Why couldn’t Davie see her for what she was?

The slam of the front door shattered his thoughts. Slowly and heavily, he went downstairs to the front room and looked out of the window. As he watched them go down the street, his daughter limping – from the drink, he assumed – he could hardly see them for the tears scalding his eyes. ‘Look at you,’ he murmured. ‘A mere scrap of a lad, and yet you take it all in your stride.’

He saw how the woman leaned her weight on the boy, and how he took it, like the little man he was. ‘God help you, Davie,’ he muttered. ‘She’ll use you and then she’ll desert you.’

He was bone-tired, and his heart full of sorrow.

When they were out of sight, he left the window and went back to sit down, holding the broken bits of the clock, the tears he’d managed to hold back now flowing down his face. It was all such a mess. What a dreadful night’s work this had been. ‘I’m sorry, Davie. I had to send her away,’ he whispered.

‘I’ve don emy best, but I’m too old and frail to put up with her bad ways.’

He glanced out at the waking skies and he prayed. ‘Dear God, keep them both safe. Let her realise the harm she’s done. And keep young Davie under Your divine protection.’ He hoped the Almighty was listening.

The rage inside him was easing and now, with the coming of the dawn, there was another feeling, a sense of horror and shame. What in God’s name had he been thinking of, to do such a terrible thing?

Suddenly he was out of the front door and shouting for them to come back. ‘We’ll give it another go! We’ll work at it! We’ll try again!’ His lonely voice echoed along the early-morning street.

He paused to get his breath, then he hurried up to the top of Derwent Street and round the corner, and he called yet again, but the pair were gone, out of sight, out of his life, just as he’d ordered them to do. And it was more than he could bear.

Wearily, he made his way back. In his troubled heart he feared for them both.

But even Joseph could not have foreseen the shocking sequence of events that were about to unfold.

CHAPTER THREE

ON LEAVING THE house, Davie did not look back. With his mother leaning heavily on his arm and stumbling at every turn, he threaded his way through the familiar streets of Blackburn, his heart frozen with shock at the night’s events and his mind swamped with all manner of torment.

He suspected his grandfather had been watching from the window, and he knew how bad he must be feeling. From past experience and having been on the receiving end of the old man’s kindness countless times, he knew the calibre of the man, knew how it went against Joseph’s loving nature, to have thrown his own daughter out onto the streets. Davie readily forgave his grandfather. He did not want Joseph to feel guilty, because he had always done right by Rita. Over the years, he had done right by them all.

Twice the old man had taken the whole family in; once, a few years back, when a little business Don had set up after the war, had gone bust, and then again, more recently, when Rita had squandered the rent money and they were evicted. Most of her own wages and tips went on drink and cigarettes, these days.

Through it all, Joseph had supported them. No man could have done more for his family. And who could blame him for turning her away? The neverending fights and arguments had tired the old chap to the bone.

‘Where are we going, Mam?’ The boy knew she was hurt and he was anxious. ‘Maybe we should go straight to Doctor Arnold’s house? He’ll be up by now.’

But Rita would have none of it. ‘I’m not going to no bloody quack!’ she retorted. ‘We’ll pay a call on a good friend of mine. Jack will help us, I know he will.’ She chuckled fruitily. ‘Lord knows, I’ve done him enough favours in the past.’

She instructed her son to head for Penny Street. ‘Third house on the right – number six, as I recall.’ She gave a deep sigh. Her whole body was becoming numb. ‘Once we’ve rested, we’ll get away from Blackburn Town and never come back.’ There was hatred in her voice. ‘If I never see that old bugger, or your father again, it’ll be too soon.’

As they went slowly towards Penny Street, her footsteps dragging, she slurred, ‘My Jack’s an obliging fellow. He’ll not turn us away.’

But turn them away he did.

When they got to number six, the lights were out. ‘Jack!’ Rita’s voice sliced the morning air. ‘It’s me… Rita.’ Banging on the door, she yelled through the letterbox, ‘The old sod’s chucked me out on the streets and I’ve nowhere to go. Let me in, Jack! I’ve got my boy with me. I’m hurt. I need to rest…a few days, that’s all. Then I’ll be gone and I’ll not bother you again.’

Suddenly, the door was flung open. ‘For chrissake, you silly cow, will you shut up!’ Sleepy-eyed and unshaven, the man was bare to the waist. ‘What the devil d’you think you’re doing, banging on my door this time of the morning! Clear off and bother somebody else. I want no truck with you!’

‘Send the old slag on her way!’ a woman instructed, shouting from the upper reaches of the house. ‘If you don’t, I will!’ Her harsh mutterings could be clearly heard. ‘Thought I wouldn’t find out about the pair of you, did you? Worse than the dogs in the street, you are, carrying on the minute I’m away to see my poor sick sister…Now I’m warning you, get rid of her, or I swear I’ll have her eyes out!’

Half-closing the door, the man called Jack lowered his voice. ‘Jesus! She’ll be scrambling her clothes on to come and face yer,’ he warned Rita. ‘She can be a right bastard when the mood takes her. Soonever she got back from her sister’s, the neighbours couldn’t wait to tell her about us.’ He shifted his attention to Davie. ‘Sorry, son, but it’s been murder, trying to stop her from coming after your mam. You’d best take her away, and the quicker the better. There’s nothing for you here.’

When Rita refused to leave, the man rounded on her with a vengeance. ‘For God’s sake, Rita, take a look at yourself. What the hell are you thinking of, wandering the streets at this time of a Saturday morning with this young lad in tow? Have you no shame at all?’ He felt guilty. ‘Aw, look, I know we had a bit of a fling, but you mean nowt to me…I told you that from the start. We had our fun and now it’s over.’

‘She’d best not be there when I get down the stairs!’ His wife’s angry voice sailed from the rafters.

Afraid of the consequences if his wife should suddenly burst in on them, he hastily pushed Davie aside. ‘Get her away from here. Go on! Make yourselves scarce, the pair of you.’ Desperate to be rid of them, he slammed shut the door.

As they went away, Davie and his mam could hear the argument raging inside. ‘Let go of me! She needs a damned good leathering, and so do you! I can’t believe you took that dirty slut to our bed the minute my back was turned. Christ Almighty! She must have been with every bloke in Blackburn.’

Davie tried to block his ears, but the voices followed them down Penny Street. The postman stopped to listen, curtains twitched, and a dog in a nearby house began to bark.

‘If I had any sense I’d pack my bags and be out that bloody door!’ The wife raved on. ‘Another feather in her cap, that’s all you are. She’s trash, that Rita Adams. She’ll flutter her eyelashes and the blokes’ll gladly tip up the price of a drink for a knee-trembler wi’ that one down a dark alley. Fools, the lot of ’em! An’ I thought you were different, our Jack, but you’re just like the rest of ’em, a dirty dog sniffin’ after a bitch on heat.’ There was a muffled cry before she was shouting again, ‘Let go of me. I’ll have the skin off her back when I catch up with her.’

‘I was sure he’d help us.’ Rita sank onto the nearest doorstep, her face deathly white and her limbs all atremble. ‘I really thought I meant sum-mat to him.’ Out of all the men she had slept with, Jack had been the special one, or so she thought. He had really listened to her, bought her small gifts, seemed to be her friend.

Gathering her strength, and holding onto her son, she carefully hoisted herself up. ‘Make for the church, love.’ Her head on his shoulder, she urged him on. ‘They’ll not turn us away.’ The smallest of smiles crept over her features. ‘We’ll rest there for a while, and then we’ll think what to do.’

‘It’s too far, Mam.’ Davie could see how that tumbledown the stairs had really hurt her, and now this humiliating rejection seemed to have taken the heart out of her altogether. He was ashamed of what she had become, could have sat down and cried at the pity of it all. How she could have given herself to that married man Jack, when she had his own lovely father, Don, was a mystery to him.

‘What about your other friends?’ he asked kindly. ‘Couldn’t we go to one of them?’

‘I lied, son,’ she confessed. Unable to look him in the eye, she hung her head. ‘There are no friends. There’s just you and me.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘Nobody wanted to know me when I was your age.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Even at school, I always found it difficult to make friends.’

In that revealing moment, she saw herself as she really was, that quiet, lonely girl from a troubled background, the daughter of an unstable woman, and now, herself, a wife who time and again had cheated on a good man and brought trouble to her own doorstep.

‘You mustn’t blame your grandad for throwing us out,’ she told Davie. ‘You hardly knew your grandma, but she was a difficult woman.’ She shuddered as the rain predicted by the weather-forecaster began to fall. ‘Your poor grandad had a lot to put up with, all those years ago, and when he saw me going the same way as her, he couldn’t bear it.’ Shame flooded her soul. How could she have let herself follow blindly in her mother’s footsteps?

She raised her gaze and looked at her son, made to bear a heavier burden than young shoulders should ever carry. ‘I’m sorry, Davie…’ She could say no more, for now she was sobbing, all the pent-up grief of the years being released, and he was holding her, and she felt more comforted than she had ever been in her whole life.

‘It’s all right, Mam,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll take care of you now.’

Together they went along Addison Street and through the empty marketplace, and now as they cut along towards Church Lane, he asked her if she was all right. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she answered brightly. ‘You’ll see, once I’ve had a proper rest and time to sort it all out, I’ll be off again like a spring lamb, and you won’t be able to keep up with me.’ But her sight was growing dim, and the numbness was creeping up her body.

Not altogether reassured, Davie crooked his arm round her waist and pressed on, the rain soaking through their clothes and slowing down their progress.

They were entering the spinney when one of Rita’s dragging feet got caught in the bracken; as she lurched forward, Davie was taken with her, rolling down the incline and into a shallow ditch, where she made no move to get up. ‘I’m hurt,’ she gasped. ‘You’ll have to leave me, Davie. Go and get help…Hurry, Davie. Get help.’

At first he tried to lift her, to get her to safety and out of the cold and rain. But the more he tried, the harder she fought.

‘No, my lovely. Leave me be.’ She had the strangest feeling; the pain had gone and she was in another place. But her son was here, and he was frightened. She roused herself. ‘Get help, Davie,’ she repeated. ‘Quickly!’ And then she was silent and he was frantic, and as he struggled to raise her into his arms, she gave a shudder that chilled his heart. In that moment, he was mortally afraid.

Laying her gently down, he took off his coat and draped it over her. ‘Stay still, Mam,’ he sobbed. ‘I’ll run as fast as I can, and I’ll be back before you know it.’ Ducking his head against the rain, he ran up the bank, down through the spinney and out into the lane.

As he ran, a kind of dread stole over him, making him weep unashamedly. Desperate for help, he hurriedly wiped away the tears with the cuff of his shirt-sleeve. ‘Can anyone hear me? My mother’s hurt. We need help!’ Yelling at the top of his voice, he could hear the animals scuttling in fright all about him, and when, breathless, he broke through the trees, he paused to search both ways along the winding lane, but there was no one to be seen.

Taking to his heels, he began running, suddenly pausing again when he thought he heard a sound in the distance. For a minute he couldn’t make it out, but then he recognised the clippety-clop of horse’s hooves, and to his immense relief, saw the familiar milk-cart rounding the bend. ‘Tom? Tom, stop. It’s me, Davie!’

Drawing on the last of his strength, he raced towards the cart, his heart at bursting point as he prayed to God above for his mammy to be all right.

‘What the devil’s going on, lad?’ Tom drew the cart to a halt, while Davie was bent double, gasping and crying, and telling Tom how he needed help and that his mammy was badly hurt.

‘All right, I hear you.’ He patted the seat beside him. ‘Climb up here. You can tell me about it as we go.’

Dishevelled and in a state of panic, Davie wasn’t making too much sense as he clambered onto the wagon. ‘We went to the man and he told us to clear off, and there was nowhere else to go and we were making for the church…then she fell and I couldn’t get her up. Hurry, Tom. Please hurry!’

‘Calm down, lad, take it easy. We’ll see she’s all right.’ Sending the horse into a trot, the little man kept his eyes on the ruts and dips in the lane. ‘What’s happened?’ He needed to know. ‘It’s your mam you say? Last time I saw her, she was heading home, a bit the worse for wear, but fine enough. She should have been back hours ago. What in God’s name were you doing out here, the pair of you?’

But Davie wasn’t listening. He was hellbent on getting to his mother, and realising this, Tom concentrated on the way ahead. ‘How far?’

‘Here!’ Suddenly they were at the point where Davie had broken through from the woods. ‘She’s down there.’

Before the horse had slowed down, Davie was already jumping off the side of the wagon. ‘We have to get her home as soon as we can,’ he gabbled. ‘Grandad threw us out but he’ll take her back now, I know he will.’ That said, he was away and into the woods, calling Tom’s name as he went. ‘Quick, Tom, this way! She’s in here.’

From some way behind, Tom followed, his mind full of questions. How had this come to pass? Davie said his grandad had thrown them out. Dear mother of God, why would Joseph do such a thing? But then again, hadn’t it been on the cards, and wouldn’t Tom himself have been tempted to do the same thing if his daughter had turned out to be such a bad lot…giving herself to all and sundry and making a mockery of her hardworking husband. Any other man would have shown her the door long ago.

As he hurried after the boy, Tom decided that the questions would have to wait. There were more important things to attend to now. Poor Rita was hurt and she needed help. For now, that was all that mattered.

A few minutes later, his face torn by overhanging branches and his ankles sore where the thorns and bracken had proved a hindrance, Tom was shocked to see Davie’s mammy lying crumpled in a shallow ditch. ‘Step aside, lad.’ Falling to his knees beside her in the wet leaves, he took hold of her hand, taken aback by how cold she was. In the slimmest shaft of light filtering through the umbrella of trees, he saw how pale and still she lay. ‘We’d best get her out quick.’ His quiet, decisive manner gave Davie a sense of calm, and hope. But not peace of mind. Too much had happened this night. Too many bad memories would follow him, and he thought he would never again know peace of mind.

Between the two of them, they set about getting her up, and when she cried out, they stopped to give her a moment. ‘Shh now. It’s all right,’ Tom reassured her. ‘You’re safe. We’ve got you.’

All the same, it was a slow and painful operation, but at last they had her out and up on her feet, albeit unsteadily. ‘Crook your arm under hers,’ Tom instructed. ‘She’s in no fit state to take her own weight, and I can’t get the wagon down here, so we’ll have to carry her out the best we can.’

As they took her step by careful step towards the lane, she dragged her feet and murmured incoherently, and as the horse snickered, sensing something amiss, they lifted her gently onto the bench set into the back of the wagon. ‘There’s a rug under the driver’s seat. Fetch it, will you, lad?’ Tom grunted.

While Davie went to get the rug, Tom made Rita comfortable. ‘It’s no good taking her back to your grandad’s house,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s the Infirmary she needs.’

Davie gave no reply. Instead he sat beside his mother while Tom tucked the blanket around her. When she began shivering uncontrollably, Davie held her closer, trying to warm her, intent on making her safe.

‘Right, that should do it.’ Tom nodded. ‘Keep her as still as you can,’ he said as he climbed down. ‘We don’t know what injury she suffered when she fell.’

Thankful that soon they would be on their way, Davie glanced down, astonished to see his mother looking straight back at him. The rain had stopped, and in the brightness of a new day, her eyes were incredibly beautiful. ‘I’m sorry, Davie,’ she said. ‘You’re a good boy.’ She then gave him a look of absolute love. ‘And I have been a bad mother. A bad…mother. Don’t hate…’ Her voice faded away.

Davie felt her convulse in his arms, and then she was still, her wide eyes still turned on him, and in that moment he knew. But he could not accept the truth, and in his overwhelming sorrow, he screamed out for Tom to help her. ‘HURRY! WE HAVE TO GO NOW! Hurry…oh, please hurry, Tom.’ The rending sobs tore through him and he couldn’t speak any more. Instead, he held her close, the scalding tears running down his face and onto hers. ‘Don’t go, Mam. Don’t leave me…’

Tom drew the milk-cart to a halt and turned round. He saw, and it broke his heart.

‘She’s gone, lad.’ Inching close, he took hold of the boy’s arm. ‘There’s nothing we can do for her now.’ Tremulously reaching out, he placed his fingers over the dead woman’s sightless eyes and closed them. ‘Come away, son,’ he urged softly. ‘It’s out of our hands now. We’ll take your mammy where they’ll look after her. They’ll know what to do…’

Suddenly startled when the boy leaped off the wagon and sped into the woods, Tom called after him, ‘No, Davie! Come back, lad!’

Time and again, Tom called after him, but Davie was quickly gone, and Tom was afraid this might be the last he would ever see of him. ‘COME HOME TO THE FARM WHEN YOU’RE READY.’ He cupped his hands over his mouth. ‘MY HOME IS YOURS. I’LL BE THERE WHENEVER YOU NEED ME, DAVIE.’ His voice fell. ‘I’ll always be here for you, son. You must never forget that.’

With a heavy heart he returned to cover Rita’s face. ‘The lad’s tekking it hard,’ he murmured as he wound her into the blanket. ‘It don’t matter what badness you’ve done, lady, he can’t help but love you.’ He made the sign of the cross over her, and prayed that she might find a kind of peace elsewhere, for she had found none on this earth.

As he climbed into the seat, he stole another glance into the trees, but there was no sign of Davie, and no reply when he called his name. Licking his wounds, poor little bugger! Oh, but he’ll be back, God willing. You’ll see, when he’s all cried out, he’ll turn up at the farm, looking for his friends. And we’ll be there to help him through.

Drawing a long deep breath through his nose, he held it for a while, before the words eased out on the crest of a sigh. ‘He’ll come back.’ He turned his head to look on the dark shadow that lay in the back of his cart. ‘I can only promise you, that when the lad does come home, we’ll take care of him.’

Davie had a special place in his own family’s affections. Since toddlers, Davie and Tom’s own daughter, Judy, had played together, sharing every experience that youngsters share – learning to ride the ponies; chasing the rabbits into the hedge-rows; laughing at secret nothings that no mere adult can ever understand, and as they grew and blossomed so did their friendship until they were virtually inseparable.

‘Come home, son,’ he murmured. ‘Come home, where you belong.’

Slowly shaking his head in despair, he clicked the old horse on; this time at a sedate and dignified pace.

After all, with the way things were, there was no hurry now.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘LOOK, MAM, HE’s home. Dad’s home!’

Tom’s daughter Judy had been watching for him these past two hours. Now, as she saw the old milk-cart turn the bend in the lane, she took to her heels and ran to open the gate of Three Mills Farm. Her dad was back, and she needed a hug.

Tom saw her coming and his heart burst with pride. How had he come to father such a lovely creature? Small-boned, with long willowing sun-kissed hair and eyes soft and grey as a dove, she was like a rainbow after rain to him.

Right from when she was a toddler, Judy had been behind him everywhere he went, and now at the age of twelve, it was the same; whether he was milking the cows or stacking the hay, she was there. Most days, before and after school, she helped him in the fields or the barn, and when he was painting the house, she went before him, washing the picture-rails inside or the window-sills outside, or holding the ladder in case it slipped and he broke his worthless neck.

And when she wasn’t helping him or her mammy, she was running across the valley with the local dogs at her heels. Other times she would sit quietly with the fishermen at the river, thrilled when they caught a fish and put it back, and sad at heart if they took it home to cook it.

From a tender age, Judy was drawn to the water at every turn; Tom and Beth daren’t let her out of their sight in case she slipped into the river. So, when she was little more than a year old, they took her into the water and, as they expected, she loved it. Swimming had come naturally to her, until she was as much at home in the water as the fish themselves. ‘Should’ve been born with a tail and fins,’ her parents joked.

When she wasn’t swimming or watching the fishermen, the little girl was running down the towpath, racing the barges as they made their lazy way alongside. She was kind and curious, totally fearless, and wherever she went, her smile went with her. Although her parents grieved that no other babbies had come along after her, to keep her company, they idolised their precious gift of a daughter.

‘Where’ve you been?’ When the cart was slowed down, she scrambled up. ‘We’ve been looking out for you.’ Wrapping her arms about his neck, she gave her dad a long, affectionate cuddle. ‘Mam says you’ve been down the pub having a crafty pint.’

‘Does she now?’

‘Yes. She said you’d be talking and drinking and forget the time.’

He laughed at that. ‘Another time she might well have been right, but not today, lass.’

‘So, where were you then, Daddy?’

His smile fell away; his mind full of images he would rather not recall. ‘I didn’t get the milk-round done as quickly as I might have. Y’see, I were held up with summat entirely unexpected and it threw me right out of the routine.’ What with finding Davie’s mammy and taking her to the undertakers, then the police quizzing him, and afterwards serving his loyal customers and finishing the deliveries before going back to look for Davie, the day had sped by without him realising.

‘You promised to take me fishing. Did you forget?’

‘No, lass, I didn’t forget. Like I said, I had urgent business to attend to.’

‘What kind of business?’ Clicking the horse on, she let it amble towards the stable.

‘It’s not summat I want to talk about just now, our Judy.’

Seeing his downcast face, she drew the horse to a halt. ‘Has something bad happened?’

‘Get along with you now,’ he urged tiredly. ‘It’s been a long day and I’ve a need to talk with your mammy.’

Something in the tremor of his voice made her keep her silence. She wanted to know what had upset him so, but for now she could wait. And so she clicked the horse on again. ‘Mammy’s got the dinner all ready,’ she promised. ‘It’s your favourite – steak and onion pie.’

Normally he would have smacked his lips at that, but not today. Today, Judy sensed he had something deeper on his mind. She realised it must be something very serious, otherwise he would have told her.

For now though, she wisely left him to his thoughts and concentrated on the way ahead.

Just as Judy promised, Beth had the meal all ready to serve. ‘Late again, Tom Makepeace!’ She tutted and fussed, and wrapping the tea-towel round her hands she took the meat pie from the oven. ‘It’s a wonder this pie isn’t burned to a cinder, and as for the vegetables, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’ve turned to pulp.’ She might have continued with her good-natured scolding, but his thoughtful mood made her cautious. ‘What ’ave you got to say for yerself then?’

‘Not now, love.’ Heartsore and weary to the bone, Tom washed his hands at the sink. After drying them on the towel hanging from the range, he dropped himself into the armchair. ‘I’m beaten, lass,’ he muttered. ‘It’s been the worst day’

Making the pie safe on the table, she wiped her hands on her pinnie and came to him. ‘Whatever’s wrong, Tom?’ She knew her man all too well, and she knew there was something troubling him deeply.

He glanced anxiously across the room at Judy who had returned from the stable. ‘Come here, lass. There’s summat you both need to know.’ He recalled how deeply devoted to Davie she was, and he feared the effect his news might have on her.

With trepidation, Judy came to her mother and the two of them waited for Tom to explain. ‘It’s bad news,’ he warned grimly. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no easy way to tell it.’

And so he told it straight; how Davie’s mam had come home drunk and abusive once too often, and of how, after too long being patient and forgiving, her husband had walked out.

‘Oh, no!’ Beth was shocked. ‘What about the boy and his grandfather? Couldn’t they persuade him to stay and give it one last try – for Davie’s sake if not for theirs?’

‘Is Davie all right?’ Judy’s anxious question turned Tom’s heart.

‘Hear me out, lass. I’m not done yet.’ He enveloped them both in the sweep of his gaze.

Instinctively clinging to her mother, Judy fell silent; and Tom continued.

Firstly he answered Beth’s question. ‘From what I could gather, Don didn’t want to leave without Davie, but the boy decided to stay behind, with his mammy.’ He paused and sighed, then quietly continued. ‘It seems the grandfather had come to the end of his tether, too. There was a row of sorts, and after Don left, the old man threw Rita out, bag and baggage.’

He quickly imparted how the boy had decided to go with his mother and look after her as best he could, though his grandad didn’t much care for that idea. In fact, old Joseph was so upset that he told them both to sling their hooks and good riddance, more or less.

And then he relayed the worst news of all.

‘I was driving past the woods during my round when I heard young Davie shouting for help. His mammy had suffered a fall and hurt herself badly. By the time I got to her, she were drifting in and out of consciousness.’ He recalled the sad sight of her, and cleared his throat. All day long, he had wanted to make his way back home to Three Mills Farm, and confide the news to his wife, for it was she he always turned to when in times of trouble. But events had taken over and, as it turned out, there was little opportunity.

He described how he had followed the boy and how, when he came to Rita, he could tell straightaway that she was in desperate need of hospital treatment.

‘We managed to get her as far as the cart and lay her down, when she drew her last breath. It were a matter of minutes, that’s all, and she was lost to us. And there was nothing either of us could do to save her.’ He blew his nose loudly.

‘What about Davie!’ Shocked at the news, Judy’s immediate thoughts were for her friend. ‘Where is he? Why didn’t you bring him home with you, Dad?’

Tom shook his head. This was going to be hard. ‘Seeing his mammy go like that, it was a terrible thing for the lad to witness, especially after seeing his father walk out and then his grandfather turn against his own flesh and blood. He held her close until she’d said her last words to him, then before I knew it, he’d leaped off the cart and was running into the forest, as if old Nick hisself was after him. Oh, I called for the lad time and again…told him to come along of us and that we’d take care of him, but I haven’t seen him since. I had to get his mammy away, don’t you see? There was the police to deal with and all sorts. Afterwards, I went back, and I scoured the woods, calling and shouting and begging him to come home with me. But there was neither sound nor sight of him.’

‘Poor little chap.’ Beth was appalled by the news. ‘What will become of him, d’you think? Where will he go? How will he survive- a lad of his tender years?’

Judy was distraught. ‘We’ve got to go back! We have to find him. Please, Dad, we can’t just leave him.’

‘He’s not there any more, child. I searched and called and there was nothing. He’ll be long gone by now.’

Tom recalled how brave Davie had been and how, through a bad sequence of events and none of them his doing, he had been made a man overnight. ‘He’ll get through this,’ he said decidedly. ‘Young though he is, the lad’s already come through one bad shock after another. I’m sure he’ll think long and hard about which way to go. Don’t worry, lass. Happen when he’s had time to consider everything, he’ll come back of his own accord.’ In reassuring his daughter, he failed to reassure himself, however, although he was certain of one thing. ‘Davie knows he’ll be safe enough with us.’

But Judy couldn’t let it drop. ‘When you’ve eaten and rested, will you come back and see if he’s there?’ she pleaded. ‘He might have been hiding when you called for him. He might not have wanted to talk – perhaps he wasn’t ready then, but he’ll listen to me, I know he will. Please, Daddy, please come back and try again.’

Knowing how determined she could be, Tom worried that she might take matters into her own hands. Deciding it was wiser to pacify her, and being anxious himself as to Davie’s whereabouts, he relented.

‘All right, lass. Once I’ve had a sit-down and a bite to eat, we’ll go and search for him. But first we’ll call at his grandfather’s house. The police will already have been to see him, to inform him about poor Rita’s death. I told them everything I knew and they said to leave it with them.’ At the back of his mind he wondered. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if we didn’t find young Davie there. After all, when you think about it, where else would he go, but home?’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Beth warned. ‘It was his grandfather who threw them out, wasn’t it? So, for all we know, Davie might be blaming him for what happened to his mammy.’

‘Davie would never do that!’ Judy sprang immediately to his defence. ‘Davie thinks the world of him. It was his grandad who took them all in when they lost their home and everything.’

‘The lass is right,’ Tom agreed. ‘Young Davie is not the sort to lay the blame where it doesn’t belong. The truth is, Rita brought it all on herself, God help her.’

At that point, Beth served the meal and they sat at the table, each thinking of Davie and praying that he would be all right, out there, God knows where, grieving for his mammy and with no one to comfort him.

After a few mouthfuls of the pie, Tom pushed back his plate. ‘Sorry, love, I haven’t the stomach for it,’ he told his wife. ‘If we’re going to search for the lad, we’d best get off now. But first we’ll stop off at Derwent Street – check on Joe, and see if the boy has turned up there, before we go off on a wild-goose chase round the woods.’

Beth and Judy readily agreed. They put on their coats and stout shoes and waited at the door while Tom got the Morris Minor out of the barn. ‘I didn’t think it would start,’ he said as they climbed in. ‘I can’t recall the last time I had this motor-car on the road.’

‘Hmh!’ Beth gave him a wry glance. ‘I’m not surprised, because whenever you take me and Judy out, it’s always on the blessed cart! I’m surprised the motor-car hasn’t seized up altogether,’ she grumbled. ‘Then we’d have turned up at Joseph’s house in that smelly old cart. And what would folks think, eh?’

Going down the lane at a steady pace, with the engine spitting and complaining, they sat quiet for a while, each engrossed in their own thoughts, thinking of Rita and the way things had turned out. Mostly their thoughts were for young Davie, because in truth he was the one who had suffered most in this tragedy.

Judy was certain that Davie would not hold his grandfather responsible for his mammy’s death. For one agonising moment, she put herself in Davie’s shoes. He had loved his grandfather; and it must have come as a shock when Joseph turned against him. She also knew that, although he would forgive him, he would never be enticed back, even if his grandfather changed his mind. If Davie was anything at all, he was proud, and fiercely independent.

When they turned the corner into Derwent Street, they were not surprised to see the neighbours emerging from Joseph’s house. ‘The news has spread,’ Tom declared respectfully. ‘I expect he’s had folks in and out since the police came to see him.’

As they got out of the car, one or two of the neighbours nodded to them, and they nodded back. They didn’t speak. What was there to say?

‘He’ll need all the support he can get,’ Beth replied. ‘Rita’s reputation was known throughout Blackburn. She lost respect and many friends through her degrading antics. Time and again, she brought trouble to the door; first to poor Don, and then to her own father, even though he had been so good to her.’

‘You’re right, lass,’ Tom remarked under his breath. ‘She managed to heap shame on the only three people who truly loved her.’

‘Hmh! There’ll be them as say she deserved what she got.’ Beth gave a long, shivering sigh. ‘All the same, I can’t help but feel saddened by what’s happened to her, so young an’ all.’

‘I know what you’re saying, lass.’ Tom felt the same. ‘But now she’s gone, it’s the old man we have to concern ourselves with, and the boy especially. Folks round here will no doubt keep an eye on Joseph but the boy has no one. He’s out there somewhere, God knows where, without a friend to talk to, and no roof over his head.’ He glanced sideways, seeking reassurance from this wise woman of his. ‘It’s a bad thing, don’t you think, lass?’

‘It is,’ Beth concurred. ‘But you did the best you could, and a body can do no more.’ She touched him softly on the arm. ‘Don’t fret yourself, Tom. You can’t be responsible for what’s happened; none of us can. All we can do is hope the boy is safe…wherever he might be.’

‘We have to find him.’ Judy was determined. ‘If he’s not here, we have to search and search, and not give up until we can take him home with us.’ She had visions of Davie curled up somewhere, alone and shivering, and frightened. She longed to be with him, to give him consolation. Like her daddy had said just now, it was a ‘bad thing’.

They found the old man seated in the parlour, his head bent low to his knees and his hands clasped over his head, as though trying to fend off some vicious attacker. Rocking backwards and forwards, he didn’t even hear them come in. ‘Joseph?’ Tom laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘It’s me, Tom, and my family. We’ve come to see how you are.’

It was a moment before Joseph looked up. They had been prepared for him to be deeply shocked by the news of what had happened to his daughter and grandson, but even so, they were taken aback by the stricken look in his eyes. His face was marked with angry red streaks where he’d scraped his fingernails down his cheeks, and the skin hung in curious folds over his features, as though the substance had been sucked away from underneath. ‘Oh, Tom.’ He began rocking again. ‘What in God’s name have I done? Rita, my own flesh and blood. I sent her away, thinking she might get herself in order and come back to live a decent life, and now she can’t ever comeback.’

Plump teardrops pushed over his eyelids and ran down his face. ‘My daughter was a wilful woman, ran right off the rails at times, but she didn’t deserve to be struck down. Dear God, she had so much to live for, so much to makeup!’ He rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘I turned her out on the streets…her and the boy with her. May God forgive me. I should lie in hell for what I did!’

When he began sobbing, Beth whispered to Judy to help her in the kitchen. ‘Stay with him,’ she told Tom, ‘while me and Judy see if we can’t make us all a cup of tea.’ That was typical of Beth. A cup of tea would put so many things right. But not this time, she thought. Not this time.

‘Will Joseph be all right?’ Never having witnessed such grief, the young girl was feeling scared.

Beth held her for a moment, taking comfort from the girl’s warm body against her own. ‘It’ll be terrible hard for him,’ she said emotionally, ‘but he’s got friends. And maybe when Davie’s come to terms with what’s happened, he might be of a mind to make it up with his grandad, and find his way home.’

‘No, Mam. Davie will never come back here, not now.’ Judy Makepeace was unsure about a lot of things in her young life, but of this she was 100 per cent certain. Wherever Davie went, it would be far away from the house in Derwent Street.

CHAPTER FIVE

WHILE HIS WOMENFOLK busied themselves in the kitchen, Tom tried to get the grieving man to say something, but Joseph had fallen into such a deep silence, he seemed unaware that any-one else was therewith him.

When, a few moments later, Beth and her daughter returned with a pot of piping hot tea, Tom revealed his concerns. ‘I don’t know what else to do,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ve tried everything to coax him into talking, but all he does is rock backwards and forwards, his eyes fixed in a stare to the floor. It’s like he doesn’t even know I’m here.’

As was her way, Beth took matters into her own hands. Setting the tray down on the table, she knelt in front of the old man. ‘Joseph?’ Her voice was silky soft. ‘Joseph, it’s Beth…look at me, dear.’

When he seemed not to have heard, but instead kept rocking back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster, she raised her hands to his face and made him be still. ‘JOSEPH! It’s me, Beth. I’ve made you a hot drink. I want you to take it, and then we’ll sit and talk, you, me and Tom. Will you do that for me?’

Now, as he turned away, she persevered. ‘You, me and Tom,’ she repeated. ‘The three of us like old friends, just drinking and talking, and helping each other. Do you think you can do that for me?’

Joseph looked into her eyes and saw the kindness there. But it seemed an age before he answered, and then it was just the slightest nod.

Beth smiled at him. ‘All right, that’s what we’ll do then, eh? The three of us…talking and drinking, and helping each other. Yes! That’s what we’ll do.’ Greatly relieved, she could see he was coming back to her, but he was still in shock, and in her brightest voice she teased, ‘D’you know what, Joseph? I don’t know about you, but if you’ve got any old brandy hidden away, I wouldn’t mind just the teeniest drop in my cup of tea.’

She gave a deliberate sigh. ‘Oh, but I don’t suppose you’ve got any such thing, eh? So we’ll just have to go without, won’t we?’ Beth knew full well that Joseph always kept a bottle of brandy in the cupboard. ‘It would have been nice, though, don’t you think? A drop of the good stuff to warm our cockles?’

Slowly but surely, a glimmer of understanding crept over Joseph’s sorry features. ‘You artful devil, Beth Makepeace,’ he said in a croaky voice. ‘You know exactly where it is.’

He rallied round. ‘You can fetch it, if you like.’

The brandy did the trick. By the time Joseph had drunk three cups of tea with the ‘teeniest’ drop in it to give it a kick, he was beginning to talk freely, though the sadness was all too evident. ‘I’ve got you to thank for looking after her,’ he told Tom. ‘God only knows what might have happened if you hadn’t heard Davie calling from the woods. Oh, and where is the lad?’ He grabbed hold of Beth’s hand. ‘Where’s my Davie? Did you know, I threw him out… lost my temper. I couldn’t see owt but what she’d done, and he was willing to go with her and leave me on my own.’

His voice trembled. ‘I turned against him – lost my head. He’ll never forgive me, will he, eh? Surely he knew I’d change my mind the minute he was out the door, and I did! I went after him, but he were gone. They were both gone, and it was too late. Too late.’ His voice broke, and for a moment he was quiet, then when he was composed, he looked at Tom. ‘Why doesn’t he come home, Tom? He needs me…we need each other. Where in God’s name is he? What’s going to become of him?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tom answered truthfully. ‘Happen he’ll think things over, and when he’s come to terms with what happened out there in the woods, he’ll turn his mind to you, and he’ll know you didn’t mean it when you spoke harshly to him.’

Unconvinced, Joseph’s next question was directed at Judy. ‘I reckon you know him better than any of us, lass. Will he come home, d’you think? When he’s cried himself out, will he make his way back to his old grandad? What d’you reckon, pet?’

The girl said cautiously, ‘Maybe.’ Davie loved his grandad, she knew that for sure. But what she didn’t know was how deeply he had been affected by what had happened to his mammy. And for his grandad to turn against him was unthinkable. Davie would be taking it hard, she knew that well enough, but she revealed nothing of her thoughts. What would be the point? She’d only upset the old chap further.

‘It’s a lot for the lad to deal with.’ Joseph was thinking aloud now. ‘First his mammy comes home drunker than I’ve ever seen her, then there’s this terrible fight and his daddy walks out, and as for me…’ He took another swig of his tea. ‘I threw him and his mammy out onto the streets. And that was after I had damn near pushed her down the stairs. She must have hurt herself badly but she didn’t say owt, you see? Oh, my Rita. My stubborn little girl!’ He sobbed anew. ‘What kind of monster am I?’ He took another swig. ‘The lad saw his mammy die out there in the woods. God Almighty! I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to set eyes on me again.’

For a split second there was an uncomfortable silence, before Judy flung her arms round the old man’s neck, saying passionately, ‘He loves you! Davie would never think bad of you – never!’

Startled by her sudden show of affection, the old man looked up to see her crying. ‘Oh, lass,’ he said huskily. ‘It’s no wonder our Davie took you for a friend. You’re a caring, kind young thing, and if you say he’ll forgive me, then I’ll take your word for it.’ If only he could turn back time. If only…‘I’m hoping our Davie won’t forsake me, any more than I could forsake him,’ he wept, ‘and I hope you’re right, bonnie lass, when you say he’ll come home. But I was harsh on him…on both of ’em. I turned my back on the lad when he needed me most. Happen he’ll never forget that. Happen he’ll never forgive me for it neither.’

Taking another swig of his tea, and for the first time, Joseph told them about his late wife, Marie. ‘My wife was a real beauty, just like Rita,’ he said fondly. ‘Unfortunately, she started the boozing soon after having Rita. An’ then our second child – baby Matty, we called him – died in his sleep one night, and there was no consolin’ her. Poor little Matty – an’ now Rita, too. Both me childer dead an’ gone.’ He gave a long, shuddering sigh. ‘At first I thought I could help my Marie to be rid of the booze and the men, and live a decent life with me and with our beautiful daughter Rita. But for all my efforts, it didn’t happen. Lord knows how hard I tried to change her. Many a man would have walked out on her, but I couldn’t do it. I loved her, y’see, and when she was sober she had a mischievous and lovable nature, just like Rita.’

As the Makepeace family listened respectfully, Joseph paused. The bad memories had, by now, brought a scowl to his face. ‘Oh, but when she’d been at the booze, by God, Marie was the devil incarnate.’

He explained how Rita seemed, in time, to have naturally followed in her mother’s footsteps. ‘I can’t blame the lass for what she became,’ he said regretfully. ‘She grew up adoring her mammy, living in her shadow, seeing her kind and loving one minute, and in the next how violent and cruel she was.’

He took a moment to remember. ‘I should have left her then,’ he said gruffly, ‘but I loved her too much. I kept on hoping she’d come to her senses for the child’s sake, but she never did. And when the TB took her off when she was still in her prime, it seemed like my Rita took on her mother’s character…up and happy one minute, then down and shameless the next.’

He spoke of his son-in-law. ‘She were just a kid when she met Don, and oh, I was that pleased for her. I thought, here’s a good man, hardworking and decent. They will be happy together, not like Marie and me. Aye, he loved her as much as any man can love a woman, but when she went wrong, he couldn’t change her, any more than I could change her mammy.’

He hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t blame him for walking out, and nor should anyone else. If I’d walked out, all them years back, I might have saved Rita from copying her mammy’s ways. In truth, Rita became worse than my Marie ever was. She went with men openly. She even did her dirty work with blokes who worked alongside Don at the factory.’ Growing emotional, he took a moment to compose himself. ‘There were snide remarks and cruel taunts, and my son-in-law would retaliate, like any other normal man would. But then there’d be fights, and he’d lose his job again and there would be no money coming in.

‘They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the…’ Unable to say the word, he closed his eyes, then quickly opened them again, and now his voice was stronger. ‘It pains me to say it, especially now she’s gone… but my daughter was a slut of the worst kind. There was such badness in her – almost as though her mammy had passed it on with a vengeance. And good man that he was, Don stuck with her, till his patience was tried too far. I knew it had to happen, and somehow I reckon I also knew that one day it would end in tragedy. She was like a runaway train, my Rita, heading straight towards a cliff-edge.’

‘Have you any idea where Don was headed?’ Tom wondered if the man had been informed of the situation – his wife dead, and his son missing.

‘No idea at all.’ Joseph had been thinking along the same lines. ‘When he left here, it was on the spur of the minute. He was in such a state, I don’t reckon he knew where he was headed himself. Although, he did give a slip of paper to young Davie, with someone’s name on it. The boy must have gone off with it.’

‘Well, Don will have to be told, won’t he?’ Tom queried. ‘He’ll need to know what’s happened. His wife is beyond his help now, but the boy needs his father.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Sad at heart and not knowing which way to turn, Joseph revealed, ‘I told the police the whole story, from beginning to end, and they promised to do what they could to find him.’

‘But they’re not really duty bound to do so, are they?’ Beth intervened.

Joseph agreed. ‘Happen they’ve done their duty in telling me about the accident, and mebbe it’s up to me to do the rest.’

‘But what about Davie?’ Judy persisted. ‘The police will have to find him, won’t they?’

‘I hope so, lass. After all, he’s only just coming up to fourteen. I told them how much he thought of his mammy and how badly this whole business would have affected him. Let’s hope they find him, eh? Aye, let’s hope they do. As for him going after his dad, he doesn’t have a penny piece on him, and the mood our Don was in when he left, it wouldn’t surprise me if he hasn’t already left the country – jumped on a ship at the docks mebbe, and gone to sea. They can always use a good carpenter on board ship.’

Tom was interested. ‘Was that what he hankered after?’ he asked. ‘Making for foreign parts?’

‘Yes. Right from when he went abroad with the Army he had an appetite to see the world. Said as how he’d like to join that scheme to emigrate to Australia…with all those wide open spaces where a man could breathe. Then again, he might have gone back to Ireland. I understand he has an old aunt there, although, as I recall, he hasn’t seen her in years.’

He yawned, and said sleepily, ‘Aye, happen that’s where he’ll be headed…Australia, or Ireland. One or the other, I’ll be window, she stared out into the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen, except a lone cat prowling the area for a mate.

Turning away, she crossed the room, stumbled into bed and drew the blankets over her. In a matter of minutes she was fast asleep.

In the other room, having talked themselves into exhaustion, Beth and Tom also were asleep.

It had been a worrying day for them all.

CHAPTER SIX

SETTLING DOWN IN the barn, Davie thought he had caught a glimpse of someone at the window. He wondered if it might be Judy, but he daren’t draw her attention. If he was discovered here, he knew how Tom would want to return him to his grandad, when all he needed was to hide in a quiet place where he could be left alone to think things through.

At first he had thought that may be he might go and see Tom and thank him for what he had done. But then, as he got closer to the farm, he decided against it. Sometimes, when a kindness was so big between two people who understood each other, saying thanks was far too small and insignificant.

After searching around, he found the old Tilly lamp hanging above the window; another search in the semi-darkness revealed a box of matches hidden on the shelf alongside. Aware that the light might be seen from the house, he took the lamp and the matches, then from a safe corner, he lit the lamp, keeping the flame low and shielded, while he made himself a bed in the hay.

‘Don’t you worry.’ Peeping over the stable door, the old shire horse had been watching him with big curious eyes. ‘I’m not moving in on you.’ Davie stroked its long mane. ‘I just need somewhere to bed down for the night. I need to think, and plan. I have to know where I’m going from here.’ His voice and spirit dropped. ‘I feel hopelessly lost,’ he confided. ‘I miss my grandad, and I need to be near Judy and her family. But if I stayed I might hear bad talk about my mam, and I wouldn’t like that at all.’

At the thought of his mother being slandered, a wave of anger rushed through him. ‘I know she did bad things, and I know she caused a lot of unhappiness for the family, but if I hear anybody calling her names, I swear I’ll kill ’em!’ Tears filled his eyes. ‘I’ll never know why she did those terrible things…shamin’ us an’ all. But I don’t think she meant to hurt us. I don’t think she could help herself.’

Gulping back the tears, he quickly composed himself. ‘I need to look for my dad.’ He gave a great heave of a sigh. ‘But where do I start?’ he asked the wide-eyed creature. ‘And if I was to find him, would he thank me for it?’

Deep down he desperately needed to locate his father and be reassured. At the same time he believed his father would rather be left to find his own way through what had been a difficult time for all of them, added to which, Davie was reluctant to burden his father with the knowledge of the terrible sequence of events following his sad departure.

Because of the angry, wounding words born out of despair, Davie was sensible enough to realise that it would take time and distance for everyone to reflect on what was said and done. He could not know how long that would take, or whether things would ever be better for this unfortunate family. But one thing he did know now, and he voiced it in a whisper. ‘No! I can’t go after my dad, and I won’t go back. Like it or not, I’m on my own.’

Sighing deeply, he leaned his head on the railing. ‘I’ll need to be away first light,’ he muttered, ‘I’m not sure which direction to take or where I’m headed, or what I’ll do when I get there. All I know is I can’t stay round these parts any longer.’

Worn by recent events and the crippling loss of his parents, he felt the tiredness laying heavy on him. But try as he might, he couldn’t sleep. He shifted, and turned, fretting about the where abouts of his father, and agonising over his grandad, knowing that he, too, must be feeling the pain of losing his family in such a devastating way. But what about me, Davie mused. Should he leave as planned and never come back? What should he do? Which way should he go? Sleep was elusive. The nightmare was real. Tormented and unsure, and so weary he could hardly breathe, he finally drifted into a shallow, troubled sleep.

The touch of a hand startled him awake. And when he instinctively clenched his fist to lash out, she closed her small hand around his fingers. ‘I knew you were here,’ she whispered. ‘I went to sleep thinking it might have been you I saw running across the yard.’

‘Judy!’ In the soft glow from the lamp, he saw her face and was reassured. He smiled up at her. ‘You gave me a fright. I thought I was being attacked. I was just about to tackle you.’

Judy’s voice was soft as gossamer. ‘I’m sorry, Davie. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

Somewhat refreshed by the two hours or more that he’d slept, Davie was thrilled to see her. ‘Your parents…still asleep, are they?’

She laughed. ‘I could hear Daddy snoring as I came out.’

‘That’s good. I don’t want them to find me.’ Quickly, he tucked his shirt into his trousers and scrambling to his feet, he took her by the shoulders and drew her up to face him. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he told her. ‘I thought I saw you at the bedroom window but I wasn’t sure whether you saw me. I daren’t come too near the house in case your mam or dad saw me…I was afraid if they did, they might take me back to Grandad.’ His voice fell. ‘Did you know he told me to get out and never come back.’

Judy assured him, ‘Your grandad is sorry that he threw you out. He wants to make amends.’

Davie was relieved at that. ‘I’m glad,’ he answered, ‘but I can’t go back yet, may be never. What he did – well, it made me think.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I mean is, it made me realise how hard it must have been for him since we moved back in. All this time he’s had more than enough to deal with, and he’s been good to all of us, but now he deserves time to himself.’ The boy felt somehow responsible, because of what his mother had done to the family. ‘It’s best if I were to get away from these parts altogether. Make a life for myself somewhere else.’

Yet, even now he wasn’t sure if he could make it happen, or even if he was doing the right thing.

Sensing the doubt in his voice, Judy hoped she might change his mind. ‘Your grandad was upset, Davie. The police had been and everything.’

Davie hung his head. ‘So, you know what happened to my mam?’

‘Yes, Davie, I know.’ He was holding her two hands in his, and the warm, deep down pleasure was like nothing she had ever known.

‘Did you know she came home drunk, there was a terrible row and my dad walked out?’ The memory of it all was like a knife in his heart.

Judy nodded, ‘He told us everything.’

Davie was silent for a minute. Letting go of her hands, he walked to where the horse was peering at them. He nuzzled his face against the animal’s head, then, turning to Judy, he asked, ‘Was Grandad told about what happened in the woods…with my mam?’

‘Yes, Davie, he was told.’

‘And is he all right, I mean…do you think I should go back?’

‘That’s up to you, Davie. You have to do what you think is right.’

He gave it a moment’s thought, ‘How is he?’

‘He was in a poor state when we got there, but after a while, he seemed to be taking it well enough, I think. The neighbours had been in, and the woman next door is going to look in every now and then.’

‘Is she…safe…my mam?’ A great sadness welled up in him.

‘Yes.’ The girl tried to recall what her father had said. ‘Daddy took her to the Infirmary, and they looked after her.’

Davie nodded his head. ‘And Grandad?’ Almost unconsciously he dropped himself onto a haybale. ‘Will he be all right, do you think?’

Judy sat herself beside him, and slipping her hand into his, she told him honestly, ‘He wants you home, Davie. He’s really worried about you.’

When Davie remained silent, so did Judy. She didn’t know what else to say, and she didn’t know how to ease his pain. ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right, Davie. Like you say, he’s been through a lot, and may be you’re right. May be he does need some time to himself.’ Another thought reluctantly crossed her mind. ‘May be you do too?’

‘Right from when I was little, I thought my parents would split up one day.’ He kept his gaze down, so she wouldn’t see the tears clouding his eyes. ‘When Mam came home drunk in the early hours and Dad was waiting for her, they’d argue and he would always threaten to leave, but she always won him round in the end.’ He gave a painful little smile. ‘But not this time, eh?’

For a long moment he was silent, thinking about the past, wondering where his parents were at that moment; one gone away because he found it impossible to stay any longer, and the other gone to…? When he was small and somebody died, they always told him that the person had gone to Heaven. Is that where she was…in Heaven? But she’d been bad, and they said nobody went to Heaven if they were bad…

‘Davie?’ Judy’s voice broke through his thoughts. ‘Davie, look at me.’

Raising his gaze, he looked at her.

‘Your mammy’s safe now. You do believe that…don’t you?’

He nodded, bowed his head and thought about his mother, how pretty she once was, and how full of life. He recalled the times she made him laugh; the many occasions when she play fully chased him round the table, pretending to be the wicked witch, and other times, quieter and deeper, when she would tell him how she and his daddy truly believed that one day he would be a man to make them all proud.

‘Davie?’

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with sadness.

‘You’re so quiet. What are you thinking?’

Not trusting himself to speak, he shrugged his shoulders, then when he did eventually answer, his voice was choked with emotion. ‘It’s all gone,’ he murmured brokenly. ‘My family, all the things I know…all gone. How can anything ever be the same again.’ For the first time, the emotions tore through, and the tears broke away and now there was no controlling them.

Without a word, Judy wrapped her arms round him, and he clung to her, and after a while, when the sobbing was spent, and he drew away, she told him, ‘You must try and get some sleep, Davie.’ It was only then that she realised. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’

He shook his head.

‘Stay here.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

As she turned to leave, he suggested, ‘I won’t go back to Grandad. But I could write a note, if you wouldn’t mind taking it to him?’

Judy readily agreed. She liked the idea. At least this way, he wouldn’t go away without making contact.

He watched her run across the yard. She looked so small and vulnerable in the fading moonlight; like his life he thought, like his whole world. But Judy was strong, and she was still here, still caring. And, as always, he considered himself fortunate in having such a good and loyal friend.

It wasn’t too long before she was back. ‘I brought you these.’ Setting down the tray she pointed out the cheese and ham sandwiches, and the array of fresh fruit. ‘For you to take with you,’ she said. ‘In case it’s a while before your next meal.’ She dug into her skirt pocket and bringing out a package, she told him, ‘There’s a pen and paper, and some stamps.’ A shyness marbled her voice. ‘So now there’s no excuse. You can write and always tell me where you are and what you’re doing.’

‘I will, Judy. I’ll write to you from wherever I am, I promise.’ Cradling her face in his hands, he bent and kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’re special to me, do you know that?’

She was grateful that he did not see her blush bright pink. ‘Eat up,’ she said. ‘And then you’d best get some rest.’

Together they sat and talked some more while he wolfed down the snack and drank the milk. Afterwards, he urged her to go back to her own bed.

‘If I do, you won’t sneak away before I wake, will you?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘It all depends on what time you get up, lazy bones. I’ll need to be away before your dad comes out.’

The girl was adamant. ‘I’ll be back long before that,’ she said. ‘Just don’t go without seeing me.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

When she suddenly threw her arms round him and kissed him full on the mouth, he was taken a back. ‘What was that for?’

‘I don’t know. Because I’ll miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you too,’ he answered with sincerity. ‘Nobody could ever have a better friend than you.’ He looked into her eyes and thought how pretty they were. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’

‘Don’t go, Davie.’ She seized the moment. ‘Please stay. Daddy will give you work and he’ll pay you well. We have a spare bedroom, and you’ll be able to visit your grandad whenever you like.’

For one tempting moment, Davie considered the idea. Familiarity. Safety. And friendship. The answer to all his problems. Living with the Make peaces would be wonderful. But then he shook his head and said, ‘No.’ He knew it was not the answer. A clean break, a new life, and being responsible for his own actions, that was what he must aim for. ‘I need to prove myself,’ he explained. ‘I know it’s the right thing to do.’

‘How can it be right? Where will you go? How will you manage?’ When her tears fell, he wiped them away with the tip of his finger. ‘If you go now, you won’t ever come back.’

‘I won’t be gone forever,’ he answered. ‘And anyway, I’ve already said that I’ll write to you, and every day I’ll think of you.’

‘Will you, Davie? Every day? Will you really?’ Her smile brightened his world.

He laughed. ‘I will, yes! Every single day.’

‘And what will you think, Davie?’

‘What will I think?’ He wound his two arms round her and taking her to himself, he told her earnestly, ‘I’ll think of what you might be doing, and then I’ll picture you everywhere we’ve been together…climbing the oak tree down by the river or swimming in the canal, and I’ll see you about the farm, cradling the new born lambs in your arms and teasing the ferret out of its cage.’

Holding her away from him, he smiled down on her. ‘More than anything, I’ll always wonder how somebody like me ever deserved a wonderful friend like you.’

Judy had been thrilled to hear him say how he would always see her in his mind’s eye. But when he called her his ‘wonderful friend’, it was as though her bubble of joy was cruelly burst. ‘Is that what I am to you, Davie?’ she asked tremulously. ‘A friend?’

He nodded. ‘The best friend of all,’ he answered sincerely. ‘If I was to travel the world, I would never find a better friend than you, Judy.’

She hid her disappointment. She wanted to be much more than a friend to Davie. In fact, although he didn’t know it, and she was only just becoming aware of it, Judy Make peace had already given her tender young heart to Davie Adams. There was as much pain and confusion in this secret giving, as there was pleasure.

‘You’ll need to be warm,’ she told him hurriedly. ‘It gets really cold in the barn at night.’ Going to the hook on the wall, she took down a blanket and handed it to him. ‘It smells a bit horsey, but he’s only had it on his back the once… he doesn’t like wearing blankets.’

Davie took it. ‘Thanks. Now you go back to the house… go on. I’ll be fine.’

A moment later, as she was leaving, Judy whispered, ‘Get some sleep, Davie. And don’t worry – I’ll be back before my parents wake.’

She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to lie down beside him and feel his strong arms round her. Her feelings were all mixed up. She loved him for being here – but was angry with him for leaving her; most of all, she was saddened by the idea of waking up and finding him gone, and knowing she might never see him again.

Then she remembered his promise to write and to think of her, and her heart was warmed.

She got as far as the house when she wondered whether he was asleep yet. If he was intending to go right away to find work and somewhere to live, he might have to travel miles before he was settled. He needed his sleep. Oh, but what if he woke up, feeling sad and panicky, and she wasn’t there? Or what if her father went down to the barn at first light, as he sometimes did if he thought the fox was about, and Davie heard him coming and sneaked away – and she wasn’t there to say good bye? A sob rose in her throat, along with a terrible premonition of loss. The idea haunted her.

Quickly now, she ran back, and creeping into the barn, she called his name. ‘Davie?’ The lamp was out; there was no answer. She went on, deeper into the barn to where they had sat together, and in the glimmer of star light through the window she saw him, snuggled deep into the blanket, fast asleep. For a moment she watched him, as she dried her eyes.

Carefully, she got to her knees and lifting the corner of the blanket, she slid in beside him. For a moment she just lay there, not daring to touch him for fear that he might wake. Instead, she looked at his sleeping face, and a tide of contentment washed over her. She took that moment to cherish him, and then she was pushing towards him, bathing in the warmth of his body, nervous that he might wake and send her away.

He didn’t wake. Instead, in his slumbers, he must have sensed her there for he turned towards her and took her into his arms, and that’s how the two young people lay, until fingers of dawn crept through the darkness.

Davie was the first to wake. And when he found himself holding her, he was shocked to the core. ‘Judy, what are you doing here? How long have you been here…Judy?’ She stirred, stretched her arms, but didn’t wake.

Davie smiled. She was a funny little thing, he thought, his soft gaze sweeping her pretty face. She probably thought he would sneak off into the night the minute her back was turned. So she had come back…and he never even knew.

He looked at her a moment longer, at that small cute face and the long brown hair that teased over her shoulder; raising his hand, he moved a stray strand from her forehead. My lovely little Judy he thought affectionately. I’ll miss you so much.

He would miss everything, he thought – his parents and his grandfather, the sparsely furnished bedroom that on and off, had been his only real home these past few years, and the people of Derwent Street, with their familiar faces and cheery greetings.

He would miss weekends helping Tom and Judy on the milk-cart, and he would miss the long meandering walks through the local fields and woods. He would miss the joy of swimming in the canal in the heat of a summer’s afternoon, and the all too rare visits into Blackburn Town, where he and his school friends had wandered for hours amongst the brightly coloured market-stalls, clutching their saved-up pocket-money. His mam would never dig into her handbag again, he thought in sorrow, and fish out a three penny bit from her purse, or, if he was lucky, a whole shilling. She’d give him a kiss to go with it, and a peppermint cream or a Spangle. His mam’s handbag, full of bus-tickets, lipstick and tweezers and a packet of Park Drive, had such a lovely smell…For a moment, the boy was lost in memories.

Then his thoughts returned to the road ahead. Most of all, he would miss Judy, for she had not only been a friend to whom he could turn at any time, with her kind, warm nature she was also the loving, caring sister he had never had.

He spent another moment gazing at her, remembering, before reluctantly slipping out of the blanket, covering her over to keep out the cold, and finding the pen and paper she had brought him. He struck a match and lit the lamp low, and in its soft halo of light he began to write the promised letter.

Dear Grandad,

I’m going away now, and I don’t know when I’m coming back. I don’t belong in Blackburn any more, not after what’s happened. I don’t know where I belong – all I know is that I’ve got to get away. Please don’t worry about me. Just look after yourself, and be strong. When I’m settled, I’ll write to you.

I don’t blame you for throwing us out. Mam had caused you so much trouble, and I know you were at the end of your tether. But she’s gone now, and may God rest her soul. I shall pray for her every night. Will you tell her that, Grandad, when you visit her grave? I shall never forget her, never stop loving her. Will miss her forever.

If you hear from Dad, will you please let him know there are no hard feelings, and I hope we’ll meet again someday. I shall be searching for him, every chance I get.

I love you, Grandad, but it’s time you had your home back, and some peace and quiet. I want to find my way in the world. I’m nearly fourteen, and I don’t really know what I want to do. I’m afraid, and I’m excited. There are so many things I need to find out, and new places I want to go.

I’m nearly a man now. And I need to prove I can do it all by myself.

So, take care of yourself, Grandad, and please keep an eye out for Judy. She has been my friend all of my life, and she’s very precious.

Give me your blessing, Grandad. I give you mine.

Your grandson, Davie

A tear fell from his sore eyes. Folding the paper into itself, he knelt beside Judy. ‘I’ve written the letter,’ he told her. Touching her gently on the shoulder, he raised his voice. ‘I have to go.’ Still no response. She was spark out! Laughing now, he gave her a little shake. ‘Hey! Lazybones, wakey wakey!’

‘Mmm?’ Sleepily opening her eyes, the girl saw him there and all her memories came tumbling back. She began to scramble out of the blanket. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ She looked out of the window. ‘Oh no! It’s morning.’

‘JUDY!’ Beth’s raised voice struck fear into their hearts. ‘Where the divil are you?’

Hurrying to the barn door, Davie peered out through the cracks. ‘It’s your mam,’ he told Judy. ‘I’d best go.’ Running back to where she was brushing the horse-hairs from her skirt, he took her by the shoulders. ‘It’s time to say goodbye.’ He handed her the letter. ‘You will see that Grandad gets this, won’t you?’

‘You know I will.’

He gazed at her, feeling lonelier than he had ever felt. ‘Thanks for everything, Jude.’

‘Where the dickens is that girl?’ Beth’s voice was even closer now.

The boy turned and would have kissed her on the forehead, but suddenly Judy was kissing him, full on the mouth and with her arms round his neck. It was a fleeting kiss, but it spoke volumes.

‘I’ll write,’ Davie said, as he clambered out of the window.

‘Promise?’

His promise was the smile he gave her. And then he was gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘SO, THIS IS where you’ve been hiding out, is it?’ Beth said angrily, hands on hips. ‘What on earth d’you think you’re playing at, Judy? You’ve had me almost out of my mind with worry. It’s a good job I didn’t wake your father and have him going crazy! The poor man needs his rest after yesterday’s shenanigans.’

Tutting and fretting, but greatly relieved at finding the girl, she queried, ‘I thought you didn’t like the spiders in the barn – so what are you doing out here in the cold, at this time of morning?’

‘Davie was here,’ Judy said simply.

‘Davie? Thank God he’s safe.’ Beth looked about. ‘Where is he? I’m going to give him a big breakfast and a bit o’ comfort, poor lad.’

‘He’s gone.’

‘What – back to his grandad?’

‘No. I don’t know where he’s gone.’ It only now occurred to Judy that he had not mentioned any particular direction.

Beth was frantic. ‘Is he all right? What did he say? Why didn’t you wake us? Your father would have driven him home.’

‘That’s why we didn’t wake you,’ the girl explained. ‘Because he didn’t want to go back there.’

Beth considered that for a moment. ‘I see. He can’t forgive Joseph for throwing him out, is that it?’

‘No. He’s already forgiven him. Look.’ She held out the letter. ‘He wrote this to his grandad. He wants me to take it to him.’

Beth nodded. ‘I’m glad for that at least,’ she said. ‘But how did you know Davie was here?’

‘While I was pulling my curtains last night, I thought I saw a movement over by the barn, but I wasn’t sure. And then I eventually decided it must have been him, so I came out, and there he was, making himself a bed in the hay.’

‘So you helped him, did you, lass?’

‘Yes. I made him a snack and gave him food for the journey. I hope you don’t mind, Mam. He was so hungry and thirsty.’

Beth gave her an emotional hug and thanked God for this kindly child.

‘You’re a good friend, Judy. And so now he’s gone, eh?’

‘Yes, Mam.’

‘And you don’t know where he’s headed?’

‘No.’ If only she knew, she might be more content. ‘I don’t think Davie knows either. He said he wanted to make a life for himself and not be a trouble to anybody.’ She recalled his words. ‘‘‘I need to prove myself’’, that’s what he said.’

Beth gave a long, deep sigh. ‘Well, it’s understandable. His whole world’s been turned upside down…I expect he needs to think his way through it all. He’s nobbut a lad still and being on his own, he’ll find the world more of a hostile place than he ever imagined.’ The motherly woman believed he would have a change of mind once he was out there in the big wide world. ‘I’ll give him a week,’ she said confidently, ‘afore he starts heading back.’

Sliding her arm round Judy’s shoulders, she drew her away, but then, catching a sniff of the girl’s clothes, she pulled back. ‘By ’eck, you stink to high heaven, lass!’ she exclaimed. ‘Anybody’d think you’d been sleeping with the old shire!’

When they got back to the house, Tom was up and at it. He had washed, dressed, and was already across the yard to feed the chickens. ‘I’m off to see whether that damn fox has been at my birds,’ he shouted to them. ‘If there’s any damage, the old sod won’t get away with it this time!’ He patted the shotgun slung over his arm. ‘I’ll be good and ready if he shows up.’

‘Be careful with that thing!’ Beth nagged him. She had never liked the shotgun. ‘Like as not you’ll get excited and shoot your toes clean off.’

‘Away with you, woman,’ he called back. ‘There’s nobody can handle a shotgun better than Thomas Makepeace!’ With that he strode away, hellbent on a confrontation.

Inside the house, Beth set about cooking breakfast while Judy went off to get washed and dressed.

When the bacon and mushrooms were simmering nicely and still there was no sign of her daughter, Beth turned off the gas, covered the pan and went up to her room.

Judy was curled up on the windowseat, looking dreamily out across the land. ‘Thanks, Mam, but I don’t really want any breakfast,’ she said.

‘Don’t want your breakfast!’ Beth was astonished. ‘But you’re allus ready for your breakfast. During the day you don’t eat as much as I would like you to, but you love your Sunday breakfast. I’ve cooked those new mushrooms your dad brought home. By! They smell right tasty. Come on now, Judy, get yourself downstairs, afore they spoil.’ ‘I’m not hungry this morning, Mam.’ Concerned, Beth came to sit beside her. ‘What is it, my love?’ She had an instinct that only a mother could feel. ‘What’s ailing you?’ ‘Nothing. I’m just not hungry, that’s all.’ Beth persisted. ‘Don’t give me that. I know you far too well, and I can see there’s more to it than that. Something’s worrying you. Whatever it is, you know you can always talk to me.’ Of course Judy would be worried about young Davie. But this was a deeper mood, and it wasn’t in the girl’s nature to be so sad.

There was a long pause, during which Judy wondered if her mammy could really understand the feelings that were burning inside her. ‘Mam?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I ask you something, you won’t laugh at me, will you?’

‘Now, why would I do that, eh?’

‘Well…’ Embarrassed, she fell momentarily silent.

‘Go on, lass.’

Another, longer pause, then, ‘Mam?’

‘Yes? I’m still here.’

‘Mam, what does it feel like…’ Judy took a deep breath ‘… when you love somebody?’

‘We ll, now…’ Beth knew she would have to answer carefully if she was to keep the girl’s confidence. ‘It all depends, I suppose.’

‘What do you mean?’

Beth took a moment to consolidate her thoughts, before saying, ‘What I mean is, there’s many kinds of love. There’s the love you feel for your family, and the love you have for a dear friend. And then there’s the other kind of love…’

‘What other kind?’

‘The kind that sweethearts feel for each other.’

‘And is that really so different?’

‘Oh, yes, lass. It’s a very different love altogether.’

Beth thought of her husband and the smile on her face said it all. She and Tom had met one market-day some twenty years ago. There was she, doing shopping for the doctor’s house, where she worked as a maid, and there was he, behind the egg stall. She’d only gone and caught the edge of the table where the eggs were laid out, with her old-fashioned wicker basket, which was almost as big as she was, and knocked a couple dozen duck eggs to the cobbles. Eeh! She flushed at the memory of her clumsiness. But he’d been so kind, and in the midst of her confusion, she’d noticed the sparkle in his eyes. And that had been the start of it. And look at them now – a right Darby and Joan.

‘You know straight off that he’s the one you want to spend the rest of your life with,’ she went on, and clutched her chest. ‘You feel it in here…a kind of longing that you can’t shift. You want to be with him every minute of the day and night, and when you’re together, you never want it to end. I know you’re only twelve now, but you’ll soon be grown, and love like that will come your way, God willing.’

Judy was beginning to follow her reasoning, but she had another question for her mother to answer. ‘And what happens if you love someone like a friend, and then it changes without you even noticing, and it’s…different, and it hurts. And you don’t know what to do about it?’

‘I see.’ But Beth wasn’t quite sure what it was that she could see. Still, her darling girl was hurting, and she sensed that it had something to do with Davie. And the more she thought about it, the more fearful she became.

Reaching out, she hooked her finger under Judy’s chin and made her look at her. ‘I’ve answered your question as well as I know how,’ she said, ‘and now I need you to answer mine. Will you do that for me?’

‘Yes, Mam.’

‘And will you answer truthfully?’

‘Yes, of course I will.’

With a slow intake of breath, Beth prepared to ask what was on her mind. ‘Just now, when I found you in the barn with Davie, how long had you been there?’

‘I don’t know…two hours, may be more.’

‘And were you just talking all that time?’

‘Not all the time.’

‘So, tell me how it was…right from the beginning.’

‘Well, like I say, I was about to go to bed when I thought I saw a movement by the barn. I assumed it was the cats or something else, and I went to bed. But I didn’t sleep very well. So I decided to go and see if it had been Davie, and it was.’

‘All right. Then what?’

‘We talked for a bit, and I went to get him some food and drink and I brought it back to him. He ate the food, and then I left and he promised not to go away without seeing me first.’

‘But if you’d already left, how come you were still there when I found you?’

‘I worried that if I slept too long, I’d miss him. So I went back.’ She grinned at the memory. ‘Davie was fast asleep and it was really chilly, so I got under the blanket with him. Pooh! It did pong, but at least it was warm.’

Beth’s heart skipped a beat, and she did not smile. ‘Judy, did anything happen when you were with Davie under the blanket?’

The girl gave her a puzzled look. She wasn’t altogether sure what her mother was saying, but nor was she so naïve that she didn’t suspect the reasoning behind it. Being brought up on a farm, she knew all about the birds and the bees – and the pigs, cows and sheep, come to that. ‘No!’ Bristling, she sat upright. ‘I know what you’re getting at, Mam, and you’re wrong!’

Springing to Davie’s defence she declared, ‘I know how Sheila Clarkson did wrong with that boy from the fairground and she had a baby, but Davie would never do a thing like that, and neither would I!’

Beth could see the truth in Judy’s eyes and she felt a great sense of relief. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘But I had to ask.’ Reaching out, she took Judy’s hands into her own. ‘I’m a mother,’ she murmured. ‘One day, God willing when you’re married and settled, with a good man and children of your own, you’ll know why I had to make sure. So…am I forgiven?’

Judy nodded. She could hear everything that was said, and yet she hardly heard a word, because it was still Davie who filled her mind and held her heart in a way as never before. And it was the strangest thing.

‘So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, will you tell me what happened…you said you got into the blanket to keep warm?’

More attentive now, Judy went on, ‘I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew, Davie was ready to leave. He wrote the letter and then he was gone.’

‘And was it then, that you realised your feelings towards him had changed?’

Embarrassed, Judy lowered her gaze. ‘I’ve always loved Davie, like a brother really. But now, I don’t know what’s happened, Mam. It’s all different, and I can’t stop thinking about him.’

Taking the girl into her arms, Beth told her how love between man and woman was a strong, unpredictable thing. ‘But I think the trouble with you now is that Davie has always been here and you never imagined he wouldn’t be. You’ve seen him most every day since the two of you went to infant school. You were both only children, and we were all so happy that you’d found each other – Rita most of all, poor lass. She was thrilled that her Davie had you for his best friend. Now, suddenly, his life has changed, and because of that, so has yours. Happen you’ll see him again, and happen you won’t. But either way, there is nothing you can do about that.’

At the thought of never seeing him again, the girl burst into tears.

‘I don’t like it, Mam.’ Her emotions were running wild. ‘When I think about Davie now, it really hurts.’

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